“Are you all right?” Rhiannon asks.

“Fine.”

“You sure about that?” She stares pointedly at my hand.

And the tendril of smoke rising from the pen. I drop it, then rub my hands together, like that’s going to help dispel the energy coursing through my body.

“Those assigned riots have reported back that the cities inside Poromiel are intact, leading us to the same conclusion you’ve drawn—this is a new tactic that plays on our compassion.” He says it with such certainty that I nearly applaud his acting. “Professor Devera?”

She clears her throat. “I read the reports this morning. There was no destruction mentioned.”

Whose reports? The scribes can’t be trusted.

“There you have it.” Markham shakes his head. “I think this is a good time to focus our discussion on the efficiency of propaganda and the role civilians play in supporting a war effort. Lies are powerful tools.”

He would know.

Somehow, I make it through the rest of the briefing without setting the map on fire, then pack my things in a hurry and force my way past the other cadets to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible.

I break into a run down the hallway, pulling the straps of my heavy pack tight so it doesn’t slam into my spine when I race down the steps. Agonizing heat spirals tight, building in preparation to strike, and when I finally push through the doors into the courtyard, I stumble forward and throw up my hands to release it.

Power rips through me and lightning strikes near the outer walls, far enough away that the flying gravel only impacts the wall.

I feel Tairn hovering on the edge of my mind, but he doesn’t lecture.

“Violet?” Rhiannon steps in front of me, her chest heaving from obviously having run after me.

“I’m fine,” I lie. Gods, that’s getting so fucking easy, and it’s the one thing she asked me not to do.

“Obviously.” She gestures to the courtyard.

“I have to go.” Step by step, I back away from her, a knot the size of the entire quadrant forming in my throat. “I’ll be late for RSC. Will you take notes?”

“Because that’s definitely the class you should be late for,” she says sarcastically. “What could possibly be more important than learning interrogation techniques?”

I shake my head, then pivot and run before I tell another lie. Into the dormitory. Down the steps. Through the tunnels. Across the bridge. Into the Healer Quadrant. I don’t stop running until I’m almost to the Archives, and then only my body slows, not my thoughts.

The guard stands but doesn’t challenge my right to walk straight past the large, circular door and into the Archives. Paper and glue and Dad. The scent fills my lungs, and the knot in my throat loosens as my heartbeat calms.

Until I realize at least two hundred scribes are seated at the tables, and every single one of them is staring at me. Then the organ beating in my chest picks up the pace again.

What in Amari’s name am I doing?

“You’ve apparently lost all common sense with your control and regressed to where you think you can locate it,” Tairn growls.

Fair point. Not that I’m telling him that.

“Just did.”

A tall figure in cream robes turns in her seat and looks me up and down. “The Archives are not open to riders at this hour.”

“I know.” I nod. And yet I’m here.

“What can we do for you?” the professor asks in a tone that suggests I find somewhere else to be.

“I just need…” What? To return the book I shouldn’t have?

Three rows back, a scribe stands, then walks forward, shooting me an incredulous look before lifting her hands to sign toward her professor. Jesinia.

The professor nods, and Jesinia heads my way, her eyes flaring in unspoken what-the-fuck as she approaches.

“I’m sorry,” I sign.

She turns to my right in front of the study table, and I follow, noting that the stacks block us from the class’s view. “What are you doing?” she signs. “You can’t be here right now.”

“I know. I accidentally ended up here.” I slip my pack from my shoulders and rummage through for the book, handing it over to her like this was some planned meeting.

She glances from me to the book, then sighs and steps back a few feet, cringing when she slides the book onto a shelf it absolutely doesn’t belong on. “You look upset.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “Are you going to be in trouble?”

“Of course not. I told her you are an impatient, arrogant rider, and it would be less disruptive to our studies if I helped you, all of which is true.” She glances toward the end of the stacks. “This couldn’t wait until Saturday?”

I start to nod, then shake my head. “I need to read faster.”

She studies my expression, and two lines appear between her eyebrows. “I asked what you were looking for, but I should have asked what will happen if you don’t find it.”

“People will die.” My stomach sinks lower with every word I sign. “That’s all I can say.”

She sits with that for a few seconds. “Have you at least told your squadmates whatever it is you’re too scared to tell me?”

“No.” I hesitate, struggling to find the words. “I can’t let anyone else die because of me. I’ve already put you in too much danger.”

“You gave me a choice. Don’t you think they deserve the same?” She levels a disappointed look on me when I don’t answer. “I’ll bring you a new selection tonight. Meet me on the bridge at eight.” She steps into my space. “Saturdays, Violet. Or you’ll get us caught.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

It was only when we pushed the wards to their true limits, extending them far past what we first thought possible and to what I now question as sustainable, that we defined the borders of Navarre, regretfully knowing not every citizen would benefit from their protection.

—THE JOURNEY OF THE FIRST SIX, A SECONDHAND ACCOUNT BY SAGAR OLSEN, FIRST CURATOR OF THE SCRIBE QUADRANT, BASGIATH WAR COLLEGE—TRANSLATED INTO THE COMMON LANGUAGE BY CAPTAIN MADILYN CALROS, TWELFTH CURATOR OF THE SCRIBE QUADRANT, BASGIATH WAR COLLEGE—TRANSLATED AND REDACTED FOR ACADEMIC CONSUMPTION BY COLONEL PHINEAS CARTLAND, TWENTY-SEVENTH CURATOR OF THE SCRIBE QUADRANT, BASGIATH WAR COLLEGE

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“You’re early!” I blurt when Xaden opens my door Saturday morning to find me on the floor of my room, surrounded by every history text I own and the two Jesinia loaned me.

Shit, I’m supposed to meet her in less than an hour.