“Oh!” I blink, putting the pieces together. Jesinia. “Don’t worry, Sawyer. I’ve got you. Rhi signs fluently, too. So do Aaric and Quinn, and—”

“Everyone but me.” Sawyer sighs, his shoulders dipping.

“Almost didn’t make it in time,” Rhiannon says, slightly out of breath as she reaches us.

Trager’s eyes narrow even further on Rhi as Professor Trissa rounds the corner behind her.

“How’s the lip?” Rhiannon asks, winking at Trager.

He moves to step forward, but Maren blocks him, shaking her head.

“I would have covered for you. Did you get your family settled?” I ask Rhi.

They’d arrived late last night, travel-weary and with only the items they could fit in a narrow wagon capable of making it up the Precipice Pass, the winding trading route up the northeast side of the Cliffs of Dralor, bordering the Deaconshire province.

“Yeah.” Rhi grins and drops her pack in the surprisingly supple grass next to mine. I swear, it’s like the seasons are reversing up in this valley. “Thank your brother for me. He assigned their houses right next to each other near the market square, and they’ve already picked out a spot to set up shop.”

“Will do. And Lukas?” Just the thought of her nephew’s perfect, chubby cheeks has me smiling wide.

“Still the cutest boy ever.” She unbuttons her flight jacket and shrugs it off her shoulders. “They’re exhausted, but they’re safe. And the fact that I get to see them whenever I want now? Amazing. Plus, I got to show off my signet, and they were appropriately awed.”

“That’s phenomenal. I’m really happy for you.” My posture relaxes, and I take a truly deep breath. Families have been arriving in Aretia for the last week, led in small, unnoticeable groups by the members of the revolution who delivered their offers of sanctuary. Ridoc’s dad should arrive any day, but we haven’t had word from Sawyer’s parents yet.

“You might be wondering why we’re meeting in the valley,” Professor Trissa says, her breaths perfectly even as she reaches into her pack and pulls out seven printed illustrations, then hands them out to the seven of us.

Another smile tugs at my lips. Jesinia and the others got the printing press up and running.

The illustration’s a depiction of a Tyrrish rune, not unlike those in the weaving book Xaden left me when he graduated. After a closer look at the illustration, I recognize it. The series of graduated squares is nearly identical to the hilt of the dagger on my right hip.

“As you are currently the top squad and drift, we have chosen your group as our…test of sorts.” Professor Trissa steps back so she can see both lines of us. “You can channel?” she asks the fliers.

“About half power since yesterday morning,” Cat answers.

“Mindwork?” the professor asks with a tone of curiosity.

“Not yet,” Maren answers.

“But soon,” Cat says, staring straight at me. “The drifts are getting stronger every day.”

As if I’d forget what it was like to have her running amok in my head.

“So, back to arts-and-crafts hour?” Ridoc asks, folding his arms.

“Who knows how mage lights are powered?” Professor Trissa asks, ignoring his question and reaching into her pack. She removes eight small wooden boards, no bigger than a plate. She puts them in the center of our little stand-off. “Well?”

“Lesser magic,” Maren answers.

“The ones you create yourself.” Professor Trissa nods. “What about the ones that run continuously in, say, the first-year dorms. The ones that work before you can channel?”

Every rider looks at me.

“They’re powered by the excess magic both we and our dragons channel,” I answer. “It comes off us naturally, like…waves of body heat, but it’s such a small amount that we don’t even notice it.”

“Exactly,” the professor agrees. “And what is it that makes that kind of magic possible? Magic tied to objects instead of a wielder?” She looks us over with expectant, dark-brown eyes, then rubs the bridge of her nose. “Gods, I thought Felix was joking. Sorrengail, you’re practically covered in them.”

I glance down, glimpsing the shimmer of my dragon-scale armor beneath the V-neck of my uniform top, then lock onto the daggers Xaden gave me. “Runes?”

“Runes,” Professor Trissa confirms. “Runes aren’t just decorative. They’re strands of magic pulled from our power, woven into geometric patterns for specific uses, then placed into an object, either for immediate work or usage at a later date. We call the process ‘tempering.’”

“That’s not possible.” Maren shakes her head. “Magic is only wielded.”

“It’s still wielded.” Professor Trissa all but sighs in disappointment at our ignorance. “But just like we store food for winter, a wielder can temper a rune using as much or as little power as they choose, then place it into something.” She bends down and picks up one of the boards and waves it in our general directions. “Like wood, or metal, or whatever object the wielder chooses. That rune will activate when triggered and perform whatever action it was tempered for. Unlike alloy, which houses power, runes are tempered with power for specific actions.”

Rhi and I exchange a confused glance.

“I see we’ll need some convincing.” Professor Trissa drops the board and lifts her hands. “First you separate a strand of your power.” She reaches forward and pinches air between her thumb and forefinger. “Which can be the most complicated step to learn, honestly.”

“Is she pretending?” Ridoc whispers.

Professor Trissa shoots him a sharp-eyed glare. “Just because you can’t see my power doesn’t mean I can’t. Or are you unfamiliar with the process of grounding? Like your shields, your power is only visible to you when you give it form, whether it’s the shape of your signet as a rider, or lesser magics, which you are all capable of.”

“Point taken.” Ridoc puts his empty hand up in defeat.

“Power can be shaped.” Her hands move quickly, pulling at pieces of air, then using her fingers to form invisible shapes. Circles? Squares? Was that a triangle? It’s hard to tell when we can’t see. “Every shape has meaning. The points where we tie the power change that meaning. All of which you will need to memorize.” She reaches into the air again, then creates…a rhombus? “The shapes we combine layer the meanings, changing the rune. Will it activate immediately? Sit in suspended state? How many times can it activate before the rune depletes? It’s all decided here.” She seems to flip whatever she’s working on, then pulls another string and does…something.

“Fucking weird,” Ridoc mumbles under his breath. “It’s like when you’re little and you ask your parents to drink from the teacup, knowing there’s no actual tea in it.”

Rhiannon shushes him.

“Once it’s ready”—Professor Trissa bends and grabs the board, then stands— “we place the rune. Until it’s placed, it has no meaning, no purpose, and will fade quickly. It’s tempering the rune that makes it an active magic.” She grabs what I assume is the rune she’s been tempering with her right hand, then pushes her palm into the wooden board. “This particular one is a simple heating rune.”

“That was simple?” Sawyer asks.

The board smokes, and I lean forward, my eyes widening.

“And there you have it.” She turns the front of the board toward the fliers, then shows us. “Once you understand which shapes combine to make what symbols, the combinations are nearly limitless.”

My jaw hangs open for a moment. The shapes have been burned into what I would have said was a decorative rune about ten minutes ago. I glance down at the illustration in my hands and wonder what the hell the dagger on my hip is supposed to do.

Every shape has meaning. The points where we tie the power change that meaning. I take another look at the multifaceted shape before she flips the board, holding it to face skyward, and my eyes widen with realization.

“It’s a logosyllabic language,” I blurt. “Like Old Lucerish or Morrainian.”

Professor Trissa lifts her eyebrows as she looks my way. “Very similar, yes.” Her mouth curves into a smile. “That’s right, you can read Old Lucerish, too.” She nods. “Impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“She’s ours,” Ridoc says to the fliers, pointing at me.