“No.” He pauses in surprise. “Why?”
“Just asking.” I take a fighting stance. “Let’s go.”
The next day, I ask him what his favorite food is in the middle of Battle Brief, using our mental connection. Pretty sure I hear him drop something at the back of the room before he answers.
“Chocolate cake. Stop being weird.”
I grin.
A day later, after Tairn puts me through an absolutely draining set of advanced flight maneuvers most third-years couldn’t stay seated through, either, we’re perched on a mountain peak with Tairn and Sgaeyl when I ask him how he knows Liam, just to see if he’ll tell me the truth.
“We were fostered together. What is with all the questions lately?”
“I barely know you.”
“You know me well enough.” He shoots me a look that says he’s over it.
“Hardly. Tell me something real.”
“Like what?” He turns in his seat to face me.
“Something like what those silver scars on your back are from.” I hold my breath, waiting for the answer, waiting for him to say anything that might let me in.
Even from twenty feet away, I can see him tense. “Why do you want to know?”
My grip tightens on the pommel scales. I instinctively knew the scars were private, but his reaction says there’s more to them than just a painful memory. “Why don’t you want to tell me?”
Sgaeyl startles, then launches into the air, leaving Tairn and me behind.
“Are you pushing for a reason?” Tairn asks.
“Can you give me one not to?”
“He cares for you. That’s already hard enough for him.”
I scoff. “He cares about keeping me alive. There’s a difference.”
“Not for him there isn’t.”
…
The afternoon skies above Basgiath are crystal clear in the middle of May for the first battle of the War Games that signify the approach of graduation. As much as I want to feel excitement that I’m so close to actually surviving my first year in the Riders Quadrant, my stomach is tight with anxiety.
Battle Briefs are getting more redacted. Professor Carr is getting more anxious that I haven’t manifested a signet like almost the entire first-year cadets. Dain is acting weird as fuck—friendly one minute and indifferent the next. Xaden is getting more secretive—if that were even possible—canceling some of our training for unexplained reasons. Even Tairn feels like there’s something he’s not telling me.
“What do you think our assignment is going to be?” Liam asks from my right as we stand in formation in the center of the courtyard with the rest of Fourth Wing. “Deigh thinks we’re on offense. He won’t stop going on about getting to kick Gleann’s ass—” He pauses, as if listening to his dragon. “Guess dragons hold grudges,” he finally whispers.
Leadership is gathered ahead of us, getting their assignments from Xaden.
“We’re definitely on offense,” Rhiannon answers from my left. “Otherwise, we’d already be in the field. I haven’t seen a single rider from First Wing since lunch.”
My stomach bottoms out. First Wing. Go figure they’d be our first opponent. Anything goes out there during War Games, and Jack Barlowe hasn’t forgotten that I put him in the infirmary for four days. He gave me a wider berth for weeks after Xaden executed Oren and the other kids who had attacked me—and of course everyone stopped fucking with me after Amber Mavis. But still, I’d catch a look from him as we passed in the halls or in the cafeteria, pure hatred burning in the glacial blue depths of his eyes.
“I think she’s right,” I tell Liam, struggling not to fidget as the sun bakes through my flight leathers. It’s been a while since I’ve envied the scribes and their cream uniforms, but this weather has me feeling like we got the shorter end of the uniform stick. It also doesn’t help that I must have slept wrong, because my knee is killing me, and the stabilizing wrap feels like it’s a million degrees. “Why do you think riders wear black anyway?”
“Because it’s badass,” Ridoc answers from behind me.
“So it’s harder to see when we bleed,” Imogen chimes in.
“Forget I asked,” I mumble, watching for any signs that the leadership meeting will be over soon. Bleeding is the last thing I want to do today. “Are we on offense or defense?” I ask Xaden.
“Little busy right now.”
“Oh no, am I distracting you?” A smile curves my mouth.
Shit, am I flirting? Maybe.
Do I care? Oddly enough…no.
“Yes.” His tone is so gruff that I have to press my lips in a tight line to keep from laughing.
“Come on. You’re taking forever over there. Give a girl a hint.”
“Both,” he growls, but he doesn’t shut me out with his shields—which I know he can do—so I have a little mercy on him and the meeting he’s supposed to be leading and leave him be.
Offense and defense? This afternoon should be interesting.
“You hear from Mira?” Rhiannon whispers, shooting me a quick glance.
