I sign slowly so she doesn’t miss a word. “The title wasn’t wrong. I found my copy.”

She takes a deep breath. “Which means our Archives are incomplete. There are books in existence we have no record of.”

“Yes.” And now we’re talking treason. I can’t tell her too much, not just for her own safety but in case…in case I’m wrong about her.

“I sent requests to other libraries looking for a wider collection of folklore, but the responses made it clear we have the most comprehensive selection.” Her forehead wrinkles in concern.

“Yes.” Gods, she’s catching on without me even having to tell her. “Does anyone know what you were doing?”

“I implied that it was a personal passion to collect forgotten folklore from the border regions.” She winces. “And then I implied that I was considering compiling a new tome as my third-year endeavor to graduate. I lied.” Her mouth tightens, and she drops her hands.

“I’m doing a lot of that lately.” Once I’m sure we’re still alone, I continue. “Have you recorded any that I’ve asked for this year?”

“No.”

Great Dunne. If she’s caught breaking regulation, she won’t just be denied the adept path; she’ll be expelled from the college—or worse. She’s already risking so much on my account, if she’s telling the truth.

“You’re looking for something. I knew it the second you lied about preparing for a debate.” She searches my eyes. “You’re a horrible liar, Violet.”

I laugh. “I’m working on it.”

“Can you tell me what you’re looking for? I won’t record your requests, not if you’re thinking the same thing I am.”

“Which is?”

“That our Archives are incomplete, either by ignorance…” She breathes deeply. “Or intention.”

“Helping me could hurt you.” My stomach sinks. “Get you killed. It’s not fair to bring you into something dangerous.”

“I can handle myself.” She lifts her chin, and her next gestures are sharp. “Tell me what you need.”

What can I tell her without endangering her further? Or risking our exposure? I have no idea if she’s capable of shielding Dain or any memory reader from her mind. So clearly nothing about battles or venin. But that’s not what I need, anyway. “I need the most comprehensive texts you have about how the First Six built the wards.”

“The wards?” Her eyes flare.

“Yes.” It’s the simplest request that could be messily explained by wanting to research how to strengthen our defenses…if she tells. “But no one can know I’m asking, that I’m researching. More than my life depends on it. The older the text, the better.”

She looks away for what feels like the longest minute of my life. She has every right to pause, to think, to realize just how badly this could go for both of us. This isn’t a slip of memory, simply forgetting to record a request from a friend. This betrays her quadrant, her training. Her eyes meet mine. “I can’t risk Aoife seeing right now, but I’ll find you this week with the first tome I’m thinking of. One is all I can risk going missing. Saturdays are usually the day I work the Archives, when it’s quiet. Bring it back then and I’ll give you another if the first doesn’t have what you need. Only Saturdays.” She lifts her brows as she signs those last two words.

“When it’s quiet.” I nod in understanding, my stomach flipping with a mixture of hope and fear that I’m going to get her hurt…or worse. Glancing over her shoulder, I see Aoife walking our way. “Aoife is coming,” I sign, keeping my hands where the other scribe can’t see them. “Thank you.”

“But there’s something I want in return,” she signs quickly, angling her back so Aoife won’t see.

“Name it.”

“You think Sloane has a shot?” Rhi asks on Monday as we watch the first round of challenges be called out.

My stomach churns with nausea like I’m the one who’s going to be summoned to the mat. Fuck, I’d actually feel better if it was my name I knew they were going to call instead of Sloane’s.

“She’ll win,” I answer truthfully.

I pocket the latest letter Xaden left me on my bed—I’ve already read it four times—as Aaric takes his place on the mat. I glance around and see Eya waiting with First Squad and offer a fast smile, which she returns. Ever since she helped me after my near burnout, we’ve developed a weird sort of relationship. We’re friendly, if not friends, at least.

Turns out Xaden has known Eya since they were ten, according to the letter. Her mother was active in the government of Tyrrendor, holding a council seat even though she was a rider, which is uncommon. In fact, most of the aristocracy chooses to serve in the infantry, just like Xaden’s father, because riders are discouraged from holding their family’s seats. Not only are our commissions lifelong instead of the few years an infantry officer can agree to, but too much power in one person terrifies any king.

“You forgive him yet for whatever it is he lied to you about?” Rhi darts a meaningful look at my pocket, then folds her arms and glares at a pair of first-years shoving each other near the edge of the mat. “Stop fucking around!”

They instantly halt.

“Impressive.” I grin, but it falls quickly. “And it’s hard to talk something out with him when we only see each other once a week.”

“Fucking first-years,” she mutters, then glances over at me. “That’s a good point. But you should get some time this weekend. Hey, did Ridoc tell you he saw Nolon yesterday?”

“He just said he had to take one of the first-years to the infirmary,” I say, raising one eyebrow in question.

“Trysten.” She nods. “He’s the one with the floppy hair that never quite stays out of his eyes.”

“Whatever his name is. The guy who shattered his forearm.” I don’t want to know his name. I already feel responsible for Sloane—who is currently swaying back and forth nervously across the mat. Emotionally attaching to any more first-years is just reckless. “Ridoc said that Nolon couldn’t even see them until after dinner, and there were only a handful of other cadets in the infirmary.”

“And when he walked out of that secretive room he’s got with Varrish in the back of the infirmary, he was with an air wielder who looked just as haggard,” Ridoc chimes in as he sidles up between us. “So clearly Nolon isn’t doing his best work. Guy needs a month off.”

Aaric delivers a punch to his opponent’s jaw that makes the guy’s head snap back.

“I give that a seven,” Ridoc heckles from the sidelines.

“Out of ten? Solid eight,” Sawyer counters from the other side of Rhiannon. “Perfect form.” Then he lowers his voice and adds just for the four of us, “And I’m still going with the torture theory. I bet they’ve got gryphon riders in there or something.”

“You think he’s really torturing people back there?” Rhiannon says, lowering her voice even more.

“I have no clue.” I blink as Aaric elbows his opponent in the throat with a quick jab that even Xaden would respect. “I would think they’d use the main interrogation chambers if they were doing something like that. The ones beneath the school.”

“That’s a fucking nine,” Sawyer calls out.

“Nine!” Ridoc agrees, throwing up his hands with all of his fingers spread out except a thumb.

I laugh, then gasp as Aaric breaks his opponent’s nose with the heel of his hand, ending the match. Emetterio declares him the winner, and the first-year has the decency to make it off the mat before dropping his hand away from his gushing nose.

That’s a lot of blood.

Sawyer and Ridoc break out in applause, both shouting scores.

“Gods, can that one fight.” Rhi nods slowly in approval as Aaric takes his place in the squad.