He nods. “Our parents knew they’d die one way or another, and the last thing they did was make sure we were protected. I keep it purely for sentimental reasons.” Leaning toward me, he kisses my forehead, then turns away, putting the stone on his bedside table. “I like it when you ask me questions,” he says, leaning over to grab his uniform shirt. “Anything else you want to know?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to question why he didn’t tell me about the deal he made with my mother and ask if it influenced his feelings for me. But then he stands, and my gaze catches on those silver scars on his back—the scars she put there—and I just can’t ask. He told me that he’s loved me since the first time we kissed. That should be enough. I shouldn’t need to know anything more about the deal than what she said to me… Or maybe I don’t want to, not if there’s any chance it could shake our relationship.
“Violence?” He tugs his shirt on and turns.
“Nothing else to ask.” I force a smile.
“Everything all right?” Two lines appear between his brows. “Bodhi mentioned that Cat isn’t making it easy on you, and you’ve had a couple of lightning strikes—”
“Bodhi needs to butt out.” There’s no chance I’m letting Xaden worry about me before heading out for multiple days. Rising up on my toes, I kiss him softly. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Disappointment flashes through his eyes right before he cups the back of my neck and slants his mouth over mine for another blissful second, then pulls back. “You’re close, but you need a directional cue for that rune.”
“My rune is great, and I’ll ask for help if I need it.” I kiss him quickly just because I can, then rush out the door so I can make it to class in time. The second I’m in the hallway, I lift the disk to my ear.
Noise rushes in. Bootsteps pounding above me, doors closing ahead of me, people shouting beneath me—there’s too much input to make any sense of it.
“I hate it when he’s right,” I mutter as I skid into class.
Naturally, Cat has tempered her rune perfectly when I get there, which makes me almost want to ask for Xaden’s help, but he’s already gone before I’m done with my classes for the day.
…
“We’ve given you two weeks to figure out how to integrate peacefully, and you have yet to do so, much to our disappointment,” Devera lectures us the next week from the side of the center mat, Emetterio and one of the flier professors by her side. The sparring gym is only a fraction of the size of Basgiath’s—fitting nine mats total—and it’s packed with every cadet in Aretia standing shoulder to shoulder.
Including the fliers.
Until now, we’ve only been put together for rune lessons in very small increments and mealtimes, which usually end with at least one thrown punch.
“What the hell do they expect?” Rhiannon folds her arms next to me. “We’ve been killing each other for centuries, and we’re supposed to what…weave flowers into each other’s hair and confess our deepest, darkest secrets all because they gave us a luminary and hiked a cliff?”
“It’s a little tense,” I agree, holding the conduit in my right hand and rolling my aching shoulder, hoping it will forgive me for daring to sleep on it wrong. I have a lesson with Felix in two days, and I’m cramming as much power into the little glass orb as I can.
My power’s been flaring all too frequently, with the fliers hurling insults every chance they get, insinuating that I dropped Luella to her death instead of Visia.
There’s a clear divide in our ranks: a sea of black on my right and a swath of tan on the left, with a wide strip of bare floor between us. More than a dozen cadets wear bruises from the brawl that erupted yesterday in the great hall between Third Wing and two drifts.
“Yesterday’s outburst of violence was absolutely unacceptable,” the fliers’ professor starts, her auburn braid sliding over her shoulder as she turns her head, addressing all cadets, not just the fliers. “Working together is what’s going to make a difference in this war, and it has to start here!” She turns her finger on the rider cadets.
“Good luck with that,” Ridoc says under his breath.
“We’ll be making significant changes,” Devera announces. “You will no longer be separated for classes.”
My stomach pitches, and a mumble of discontent rolls through the gym. “Which means—” Devera raises her voice, quieting our side of the makeshift formation. “You will respect one another as equals. We may be in Aretia, but as of today, we’ve decided the Dragon Rider’s Codex still applies to every cadet.”
“And as their guests,” the flier professor says, placing a hand on her ample hip, “all fliers will abide by it.” A disgruntled murmur rolls through their half. “Is that clear?”
“Yes, Professor Kiandra,” they respond in unison.
Damn. That’s kind of impressive, even if they do sound like infantry.
“But we acknowledge that we cannot move forward without addressing the hostility among you,” Emetterio says, his gaze shifting between the groups. “At Basgiath, we had a method for addressing grievances between cadets. You may ask for a challenge—a sparring match that ends when one of you is unconscious or taps out.”
“Or dies,” Aaric adds.
The fliers collectively gasp, and the majority of us roll our eyes. They wouldn’t last a day at Basgiath.
“Without killing your opponent,” Emetterio continues, talking directly at Aaric before moving on, “for the next six hours, every request—between cadets of the same year—for challenge will be granted. You will address your grievances once on these mats, and then you will put them behind you.”
“They’re going to let us beat the shit out of them?” Ridoc asks quietly.
“I think so,” Sloane whispers in response.
“It’s going to be a phenomenal afternoon.” Imogen grins, cracking her knuckles.
“They’ve been trained to fight venin,” I remind them. “I wouldn’t underestimate them.” When it comes to signets, we can blast them out of the fucking skies, but hand-to-hand? There’s a good chance we’re outmatched.
“You may only challenge one opponent, and each cadet may only be challenged once,” Emetterio says, holding up his forefinger and lifting his thick brows. “So choose carefully, because tomorrow, the rider or flier you hold contempt for may be off-limits.”
Oh shit. My stomach drops. There’s only one reason someone couldn’t call a challenge, but they wouldn’t…would they?
“Challenges between squadmates are forbidden under the Codex,” Devera explains to fliers, then turns to us. “And tomorrow each squad of riders will absorb one drift of fliers.”
Guess they would.
Anger flushes my cheeks, and Rhiannon and I exchange a perturbed glance, which is mirrored by everyone in our squad, especially Visia.
“Note that I said absorb.” Devera stares pointedly at us. “You will not be teamed up or partnered with. You will fuse, you will meld, you will unify.”
This goes against everything we’ve been taught. Squads are sacred. Squads are family. Squads are born after Parapet and forged through the Gauntlet, Threshing, and War Games. Squads aren’t merged unless they’re dissolved due to deaths—and we’re the Iron Squad.
We do not bend. And we definitely do not blend.
“And if you don’t”—Professor Kiandra’s tone softens as her gaze sweeps over the gym—“we will fail when it’s time for combat. We will die.”
“We’ll take your requests now,” Emetterio says, concluding the lecture portion of today’s festivities.
Lines form for those requesting challenges, and it doesn’t surprise me that most of the queue is wearing brown. They have far more reason to hate us than most of us do to hate them.
“We are the Iron Squad, and we’ll act like it,” Rhiannon orders as the last of the line approaches Emetterio. “We stick together and travel mat to mat with any challenge leveled on us.”
All eleven of us agree.
The first challenges are called, and I’m not surprised when Trager names Rhiannon to come to the mat. No doubt he’s still pissed about the punch she delivered on the flight field.
She wins in less than five minutes, and his lip is bleeding again.