I laugh, the sound tripping out of my lips hysterically. “Jack Barlowe saved my life.”

“Are you kidding?” Ridoc rises up and cups my face, checking my eyes for signs of concussion.

“No. He said this makes us even, and I really think he failed math, because by my calculations now I owe him two lives: the one I took from him, and the one he just gave me.”

“I should have come with you.” His hands fall away.

“No.” I shake my head, and my vision swims. “They could have killed you, too.” Shivers rack my frame.

“What do you need?”

“Just wait with me while it passes.”

Silence stretches between us.

“I saw Jesinia,” he says quietly. “The good news is she knows where the vault is. There are wards, but she knows how to get through them, too. But the bad news is we need someone in King Tauri’s bloodline to do it. They’re not just in some sublevel vault. They’re in the royal one.” His shoulders dip in defeat. “I’m sorry, Violet.”

I look over at Eya’s boots. There’s nothing I can do to protect her now, but I can protect what she fought for. “Then it’s a good thing we have access to a prince who happens to hate his father.”

Gods save us from the ambitions of second-years. They think they’ve experienced everything because they’ve survived their first year, but in reality, they only know enough to get themselves killed.

—MAJOR AFENDRA’S GUIDE TO THE RIDERS QUADRANT (UNAUTHORIZED EDITION)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Xaden stares down at me that Saturday, his eyes boring a hole through my soul, and a muscle in his jaw ticks once. Twice.

At least there aren’t any shadows creeping out from under my bed, so he can’t be that angry, right?

“Say something.” I hold his gaze and shift my weight when the edge of my desk digs into the backs of my thighs.

His shoulders rise with a deep breath. At least one of us is getting enough oxygen. My chest feels like it’s about to squeeze my lungs right out of it.

“Rhiannon saved my life. If she hadn’t retrieved that dagger before Varrish took your jacket, I wouldn’t be sitting here.” It comes out like the plea it is. “They had to know eventually. She saw the dagger. She knew something was up.”

Those beautiful eyes close, and I swear I can feel him counting to ten.

Fine, maybe twenty.

“Say something. Please,” I whisper.

“I’m choosing my words carefully,” he replies, then takes another measured breath.

“I appreciate that.” I open my mouth to make another excuse, but there really is none to give, so I sit and listen to the clock tick and rain pelt the window while he composes his thoughts.

“Who exactly knows?” he finally asks, slowly opening his eyes.

“Rhiannon, Sawyer, Ridoc, and Quinn.”

“Quinn, too?” His eyes flare.

I hold up a finger. “That was all Imogen.”

“For fuck’s sake.” He drags a hand down his face.

“They don’t know everything.” He lifts his scarred brow, looking anything but reassured.

“They don’t know about Aretia or Brennan or the luminary issue.” I cock my head to the side. “Which really isn’t an issue if I can get a week away from this place to fly to Cordyn. It’s what? A two-day flight?” The city on the southern coast of the Krovlan province can’t be too far.

“Stop.” He leans in, bringing his face right up to mine, bracketing my hips on the desktop with his hands. “Do not go there with me. Not right now. This asinine idea of breaking into the Archives tonight is more than enough for me to sweat about without worrying you’re going to fly off and get yourself captured and killed in enemy territory.”

“It’s not an idea—it’s a plan.” I cup his cheeks. “And it doesn’t feel like you’re sweating to me.”

A sound like a growl works up his throat as he pushes away, retreating a step. “You have no idea what I’m thinking.”

“You’re right. I don’t. So tell me.” I grip the edge of the desk and wait to see if he’ll shut me out as usual.

He runs his thumb beneath the bottom lip I haven’t had the chance to kiss and glances toward the books piled on my shelves. “I appreciate you waiting for me to do this, but there are holes in your plan.”

“What holes?”

“You haven’t secured the agreement of the key participant, for starters—” He lifts a finger.

“That’s because—”

“No, no, it’s my turn to talk right now. You asked what I was thinking, right?” He gives me the wingleader look—the shrewd, calculated one that used to scare the shit out of me—and I snap my mouth shut. He lifts a second finger. “Jesinia won’t be the only scribe there, which means there’s a high probability of being caught.” A third finger joins the other two. “Not only do the books have to be stolen, they have to be returned before anyone notices. Or were you planning on staying overnight to read?”

“I wasn’t borrowing tomorrow’s trouble on that one,” I admit.

“And you really think we can get in and out in under an hour? Because the alternative leaves us dead.”

“We don’t have much of a choice if we want those journals.”

He sighs deeply, then closes the distance between us and takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger to gently tilt my face toward his. “How certain are you that the answers to the wardstone are in those books?”

“We’ve read through half the classified tomes on ward-weaving and repair in the last month, and whatever we haven’t, Jesinia has. They only cover weaving into existing wards or repairing them. Those journals are our best shot at learning how the First Six built the first wards. Our only shot.”

“You know they’ll kill us if we’re caught, right?”

Us. I slide my hands up his chest. “We’re dead anyway if we don’t get Aretia’s wards up. We have months if Brennan’s right, and he usually is. The truth is coming out. It’s just a matter of time.”

His attention drops to my mouth, and my pulse leaps. “If you’re certain this is the only way, then I’m in. There’s no chance I’m letting you do this on your own.”

My smile is instantaneous. “You’re not going to argue? Or tell me there’s another way?”

“Me? Argue with you about books?” He shakes his head, sliding his hand to my cheek. “I only pick fights I can win.” He lowers his mouth inch by slow inch, then stops a breath away. “It’s your turn to talk now.”