“And a second-year rider, cadet,” he growls.

Gravel crunches, like Rhiannon has backed up a step.

“No one can see you here, Vi, so take your time,” Dain says softly.

“Because puking my guts up after surviving the parapet and the asshole who wanted to throw me off it would be considered weak.” I rise slowly, sitting upright.

“Exactly,” he answers. “Are you hurt?” His gaze rakes over me with a desperate edge, like he needs to see every inch for himself.

“My knee is sore,” I admit in a whisper, because it’s Dain. Dain, whom I’ve known since we were five and six. Dain, whose father is one of my mother’s most trusted advisers. Dain, who held me together when Mira left for the Riders Quadrant and again when Brennan died.

He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning my face left and right for his inspection. “That’s all? You’re sure?” His hands run down my sides and pause at my ribs. “Are you wearing daggers?”

Rhiannon takes my boot off and sighs in relief, wiggling her toes.

I nod. “Three at my ribs and one in my boot.” Thank gods, or I’m not sure I’d be sitting here right now.

“Huh.” He drops his hands and looks at me like he’s never seen me before, like I’m a complete stranger, but then he blinks and it’s gone. “Get your boots switched. You two look ridiculous. Vi, do you trust this one?” He nods toward Rhiannon.

She could have waited for me at the security of the citadel walls and thrown me off just like Jack tried to do, but she didn’t.

I nod. I trust her as much as anyone can trust another first-year around here.

“All right.” He stands and turns toward her. There are sheaths at the sides of his leathers, too, but there are daggers in each of them, where mine are still empty. “I’m Dain Aetos, and I’m the leader for Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing.”

Squad leader? My brows jump. The highest ranks among the cadets in the quadrant are wingleader and section leader. Both positions are held by elite third-years. Second-years can rise to squad leaders, but only if they’re exceptional. Everyone else is simply a cadet before Threshing—when the dragons choose who they will bond—and a rider after. People die too often around here to hand out ranks prematurely.

“Parapet should be over in the next couple of hours, depending on how fast the candidates cross or fall. Go find the redhead with the roll—she’s usually carrying a crossbow—and tell her that Dain Aetos put both you and Violet Sorrengail into his squad. If she questions you, tell her she owes me from saving her ass at Threshing last year. I’ll bring Violet back to the courtyard shortly.”

Rhiannon glances at me, and I nod.

“Go before someone sees us,” Dain barks.

“Going,” she answers, shoving her foot into her boot and lacing it quickly as I do the same with mine.

“You crossed the parapet with an equestrian boot too big for you?” Dain asks, glaring down at me with incredulity.

“She would have died without trading mine.” I stand and wince as my knee objects and tries to buckle.

“And you’re going to die if we don’t find you a way out of here.” He offers his arm. “Take it. We need to get you to my room. You need to wrap that knee.” His eyebrows rise. “Unless you found some miracle cure I don’t know about in the last year?”

I shake my head and take his arm.

“Damn it, Violet. Damn it.” He tucks mine discreetly against his side, grabs my rucksack with his empty hand, then leads me into a tunnel at the end of the alcove in the outer wall I hadn’t even seen. Mage lights flicker on in the sconces as we pass and extinguish after we go by. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Well aware.” I let myself limp a little, since no one can see us now.

“You’re supposed to be in the Scribe Quadrant,” he seethes, leading me through the tunnel in the wall. “What the hell happened? Please tell me you did not volunteer for the Riders Quadrant.”

“What do you think happened?” I challenge as we reach a wrought-iron gate that looks like it was built to keep out a troll…or a dragon.

He curses. “Your mother.”

“My mother.” I nod. “Every Sorrengail is a rider, don’t you know?”

We make it to a set of circular steps, and Dain leads me up past the first and second floor, stopping us on the third and pushing open another gate that creaks with the sound of metal on metal.

“This is the second-year floor,” he explains quietly. “Which means—”

“I’m not supposed to be up here, obviously.” I tuck in a little closer. “Don’t worry—if someone sees us, I’ll just say that I was overcome with lust at first sight and couldn’t wait another second to get you out of your pants.”

“Ever the smart-ass.” A wry smile tugs at his lips as we start down the hall.

“I can throw in a few oh, Dain cries once we’re in your room just for believability,” I offer, and actually mean it.

He snorts as he drops my pack in front of a wooden door, then makes a twisting motion with his hand in front of the handle. A lock audibly clicks.

“You have powers,” I say.

It’s not news, of course. He’s a second-year rider, and all riders can perform lesser magics once their dragons choose to channel their power…but it’s…Dain.

“Don’t look so surprised.” He rolls his eyes and opens the door, carrying my pack as he helps me inside.

His room is simple, with a bed, dresser, desk, and wardrobe. There’s nothing personal about it other than a few books on his desk. I note with a tiny burst of satisfaction that one is the tome on the Krovlan language that I gave him before he left last summer. He’s always had a gift for languages. Even the blanket on his bed is simple, rider black, as if he might forget why he’s here while sleeping. The window is arched, and I move toward it. I can see the rest of Basgiath across the ravine through the clear glass.

It’s the same war college and yet an entire world away. There are two more candidates on the parapet, but I look away before I can feel invested just to watch them fall. There is only so much death one person can take in a day, and I’m at my fucking maximum.

“Do you have wraps in here?” He hands me the rucksack.

“Got them all from Major Gillstead,” I answer with a nod, plopping down on the edge of his expertly made bed and starting to dig through my pack. Luckily for me, Mira is an infinitely better packer than I am, and the wraps are easy to spot.

“Make yourself at home.” He grins, leaning back against the closed door and hooking one ankle over the other. “As much as I hate that you’re here, I have to say it’s more than nice to see your face, Vi.”

I look up, and our eyes meet. The tension that’s been in my chest for the last week—hell, the last six months—eases, and for a second, it’s just us. “I’ve missed you.” Maybe it’s exposing a weakness, but I don’t care. Dain knows almost everything there is to know about me anyway.

“Yeah. I’ve missed you, too,” he says quietly, his eyes softening.

My chest draws tight, and there’s an awareness between us, an almost tangible sense of…anticipation as he looks at me. Maybe after all these years, we’re finally on the same page when it comes to wanting each other. Or maybe he’s just relieved to see an old friend.

“You’d better get that leg wrapped.” He turns around to face the door. “I won’t look.”

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” I arch my hips and shimmy my leather pants down past my thighs and over my knees. Shit. The one on the left is swollen. If anyone else had taken that stumble, they would have ended up with a bruise, maybe even a scrape. But me? I have to fix it so my kneecap stays where it’s supposed to. It’s not just my muscles that are weak. My ligaments that hold my joints together don’t work for shit, either.

“Yeah, well, we’re not sneaking away to swim in the river, are we?” he teases. We grew up together through every post our parents had been stationed at, and no matter where we were, we always managed to find a place to swim and trees to climb.

I fasten the wrap at the top of my knee, then wind and secure the joint in the same way I’ve done since I was old enough for the healers to teach me. It’s a practiced motion that I could do in my sleep, and the familiarity of it is almost soothing, if it didn’t mean I was starting in the quadrant wounded.

As soon as I get it fastened with the little metal clasp, I stand and tug my leathers back up over my ass and button them. “All covered.”