My stomach hits the floor. If my shields slip, I could doom everyone in Aretia and every marked one in the quadrant.
Imogen’s eyes aren’t just wide—they’re huge as she looks at me, backing away from the mat before quickly disappearing. Where is she going? It’s not like she can run and get Xaden to interfere like last year. I’m on my own.
“No fucking way.” Rhiannon shakes her head. “She’s wounded.”
Maybe not entirely on my own.
“And since when does that matter?” the other squad leader counters.
Breathe. I need to breathe.
“This is bullshit.” I look Dain in the eyes when I say it, and he simply folds his arms across his chest. There’s no getting out of this. He’s a wingleader. He can challenge whomever he wants whenever he wants, just like Xaden had last year. Ironically, I’d been in far less danger the first time Xaden had taken me to my back on the mat. Then, I’d been gambling with just my life, but this could get the people I care about killed.
“Keep your shields in place,” Tairn warns. His agitation rolls through me, prickling the hair on my neck.
Dain steps out on to the mat, completely disarmed, but I’ve seen him spar. He’s not Xaden, but he’s deadly enough without any weapons, and I’m down an arm.
“You shouldn’t do this!” Bodhi shouts as he runs at us, skidding to a stop next to me. Imogen isn’t far behind. Ah, she’d run to find the closest person to Xaden possible. Makes sense. “She’s in a fucking sling, Aetos.”
“Last time I checked, you’re a section leader.” Dain narrows his eyes on Bodhi. “And your cousin isn’t her wingleader anymore. I am.”
The muscles in Bodhi’s neck bulge. “Xaden’s going to fucking kill him,” he whispers.
“Yeah, well, he isn’t here. It’s fine,” I lie, reaching for my first dagger. “Just remember who trained me.” I’m not talking about hand-to-hand, and from the look Bodhi gives me, he knows it, too.
“Keep the daggers if that makes you feel better, Cadet Sorrengail,” Dain says, finding the center of the mat.
My eyebrows shoot up.
“You know she’s good enough to kill you from here with those,” Bodhi reminds him.
“She won’t.” Dain cocks his head at me. “I’m her oldest friend. Remember?”
“And this is certainly friendly behavior,” Rhiannon counters.
Taking a fortifying breath, I secure every brick in my shields just like Xaden taught me and step out onto the mat, palming one of my daggers in my free hand. If it comes between killing Dain and saving Xaden, there’s no choice.
Emetterio signals the beginning of the match, and Dain and I circle each other.
“Reach for my face, and I’ll cut you open,” I warn him.
“Deal,” he responds a second before he lunges for me, going for the torso.
I know his moves and easily dodge the first attempt, spinning out of reach. He’s fast. Being chosen as wingleader wasn’t all nepotism. He’s always been good on the mat.
“You’re faster this year.” He smiles like he’s proud of me as we circle again.
“Xaden taught me a few things last year.”
He winces, then attacks, swinging for my torso again. I flip my dagger so the blade runs perpendicular to my forearm as I duck under his jab, then punch upward, clipping him under the jaw without cutting him.
“Fuck yes!” I hear Ridoc cheer, but I don’t take my eyes off Dain.
Dain blinks, then rotates his jaw. “Damn.” This time, he comes at me faster. It’s harder to duck and dodge his swings without my arm to balance, but I hold my own until he catches me unaware and sweeps my feet out from under me with his.
My back slams into the mat and pain erupts in my shoulder, so sharp that stars swim in my vision and I cry out. But damn if my blade isn’t at Dain’s throat when he pins me with a forearm at my collarbone a heartbeat later.
Shields. I have to keep my shields up.
“I just want to talk to you,” he whispers, his face inches from mine.
The pain is nothing compared to the ice-cold fear of having his hands this close to me.
“And I just want you to leave me the fuck alone.” I hold my knife steady right where he can feel it. “It’s not an idle threat, Dain. You will bleed out on this mat if you even think of taking a single one of my memories.”
“That’s what Riorson meant when he said Athebyne, isn’t it?” he asks, his tone just as soft as his eyes—those familiar eyes I’ve always been able to count on. How the hell did we end up here? Fifteen years of the closest friendship I’ve ever known, and my knife could end him with a flick of my wrist.
“You know damn well what he meant,” I reply, keeping my voice down.
Two lines appear between his brows. “I told my father what I saw when I touched you—”
“When you stole my memory,” I correct him.
“But it was a flash of a memory. Riorson told you he’d gone to Athebyne with his cousin.” He searches my eyes. “Second-years don’t get leave for that kind of flight, so I told my father. I know you were attacked on the way there, but I had no way of knowing—”
“You said I’ll miss you.” It comes out in a hiss. “And then you sent me to die, sent Liam and Soleil to their deaths. Did you know what was waiting for us?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I said ‘I’ll miss you’ because you chose him. I told you I knew things about him, that he had reasons you don’t know about to hate you, and you still chose him. I knew I was saying goodbye to any chance of us on that field. I had no clue gryphons were waiting to ambush you.”
