“I don’t want to have this discussion again.” He uses the wingleader voice, then softens. “But I will. You’re about to get some hard truths, because I wasn’t clear enough in Cordyn.”

My shoulders straighten.

“You raged today because you were angry.” He strokes his thumbs over my pulse. “You got jealous because you were jealous. You grappled with inferiority because for some reason I can’t understand, you feel inferior. And you lashed out with insecurity because I think both of us are just figuring this out as we go. Own your feelings like you did last year and be honest with me. Cat can’t plant emotions, warp them, or even sway them unless you are already headed that way. Cat can only amplify what you’re already feeling.”

I swallow, but the lump forms in my throat anyway. It’s all…me.

“Yeah, it’s a shitty realization. I’ve been there.” He laces his fingers with mine. “She can take you from irritation to full-on rage in the span of a minute or two. And yes, she’s really fucking powerful, but so are you. But the only weapons she wields are the ones you hand her. You want to keep control of your emotions? You need to have control in the first place.”

“I can’t…” A pit forms in my stomach. “I haven’t been in control since Resson,” I admit in a whisper. “I let Tairn’s emotions take over. I’m carrying around a conduit so I don’t set your house on fire with my own damned power. I failed at the wards and now nearly failed tests, making shit decisions, fucking up left and right, and people’s lives are in the balance. I keep hoping I’ll find my feet, but…” I shake my head.

He lifts a hand to my cheek, avoiding the swollen lump where Cat hit me. “You have to find your center again, Violet. I can’t do it for you.” He holds my gaze, letting his words sink in, before adding, “You are a creature of logic and facts, and everything you know got turned upside down and shaken. You’ll never know how truly sorry I am for that. But you can’t just sit there and hope. You want it to change, then you have to figure it out, just like Gauntlet. You’re the only one who can.” He says it a hell of a lot kinder than he did last year.

“But how do I find my center while in the middle of a Cat storm?” I moan.

He glances away. “Look, Cat got to you because you weren’t wearing your daggers. The one with the intertwined Vs? It’s runed to protect you from her gift. Keep them on until you find your feet, and she can’t fuck with you. Same thing happened in Cordyn. You took them off to wear that lacy thing you called a dress. Fuck, I wanted to rip it off with my teeth.” His jaw ticks.

“You gave the daggers to me last year.” My hand slides to his wrist.

“I figured she’d find a way to make my life difficult for breaking the agreement, and that would inevitably involve you.” He leans in. “I love you. She will never sit in this seat. She will never wear a Tyrrish crown. She’s never had me on my knees in front of her.” His mouth curves into a wicked grin that makes me instantly ready for it to be tonight. “And I’ve also never fucked her with my tongue.”

My lips part and heat stings my cheeks.

“Now, can we consider this matter discussed? Unfortunately, I have a briefing to get to.”

I nod. “I have class.”

“Right. Physics?” he guesses as we both rise to our feet.

“History.” I take his offered hand and we walk off the dais. “Which I’m surprisingly awful at, it turns out. Something about having read all the wrong books.”

“Maybe you should find the right ones.” His smile mirrors mine, and for a blissful second, it all feels…normal. If that’s a word that could ever apply to us.

“Maybe.”

When we reach the bustling hallway, he cups the back of my neck and pulls me in for a quick, hard kiss. “Do me a favor?” he says against my mouth.

“Anything.”

“Come to bed early tonight.”

Fliers and riders are held equal in every regard with the exception of wing structure.

Riders will maintain their wings, sections, and squads, as well as retain their commands.

Every drift will be absorbed by a squad, and their leader will replace the squad’s current executive officer for unit cohesiveness and efficiency.

—ARTICLE TWO, SECTION ONE THE ARETIA ACCORD

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

“I feel like you’re the only one who isn’t surprised,” Imogen says as we stand in the courtyard after formation the next morning.

“We’re the strongest squad. They’re the strongest drift. I don’t know how the rest of you are surprised.” I shrug, glancing over at Cat’s drift, who all seem to be turning various shades of purple and green from yesterday’s challenges.

Same goes for our squad.

“Here we go.” Rhiannon hands six of us familiar green patches.

“Do we really have to give them these?” Ridoc’s lip curls at the patch we worked our asses off for, the patch the first-years fought to hold on to.

“Yes,” Rhiannon chides. “It’s the right thing to do. As of this moment, they’re part of our squad, whether we like it or not.”

“I choose to not,” Sloane remarks.

Laughing, I run my thumb over the patch.

“I’ll take one to Cat,” Rhiannon says quietly. “You don’t have to—”

“I’ve got it.” I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Let’s do this.”

“Let’s do this,” she repeats. “Second squad, time to move.”

We cross the frost-covered courtyard together, and I tap the dagger at my left hip, making sure it’s right where I left it.

Xaden loves me. He chose me. I will be the most powerful rider of my generation.

Cat only has the power I choose to give her, with or without my dagger.

The six fliers tense as we approach.

“I think they’ve chosen to not as well,” Sloane mutters to Aaric.

Cat narrows her eyes on Sloane, and I step between them, offering Cat the patch. “Welcome to Second Squad, Flame Section, Fourth Wing, also known as the Iron Squad.”

Similar greetings are given around us, but I keep my eyes locked on Cat as she stares at the patch like it might bite her. “Take the patch.”

“What are we supposed to do with them?”

“We sew them onto our uniforms,” Ridoc answers from beside me, making a back-and-forth motion with his hand to simulate pulling a needle through his uniform—as though explaining a patch to children.

“Why…?” Her gaze sweeps over us, catching on the different patches like she’s never noticed them before.

I point to my collarbone. “Rank.” Then my shoulder. “Wing. Iron Squad. Signet. Patches are earned, not given. Riders, and fliers now, choose whatever location they want for every patch besides wing and rank, none of which are worn on flight leathers, which is probably why you never saw Xaden wearing them. He generally abhors patches.” There. That wasn’t so bad. I can be civil.

“I knew that.” She snatches the patch out of my hand. “I’ve known him for years.”