Then again, given what I know now, everyone is right not to trust them. Not to trust me.
“Second year is the best,” Quinn says, pouring ale from the pitcher into a pewter mug. “All the privileges and only some of the responsibility of the third-years.”
“But fraternizing between quadrants is definitely the best perk,” Imogen adds, forcing a smile and wincing before touching her finger to the split in her lip.
“That’s what I said!” Ridoc fist pumps the air.
“Did your lip get split while you guys…” Nadine asks Imogen, her voice trailing off as the table goes quiet.
I lower my eyes to my lemonade. The alcohol doesn’t numb the ache of guilt that sits heavily on my shoulders. Maybe Xaden’s right. If I can’t lie to my friends, maybe I should start keeping my distance so I don’t get them killed.
“Yeah,” Imogen says, glancing my way, but I don’t look up.
“I still can’t believe you guys saw action,” Ridoc says, all playfulness dying. “Not War Games—which were already scary as shit with Aetos stepping in for Riorson—but real, actual gryphons.”
I grip my glass tighter. How am I supposed to sit here and act like I’m the same person when what happened in Resson has changed every single thing about what I believe?
“What was it like?” Nadine inquires softly. “If you guys don’t mind us asking?”
Yes, I fucking mind.
“I always knew gryphon talons were sharp, but to take down a dragon…” Sawyer’s voice drifts off.
My knuckles whiten and power simmers beneath my skin as I remember the angry red veins beside that dark wielder’s eyes as she came for me on Tairn’s back, the look in Liam’s when he realized Deigh wasn’t going to make it.
“It’s natural to wonder,” Tairn reminds me. “Especially when your experience could prepare them for battle in their eyes.”
“They should mind their own business,” Andarna counters, her voice gruff as though settling into sleep. “They’re all better off not knowing.”
“Guys, maybe now isn’t—” Rhiannon starts.
“It fucking sucked,” Imogen says before throwing back her drink and slamming her glass on the table. “You want the truth? If it wasn’t for Riorson and Sorrengail, we’d all be dead.”
My gaze jerks to hers.
It’s the closest thing to a compliment she’s ever given me.
There’s no pity in her pale green eyes as she stares back, but there’s no defensive snark, either. Just respect. Her pink hair falls away from her cheek as she tilts her head at me. “And as much as I wish none of it had happened, at least those of us who were there truly know the horror of what we’re up against.”
My throat tightens.
“To Liam,” Imogen says, lifting her glass and defying the unwritten rule that we don’t speak of the dead cadets after their name is read from the roll.
“To Liam.” I lift mine, and everyone at the table does the same, drinking to him. It’s not enough, but it has to be.
“Can I offer a word of advice going into your second year?” Quinn says after a quiet moment. “Don’t get too close to the first-years, especially not until Threshing tells you how many of them might actually be worth getting to know.” She grimaces. “Just trust me.”
Well, that’s sobering.
The shimmering shadow of my connection with Xaden strengthens, curling around my mind like a second shield, and I glance over my shoulder to see him across the hall, leaning against the wall next to the door, his hands in the pockets of his flight leathers. Garrick is talking to him, but his eyes are locked on mine.
“Having fun?” he asks, pushing through my shields with annoying ease.
A shiver of awareness rushes over my skin. Mixing alcohol and Xaden is definitely not a good idea.
Or is it the best idea?
“Whatever is going through that beautiful mind, I’m here for it.” Even from this distance, I can see his gaze darken.
Wait. He’s in flight leathers, dressed to leave. My heart slumps, taking a little of my buzz with it.
He nods toward the door.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, setting my cup on the table and wobbling a little as I stand. No more lemonade for me.
“I certainly hope not,” Ridoc mutters. “Or you’ll destroy all my fantasies when it comes to that one.”
I roll my eyes at him, then make my way across the chaotic room to Xaden.
“Violet.” His gaze rakes over my face, lingering on my cheeks.
I love the way he says my name. Sure, it’s the alcohol overruling my logic, but I want to hear him say it again.
“Lieutenant Riorson.” There’s a silver line at his collar showing his new rank, but no other markings that could give away his identity in case he falls behind enemy lines. No unit designation. No signet patches. He could be any lieutenant in any wing if not for the relic that marks his neck.
“Hey, Sorrengail,” Garrick says, but I can’t peel my eyes from Xaden long enough to glance his way. “Good job today.”
“Thanks, Garrick,” I respond, moving closer to Xaden. He’ll change his mind and let me all the way in. He has to.
