Nasya turns beet red under his cream hood.
“It’s part of the fire mitigation system,” I tell him. “Less air, less risk of our history burning to the ground.”
“And the stuffy hoods?” Nasya lifts a brow at me.
“Makes it harder for you to stand out against the tomes,” I explain. “A symbol that no one and nothing is more important than the documents and books in this very room.” My gaze darts around the chamber, and a new pang of homesickness hits me.
“Exactly.” Professor Markham levels a glare at Nasya. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Cadet Sorrengail, we have work to attend. I’ll see you tomorrow in Battle Brief.”
“Yes, sir.” I step back, giving the squad room to pass.
“You are sad?” Andarna asks, her voice soft.
“Just visiting the Archives. No need to worry,” I tell her.
“It’s hard to love a second home as much as the first.”
I swallow. “It’s easy when the second home is the right one.” And that is what the Riders Quadrant has become to me—the right home. The longing for the kind of peace and solitude I found only here can’t match the adrenaline rush of flight.
Jesinia reappears with the cart, laden down with the requested books and bits of mail for the professors of my quadrant. She signs, “I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t find that book. I even searched the catalog for wyvern—I think that’s what you said—but there’s nothing.”
I stare for a second. Our Archives have either a copy or the original of almost every book in Navarre. Only ultrarare or forbidden tomes are excluded. When did folklore become either of those? Though, come to think of it, I never came across anything like The Fables of the Barren on the shelves while I was studying to become a scribe. Chimera? Yes. Kraken? Sure. But wyvern or the venin that create them? None. Bizarre. “That’s all right. Thank you for looking,” I sign back.
“You look different,” she signs, then hands the cart over.
My eyes widen.
“Not bad different, just…different. Your face is leaner, and even your posture…” She shakes her head.
“I’ve been training.” I pause, my hands hanging by my sides while I consider my answer. “It’s hard, but great, too. I’m getting quicker on the mat.”
“The mat?” Her brow furrows.
“For sparring.”
“Right. I forget that you guys fight each other, too.” Sympathy fills her eyes.
“I’m really all right,” I promise her, leaving out the times I’ve caught Oren gripping a dagger in my presence or the way Jack seethes in my direction. “How about you? Is it everything you wanted?”
“It’s everything and more. So much more. The responsibility we have not only to record history but to speed information from the front lines is more than I ever could have imagined, and it’s so fulfilling.” She presses her lips together again.
“Good. I’m happy for you.” And I mean it.
“But I worry for you.” She sucks in a breath. “The uptick in attacks along the border…” Concern etches lines into her forehead.
“I know. We hear about them in Battle Brief.” It’s always the same, striking at faltering wards, ransacking villages high in the mountains, and more dead riders. My heart breaks every time we get a report, and a part of me shuts down with each attack that I have to analyze.
“And Dain?” she asks as we head for the door. “Have you seen him?”
My smile falters. “That’s a story for another day.”
She sighs. “I’ll try and be here around this time so I can see you.”
“Sounds wonderful.” I refrain from pulling her into a hug and walk through the door she opens.
By the time I return the cart to the library and make it through the lunch line, our time is almost up, which means I’m busy shoveling food in my mouth as fast as I can while the members of our original squad chat around me. The newbies, two first-years and two second-years we took on when the third squad was dissolved, are a table away. They’ve refused to sit with anyone with a rebellion relic.
So, fuck them.
“It was the coolest thing ever,” Ridoc continues. “One second he was sparring against that third-year with the wicked broadsword skills, and then Sawyer—”
“You could let him tell the story,” Rhiannon chides, rolling her eyes.
“No thank you,” Sawyer counters, shaking his head, staring at his fork with a hefty dose of fear.
Ridoc grins, in all his glory telling the story. “And then the sword just twists in Sawyer’s hand, curving toward the third-year even though Sawyer was way off the mark.” He grimaces in Sawyer’s direction. “Sorry, man, but you were. If your sword hadn’t decided to warp and go straight for that guy’s arm—”
“You’re a metallurgist?” Quinn’s eyebrows rise. “Really?”
Holy crap, Sawyer can manipulate metals. I force down a little more turkey and openly stare at him. As far as I know, he’s the first of us to display any form of power, let alone a signet.
Sawyer nods. “That’s what Carr says. Aetos dragged me straight to the professor when he saw it happen.”
“I’m so jealous!” Ridoc grabs his chest. “I want my signet power to manifest!”
“You wouldn’t be so excited if it meant you weren’t sure if your fork would stab into the roof of your mouth because you can’t control it yet.” Sawyer shoves his tray away.
“Good point.” Ridoc looks at his own tray.
