“Will you at least tell me what part of flight you have trouble with? At least let me help you.”
“You want a list of my flaws?” I roll my eyes. “My thighs are too weak, but I’m building muscle. My hands can’t grip the pommel, but they’re getting stronger. It took weeks for my biceps to heal, so I’m training that one, too. But you don’t have to worry about me, Dain—Imogen is training me.”
“Because Riorson asked her to,” he guesses, folding his arms across his chest.
“Probably. Why does it matter?”
“Because he doesn’t have your best interest at heart.” He shakes his head, looking more like a stranger than I’ve ever seen him before. “First, it was bending the rules to make it up the Gauntlet, and yes, Amber lit into me for an hour about how you acted dishonorably.”
Dishonorably? Fuck this.
“And you just took her word for it? Without asking me what happened?”
“She’s a wingleader, Vi. I’m not about to question her integrity!”
“I proved myself with the Codex, and Riorson accepted it. He’s a wingleader, too.”
“Fine. You made it up. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t stand myself if something happened to you, whether you were handling the trial the right or wrong way. And then I thought you’d be fine if you survived Threshing, but even bonded to the strongest of them…” He shakes his head.
“Go ahead. Say it.” My hands curl into fists, my nails biting into my palms.
“I’m terrified you’re not going to make it to graduation, Vi.” His shoulders slump. “You know exactly how I feel about you, whether or not I can do anything about it, and I’m terrified.”
It’s that last line that does me in. Laughter bubbles up through my throat and escapes.
His eyes widen.
“This place cuts away the bullshit and the niceties, revealing whoever you are at your core.” I repeat his words from this summer. “Isn’t that what you said to me? Is this who you really are at your core? Someone so enamored with rules that he doesn’t know when to bend or break them for someone he cares about? Someone so focused on the least I’m capable of doing, he can’t believe I can do so much more?”
The warmth drains from his brown eyes.
“Let’s get one thing straight, Dain.” I take a step closer, but the distance between us only widens. “The reason we’ll never be anything more than friends isn’t because of your rules. It’s because you have no faith in me. Even now, when I’ve survived against all odds and bonded not just one dragon but two, you still think I won’t make it. So forgive me, but you’re about to be some of the bullshit that this place cuts away from me.” I move to the side and march past him through the tunnel, forcing air through my lungs.
Other than the last year, when he entered the Riders Quadrant, I can’t remember a time without Dain in my life.
But I can’t take his constant pessimism about my future anymore.
Sunlight overpowers me for a second as I walk into the courtyard. Classes are out for the afternoon, and I see Xaden and Garrick leaned up against the wall of the academic building like gods surveying their domain.
Xaden arches a dark eyebrow as I pass by.
I flip him the middle finger.
I’m not taking his shit today, either.
“Everything all right?” Rhiannon asks as I catch up to her and the guys.
“Dain is an ass—”
“Make it stop!” someone screams, rushing down the steps of the rotunda and holding his head. It’s a first-year in Third Wing who sits two rows beneath me in Battle Brief and perpetually drops his quill. “For gods’ sake, make it stop!” he shrieks, stumbling into the courtyard.
My hands hover over my blades.
A shadow moves to my left, and a glance tells me Xaden has moved, casually putting himself just ahead of me.
The crowd hollows, forming a circle around the first-year as he screams, clutching his head.
“Jeremiah!” someone shouts, coming forward.
“You!” Jeremiah spins, pointing his finger at the third-year. “You think I’ve lost it!” His head tilts, and his eyes flare. “How does he know? He shouldn’t know!” His tone shifts, like the words aren’t his own.
Chills race down my spine, dragging my stomach to the ground.
“And you!” He spins again, pointing at a second-year in First Wing. “What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he screaming?” He turns again, focused on Dain. “Is Violet going to hate me forever? Why can’t she see that I just want to keep her alive? How is he…? He’s reading my thoughts!” The impression is uncanny, embarrassing, and terrifying.
“Oh gods,” I whisper, my heart thundering so loud, I can hear the pounding blood in my ears. Forget the embarrassment. Who cares if people know Dain is thinking about me? Jeremiah’s signet power is manifesting. He can read minds—an inntinnsic. His power is a death sentence.
Ridoc stumbles backward on my left—shoved aside—and I don’t need to look to know whose muscled arm now brushes my shoulder. The scent of mint somehow steadies my heartbeat.
Jeremiah unsheathes his shortsword. “Make it stop! Can’t any of you see? The thoughts won’t stop!” His panic is palpable, clogging my own throat.
“Do something,” I beg Xaden, glancing up at him.
His unwavering, lethal focus is on Jeremiah, but his body tenses at my plea, poised, ready to strike. “Start mentally reciting whatever bookish shit you’ve learned.”
“I’m sorry?” I hiss up at him.
“If you value your secrets, clear your thoughts. Now,” Xaden orders.
