Then I hide away at every available second to read her book, when we’re not being lectured by Professor Grady about our inability to check our egos or getting what feels like pointless Battle Briefs.

But while it goes into detail about the complex interpersonal relationships of the First Six, and even a little of their battle experience during the Great War, it simply labels the enemy as General Daramor and our allies as the isle kingdoms.

Not exactly helpful.

The book Jesinia gives me on Saturday is The Sacrifice of Dragonkind, by one of Kaori’s predecessors, and goes into why Basgiath was chosen for the location of the wards.

“Green dragons, especially those descending from the line of Cruaidhuaine, have an especially stable connection to magic, which some believe is a result of their more reasonable, defensive nature,” I repeat in a whisper as I pack to head to Samara that night.

There’s absolutely nothing that could ruin my evening. Not when I’m about to see Xaden in the morning.

My eyes widen when I open the door and find Varrish standing there instead of Bodhi, flanked by his two henchmen, and immediately remind myself to thank Xaden for the wards that deny him entry. A quick step backward puts me out of his reach.

“Relax, Sorrengail.” He smiles like he didn’t nearly kill me with his little punishment. “I just came by to check your pack and walk you out to Tairn.”

I slip my pack from my shoulders and hold it out to him, careful not to let him touch my skin so he can’t slip through the wards. Then I keep my eyes locked on his henchmen as they dump my belongings instead of glancing to my bookcase to be sure my classified tome is hidden.

“It’s clear,” the woman says, and she’s kind enough to put my things away.

“Excellent.” Varrish nods. “Then we’ll just escort you to your dragon. You can’t be too careful around here, given the rash of attacks these last few weeks.” He tilts his head. “Funny that most seem to be focused on those of you who disappeared during War Games, don’t you think?”

“Not sure I’d ever call assaults ‘funny,’” I reply. “And I don’t need the escort.”

“Nonsense.” He steps back and gestures into the hallway. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to the daughter of the commanding general.”

My heart bolts at an unsustainable rhythm.

“It’s not a suggestion.” His smile slides.

I check my sheaths to be sure my daggers are in place, then walk into the hallway, feeling the tug of Xaden’s wards as I leave their safety. Every step I take for the next fifteen minutes is careful, deliberate, and I make sure I’m never within arm’s reach or striking distance.

“I noticed your squad didn’t have flight maneuvers this week,” Varrish says as we approach Tairn on the flight field.

“I’ll snack if he makes a move,” Tairn promises, and I start to breathe normally.

“We had a few injuries that needed to recover after running landings.”

“Hmm.” He gestures toward Tairn as if inviting me to ride my own dragon. “Well, it was noted, as you’ll soon see. I guess I’ll meet your little golden next week.”

Andarna.

“She is safe within the deepest stage of the Dreamless Sleep. You should be able to see her in a few weeks,” Tairn says.

“That’s what you said last week.” I mount quickly, my pulse settling as I strap into the saddle. “Before last year, I never would have considered that the safest place in the world was on the back of a dragon.”

“Before last year, I might have seen you as an appetizer.” He rolls his shoulders and launches.

When I get to Samara, I understand why Varrish warned that I’d see why he’d noted our lack of flight maneuvers.

I might be here, but Xaden is on twenty-four-hour duty in the operations center.

And I don’t have clearance.

Many historians choose to ignore the sacrifices made by both humans and dragonkind to establish Navarre under the first wards in favor of praising the spirit of unification, but I would be remiss not to mention the losses suffered, both in terms of the ancestral hatching grounds of each dragon breed and the civilians who did not survive the continent-wide migration that resulted from the opening of Navarre’s borders…or those lost when we closed them.

—THE SACRIFICE OF DRAGONKIND BY MAJOR DEANDRA NAVEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Bodhi can’t keep moving maneuvers for our section, or more teachers than Varrish are going to notice,” Imogen says on Wednesday as we walk toward Battle Brief, moving up the main staircase in a sea of black.

“Tairn is going to the Empyrean about Andarna, but absolutely nothing can be done until she wakes from the Dreamless Sleep anyway.”

She sighs. “How are things with Xaden?”

I nearly trip on the last step before the doorway. “You want to talk about my relationship with Xaden now?”

“I’m only giving you however long it takes us to reach the Battle Brief room.” Her face puckers like she’s tasted something sour. “So if you need to…talk, this is your chance, since I’ve noticed you’re still icing your friends out, which is a mistake.”

Well, in that case.

“One, Xaden told me to keep my distance if I couldn’t lie to them, and two, between the land nav course—which we failed—and his duty schedule, I think leadership is keeping us apart as a punishment for not producing Andarna. And it’s coded, but he says the same in the letter he left on his bed for me.” A letter that quickly became my favorite because it delves into what his life had been like before the rebellion. It also makes me wonder what he’d be like if that was still the reality he was living in.

“That’s just…weird,” Imogen says, her brow furrowing as her gaze scans the hallway for threats.

“It is.” I do the same, watching every pair of hands I can see. “The timing of the last two weeks is just too coincidental for it not to be on purpose.”

“Oh no, that part is completely understandable.” She side-eyes me. “Separating you two would be my first move if I was in a position of power. On your own, you’re both capable of terrifying things with those signets. Together? You’re a fucking menace. I mean it’s weird that he’s writing you letters.”

“Why? I think it’s…sweet.”

“Exactly. Does he strike you as a letters kind of guy?” She shakes her head. “He’s not even a talking kind of guy.”

“We’re trying to work on our communication.” It comes out a touch defensive.

“You’re eventually going to let him off the hook for keeping you in the dark, aren’t you?” She shoots me a look that says she clearly thinks I should and pulls two hairpins from her pocket. “Better answer quickly. We’re almost there.”

“Can you love someone who refuses to be open with you?” I challenge.

“One,” she blatantly mimics me, “we’re not talking about my love life. I have Quinn—my actual friend—for that.” She pins back the longest section of her pink hair with quick, efficient movements. “Two, we keep information classified all the time. You’d have the same problem with any rider you dated.”

“That’s not…” Fine, she has a point, but she’s missing mine. “All right, let’s say that you’re with someone, and one day a battle-ax comes hurtling out of his armoire—”

“An armoire? I really wish you’d go back to confiding in Rhiannon.” She shakes her head.

“—and nearly kills you. Wouldn’t you demand to see the rest of the armoire to make sure there are no other battle-axes poised to strike before getting back together with them?” We’re almost to the lecture hall.