“Seriously?” I shoot a reproachful look at Imogen.
“I can explain.” Imogen puts her hand over her heart. “You see, I didn’t like you last year, remember? You’re kind of an acquired taste.”
“Great. I appreciate that,” I quip back sarcastically.
“I couldn’t care less about whatever grudge you think you hold against Sorrengail, Mairi.” Emetterio sighs like this year has already exhausted him. “I know who trained her, and I’m not unleashing her on a first-year.” He lifts a dark brow at Imogen. “I, too, made an error last year.” He turns back to Sloane, the corners of his mouth slashing down. “Now disarm and take your place against Graycastle.”
Sloane hands off her weapons and faces Aaric, who easily has about five inches and years of private combat tutoring on her. But she’s Liam’s sister, so there’s a chance she’ll be able to hold her own.
“Did someone say Sorrengail?” a deep voice asks from behind us.
Our line of second-years all glance over shoulders at the bullish first-year who threw the scrawny one off the parapet. There’s a Second Wing patch on his shoulder as he lumbers forward, his hands at his sides.
“Popular today, aren’t you?” Nadine whispers with a smile, pivoting playfully toward the first-year. “Hi. I’m Violet Sorrengail.” She points to her purple hair. “See? Like my hair. Do you have a message for—”
He grabs hold of her head and twists, snapping her neck.
It is not unheard of that a candidate enters the Riders Quadrant having been paid to assassinate a cadet. I’m sorry Mira was targeted but proud to say she dispatched the threat quickly. You have enemies, General.
—OFFICIAL NOTICE FROM COMMANDANT PANCHEK TO GENERAL SORRENGAIL
CHAPTER TEN
I stare in shock for the length of a heartbeat as the first-year drops Nadine’s body to the ground. It falls with a sickening thud, her head twisted at an unnatural angle.
She’s dead.
No. Not again.
“Nadine!” Rhiannon yells, rushing to kneel at her side.
“Nadine?” the first-year asks, his thick eyebrows knitting into one.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Emetterio barks.
“No one interferes,” I demand, and two of my daggers are in hand before I even realize I’ve reached for them.
The giant jerks his gaze from Nadine’s body to my daggers, to my hair.
“I’m Violet Sorrengail.” My heart pounds, but no one else will die in my name. Using a pinch grip, I don’t wait for his response, flinging both daggers. But he’s fast for someone his size and throws up his arms—where both my blades sink to the hilt.
Damn it.
“Violet!” Andarna shouts.
“Sleep!” I slam my shields up to block everything—everyone out. Xaden’s gone. Protecting me is what killed Liam.
It doesn’t matter why this guy is trying to kill me right now. Either I’m strong enough to survive or I’m not.
The first-year rips the bloodied daggers out of his forearms in quick succession with an angry grunt, letting them clatter to the ground. His mistake. He might be almost a foot taller, but he’ll need those blades if he wants to kill me. His build, though…that’s going to be hard to overcome.
Stop going for bigger moves that expose you. Xaden’s words from last year ring in my head as if he is standing right beside me. I have to use what I have— my speed—to my advantage.
I charge toward him at a run, and he swings meaty fists at my head, but I drop to my knees before they can make contact. Ignoring the shattering pain in my legs from impact, I use my momentum to slide by, clipping the tendons alongside his knee as I pass.
He yells and falls forward like a fucking tree, slamming into the floor.
“Violet!” Dain shouts from somewhere behind me.
I scramble to my feet and turn back to the giant, who has already flipped himself onto his back as if impervious to pain, but he can’t stand with what I’ve done to him. He can, however, reach for one of the daggers he dropped and throw it at me.
Which he does.
“Shit!” I spin sideways to avoid my own blade, and he kicks out with the leg I didn’t slice.
His boot catches me behind my thigh.
The blow cuts my feet out from under me, and all I see is ceiling as I fall back, smashing my hip with the full force of my weight. Pain blinds me for a heartbeat when my head smacks against the floor, white-hot and so sharp my ears ring. But at least I haven’t stabbed myself with my blades. One is still in my hand, but my eyes blur and tell me it’s really two.
The first-year grabs hold of my right thigh and pulls, dragging me with the distinct squeaking sound of leather against the shiny floor. If I put my dagger through his hand, I’ll strike my own muscle.
So I swipe out at his arm instead, my reach only catching him with a cut across the forearm. My heart launches into my throat as people around me yell my name, but they can’t interfere. I’m a second-year, and this asshole isn’t in my squad.
His grip secure, he drags me feetfirst toward him, his puddled blood soaking the back of my neck and wetting my hair.
If I don’t get free, I’m dead.
