Dain’s head snaps up and his jaw locks.

“She could use a little less protection and a little more instruction.” Xaden stares Dain down until he nods.

Professor Emetterio calls the next challenge.

…

“I’m just surprised he let you live,” Dain says later that night in his room as his thumbs dig into the muscle between my neck and shoulder.

It hurts so deliciously, it was well worth the pain of sneaking up here.

“I hardly think he’d command respect by snapping my neck on the mat.” His blankets are soft against my belly and chest as I lay on his bed, bare from the waist up except for the constricting band around my breasts and ribs. “Besides, that’s not his way.”

Dain’s hands pause on my skin. “Because you know what his way is?”

The guilt of keeping Xaden’s secret makes my stomach drop. “He told me he didn’t see a reason to kill me himself when the parapet would do it,” I answer truthfully. “And let’s face it, he’s had plenty of chances to take me out if he really wanted.”

“Hmm.” Dain hums in that thoughtful tone of his, continuing to work out my stiff and aching muscles as he leans over from the side of his bed. Rhiannon drilled me for another two hours after dinner, and I was barely able to move by the end of it.

Guess I wasn’t the only one Xaden scared this afternoon.

“Do you think he could be plotting against Navarre and still have bonded Sgaeyl?” I ask, my cheek against his blanket.

“I did at first.” His hands move down my spine, pressing into the knots that made lifting my arms almost impossible that last half hour of training tonight. “But then I bonded Cath, and I realized that dragons would do anything to protect the Vale and their sacred hatching grounds. There’s no way any dragon would have bonded Riorson or any of the separatists if they weren’t honest about protecting Navarre.”

“But would a dragon even know if you were lying?” I turn my head so I can see his face.

“Yeah.” He grins. “Cath would know because he’s in my head. It’s impossible to hide something like that from your dragon.”

“Is he always in your head?” I know it’s against the rules to ask—almost everything about bonds are off-limits for discussion, given how secretive dragons are, but it’s Dain.

“Yeah,” he answers, his smile softening. “I can block him out if I need to, and they’ll teach you that after Threshing—” His expression falls.

“What is it?” I sit up, sliding one of his pillows across my chest and leaning back against the headboard.

“I talked to Colonel Markham this evening.” He walks over and pulls his chair out from his desk and takes a seat, then rests his head in his hands.

“Did something happen?” Fear races down my spine. “Is it Mira’s wing?”

“No!” Dain’s head snaps up, and there’s so much misery in his eyes that I swing my feet off the bed. “It’s nothing like that. I told him…that I think Riorson wants to kill you.”

I blink, sitting fully back onto the bed. “Oh. Well, that’s not really news, is it? Everyone who’s read a history of the rebellion can put two and two together, Dain.”

“Yeah, well, I told him about Barlowe, too, and Seifert.” He rubs his hand over his hair. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the way Seifert shoved you into the wall before formation this morning.” He lifts his brows at me.

“He’s just pissed that I took his dagger at that first challenge.” I squeeze the pillow tighter.

“And Rhiannon told me you found crushed flowers on your bed last week?” He stares me down.

I shrug. “They were just dead flowers.”

“They were mutilated violets.” His mouth tightens and I go to him, resting my hands on his head.

“It’s not like they came with a death note or anything,” I tease, stroking his soft brown hair.

He looks up at me, the mage lights making his eyes a little brighter above his trim beard. “They’re threats.”

I shrug. “Every cadet gets threatened.”

“Every cadet doesn’t have to wrap their knees every day,” he fires back.

“The injured ones do.” My brow furrows, annoyance taking root in my chest. “Why would you tell Markham about it anyway? He’s a scribe, and there’s nothing he would do even if he could.”

“He said he’d still take you,” Dain blurts, his hands flying to my hips, holding me in place when I try to step away. “I asked him if he’d allow you into the Scribe Quadrant for your own safety, and he said yes. They’d put you with the first-years. It’s not like you’d have to wait until next Conscription Day or anything.”

“You what?” I twist, breaking my hold, and back away from my best friend.

“I saw a way to get you out of danger, and I took it.” He stands.

“You went behind my back because you think I’m not cutting it.” The truth of the words tightens around my chest like a vise, cutting off my air instead of holding me together, leaving me weak and breathless. Dain knows me better than anyone, and if he still thinks I can’t do this after I’ve made it this far…

Tears well in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Instead, I tuck my chin and grab my dragon-scale vest, pull it over my head, then wrench the laces together at the small of my back and tie them.

Dain sighs. “I never said I don’t think you can cut it, Violet.”

“You say it every day!” I snap. “You say it when you walk me from formation to class, which I know makes you late for flight line. You say it when you yell at your wingleader when he takes me to the mat—”

“He had no right to—”

“He’s my wingleader!” I shrug my tunic over my head. “He has the right to do whatever he wants—including execute me.”

“And that’s why you need to get the hell out of here!” Dain laces his fingers behind his neck and begins to pace. “I’ve been watching, Vi. He’s just toying with you, like a cat plays with a mouse before the kill.”

“I’ve held my own so far.” My satchel is heavy with books as I settle it over my shoulder. “I’ve won every challenge—”

“Except today when he wiped the floor with you time and again.” He grasps my shoulders. “Or did you miss the part where he took every weapon so you knew exactly how easy it is to defeat you?”

I raise my chin and glare at him. “I was there, and I’ve survived almost two months in this place, which is more than I can say for a fourth of my year!”

“Do you know what happens at Threshing?” he asks, his tone dropping.

“Are you calling me ignorant?” Rage bubbles in my veins.

“It’s not just about bonding,” he continues. “They throw every first-year into the training grounds, the ones you’ve never been to, and then the second- and third-years are supposed to watch as you decide which dragons to approach and which to run from.”

“I know how it works.” My jaw clenches.

“Yeah, well, while the riders are watching, the first-years are taking out their vendettas and eliminating any…liabilities to the wing.”