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.
He blinks and shuts the door behind him. “Hello to you, too.”
“Hi,” I respond, my voice softening. The elation of seeing him is tempered by the shadows under his eyes. “Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to make it until noon, if they even let you come and— You look…exhausted.” Even his movements are slower. Not by much, but I notice.
“That’s what every man wants to hear.” He sets his swords by the door and drops his pack right next to them. Like it’s where they go. Like this room is partly his, too. Like his room at Samara feels like it’s mine. Neither of us has ever asked for separate quarters.
Maybe I can’t fully trust him, but I also can’t stand to be away from him.
“I didn’t say you aren’t beautiful. I implied that you need a nap.” I nod toward my empty bed. “You should sleep.”
His slow smile stops my heart. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“Like you don’t already know that.” I roll my eyes and flip the page in The Journey of the First Six, a Secondhand Account, averting my gaze. “I also think you smell like you’ve been flying for twelve hours.” It’s not exactly true, but maybe it will check the already enormous ego I just inflated.
“Gods, I missed you.” He laughs and rips off his flight jacket, revealing the short sleeves of his summer uniform and indecently toned arms.
I breathe through the impulse to forget every single worry for a couple of hours by laying him out over this floor and try like hell to concentrate on the text in front of me.
“Think anyone will report me for using the bathing chamber?” He’s already rummaging through his pack.
“I don’t think anyone would report you for cold-blooded murder around here, let alone taking a bath.”
“Lieutenants aren’t exactly supposed to be sleeping in cadets’ quarters when they visit,” he tells me. “We’re breaking a few rules.”
“Never bothered you before.” Letting his assumption that he’s sleeping here slide, I glance up from the book and immediately regret it when I see that he’s shirtless. Gods help me if he strips off anything else.
“Didn’t say it bothered me now.” He stands, his arms full of fresh clothes from his pack. “Just don’t want to see you punished for my actions. I thought they were going to find a way to send you on maneuvers today, or just lock you away.”
“Me too.” Awareness spreads through every part of my body as I lock eyes with him. “I’m sure they’ll find a dark cellar for you next week, so we should try to enjoy this one.”
“You and I have different definitions of the word ‘enjoy.’” He gestures to the books scattered on my floor.
“Not really.” I scan the page quickly and flip to the next. “I think spending the day tangled up in that bed together would be enjoyable, but since you drew your line, here I am with boring, sexless books.”
“Say those three little words, and I’ll have you naked in seconds.” He looks at me with so much heat that I do a double take when I glance up, my breath catching.
“I want you.” All day. Every day.
“Those are not the three words I need.” He slides into my mind like a caress. “And why aren’t your shields up?”
