“I don’t,” Nolon grumbles. “I’ve never agreed with the way they conscripted those kids to the Riders Quadrant as punishment for the sins of their parents. We have never forced conscripts into that quadrant. Ever. And for a very good reason. Most cadets don’t survive—which was likely the point, I suspect. Regardless, you certainly shouldn’t have to suffer for the honor of your mother. General Sorrengail saved Navarre by capturing the Great Betrayer.”
“So you won’t mend her, right?” Dain asks softly so he can’t be heard outside the curtain. “I’m just asking that the healers do their work and let nature take the time it needs. No magic. She doesn’t stand a chance if she goes back in there in a cast or has to defend herself while her shoulder heals from reconstruction surgery. The last one took her four months. This is our chance to get her out of the Riders Quadrant while she’s still breathing.”
“I’mnotgoingtothesibes.” So much for not slurring. “Sibes,” I try again. “SIBES.” Oh, fuck it. “Mendme.”
“I will always mend you,” Nolon promises.
“Just. This. Once.” I concentrate on every word. “If. The others. See I need. Mending. Allthetime, they’ll. Think. I’m weak.”
“Which is why we have to use this opportunity to get you out!” Panic rises in Dain’s voice, and my heart sinks. He can’t protect me from everything, and watching me break, watching me eventually die is going to ruin him. “Walking out of here and going straight to the Scribe Quadrant is your best chance at survival.”
I glare at Dain and choose my words carefully. “I’m not. Leavingtheriders. Just so Mom. Canthrowmeback. I’m. Staying.” I turn my head and the room spins as I look for Nolon. “Mend me…but justthisonce.”
“You know it’s going to hurt like hell and will still ache for a couple of weeks, right?” Nolon asks, sitting down in the chair beside my bed and staring at my shoulder.
I nod. This isn’t my first mending. When you’re as brittle as I was born, the pain of mending is only second to the pain of the original injury. Basically another Tuesday.
“Please, Vi,” Dain begs quietly. “Please switch quadrants. If not for you, then for me—because I didn’t step in fast enough. I should have stopped her. I can’t protect you.”
I wish I’d figured out his plan before taking Winifred’s potion, so I could have explained better. None of this is his fault, but he’s going to shoulder the blame just like he always does. Instead, I take a deep breath and say, “I made mychoice.”
“Get back to the quadrant, Dain,” Nolon orders without looking up. “If she was any other first-year, you would already be gone.”
Dain’s anguished gaze holds mine, and I insist, “Go. I’ll findyouat formmmmation inthe morning.” I don’t want him to see this anyway.
He swallows the defeat and nods once, then turns and walks through the separation in the curtains without another word. I sincerely hope my choice today doesn’t end up destroying my best friend later.
“Ready?” Nolon asks, his hands hovering above my shoulder.
“Bite down.” Winifred holds a strap of leather in front of my mouth, and I take it between my teeth.
“Here we go,” Nolon mutters, lifting his hands over my shoulder. His brow furrows in concentration before he makes a twisting motion.
White-hot agony erupts in my shoulder. My teeth slice into the leather as I scream, bearing down for one heartbeat, then two before blacking out.
…
The barracks are nearly full by the time I make my way back later that night, my throbbing right arm cradled in a light-blue sling that makes me an even bigger target, if that’s possible.
Slings say weak. They say breakable. They say liability to the wing. If I break this easily on the mat, what’s going to happen if I get on the back of a dragon?
The sun has long since gone down, but the hall is lit by the soft glow of mage lights as the other first-year women get ready for bed. I offer a smile to a girl who’s holding a blood-speckled cloth to her swollen lip, and she returns it with a wince.
I count three empty bunks in our row, but that doesn’t mean those cadets are dead, right? They could be in the Healer Quadrant just like I was, or maybe they’re in the bathing chambers.
“You’re here!” Rhiannon jumps off her bed, already dressed in her sleeping shorts and top, relief in her eyes and smile as she sees me.
“I’m here,” I assure her. “I’m already down one shirt, but I’m here.”
“You can get another at central issue tomorrow.” She looks like she might hug me but glances at my sling and backs up a step, sitting on the edge of her bunk as I do the same with mine, facing her. “How bad is it?”
“It’s going to hurt for the next few days, but I’ll be fine as long as I keep it immobilized. I’ll be all healed up before we start on-mat challenges.”
I have two weeks to figure out how to keep this from happening again.
“I’ll help you get ready,” she promises. “You’re the only friend I have in here, so I’d rather you didn’t die when it gets real.” A corner of her mouth lifts in a wry smile.
“I’ll try my best not to.” I grin through the throbbing ache in my shoulder and arm. The tonic has long since worn off, and it’s starting to hurt like hell. “And I’ll help you with history.” I brace my weight on my left hand, and it slides just beneath my pillow.
There’s something there.
“We’ll be unstoppable,” Rhiannon declares, her gaze tracking Tara, the dark-haired, curvy girl from Morraine, as she walks past our bunks.
I pull out a small book—no, it’s a journal—with a folded note on top that says Violet in Mira’s handwriting. One-handed, I open the note.
Violet,
I stayed long enough to read the rolls this morning, and you aren’t on them, thank gods. I can’t stay. I’m needed back with my wing, and even if I could stay, they wouldn’t let me see you anyway. I bribed a scribe to sneak this into your bunk. I hope you know how proud I am to be your sister. Brennan wrote this for me the summer before I entered the quadrant. It saved me, and it can save you, too. I added my own bits of hard-earned wisdom here and there, but mostly it’s his, and I know he’d want you to have it. He’d want you to live.
Love,
Mira.
I swallow past the knot in my throat and set the note aside.
“What is it?” Rhiannon asks.
“It’s my brother’s.” The words barely make it past my lips as I open the cover. Mother burned everything he owned after he died, as tradition dictates. It’s been ages since I’ve seen the bold strokes of his handwriting, and yet there they are. My chest tightens and a fresh wave of grief sweeps through me. “The book of Brennan,” I read along with the first page and then flip to the second.
