“Excellent.” Devera nods.
“Are you seriously going to leave Basgiath without—” Without what? Declaring his undying…lust?
“Yes.”
Of course he would. Xaden is a master of containing his emotions, which is probably why he’s so fixed on containing mine, too. Or is there some other reason he’s holding himself back that I’m not considering? The sex was great. Our chemistry? Explosive. We’re even…friends, though the constant ache in my chest tells me it’s gone far beyond that. If he could just be an asshole, then I’d write that night off as just sex—ridiculously mind-blowing sex—and move on. But he’s not being an ass…not usually at least, and now I understand why he takes his job so seriously. He shoulders the responsibility for every marked one in here.
“Whatever you’re thinking can wait until there’s not a room of people between us,” he says.
“What else do you have for me?” Devera continues, calling on a second-year.
It’s been a month and a half since we destroyed my room—and we’ve managed to keep our hands off each other, even though one night wasn’t enough to satisfy either of us, if the tension-filled evenings on the sparring mats are any indication. Of course, we both know anything more would only further complicate an already overly complicated situation.
But surely he’s not relieving this sexual tension that stretches taut between us—with someone else. Surely. The insidious thought spreads with a sickening quickness.
I stop listening as my stomach twists at an all-too-real possibility. “Is there someone else?”
“I’m not having this discussion with you right now. Pay attention.”
It takes everything I have not to turn around and yell at him. If I’ve spent every night tossing and turning in my sheets alone while he—
“That’s a good idea, too, Aetos.” Devera smiles. “A very wingleader answer, if I might say so.”
Oh gods, Dain’s ego is going to be unbearable today during sparring if Devera keeps complimenting him.
Sparring… I clasp my pen a little too hard as I remember the way Imogen looked at Xaden that night. Shit. That would make sense. She carries a rebellion relic, and definitely isn’t the daughter of the woman who killed his father, so she has that going for her, too. “Is it Imogen?”
I’m going to be sick.
“For fuck’s sake, Violence.”
“Is it? I know we said we weren’t going there again, but—” I’m kicking myself for telling him I wanted more now, and for the fact that I should be paying attention instead of fighting with Xaden. “At least tell me.”
“Sorrengail,” Xaden snaps.
I freeze, feeling the weight of every gaze on me.
“Yes, Riorson?” Devera prompts.
He clears his throat. “If reinforcements were unavailable, I would have asked for Mira Sorrengail to temporarily transfer. The wards are strong at Montserrat, and with her signet, she could reinforce the weaknesses until other riders could arrive to strengthen those wards.”
“Good idea.” Devera nods. “And what riders are the most logical choice to help rebuild the wards in this particular mountain pass?”
“Third-years,” I answer.
“Go on.” Devera tilts her head at me.
“Third-years are taught to build wards, and at this point in the year, they’re leaving anyway.” I shrug. “May as well send them early so they can be of use.”
“Point fucking made.”
I slam my shield down and block him out.
“That’s a logical choice,” Devera says. “And that’s all we have for today. Don’t forget that you should be preparing for the last exercise of War Games before graduation. Also we expect each and every one of you in the courtyard in front of Basgiath tonight at nine for fireworks to celebrate Reunification Day. Dress uniforms only.” She lifts her brows at Ridoc.
He shrugs. “What else would I be wearing?”
“One never knows what you’ll come up with,” Devera says, dismissing us.
“Anything I need to know about what’s going on between you and…” Liam raises his eyebrows at me as we gather our things.
“Absolutely nothing is going on between us. Not one damn thing,” I insist. If Xaden doesn’t want to see if there might be more between us, message received. I turn to Rhiannon. “So are you excited to finally be able to write to your sister in ten days?”
She grins. “I’ve been writing her once a month since we got here. Now I’ll finally get to post them.”
At least one good thing is coming with graduation. We’ll all be able to talk to our loved ones again.
…
Later that night, I adjust the sash across the bodice of my black dress uniform and tuck a loose strand of my hair back into the pretty arrangement Quinn helped me with earlier before meeting Rhiannon in the hallway.
She’s unbound her hair from its usual braided, protective style, and the tight coils form a beautiful halo around her face, which she’s dusted with gold-tinted blush. Her chosen option of sleek, tailored dress pants and a cross-body doublet that cuts across her torso on the diagonal looks phenomenal on her taller frame. “Hot,” I say with a nod as she tugs on her sash.
I went with the high neck, sleeveless option to hide my armor and the flowing, floor-length skirt with the slit up the thigh, which Devera told me was for mobility in case of attack. Personally, I’m not against the flash of thigh it gives when I move, especially with all the work I’ve put in to strengthen my legs with Imogen. My sash is simple, the same black satin as everyone else’s, with my name embroidered just beneath my shoulder and the star of a first-year.
“I heard there’s going to be a mob of infantry guys there,” Nadine says as she joins us.
“Don’t you prefer a little brain with your brawn?” Ridoc slides right in, Sawyer at his side.
