A murmur of agreement goes around the room.
“Emery? Heaton?” Imogen asks. “As third-years, it’s your right.”
“No thanks.” Heaton leans back against the wall.
“Nope. There’s a reason neither of us wanted to be in leadership,” Emery adds, sitting next to Nadine. “Any reason you wouldn’t be all right following Imogen’s command for a few hours, Nadine?”
Every one of us turns to face the first-year who hasn’t been remotely subtle about her hatred of marked ones. Knowing now that she’s from a northern village on the border of the provinces of Deaconshire and Tyrrendor, I can see her reasoning. I just don’t agree with it, hence why I’m not exactly friendly with her.
She visibly swallows, her nervous gaze skittering over all of us. “I’m fine with it.”
“Good.” Imogen folds her arms across her chest, the wrist with her rebellion relic peeking out from under her tunic. “We have a little less than three hours. What are your ideas?”
“What about a piece of weaponry?” Ridoc suggests. “A cross-bolt would be deadly to any of our dragons in the hands of our enemies.”
“Too big,” Quinn says decisively. “There’s only one in the museum, and honestly, it’s not even the bolt that’s deadly, it’s the launching system.”
“Next?” Imogen glances at each of us.
“We could steal Panchek’s underw—” Ridoc starts before Rhiannon slams her hand over his mouth.
“And that’s why we don’t let you lead.” She arches a brow at him.
“Come on, guys! Think! What’s the most useful thing to our enemy?” Imogen’s brow puckers over her pale green eyes.
“Information,” Liam answers. He swings his gaze toward me. “Violet, what about stealing the news missives from the Archives? The ones that come in from the front?”
I shake my head. “It’s after seven. The Archives are locked, and it’s the kind of vault that even wielding isn’t going to touch. The whole room is sealed up airtight in case of fire.”
“Damn.” Imogen sighs. “That was a good one.”
The entire room breaks into conversation, each voice louder than the next as suggestions are hurled into the open.
Information. My stomach twists as an idea takes form. It would be a showstopper, something no one else could compare to. But… I shake my head. It’s too risky.
“What are you thinking, Sorrengail?” Imogen asks and the room falls silent. “I can see the little gears turning in your mind.”
“It’s probably nothing.” I glance at the members of our squad. But is it nothing?
“Get up here and work it out in your head,” Imogen orders.
“Seriously, it’s mad. Like, undoable. We’d get thrown in the brig if we’re caught.” I snap my mouth shut before I say anything more.
But it’s too late—Imogen’s eyes are sparkling with interest.
“Get. Up. Here. And. Work. It. Out,” she orders, making sure I know it’s not a suggestion.
“We can wield, right?” I stand, brushing my hands down my sides and the hilts of the six daggers sheathed there.
“By all means necessary,” Heaton repeats, nodding.
“All right.” I rock back on my heels, letting my mind whirl through a plan. “I know Ridoc can wield ice, Rhiannon can retrieve, Sawyer can manipulate metal, Imogen can mind-wipe recent memories—”
“And I’m fast,” she adds.
Something she has in common with Xaden.
“Heaton, what about you?” I ask.
“I can breathe underwater,” they answer.
I blink. “Awesome, but I don’t think that’s going to come in handy if we do this. Emery?”
“I can control wind.” He grins. “A lot of wind.”
All right, that one could be defensively useful, but not quite what I’m looking for.
My boots squeak on the floor as I turn to face her. “Quinn?”
“I can astral project. Keep my body in one place and then walk around somewhere else.”
My mouth hangs open, matching about half the squad.
“I know, it’s pretty awesome.” She winks, pulling her curls up into a bun.
“Yes. That we can use.” My head bobs as I parcel through the easiest way to do this.
“What are you thinking, Sorrengail?” Imogen prompts, tucking the short hair on one side of her shaved head behind her ear.
