“Just because it’s not in Tyrrish doesn’t mean you can’t walk into the Archives and read whatever translated Tyrrish book you want.” It’s his haughty, arrogant tone that pricks my temper.

“No, actually you can’t.” I drop the fabric in my lap. “For starters, no one can just walk into the Archives and read whatever they want. You have to put in a request that any scribe can deny. Secondly, only a portion of the original scribes spoke Tyrrish, meaning it would have taken hundreds of years to translate every text, and even then, there are no historical tomes older than four hundred years in our Archives that I know of. They’re all sixth, seventh, or eighth editions. Logic dictates that she’s right.” I gesture up to the girl a few rows ahead. “Things are lost in translation.”

He looks ready to argue.

“Cadet Trebor, if I were you, I would consider the fact that Cadet Sorrengail has spent more time in the Archives than anyone else in this room, and then I would carefully consider an intelligent response.” She arches a brow.

The guy from Third Wing shoots a glare in my direction and sits back in his chair.

“We lost our folklore,” Rhiannon says.

Every muscle in my body locks.

Devera cocks her head to the side. “Go on.”

“I’m from a border village near Cygnisen,” Rhiannon says. “A lot of our folklore came from the other side of the border, probably as a result of the Migration of The First Year, and as far as I know, none of it’s written. It only survives as an oral history.” She glances my way. “Violet and I were actually talking about this last year. People raised in Calldyr or Luceras or other provinces aren’t raised with that same folklore. They don’t know the stories, and generation by generation, we’re losing it.” She looks left, then right. “I’m sure all of us have similar stories, depending on where we grew up. Sawyer knows stories Ridoc doesn’t. Ridoc knows stories Violet doesn’t.”

“Impossible,” Ridoc counters. “Violet knows everything.”

Sawyer laughs and I roll my eyes.

“All excellent points.” Devera nods, a satisfied smile curving her mouth. “And what did the Migration of The First Year give us?”

“A more unified culture,” a girl from Tail Section answers. “Not only within our provinces but throughout the Continent. And it allowed those in what’s now Poromiel a chance to live under the safety of the wards if they chose to move.”

One year. That’s all Navarre gave before we closed our borders.

And if you couldn’t afford to move your family, couldn’t risk the treacherous journey… Nothing about war, or the aftermath, is kind.

“Correct,” Devera says. “Which means there’s every chance that when you fly against a drift, you could encounter a distant relative. The question we must all ask ourselves as we enter service is: are our sacrifices worth it to keep the citizens of Navarre safe?”

“Yes.” The answer is muttered all around me, some riders saying it louder than others.

But I keep quiet, because I know it’s not only Navarre paying the price—it’s everyone outside our wards.

The gym buzzes with anticipation that afternoon as the combat professors call the first names of the day to the mats. These will be the last challenges for months. The first-years will have the Gauntlet to worry about starting next week, then Presentation and Threshing. And the second-years will start disappearing by the squad for a few days at a time so they can teach us how to take torture.

Fun times.

A squad from Tail Section is called to our mat.

“I really hope I get called to the mat today.” Ridoc bounces on his toes. “I’m in the mood to kick some ass.”

“That makes one of us.” I tighten the strap of my sling over my armor. Looking across the mat, I nod to Imogen, lifting my eyebrows as she talks with Sloane.

She nods back with a smile, telling me wordlessly that Sloane is ready to take on her opponent today. Rhiannon and Sawyer are doing the same with the other first-years, checking in as names are called out around the gym. I glance Aaric’s way, but as usual, he’s completely, totally focused, tuning out everything around him as he stares at the mat.

“How bad do you think the attack on the Eastern Wing is? It has to be something massive to call out half the leadership all day long,” Ridoc muses.

Big enough to kill Masen.

“Speculating is only going to fuel rumors,” Dain says, taking the empty place on my left side.

Fuck. I’ve managed not to have to interact with him for weeks. I step closer to Ridoc and lock every brick of my shields in place.

“As opposed to not noticing that most of the professors flew out of here like the wards have fallen?” Ridoc asks.

“The wards haven’t fallen.” Dain barely spares him a glance, crossing his arms. “You’d know if they had.”

“You think we’d be able to feel it?” Ridoc asks.

“We would have been called out, too,” I say. “And the dragons would have told us.”

“Can’t you ask your mom?” Ridoc tilts his head.

“The woman who knew I was missing for a week, then told me to get back in formation when she realized I’d survived my first combat mission? Yeah, I’m sure she’ll be forthcoming with all the information.” I give him a sarcastic thumbs-up.

The first pair is called to the mat, and I’m simultaneously horrified and grateful I don’t know the first-year’s name.

“You finally going to talk to me?” Dain asks.

“No.” I don’t give him the courtesy of even looking at him and, to be sure he gets the point, I move to Ridoc’s other side, putting him between us.

“Come on, Violet.” He walks behind Ridoc, then squeezes in between Quinn and me. “You have to be ready at some point. We’ve been friends since you were five.”

“We’re no longer friends, and I’ll be ready to talk when the sight of you doesn’t make me want to bury my knife in your chest all the way to the fucking hilt.” I walk away before I act on the urge to stab the memory-stealing asshole.

“You cannot keep running away from me!”

I lift my middle finger and round the corner of the mat, taking the spot next to Rhiannon.

“What was that about?” she asks, wincing when our first-year takes a punch to the kidneys.

“Dain being an asshole, as usual.” Sometimes the best answer is the simplest.

Our first-year kicks out, catching Tail Section directly in the mouth, and blood sprays.

“I don’t get it.” She shoots me a confused look, leaning in to murmur so Dain doesn’t overhear. “I figured the thing at graduation was him and Riorson dick-measuring, but you don’t speak to Aetos anymore. I thought he was your best friend. Sure, you two grew apart last year, but to not even be on speaking terms?”

“Was.” My gaze tracks Dain as he walks around the mat to Professor Emetterio. “He was my best friend.” For fifteen years, there was no one closer. I’d thought he was going to be my everything.

“Look. I’ll hate him on principle if that’s what we’re doing. No problem with that. But I know you, and you don’t cut people out like that unless they hurt you. So tell me, as your friend: Did he hurt you?” she asks quietly. “Or is this something else we aren’t talking about?”