A slow smile spreads across my face. I know how to survive.

In the best interest of preserving peace within Navarre, no more than three cadets carrying rebellion relics may be assigned to any squad of any quadrant.

—Addendum 5.2, Basgiath War College Code of Conduct

In addition to last year’s changes, marked ones assembling in groups of three or more will now be considered an act of seditious conspiracy and is hereby a capital offense.

—Addendum 5.3, Basgiath War College Code of Conduct

CHAPTER

SEVEN

“Damn it,” I mutter as my toe catches a rock, and I stumble in the waist-high grass that grows alongside the river beneath the citadel. The moon is nice and full, illuminating my way, but it means I’m sweating to death in this cloak to keep hidden, just in case anyone else is out here wandering after curfew.

The Iakobos River rushes with summer runoff from the peaks above, and the currents are fast and deadly this time of year, especially coming out of the steep drop of the ravine. No wonder that first-year died when he fell in yesterday during our downtime. Since Parapet, our squad is the only one in the quadrant not to lose anyone, but I know that’s unlikely to last much longer in this ruthless school.

Tightening my heavy satchel over my sling, I move closer to the river, along the ancient line of oaks where I know one vine of fonilee berries will be coming into season soon. Ripe, the purple berries are tart and barely edible but, picked prematurely and left to dry, will make an excellent weapon in the growing arsenal that nine nights of sneaking out has given me. This was exactly the reason I brought the book of poisons with me.

Challenges start next week, and I need every possible advantage.

Spotting the boulder I’ve used as a landmark for the past five years, I count the trees on the riverbank. “One, two, three,” I whisper, spotting the exact oak I’ll need. Its branches spread wide and high, some even daring to reach out over the river. Lucky for me, the lowest is easily climbable, even more so with the grass oddly trampled underneath.

A twinge of pain shoots up through my shoulder as I slip my right arm out of the sling and begin to climb by moonlight and memory. The pain quickly fades to an ache, just like it has every evening while Rhiannon has been kicking my ass on the mat. Hopefully tomorrow Nolon will let me out of the annoying sling for good.

The fonilee vine looks deceptively like ivy as it winds up the trunk, but I’ve scaled this particular tree enough times to know this is the one. I’ve just never had to climb the damn thing in a cloak before. It’s a pain in my ass. The fabric catches on almost every branch as I move upward, slowly and steadily, climbing past the wide branch where I used to spend hours reading.

“Shit!” My foot slips on the bark and my heart stutters for a heartbeat while my feet find better holds. This would be so much easier during the day, but I can’t risk being caught.

Bark scrapes my palms as I climb higher. The tips of the vine leaves are white at this height, barely visible in the mottled moonlight through the canopy, but I grin as I find exactly what I’ve been searching for.

“There you are.” The purple berries are a gorgeous, unripe lavender. Perfect. Digging my fingernails into the branch above me, I manage to keep from wobbling long enough to retrieve an empty vial in my satchel and uncork it with my teeth. Then I pluck just enough berries off the vine to fill the glass and shove the stopper back in. Between these, the mushrooms I’ve already hunted tonight, and the other items I’ve collected, I should be able to make it through the next month of challenges.

I’m almost down the tree, only a handful of branches to go, when I spot movement beneath me and pause. Hopefully it’s just a deer.

But it’s not.

Two figures in black cloaks—apparently tonight’s disguise of choice—walk under the protection of the tree. The smaller one leans back against the lowest limb, removing her hood to reveal a half-shaved head of pink hair I know all too well.

Imogen, the squadmate who nearly ripped off my arm ten days ago.

My stomach tightens, then knots as the second rider slips off his own hood.

Xaden Riorson.

Oh shit.

There’s maybe fifteen feet between us and nothing—and no one—out here to stop him from killing me. Fear clenches my throat and holds tight as I white-knuckle the branches around me, debating the merits of holding my breath so he can’t hear me versus falling out of the tree if I faint from lack of oxygen.

They begin speaking, but I can’t hear what they’re saying, not with the river rushing by. Relief fills my lungs. If I can’t hear them, they can’t hear me, either, as long as I sit tight. But all it takes is for him to look up, and I’ll be toast, literally if he decides to feed me to that Blue Daggertail of his. The moonlight I was thankful for a few minutes ago has now become my biggest liability.

Slowly, carefully, quietly, I move out of the patchy moonlight to the next branch over, cloaking myself in shadow. What is he doing out here with Imogen? Are they lovers? Friends? It’s absolutely none of my business, and yet I can’t help but wonder if she’s the kind of woman he goes for—one whose beauty is only outmatched by her brutality. They fucking deserve each other.

Xaden turns away from the river, as though he’s looking for someone, and sure enough, more riders arrive, gathering under the tree. They’re all dressed in black cloaks as they shake hands. And they all have rebellion relics.

My eyes widen as I count. There are almost two dozen of them, a few third-years and a couple of seconds, but the rest are all firsts. I know the rules. Marked ones can’t gather in groups larger than three. They’re committing a capital offense simply by being together. It’s obviously a meeting of some sort, and I feel like a cat clinging to the leaf-tipped limbs of this tree while the wolves circle below.

Their gathering could be completely harmless, right? Maybe they’re homesick, like when the cadets from the Morraine province all spend a Saturday at the nearby lake just because it reminds them of the ocean they miss so much.

Or maybe marked ones are plotting to burn Basgiath to the ground and finish what their parents started.

I can sit up here and ignore them, but my complacency—my fear—could get people killed if they’re down there scheming. Telling Dain is the right thing to do, but I can’t even hear what they’re saying.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Nausea churns in my stomach. I have to get closer.

Keeping myself on the opposite side of the trunk and sticking to the shadows that wrap around me, I climb down another branch with sloth-like speed, holding my breath as I test each branch with a fraction of my weight before lowering myself. Their voices are still muffled by the river, but I can hear the loudest of them, a tall, dark-haired man with pale skin, whose shoulders take up twice the space of any first-year, standing opposite Xaden’s position and wearing the rank of a third-year.

“We’ve already lost Sutherland and Luperco,” he says, but I can’t make out the response.

It takes two more rungs of branches before their words are clear. My heart pounds like it’s trying to escape my ribs. I’m close enough for any one of them to see if they look hard enough—well, everyone except Xaden, since his back is turned toward me.

“Like it or not, we’re going to have to stick together if you want to survive until graduation,” Imogen says. One little hop to the right and I could repay that callous shoulder maneuver she pulled on me with a quick kick to her head.

I just happen to value my own life more than I want revenge at the moment, so I keep my feet to myself.

“And if they find out we’re meeting?” a first-year girl with an olive complexion asks, her eyes darting around the circle.

“We’ve done this for two years and they’ve never found out,” Xaden responds, folding his arms and leaning back against the limb below my right. “They’re not going to unless one of you tells. And if you tell, I’ll know.” The threat is obvious in his tone. “Like Garrick said, we’ve already lost two first-years to their own negligence. There are only forty-one of us in the Riders Quadrant, and we don’t want to lose any of you, but we will if you don’t help yourselves. The odds are always stacked against us, and trust me, every other Navarrian in the quadrant will look for reasons to call you a traitor or force you to fail.”

There’s a muttered assent, and my breath hitches at the intensity in his voice. Damn it, I don’t want to find a single thing about Xaden Riorson admirable, and yet here he is, being all annoyingly admirable. Asshole.

Have to admit, it would be nice if a high-ranking rider from my province gave a shit if the rest of us from the province lived or died.

“How many of you are getting your asses handed to you in hand-to-hand?” Xaden asks.

Four hands shoot into the air, none of which belong to the spiky-blond-haired first-year standing with his arms crossed, a head taller than most others. Liam Mairi. He’s in Second Squad, Tail Section of our wing and already the top cadet in our year. He practically ran across the parapet and destroyed every opponent on assessment day.

“Shit,” Xaden swears, and I would give anything to see his expression as he lifts a hand to his face.

The big one—Garrick—sighs. “I’ll teach them.” I recognize him now. He’s the Flame Section leader in Fourth Wing. My direct superior above Dain.

Xaden shakes his head. “You’re our best fighter—”

“You’re our best fighter,” a second-year near Xaden counters with a quick grin. He’s handsome, with tawny brown skin crowned by a cloud of black curls and a litany of patches on what I can see of his uniform under his cloak. His features are close enough to Xaden’s that they might be related. Cousins, maybe? Fen Riorson had a sister, if I remember correctly. Shit, what was the guy’s name? It’s been years since I read the records, but I think it started with a B.

“Dirtiest fighter, maybe,” Imogen snarks.