“You’ve never been weak to me, Vi—” Dain starts, but I shake my head.

“Don’t you get it?” I interrupt. “It doesn’t matter what you think—it only matters what I think. And you were right. But the Riders Quadrant stripped away the fear and even the anger about being thrown into this quadrant, and it revealed who I really am. At my core, Dain, I’m a rider. Tairn knew it. Andarna knew it. It’s why they chose me. And until you can stop looking for ways to keep me in a glass cage, we aren’t going to get past this, no matter how many years of friendship we have between us.”

He glances over my shoulder. “And what? Riorson gets a free pass for his control issues? Because last time I checked, Liam was moved into our squad specifically to shadow you.”

It’s an excellent point. “Liam is around because even the strongest rider can’t watch their back from more than thirty unbonded cadets gunning for them. And if I die, Xaden dies. What’s your excuse?”

Dain tenses like a statue, only the muscle in his jaw ticking before he eventually leans forward and whispers, “Look, you don’t know everything there is to know about Xaden, Vi. I have a higher security clearance due to my signet, and you need to be careful. Xaden has secrets, reasons to never forgive your mother, and I don’t want him to use you to get his revenge.”

My hackles rise. There’s a sliver of truth in what he’s saying, but I don’t have time to focus on the confusion that is Xaden right now. One screwed-up relationship at a time.

I narrow my gaze as Dain shuffles his feet again, a kernel of a suspicion growing in my chest. “Wait, did you keep begging me to leave Basgiath because you didn’t think I could survive here—or because you were trying to get me away from Xaden?”

I shake my head before he can answer. “You know what? It’s irrelevant.” And I mean it. “You only want to keep me safe. I appreciate that. But it stops now, Dain. Xaden is tied to me because of Sgaeyl. Nothing more. I do not need protection, and if I do—I’ve got two badass dragons who have my back. Can you respect that?”

He reaches up to cup my cheek, and I hold his gaze, determined for him to understand he either starts valuing my choices or we are never going to fix our friendship. “All right, Vi.” His eyes crinkle at the sides as his mouth turns up into a half smile. “How can I argue with someone who has two badass dragons?”

A weight shifts in my chest, and suddenly I can breathe again. I toss him a cheeky grin. “Exactly.”

“I’m sorry for not asking for the memory.” He drops his hand to my shoulder. “You’d better get to class.” And then he squeezes my shoulder gently before walking away.

I let out a shaky breath and turn back to the door for Carr’s class. The hallway is empty.

I head into Carr’s room, a massively long chamber with padded walls and no windows. The entire length is lit by chandeliers of mage lights bright enough to emulate daylight over three dozen students from Third and Fourth Wing, who are seated in rows on the floor, evenly spaced to give one another the most room.

Rhiannon and Liam meet me at the door and Professor Carr raises his bushy white brows at me when we approach where he’s positioned at the front of the room, dominating the space by doing nothing more than standing there. The man isn’t just imposing, he’s intimidating as fuck.

I swallow, remembering how he snapped Jeremiah’s neck.

“Finally ready to join us, Cadet Sorrengail?” There’s no kindness in his eyes, merely shrewd, clinical observation.

“Yes, sir.” I nod.

He studies me like I’m a bug pinned to the wall in the biology room. “Signet power?”

“Not yet.” I shake my head, keeping the whole time-stopping thing to myself like Xaden suggested. You trust him more than you trust me. In this regard, Dain is right, and guilt drops my stomach.

“I see.” He clucks his tongue, glancing over at me. “You know your siblings were both gifted by extraordinary signet powers. Mira’s ability to manifest a ward around her and her squad has been an absolute asset to her wing, and she’s been highly decorated for her valor behind enemy lines.”

“Yes. Mira is an inspiration.” I force a smile, more than aware of my sister’s prowess on the battlefield.

“And Brennan…” He looks away. “Menders are so very rare, and to lose one so young was tragic.”

“I think losing Brennan is the tragedy.” I heft my satchel up higher on my shoulder. “But the loss of his signet was a definite blow to the wings.”

“Hmm.” He blinks twice and turns his chilling gaze back on me. “Well, it seems the Sorrengail line is blessed, even in a rider as…well, delicate as you are. With Tairn having chosen you, we’ll expect nothing but an earth-shattering signet from you. Take a seat. You can at least start with the lesser magics through your relic.” He waves me off.

“No pressure,” I mutter as we walk to obviously empty places in the line with the rest of our squad.

“Don’t stress,” Rhiannon says as we take our seats on the padded floor. “That’s what I was trying to remind you of earlier. You are Tairn’s rider.”

“What do you mean?” I set my satchel down next to me.

“You’re all worried about the integrity of the wing because Riorson might have to visit to keep his dragon happy but, Violet, he’s not the most powerful rider of our generation. You are.” She holds my gaze just long enough to let me know she means it.

My heart lurches into my throat.

“Now let’s begin!” Carr calls out.

…

December turns to January.

Ground. Shield. Imagine closing your door. Build your wall. Sense who and what has access around you. Trace the bond to your dragon. Dragons in my case. Build a second entrance—a window—into the archive of my power for Andarna’s golden energy. Block those bonds as far as you can.

Visualize.

Imagine a knot of power—not too intricate; no one’s ready for that yet—in front of you, then untangle it. Unlock the door.

Visualize.

Keep one foot firmly grounded at all times. You’re useless unless you’re connected to your power, and you’re dangerous if you can’t contain it. There is only the in-between that makes you a great rider.

Envision your power like a hand, gripping that pencil and bringing it toward you. Pick it up. No. Not like that. Try again. No, again.

VISUALIZE.

I study for tests. I prep for flights. I lift weights with Imogen. I wonder how long Xaden is going to make me put in hours on the mat with Rhiannon. I win my first challenge, earning a dagger from a girl in Second Wing. But the most exhausting assignment is spending endless hours in the archive of my mind, learning which door is Tairn’s and which belongs to Andarna, then working diligently to separate the two.

It turns out that while my power might flow from my dragons, the ability to control it comes from my own exertion, and there are nights I fall into bed, plunging into sleep before I even remove my boots.

By the end of the second week in January, I’m not only pissed that Xaden hasn’t bothered to talk to me about that kiss but exhausted, and that’s without a signet power manifesting, draining my energy to control it.

Ridoc can wield ice, which might be a more common signet, but it’s impressive to see.

Sawyer’s metallurgy powers grow every day.

Liam can see a single tree miles away.

I guess I can stop time, but I’m not willing to drain Andarna just for the sake of trying again, not when it took her more than a week of straight sleeping to recover. Without a signet, all I can wield are the lesser magics. I finally use an ink pen, lock a door, and open it. I’m a party trick.

By the third week in January, I earn yet another dagger in a challenge against a guy in Third Wing, my second without weakening my opponent with poisons. It leaves me with a sore wrist, but my joints are intact.

And in the fourth week, during the coldest weather I’ve ever experienced at Basgiath, I sneak out in the middle of the night to see the challenge board.

Jack has finally been given the chance to end me on the mat tomorrow.

“He’s going to kill me.” That’s all I can think as I dress for the morning, sheathing all of my daggers in the most advantageous places.