#atwwsa

W R E N L E Y

My throat is raw, my voice shredded like I’ve been using it for hours, and the sound tears out of me before I even understand why. My wrists burn. Leather cuts tight into skin, straps crossing my chest and thighs, locking me back against a straight-backed chair bolted to the stone floor.

I can’t move.

The room is lit too brightly. Magelights glare off damp stone, off iron fixtures, off the dark streaks smeared across the floor like someone didn’t bother cleaning all the way. The smell hits next. Blood. Old and new. Sweat. Metal.

I know this room.

My pulse slams so hard it makes me dizzy.

“No,” I whisper, already shaking.

Across from me, chains hang from the ceiling.

They’re not empty.

Xaden is strung up by his wrists, arms wrenched too high, shoulders pulled wrong, body hanging just enough that his toes barely brush the stone. His head is bowed, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and blood. Bruises climb his throat, dark and livid, and one eye is already swelling shut.

“Xay,” I choke.

His head lifts at the sound of my voice.

He looks at me.

And something inside me caves in, because even like this, even broken and bleeding, his first instinct is still me. His eyes search my face, desperate, apologetic, furious all at once.

“Wren,” he rasps.

I fight the restraints until the leather bites deeper. “No. No, please.” My voice fractures. “This is my fault. This is my fault.”

The door opens behind him.

I don’t need to turn to know who it is.

Major Varrish walks into my line of sight, calm as ever, sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. He doesn’t hurry. He never does. He stops in front of Xaden and looks up at him with mild interest, like he’s checking the integrity of a structure.

“You came sooner than expected,” Varrish says. “That’s usually how it goes with you, isn’t it? Impulsive when it matters.”

Xaden doesn’t answer.

Varrish turns his head slightly, looking at me now. “You see?” he says pleasantly. “You were right to hope. He did exactly what you needed him to do.”

My heart slams into my ribs. “Let him go,” I sob. “Please. Take me instead. I’ll tell you whatever you want.”

Xaden shakes his head once. Sharp. Furious. “Don’t,” he grits out. “Wren, don’t—”

Varrish reaches up and grips his wrist.

The sound Xaden makes isn’t a scream. It’s worse. It’s the sound of breath being punched out of lungs, of pain forced through clenched teeth. His body jerks violently against the chains, muscles locking, shoulders screaming under the strain.

I scream his name again, useless, hoarse.

“Quiet,” Varrish says mildly, without looking at me. He adjusts his grip, precise, practiced. Another twist. Another lesson carved into bone.

Xaden’s head drops forward. Blood drips to the floor.

“Stop!” I sob, thrashing against the chair until my vision whites out at the edges. “Please, please, I’ll do anything!”

Varrish finally turns to me.

His expression is almost kind.

“You already have,” he says. Then he looks back at Xaden. “I got exactly what I wanted.”

Xaden lifts his head again, barely conscious, eyes glassy but still locked on me.

Don’t break, his gaze says. Don’t give him anything.

Tears blur everything. I can’t breathe. I can’t help him. I can’t even stand.

Varrish steps closer to Xaden, lowering his voice like he’s sharing a secret. “You remind me so much of your father,” he says casually. “He screamed, too.”

Xaden stiffens violently.

My world tilts.

Varrish smiles.

Then he reaches up and delivers the blow.

It’s final. Brutal. The kind of strike that carries intent, not interrogation. Xaden’s body goes slack against the chains, head snapping forward, blood spraying across the stone.

“XADEN!” I scream—

I bolt upright in bed, choking on air, hands clawing at my chest, lungs burning like I’ve been underwater too long.

The room is dark.

Warm.

Safe.

My wrists are free and Xay— is dead asleep on the rug beside the bed.

A throw pillow that looks suspiciously like it came from the library down the hall is tucked beneath his head, and a blanket clearly not designed for a six-foot-four rider is pulled up around his shoulders. One arm is flung out, his hand resting on the edge of the mattress like he fell asleep mid-reach.

Relief hits me so hard my vision blurs.

I slide closer to the edge of the bed so I can see him better, committing every steady rise and fall of his chest to memory. Now that the adrenaline is gone, the ache settles in deep — muscles sore, bones heavy, the dull reminder of what my body endured even if my mind keeps trying to protect me from the details.

A bath would help.

But so does this. Watching Xaden sleep, his face softer in rest, shadows quiet instead of coiled tight beneath his skin. 

He chose the floor. Chose to be here without crowding me.

“Xay,” I whisper, reaching down to gently take his hand.

He jolts awake instantly, other hand flying to the dagger at his hip before his eyes focus.

“It’s just me,” I murmur, squeezing his fingers. “It’s okay.”

He exhales, tension bleeding out of him as he pushes himself upright. “You’re awake.” His gaze flicks over me, quick and searching. “How are you feeling?”

I shift onto my back and scoot to the far side of the bed, an unspoken invitation. He hesitates only a second before rising and sitting beside me, close but careful.

“My body aches,” I admit. “But beyond that… I’m okay.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Not awkward exactly. Just heavy with everything we haven’t said yet.

He nods once, like he’s storing the answer somewhere important. “You scared me.”

I glance at him. “I know.”

Another pause. His thumb rubs once over my knuckles, grounding.

“Do you want a bath?” he asks quietly. “I can draw one. Help with the soreness.”

I smile at the way he knows exactly what I want and need.

I let myself breathe. “Yeah,” I say softly. “I’d like that.”

He stands, already moving toward the washroom, and for the first time since I woke up, my chest eases.

Just a little.

The water is already warm by the time I sink into the tub.

Steam curls through the room, softening the edges of everything, and for the first time since I woke, my body stops bracing for impact. The ache doesn’t vanish, but it dulls, turning from something sharp into something survivable.

Xaden kneels behind me on the stone, careful in the way only someone who knows how fragile you are can be. He rolls his sleeves up without a word, fingers testing the water once more before they touch me, and the gentleness of it almost undoes me.

When he tips the first cup of water over my hair, I close my eyes.

Warmth pours down my scalp, loosening tangles, dissolving the stiffness I hadn’t realized was there. Dried blood darkens the surface of the water before blooming pink and disappearing down the drain.

I don’t flinch, thankfully. His hands move slowly, methodically, working soap through my hair with deliberate care, like if he’s thorough enough, he can undo what was done to me. As he works, he tells me about what happened on Saturday.

Not hurried. Not defensive.

The royal vault. The planning. The wards they tripped and the ones they didn’t. Jesinia’s role. Violet’s certainty. The journal, heavy and dangerous and necessary. The moment he realized he couldn’t wait, that leaving it for later meant never leaving at all.

He doesn’t justify it.

He just tells me.

Every detail laid bare, offered without expectation, like this trust is something fragile he’s setting carefully into my hands. I listen, letting the water run, letting his voice anchor me while the ache in my muscles eases one slow breath at a time.

This is what we used to be like, simple and quiet moments where we could tell each other anything.

His hands linger at the nape of my neck, grounding, as he rinses my hair until the water runs clean, before he reaches for a towel and helps me stand. His grip is solid, anchoring, like he’s daring the world to try and take me again as he wraps the towel around me, careful not to apply too much pressure to any part of my body, but his gaze clearly avoids the lingering bruises.

He doesn’t say anything as he guides me back into the room.

Not while he dries my hair. Not while he steadies me when my legs protest just slipping through my pants. The quiet stretches, thick but careful, and I realize too late that my silence hasn’t been restful to him.

It’s been frightening.

I sit on the edge of the bed while he kneels in front of me, lacing my boots with a care that borders on reverence. His movements are slower than usual, precise, grounding himself in the task. He told me everything, and I absorbed it without reacting, without reassuring him the way I normally would.

I speak before he can retreat any further.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

The words are soft. Unadorned.

His hands still.

He doesn’t look up right away. Instead, he presses a gentle kiss to my knee cap — the only part of me he can reasonably reach at the angle he’s at — lingering there like the contact alone is an answer. When he does lift his head, his eyes are steadier, gentler.

“Are you up for an Assembly meeting?” he asks carefully. “Or do you want to wait here until your father and Brennan come check on you?”

The offer is real. Not performative.

I inhale, then let out a breath that feels like choosing something. “Assembly,” I say. “But only if you stay with me.”

His brow furrows. “Wren—”

I tilt my head, lips twitching. “Mostly because those stairs are brutal. I might not make it all the way down without my body giving out.”

He doesn’t smile. 

“That’s not funny,” he says quietly.

“I know.” I lean forward just enough to rest my forehead against his. “I’m trying.”

“I was scared you wouldn’t wake up,” he admits, voice low. “That you wouldn’t—” He stops himself, breath sharp. “And now you’re joking.”

“If I don’t joke right now,” I say softly, “I think I might break.”

That stops him.

“I’ve been terrified,” I continue. “And angry. And in pain. I’m quiet because if I let myself feel all of it at once, I won’t be able to stop.” I give him a small, crooked smile, tears welling in my eyes. “So I’m choosing humor. Just for now.”

He exhales slowly, tension easing from his shoulders in increments. “Okay.”

He finishes tying my boots, then stands and offers me his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. When I take it, his grip is warm and solid and unmistakably here.

“Don’t let go,” I remind him lightly.

“Never,” he replies, without hesitation.

Xaden guides me into the hall and I’m immediately met with the abnormal hustle and bustle of Aretia, but completely normal for Basgiath

“What–?”

“Violet refused to leave without giving the riders a choice, and well,” He gestures to the cadets that line the halls, “they made their choice.”

“This is…”

“Noiseier than the last time we were here?” Xaden supplies.

“Insane.” I mutter, reaching for his door in the process. “Are we even set up for all these riders?”

Xaden shrugs. “I have no clue. We’ll find out when we get to the Assembly how pissed they are and what the plan is.”

“Xaden Riorson has no plan? Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” I laugh, bumping his shoulder in jest before tripping on the last step.

“Hey, woah,” Xaden’s hands land on my hips, keeping me from hitting the ground. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I sigh, pushing to stand up straight. “I’m fine.”

“It’s okay to not be, Wren.” Xaden whispers. “You almost died, everyone would understand if you weren’t okay.”

“Xay–”

“Wrenley.” Violet pauses at the edge of the hall with Rhiannon. “You’re up.”

I smile as the girls walk up to us. “I’m glad to see you up and about too. Everything mended well?”

“Just sore, you?” Violet asks. The distance she’s keeping from me and Xay is astonishing.

“Same,” I smile and watch as she awkwardly stands there so I make the move. I reach out, pulling her into a hug. “I’m glad we made it out.”

Violet’s body is stiff when I wrap my arms around her but just as quickly as she tensed up, she settles into the hug, her arms wrapping around me.

“Me too, Wren.”

“What’s going on out here?” I ask, pulling away from her.

“I was hoping you two would know.” Rhiannon glances over our squad, then leans in, lowering her voice. “They took a quick roll last night, put us in our rooms, and fed us breakfast this morning, but that was an hour ago. Now we’re just… ” She gestures to the foyer. “Waiting.”

“I think we may have caught them off guard,” Violet admits.

“Let’s go find out exactly how off guard,” Xaden says, arm wrapping around my waist. “We’ll get some answers for you, Rhiannon. Sorrengail, let's go.” He’s pleasant with Rhiannon and then suddenly not with Violet.

“You don’t have to be cold with her.” I sigh as we move down the hall.

“I’m not.” Xaden shrugs before leading down the hall, leaving me and Violet to walk side by side.

“He’s… distant.” Violet voices.

“It’s been a long few days, Vi. I’m sure he hasn’t been sleeping well.” I answer as we turn the corner.

“I think I may have fucked up,” Violet whispers, taking a deep breathe.

“We may have fucked up,” Xaden says, stopping us in front of a tall wooden door with more than a few angry, raised voices behind it. “Doesn’t mean it wasn’t right.”

“The last time we were here, the people in that room wanted to lock me up as a security threat.” Violet argues. “I’m starting to think maybe they were right.”

“Only four of them did,” he says, his fingers poised on the black metal door handle. “And I guarantee they’re more pissed at me than they are at you. I didn’t exactly answer their summons last night when we got back.” Xaden looks over at me with softness in his eyes.

Right. Because it's an 18 hour flight from Basgiath to Aretia and…

Xaden only got back last night?

But– how had I already been here and mended when Xaden got back?

Xaden pulls open the door, and the raised voices become almost shrill as Violet and I follow him in.

“You’ve exposed everything we’ve worked for!” Suri shouts.

“Without so much as a vote from this council!” Ferris agrees.

“I made the call,” Xaden says once we’re clear of the doorway. “You want to yell? Yell at me.”

Six members of the Assembly look our way from their chairs at the long table, as Bodhi, Garrick, and Imogen stand in front of them as if on trial.

“We’re happy to address your choices, Lieutenant Riorson,” Suri says. “Though I’m not sure what the general’s daughter is doing here.”

“Well, the general’s son is right here,” Brennan counters from the other end of the table as we walk forward, putting Xaden and I between Garrick and Imogen while Violet is on the end by Bodhi.

“You know what I meant,” the woman fires back, shooting Brennan a frustrated look.

“Wrenley, what are you doing out of bed already?” My father jumps from his seat and rushes to my side.

“Dad,” I groan, pushing him off when he starts to search me for active injuries. “I’m fine.”

“You almost died, Little Bird.”

“And I’m fine, seriously. Stop doing the dad-healer thing, please.” I beg, eyeing the other assembly members. 

Xaden guides me over to the half burnt throne of Tyrrendor and guides me to sit in it.

“Kynlan looks like she’s gonna scream over me sitting here again.” I say to Xaden as I sit.

“Like I care,” Xaden mutters with a kiss to my temple before sitting on the arm like he did back in July.

“Well we all know why she’s here.” Major Ferris glares at us as Xaden reaches down to grasp my hand.

I try to pull my hand back, wanting to keep on the Assembly’s good side. 

Xaden nearly growls, gripping tight to my hand before he speaks. “What’s done is done. You can stay in here and chastise us all day, or you can figure out what to do with the hundred riders we brought you.”

“You didn’t bring us riders — you brought us cadets!” Suri shouts, pounding her fist on the table. “What the hell are we supposed to do with them?”

“Such theatrics are above you, Suri.” Felix scratches his beard and all but rolls his eyes at her. “Though the question is valid.”

“I’d suggest you call a formation and divide them into equal wings, for starters,” Xaden suggests, his tone dripping with boredom. “Though they may prefer to stay intact. From what I’ve seen, Fourth Wing has the largest numbers.”

“Because you were their wingleader,” Brennan states. “They were used to following you.”

I gently squeeze Xaden’s hand because I know he hates to be praised like that. 

“And Aetos,” Xaden replies begrudgingly. “He’s the one who called the formation after killing the vice commandant.”

“Aetos is another matter.” Kynlan runs her finger over the flat side of her weapon like it’s habit. “He’s confined to quarters until we can ascertain his loyalty, as are the scribes.”

“Cath is enough to vouch for Dain’s loyalty,” Violet argues. “Jesinia and Kealin are the only reason we have Warrick’s journal.” 

All six of the riders startle at Violet’s words and turn to Xaden. If Xaden hadn’t explained things earlier, I would have too.

“You have a journal from Warrick?” Kynlan forward. “As in First Six Warrick?”

“I do. Jesinia and Kaelin helped Violet and her squad steal the journal for instructions on how to use the wardstone,” Xaden says, turning his gaze on Brennan. “And she was right. It contains cryptic instructions in Old Lucerish that need detailed, precise translation, but it’s better than nothing. I was supposed to bring it to you but got sidetracked by her capture.”

“Dad never taught me Old Lucerish, only Tyrrish,” Brennan says to Violet, lines forming between his brows. “But if you can translate it, then there’s a chance we can secure—”

“Secure?” Ferris snaps. “You bring a hundred riders and two hundred dragons here and have the nerve to say that word?” His eyes narrow on me. “You may as well have handed Melgren a map of our location. Or was that what she was truly after?”

“Here we fucking go,” Imogen says under her breath.

“Violet risked her life to help us,” Xaden responds. “And nearly lost it doing so, Wrenley as well.”

I see my father stiffen across the table and I reach out for his mental door. 

“I’m really fine, Dad. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.” His shoulders reach his ears as his eyes meet mine and I offer him a smile. 

“I’m always worried about you. You have too much of your mother in you.” He sighs, a smile of his own.

“If I need my master healer of a father, I promise I will tell you, okay?” I practically plead and he offers me a nod.

“They should be confined and questioned.” 

“Go near my sister, and I’ll cut out your other eye, Ulices,” Brennan warns, leaning forward and glaring down the table. “She’s been questioned enough for two lifetimes.”

“And I wouldn’t suggest going near my daughter. I may not have the training needed to over power you, but she does, as do the four people closest to her.” My father glares at Ulices. At that note, those aforementioned riders are flanking me. Xaden now standing to my right, Garrick behind him, Bodhi and Imogen mirror on my left.

“That doesn’t change the fact that she’s ruined us!” Kynlan declares. “We’ve already doubled patrols to the border, which leaves no one here to fight should Melgren launch an attack on us.” She swings a finger at Felix. “And don’t start with your ‘Melgren doesn’t know we’re here’. All the rebellion signets on the Continent can’t hide a riot the size of a thunderhead. We have no wards, no forge, and children running amok in the hallways!”

“Cadets who are showing a lot more decorum than you are.” I snark before Xaden can respond, but I can feel the shimmer of pride between us. “Sit the fuck down, Kynlan.” I sneer, standing from my seat. My knees shake with my weight bearing on them again but I hold firm.

“You cannot talk to me like that, girl.” She snaps, her hand slamming onto the wood table. “You hold no power in this room.”

“Then stop acting like a toddler holding an assembly seat and maybe I won't snap.” I return, preparing to force her to sit if I must.

Kynlan drops into the chair behind her with a huff and I turn to the over Assembly members that are still standing.

“Everyone.” They sit instantly, staring wide eyed at me. The remaining ones who stand are the marked ones. Even Violet is quick to find a seat. “This arguing is getting us nowhere.” I turn to the Assembly members. “The cadets are here, we are here. There is no changing that. If you can’t accept that then… consider them Xaden’s guests.” I look at Xay and he nods, encouraging me to keep going. “It is his house that you’ll find yourselves in.”

Ferris moves to speak but I hold my hand up.

“I’m not done.” I snap. “All you do is fight in here. The five of us were crafting plans with fewer arguments at four and five than you grown adults are.”

“Damn Wren,” Garrick coughs behind me and I have to fight the smirk that wants to form.

“Xaden took responsibility for Violet the last time we were here. Therefore if you have an issue with her, you have it with him, and I highly doubt you’d like to have an issue with him.”

Suddenly, Xaden’s standing beside me and shadows curl up my legs, offering me support both emotionally and physically as I feel my knees start to wobble.

Fuck, I love him.

“This is why I sit her in that chair.” Xaden says calmly but I can hear the smugness in his voice. “I could sit there and you still wouldn’t listen. She does, 24 hours after being at Malek’s door no less, and gets you all to finally listen to some damn reasoning.”

“Fine,” Trissa says, her voice soft and calm. “We will trust Violet Sorrengail. But that doesn’t help us arm the drifts without an operational forge. In winning this first battle with Navarre by taking half the Riders Quadrant, you may have lost us this war.”

“And what do we do with all these cadets?” Kynlan asks wearily, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Gods, you brought us Aetos and scribes. It’s not like we can send them out to battle wyvern and venin.”

“I also brought you four professors, and it’s not like you’re without your share of knowledge,” Xaden replies. “I’ve already questioned the scribes. They can be trusted, and Cath vouches for Aetos.”

“As for the other cadets,” I cross my arms. “I suggest you get us back into class.”

It takes nearly 10 minutes for the assembly members to leave us alone.

I collapse as soon as the door closes and Xaden is quick to catch me in his arms as my father and Brennan rush towards us.

“Dammit, Wren.” Brennan hisses, quickly doing an examination on me. “You really shouldn’t be out of bed so soon.”

“I’m fine.” I groan, pushing Violet’s older brother away. “It’s just an adrenaline crash. I’m fine.”

“I only mended you about three quarts of the way, Wrenley.” Brennan grumbles. “You need rest before I finish mending you.”

“Wrenley!” My father snaps and I push everyone away, standing on shaky knees again.

“For Amari’s sake!” I shout, stepping away from everyone and leaning against the corner of the table. “Yes, I almost fucking died. Do you all think I wasn’t aware of where I was headed?”

No one answers but I can see the realization flicker in Bodhi’s and Imogen’s eyes.

“You planned to sacrifice yourself if no one got there in time, didn’t you?” Bodhi asks and I can see the realization switch to fear.

“That was the second time in 10 days that I almost met Malek. I knew that there was no hope for getting out alive, especially if it meant you all got to live.” I answer and then the same look crosses each of their faces at once, except for Xay’s.

“Second time?” He asks, and there's an inkling of hope in his words.

“Assasination attempt.” I say with a laugh. “Which you would have known had you gotten some sleep before you showed up for leave and not gone after those journals.” He knows what the unspoken part is. With Violet. 

“We’re just worried about you Wren,” Garrick says softly. “You didn’t see how frail you were when we found you.”

My eyes meet my cousins and there is genuine fear and sorrow in his eyes, both of which are mirrored only in Xaden’s and my father’s eyes. Everyone else just looks glad I’m alive.

“I get it, Gare. I really do.” I say. “But I don’t need to be coddled.”

Everyone nods, shoulders dropping as they finally breathe. It’s only Xaden who looks as tense as before.

“Will you at least sit for an examination?” Xaden begs with his eyes, moving to my side. “Please.”

My entire being wants to fight, to turn around and walk out of this room. But the look in his eyes makes me hesitate.

“I’d like to at least make sure the broken bones and internal bleeding are all gone. Everything else will fade if you're that insistent about not resting.” Brennan informs, pushing the burnt throne to the side so that it turns towards me.

On one hand, they all have a point. I almost died, I need care but…

“I’m good.” I say and turn on my heel. I pause, letting the dizziness subside before I take one step and then another, moving towards the large double doors.

The amount of effort it takes to sneak out of Riorson House is more than I expected to put into it. Whether it’s because my entire body is exhausted or because most of its residents were aware that I really shouldn’t be out here, I’m not sure. I don’t think about it too closely.

I just keep walking.

The path up into the valley is familiar enough that I don’t have to watch my footing. Xaden’s book of runes and a waterskein sit tucked into the small pack resting against the back of my flight jacket, bumping lightly with every step.

It isn’t snowing yet, but the chill rolling down from the hills is a familiar warning. Winter isn’t far away. The coldest days of the year always arrive faster than you expect up here.

“You should be resting.” Desa’s voice finally slides into my mind just as her shadow sweeps across the grass. I look up in time to see her land before me, wings folding with quiet precision.

“Missed you too, Desa.” I smile as I shrug off my pack and toss it onto the ground before stepping toward her lowered head.

“The mender does not approve of you being out here.”

“Please tell me you are not ratting me out right now.” I groan, pressing my forehead gently against the warm scales of her snout. I hadn’t realized how badly I needed this until this moment. “I don’t want to fly. I just want to sit with my favorite dragon and read. I’ll rest if I get to stay up here, okay?”

Desa lets out a soft chuff, warm air rushing over me as she pulls back and curls into the grass beside me, offering the perfect slope of her neck to lean against.

“One sign of you being uncomfortable,” she warns, “and I will fetch the Shadow Wielder.”

“Deal,” I answer immediately, because I could never be uncomfortable with Desa here.

I settle into the grass beside her, tugging my pack closer and pulling out the book along with a few strips of cloth I’d grabbed earlier. The fabric is already beginning to fray from the number of attempts I’ve made.

Hours pass in comfortable silence.

The wind moves gently through the valley, rustling the grass while I work through the patterns again and again. Knot. Pull. Twist. Reset. The protection rune is simple in theory, frustrating in execution.

By the time the sun crests above the hills, the cloth strips are a tangled mess and Desa finally speaks again.

“You know she wasn’t actually there.”

Despite the fact she can’t see me, I shoot her a confused look while tightening another knot.

“Your mother.”

Oh.

“You heard all of that? Even through the serum?”

“Yes,” Desa replies calmly. “Only your side of the conversation, but…”

I sigh, letting the cloth fall from my hands as I lean my head back against her neck.

“I figured it was my imagination. A hallucination from whatever they gave me. Blood loss. Fear.” My throat tightens and I swipe quickly at the tears slipping down my cheek. “I just… it was nice having her there, Desa. Even if she wasn’t real.”

“You were very brave, Wise One,” Desa says.

I can’t help but smile faintly.

“Stupid,” she adds a moment later, “but very brave.”

“Thanks.”

A sudden rush of air tears across the valley as another dragon sweeps low overhead before landing beside Desa with a heavy thud.

“Sliseag?” I ask aloud, recognizing the red swordtail immediately.

“Hey, Wren!” Sawyer calls as he slides down Sliseag’s foreleg. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was tortured for five days,” I reply lightly, brushing it off with a shrug. “Welcome to Aretia, Henrick.”

“I get why you always said you missed home now.” Sawyer pulls off his goggles and gloves, glancing around the valley with clear appreciation. “It’s gorgeous here.”

I nod and push myself to my feet, meeting him halfway between the dragons.

“Desa seems pretty happy to have you back too.” He nods toward her towering form.

“Yeah,” I say, glancing back over my shoulder.

Desa’s head is angled toward Sliseag now. The two dragons are standing closer than I realized.

“I needed the peace and quiet up here for a little while,” I admit, gesturing toward my pack. “Everyone has been suffocating me.”

“I get it.” Sawyer shrugs. “Sliseag couldn’t resist coming though. Once Desa gave him the all-clear he practically dragged me up here.”

I blink. “What?”

Sawyer pauses mid-motion. “What?” he repeats.

“You said…?”

He gestures vaguely behind me, clearly confused. “Sliseag wanted to see Desa. They haven’t really interacted since your attack last week.”

I slowly turn to look.

Desa and Sliseag now stand almost shoulder to shoulder, necks angled toward one another in that quiet way dragons communicate. Sliseag’s tail flicks lazily against the grass while Desa lets out a low, satisfied rumble.

A strange feeling crawls up my spine.

“Why,” I ask slowly, turning back toward Sawyer, “would Sliseag be that eager to see Desa?”

Sawyer opens his mouth.

Closes it.

His eyes widen.

“Oh,” he says faintly.

“Desa?” Silence. “Desa,” I repeat, suspicion sharpening.

“I told you months ago that I was mated, Wise One—”

“Oh fuck,” Sawyer groans, dragging a hand down his face. “She didn’t tell you.”

I stare at him. “Tell me what?”

He looks between me and the dragons like he’s hoping one of them will intervene and save him.

Neither does.

Behind me, Sliseag lets out a pleased little trill.

Sawyer sighs the sigh of a man who knows he has just stepped directly into a disaster.

“Okay,” he says carefully. “In my defense, I thought you knew.”

“Knew…?”

He points between the dragons.

“That.”

I turn again.

Desa and Sliseag are now pressed close enough their wings nearly brush, Desa’s head resting comfortably along Sliseag’s neck like it belongs there.

My stomach drops.

“This is a joke,” I say slowly.

Sawyer winces. “Oh, you definitely didn’t know.”

“Desa.”

The bond stirs.

“It was not important,” she replies calmly.

I whirl around to face her fully.

“Not—” My voice breaks into a disbelieving laugh. “Not important?”

Behind her, Sliseag lifts his head proudly. “Did you expect us to say anything after the way you reacted with Tairn and Sgaeyl’s riders?” Sliseag’s deep voice pushes into my mind.

“You’re mated,” I say flatly, pointing between them.

Sawyer coughs with a gasp beside me, clearly that connection is well and alive.

“Yeah,” he mutters across the bond. “That’s… pretty much the situation.”

I stare at Desa.

She stares right back, utterly unapologetic.

“I told you we were exceptional at shielding,” she adds helpfully.

“Exceptional at shielding,” I repeat, incredulous.

Sawyer shifts awkwardly beside me. “To be fair, Sliseag’s shields are ridiculous too. I didn’t even know until about a week before Threshing.”

“I am surrounded by traitors,” I mutter.

Sawyer snorts. “You’re surrounded by dragons who apparently have better communication skills than anyone — including you.”

I glare at him.

Then at Desa.

Then at Sliseag.

And slowly, despite the exhaustion still clinging to my bones and the bruises that haven’t quite faded yet—

I start laughing.

Sawyer and I sit and talk for a while after that.

Desa and Sliseag curl together in the grass nearby, their massive bodies tucked into one another like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s one hell of a sight. I always knew Desa had a soft spot for some of the other dragons — Sgaeyl, Andarna — but this?

Okay.

It’s all fucking weird.

Eventually Sawyer pushes to his feet and offers me a hand, helping me stand before we start the slow walk back toward the city.

We talk the whole way, the kind of conversation that drifts easily from subject to subject without really landing anywhere important. It’s nice. Normal in a way I didn’t realize I’d been craving.

But the moment we reach the edge of the city walls, I veer off the path.

“I’ll find you at breakfast,” I promise, lifting a hand in farewell before heading toward the oak grove.

I’m not ready to go back to Riorson House yet.

The quiet up here — the lack of hovering eyes and worried voices — has been the best thing that’s happened to me since waking up. I’m not ready to give that up.

But the moment I step into the grove, I know my attempt at a little more peace is already gone, because Xaden is pacing in front of the old stone bench the boys hauled out here when we were teenagers, shadows coiling restlessly around him.

“Wrenley?” he gasps the second he spots me.

Turn around. Turn around.

“Hey,” I sigh instead, walking toward him and dropping onto the bench.

“Where have you been?” he snaps, the shadows dissolving instantly as he strides toward me.

I drop my pack into the dirt with a tired thud. “Avoiding this,” I reply, gesturing vaguely toward him. “The overbearing protectiveness.”

“You almost died!”

“I know!” The words rip out of me before I can stop them. Adrenaline surges through me and I launch up from the bench, shoving him backward. “I get it, okay?” I shout. “Fuck, how many times do I have to say it before someone just listens to me?”

“Wren—”

“It’s not the first time,” I continue, breath shaking. “Probably won’t be the last. But believe me, no one understands how close to death I was more than me.” My shoulders sag as quickly as the anger came. “So please… just let me deal with this the only way I know how.”

Xaden freezes where he stepped back, watching me like I might shatter.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

I exhale slowly, dropping back onto the bench. “Thank you,” I murmur. “And I’m sorry too. I know you’re worried. I just… the hovering from everyone is too much.”

“I’ll tell them to back off,” he offers immediately. “Give you time alone if—”

A growl escapes me before I can stop it. “I don’t want to be alone, Xaden. Why is that always your solution?”

He drags a hand through his hair in frustration. “Because I honestly don’t know where we stand, Wren!” he admits. “We haven’t exchanged a single letter in almost a month and it’s after Threshing.”

He takes a breath, trying to steady himself.

“We made that agreement about making decisions after Threshing. And if I knew where we stood — especially now that the bullshit engagement is over — there would already be a ring on your finger.” His voice softens. “But we haven’t really talked since Samara. Not really.”

I nod slowly, running my hand over my forearm. “I know.”

“I love you, Wren.” He says softly, kneeling before me. “I’m in love with you. But if you want me to walk away and not think about us anymore, then I need you to say it because,” He sighs, reaching out to take my hands in his. “I can’t just walk away from you. I screwed up once and I don’t want to do it again.”

I just stare at him in shock. Xaden has never been overly romantic, at least not since the rebellion.

“I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been since we were children. Every day I wake up and think today is the day you decide you’ve had enough of my secrets and my missteps and you push me away, as you should. And every day you don’t… I become more grateful than I know how to be.”

I don’t even remember when he said that but, those words have been sitting in the back of my mind and I know deep down that everything between us is different.

“We can’t go back to how things were,” I say quietly.

“I know.”

“But I’m willing to find our new normal.” I meet his eyes. “If you are.”

Hope flickers across his face before a real smile finally breaks through.

“Whatever we’re supposed to look like,” he says, resting his hands against my cheeks, “we’ll figure it out.”

“This is not your proposal,” I warn, leaning forward until my forehead rests against his.

“I can make it one—”

“Nope.” I shake my head. “Relationship-fixing confessions and marriage proposals cannot happen in the same conversation. New rule.”

A smirk tugs at his mouth.

“We have rules now?”

“Lots of them.” I smile faintly. “Rule number one is no more lies or secrets.”

He nods once. “I have so much to tell you, Little Bird.”

Finally, is what I want to shout.

But instead I say, “It can wait.”

“Wren—”

“I trust you, Xaden Riorson.” My voice softens as I press a kiss to the bridge of his nose. “You’ll tell me when the time is right.”

“Everything,” he promises. “As soon as possible.” He leans closer, voice turning teasing again. “Then I’m proposing. And you’re getting the engagement ceremony you always dreamed of.”

“Promises, promises, Riorson.” I laugh. “Besides, we’re a little busy running a revolution for a whole engagement ceremony.”

“For you,” he murmurs, brushing his lips softly against mine, “I’ll make time.”

The kiss starts gentle. Tentative.

Like we’re both remembering how this works after too much distance and too many almost-losses.

I lean into him instinctively, my fingers sliding into his hair while his hands settle carefully at my waist, pulling me closer. The warmth of him is grounding, familiar, and for a moment the rest of the world fades away.

He shifts beside me onto the bench so I don’t have to lean forward at all, deepening the kiss slowly, like he’s savoring something he thought he might have lost.

Gods, I don’t want this moment to end.

“Man,” a voice drawls behind us, “when I said I wanted you two to get back together, I didn’t think I’d come home to you making out in the oak grove like when we were teenagers.”

Xaden and I separate instantly.

The sound of that voice sends a cold shock through my spine.

There’s no way.

My hand reaches automatically for one of the swords strapped to Xaden’s back while he draws a dagger from the opposite side.

In one smooth motion we’re both on our feet, weapons raised toward the intruders. That’s when we freeze.

Because at the end of Xaden’s dagger stands a dark-haired girl with deep brown eyes, almost as tall as Violet. But she isn’t what makes us pause.

It’s the six-foot blond man with sky-blue eyes smiling calmly at the blade of the sword in my hand.

My breath catches.

I blink once.

Twice.

Because there is no possible way the man standing in front of me is real.

Because Liam Mairi is dead. I watched him die.

The sword trembles slightly in my hand. “Liam?”

His grin spreads slowly, impossibly familiar.

“Hey, Wrennie.”

next part

Notes: Bet you weren't expecting that drop were you?

Curious as to what Liam has been up to for the last 3 months?

Check out his and Maelira's story, Carry You Home.

Everything: @lxnvmvrzx @bodhidurrans @bookwormysblog @nikfigueiredo @fictionalrelapse @poisonivy2267 @babypeapoddd @wolfbc97 @ella423

ATWWSA: @simplyyspring @hiraethjules @ella423

W R E N L E Y

I wake to screaming.

Not the confused kind or the panicked kind, but the kind that seeps into your bones and convinces your body it’s happening to you too.

The room is dark and cold, damp in a way that settles into my lungs before it ever touches my skin. I smell the moisture before I feel it, thick and stagnant, and I know immediately that I’m underground. Where exactly I am, what part of the school, or if I’m even still at Basgiath, I have no idea.

When I try to move, chains bite into my wrists, iron scraping skin, and I swallow the hiss that threatens to escape. The wall at my back is rough stone, unyielding.

“Desa?” I reach out instinctively.

Nothing answers.

No warmth. No presence. No familiar tether. I can’t sense Bodhi or Imogen, can’t feel the faint hum of the mental doors that usually exist at the edge of my awareness.

“Fuck,” I mutter, scanning the darkness for anything that might resemble a way out.

Another scream echoes down the corridor, hoarse now, shredded at the edges. My stomach drops.

Violet.

I don’t need to hear her name to know it. I’ve heard her cry out before — on the Gauntlet, in battle, in challanges — but this is different. This isn’t accidental. This isn’t the result of failure or misstep.

This is deliberate.

This is someone taking their time.

“Stop,” I rasp, my throat raw, my voice useless against stone and iron. “Please—”

The scream cuts off abruptly.

The silence afterward is worse.

Footsteps approach, unhurried and certain, each one measured like they’ve been rehearsed. The door opens with a precise click, and Major Varrish steps inside like he owns the space and me with it.

“Well,” he says mildly, folding his hands behind his back. “You’re awake.”

I don’t answer. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“You’ve had a rough few days,” he continues, as though we’re discussing the weather. “Stab wound. Healer intervention. Emotional strain.”

My jaw tightens.

“Do you know why you’re here, Miss Tavis?”

I meet his pale gaze and say nothing. This is no different than RSC training. Control your breathing. Control your face. Do not give him anything.

He smiles faintly. “Of course you do.” He gestures toward the corridor. “See, your friend Violet possessed a journal from the First Six. One containing information on wardstones that has been… aggressively protected.” He takes a step closer. “I’ve already asked her how she obtained it. Who helped her. And why.”

My pulse hammers in my ears, but I keep my head high.

“And since she seems determined to protect others at great personal cost,” he adds, tilting his head, “I thought I might try a different approach.” He stops directly in front of me. “You.”

I swallow.

“Let’s start simply,” Varrish says. “Why did Cadet Sorrengail have that journal?”

“I don’t know,” I answer, keeping my voice steady. 

His smile sharpens. “A shame, really.” He signals to someone outside the cell. The door closes behind him with a final, echoing thud that settles into my chest. “You see,” Varrish continues conversationally, “this stops the moment I’m satisfied.” He reaches for my hand. “And unlike Violet, I think you understand exactly what’s at stake.”

Pain explodes through my fingers, white and blinding, and I bite down hard enough that my teeth ache to keep the scream trapped inside my chest.

The pain comes again, exact and localized at first, then radiating outward until my arm is nothing but sensation. My body jerks against the restraints, breath tearing from my lungs in a sound I don’t recognize.

“Still there?” he asks, gripping my hair to pull my gaze back to him.

I grit my teeth and nod once.

“Good,” he replies. “I’d hate to lose you too early.” He moves, recalibrates, never allowing my body to learn the pattern. Time fractures almost immediately, minutes dissolving into something shapeless and endless. “You know,” Varrish says conversationally, “people loved your mother.”

I go still and he notices immediately.

“Oh,” he murmurs. “That got your attention.” His face lights with a smirk. “Eden Tavis,” he continues. “Brilliant. Principled. Inconvenient.”

“You don’t get to say her name,” I manage.

He smiles — not wide, not cruel. Satisfied. “She thought righteousness was armor,” he says. “Thought love would save her.”

Pain detonates at my shoulder, hot and blinding, and this time I can’t stop the scream.

“That,” Varrish says calmly, “is exactly what she sounded like.”

I’m shaking now—not from fear, but from fury. From grief I never finished processing because the world didn’t give me time.

“She begged,” he added almost thoughtfully. “Not for herself. For you.”

My breath stutters.

“She asked us to leave you out of it,” he continues. “To let you grow up without knowing what she’d done.”

Another adjustment. Another wave of pain that crawls instead of strikes.

“I told her no,” Varrish says quietly. “Consequences don’t skip generations.”

Something breaks then, but it isn’t information or loyalty.

It’s hope.

“You killed her because she scared you,” I snarl.

His hand snaps my head to the side. “No,” he corrects. “We killed her because she wouldn’t bend.” He steps closer, pale eyes boring into mine. “And now,” he murmurs, “I get to see if her daughter is any different.”

The pain changes after that. It slows, spreads, occupies. It crawls through my nerves and makes my body feel like an enemy I can’t escape. Memories surface without permission — my mother’s hands steady on my shoulders, her voice telling me to stand tall, to never let them see me flinch.

Varrish watches like a scientist observing a reaction.

“You’re still holding,” he notes. “Impressive.” 

I don’t answer. 

“But here’s what your mother never understood,” he says, lowering his voice. “Strength isn’t refusing to break. It’s knowing when to stop resisting.”

Pain flares again, measured and deliberate.

“I can do this all night,” Varrish continues. “And tomorrow. And the day after that.” He straightens, smoothing his sleeves. “This isn’t about answers anymore,” he says. “It’s about memory.” He meets my gaze one last time.“I want you to remember exactly who took your mother from you.”

“I will kill you,” I snarl, pulling against the chains again, fighting the pain that radiates with every movement.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Sleep while you can, Little Bird.”

I ignore the wave of pain that floats through me as I turn on the cold stone.

Someone came in hours after Varrish left me hanging by my wrists. They released the chains, tossed me to the floor like I was garbage, and left. Even free, I didn’t move from the blood-soaked patch of stone beneath me. I couldn’t tell what hurt more: the damage, or the fact that I still had to inhabit it.

The figure in front of me is an achingly familiar sight.

And yet I know it isn’t real.

“He’ll be back before you know it, my darling,” she says softly. “Rest.”

You aren’t real.

“Maybe,” she murmurs, like she hears the thought anyway. “But I’m here.”

Mom.

Her red hair is as vibrant as mine as she kneels before me. “My darling girl,” she whispers, “you are so brave.” Her hand grazes my cheek and I swear I feel the pressure, the warmth, the impossibility of it.

He’s going to kill me, Mom. Just like he killed you.

She laughs quietly, wiping away tears I don’t remember shedding. “He can’t do anything if you don’t allow him to,” she says. “He can break your body, but your mind is stronger than anything. Always has been.” She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and it slips loose again, darker with blood. “I’m so proud of you.”

The words hit like a knife made of mercy.

What I would give to hear them from her mouth, from my real mother, and not whatever my pain has conjured to keep me breathing.

From the antechamber, voices drift in. Close enough that the stone carries them.

“You should bring in the other rebellion children,” Nora suggests. “Even the whole squad. One of them will break when the screams start.”

“Neither did during their assessments,” Varrish replies. “And bringing them in means they’ll know what’s happened. With the relic winding around Imogen Cardulo’s arm, I doubt she’ll be willing to wipe their memories. Killing them presents a different set of issues.” A pause. “You’re sure none of the cadets have hand injuries?”

“I inspected them all myself,” Nora replies. “Devera and Emetterio are asking where they are, as is the rest of the squad. They’ve missed class today.”

Monday.

My mother’s gaze softens. “You’ve been here for two days.”

Xaden won’t notice anything is wrong for another five. And even ten, not with me, but with Violet.

“He’ll come for you,” she whispers, certain.

And risk the revolution? Mom, he’s smarter than that. I can handle torture, and he knows it.

“You clearly do not know your boyfriend,” she replies, amused and aching all at once.

“Get her up.” Varrish’s voice cuts through the corridor. “It’s time for a little show.”

Hands seize me. Two figures haul me from the ground, and every inch of my body protests. I bite down on my scream, but it leaks anyway, jagged and humiliating.

They drag me through the antechamber and throw me into another room.

Stone slams into my ribs. My wrist screams. My shoulder shudders. I choke on the sound that rips out of me.

“Wren…”

The voice is so soft I almost miss it.

“Violet.” I force my head up.

She’s on a wooden slab of a bed in the corner, bruised and wrecked and wrong, limbs arranged like someone has been testing how far a body can bend before it snaps.

“Oh, Vi,” my mother coos, crossing the room. Violet doesn’t even glance at her.

Of course she doesn’t.

Varrish lowers himself to Violet’s eye level, a few feet away from where my mother kneels. “You must be in so much pain,” he says, like it’s kindness. “It can all stop.” His voice turns conversational. “Maybe Nolon was right. Forget how you stole the book. You’re not going to give up your accomplices.” His gaze sharpens. “But I need to know why. Why would you need a journal from one of the First Six? I’ve been reading it. Interesting history. What are you trying to ward, Sorrengail?”

Fuck. He’s close.

I want my signet back. I want Desa. I want to reach Violet and tell her to hold on, to lie, to breathe, to survive.

“We could stop dancing around each other and have a true discussion,” Varrish offers. “Surely you have questions I could answer about why we don’t involve ourselves in Poromish issues. Is that what this is? Righteous indignation?” He smiles, slow. “We could have an equal exchange of information, since we both know it wasn’t gryphons that killed your friend’s dragon.”

The words hit like a hook. My body jerks, and agony washes over me.

“He’s trying to get a rise out of you,” my mother warns.

“But how much do you know?” Varrish asks Violet softly, like it’s a gift. “And what have you been doing with the marked ones?” He paces, thoughtful. “We’ve watched them for years. But until Cadet Aetos gave you up, all we had was speculation.” His gaze flicks to her. “Then you didn’t come back to Basgiath. No outposts reported you seeking a healer.” His smile sharpens. “So I’m going to rephrase my earlier question. Where did you go, Cadet Sorrengail? Where are you trying to ward?”

This is bigger than a stolen book.

“Gods, you’re good,” Varrish murmurs. “Or you’re in too much pain to react.” He tilts his head, birdlike as he studies her. “Do you know what my signet is? Why I’m so good in this room? It’s classified, but we’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

Violet doesn’t answer.

“I don’t see people,” he says. “I see their weaknesses.” He skims a finger over the break in her forearm. “A great advantage in battle.” He leans closer. “You surprised me when we met. From everything I’d heard about the youngest Sorrengail, I expected pain, broken bones, shame for never living up to expectations.” His gaze sharpens. “But I saw nothing. Someone taught you to shield.” A breath. “Do you want to know what I see now that we’ve cut you off from your power?”

Still nothing from Violet.

“By Dunne,” he sighs, raising his voice in mock imitation. “‘Yes, of course I want to know.’” His smile twists. “Your weaknesses are the people you love. So many people to choose from. Your squad leader, your squad, your sister, your dragons.” He glances at me, and my blood runs cold. “As for Cadet Tavis…”

He turns fully toward me.

“…she only possesses the one,” he says softly. “Lieutenant Riorson.”

My heart rate spikes.

“She’s triggered,” Nora notes from the doorway.

“I know,” Varrish replies. He approaches me and I try to back away, but my body is too slow. Too damaged. He snatches my hair, forcing me close. “And I bet you’re thinking he’ll be the one who comes for you, aren’t you? That come Saturday, when Cadet Sorrengail doesn’t show in Samara, he’ll come looking even if it means violating leave policy.” His voice turns sweet. “You’re pinning your hopes on him breaking rules for you.”

My throat works, though I’m too dehydrated to swallow.

“He won’t wait until Saturday,” my mother promises, fierce.

“That’s what I’m counting on,” Varrish says, and shoves me hard enough my head cracks against stone. Blood rushes down the back of my neck in a hot sheet. “I waited all year for one of you to break a rule so I could question you under Codex. Your mother was a rule follower that way.” His smile cuts. “But the joy it gives me to know Fen Riorson’s son will abandon his post to come to your aid…” He gestures toward Violet. “That he’ll sit in that chair next. And he will give me the answers I seek.”

Wait.

“He’s not just questioning you,” my mother whispers, tense beside me. “He’s laying bait for Xaden.”

My pulse goes feral.

“You both have so much power here,” Varrish says softly, almost reverent. “You can save Lieutenant Riorson from what awaits him.” His eyes gleam. “Tell me what I want to know, and I won’t hurt him.”

For one beat, temptation claws up my throat. The thought of Xaden in this room, of his wrists in chains, of his voice breaking under Varrish’s hands, makes bile rise.

“Where are you trying to ward?” Varrish asks. “What are the marked ones up to?”

“Don’t break now, my darling,” my mother whispers, her hand resting on my ruined shoulder like a blessing. “Talk now and you doom all of them. Your friends. Your family. Your father.” Her eyes harden. “If they had anything on Xaden, he’d already be in custody. They won’t hurt him. They can’t.”

I know, but—

“No?” Varrish whispers, leaning close. “You’re sure? You can save him. Right here. Right now.” His voice goes softer. “Because I think he’ll come. And when he does, I will break him and I’ll make you watch.”

I breathe through my teeth. My vision blurs with blood loss.

“But don’t worry,” he adds, smiling. “You’ll be screaming your secrets in no time. Of course, by then I won’t need them.” His gaze drops to my throat like he can see my pulse. “Ah. You see it now, don’t you?” He grins. “I was lucky enough to glimpse the most powerful rider of your generation fumble his shields like a novice once. Less than a second, but it was all I needed.” His smile is bright, ugly. “You’re not the prize, Miss Tavis. You’re the tool.”

“Fuck you,” I snarl, voice thick with blood.

Violet coughs, and then, somehow, she speaks. “Does Solas enjoy hiding?”

Varrish blinks, then masks it fast.

“Just because you’ve blocked my ability to talk to Tairn doesn’t mean he doesn’t know exactly what you’ve done to me,” she croaks, and the smile she gives him is pure knife. “You’re hunting Xaden. But Tairn is hunting Solas. You’re the weaker one on both counts. We might die in this chamber, but I promise you will.”

Varrish’s gaze sharpens. “Just because I can’t kill you without losing my target doesn’t mean I won’t shatter you over and over until he arrives.” He smooths his hands down his thighs and turns for the door. “We’re going to have fun, you and I.”

He’s halfway out when his voice drifts back. “Call Nolon in. We need to start fresh.”

When he’s gone, the room exhales.

“Varrish is wrong,” Violet whispers aloud, small. “Xaden won’t come.”

“He knows how to prioritize,” I answer, even softer. “He’ll make the right choice.”

Violet’s eyes slide toward the wall beside her. “Don’t leave me,” she whispers.

Maybe I’m not the only one so far gone that I’ve built myself a crutch out of ghosts.

I lose count of the questions Varrish asks, the bones he breaks, the times Nolon comes in and leaves with his shoulders sagging like he’s carrying a corpse he refuses to admit is alive.

Nolon mends Violet when he visits. Always Violet. The same bones snap again later anyway. The bruises never fully fade. She’s never at full strength, and neither is he.

Because so, I don’t get mended at all.

I suspect the only reason I’m still breathing is the water they force between my lips and the bites of food I choke down when they remember. Even those are becoming harder to keep.

Today, I’m hanging from the ceiling by my wrists.

Hanging.

Not standing. Not braced. My body is too weak and too broken to take my own weight, so the cuffs do it for me, and pain becomes an ever-present hum.

“Please stay awake, Wren,” Violet whispers from the chair beneath me. “We’re going to get out of here.”

I laugh, or something that tries to be a laugh. My head lolls to the side. Blood trickles over my lips as I cough, my body spasming with it. “You’ll get out, Vi.”

“My darling girl,” my mother murmurs, and I don’t know whether to be grateful or furious that she’s still here.

She hasn’t left my side once.

On one hand, I might die with her beside me, even if she’s only my mind trying to soften the end. On the other, she’s done nothing but watch her daughter get beaten toward death.

“We could bring in Jack Barlowe if this doesn’t work,” Nora says from the antechamber. “Gods know he’s been waiting for retribution.”

“Tempting,” Varrish replies. “I’m sure he’d find inventive ways to motivate her. But we can’t trust him not to kill her. Too unpredictable.”

“Shouldn’t have worked so hard to save him, then,” my mother snaps, brushing blood-matted hair back from my forehead.

Mama…

“I’m here, darling,” she says, gentler. “It’s going to be okay.”

I’m just glad it’s me here and not Garrick. Not Bodhi. Not Imogen.

“Don’t talk like that.” She presses. “You’ll get out of here.”

Look at me, Mama. I’m dying.

“Oh sweetheart.”

“You asked to see me, sir? Down here?” A voice carries from the corridor. “There have to be a dozen guards in the stairwell.”

Oh, fuck.

Dain.

“I did,” Varrish responds. “I need your help. Navarre needs your help.”

“What can I do?”

Violet twists against the straps holding her to the chair. The buckles hold.

“We had a breach of security this week,” Varrish says smoothly. “Classified documents stolen. We caught the perpetrator and a co-conspirator, preventing the loss of intelligence, but the prisoners…” He pauses, dramatic. “It’s blatantly obvious by connection that these riders are working with what we suspect to be a second rebellion, intent on destroying Navarre. For the safety of every civilian within our wards, I need their memories, wingleader. You must extract the truth, or our very way of life will be compromised.”

Oh sweet Amari. Of course that gets him.

Violet pulls at her bonds again and I can see the pain ricochet across her eyes.

“Vi, stop,” I mutter.

“I’m going to warn you,” Varrish says gently. “The prisoners’ identities may come as a shock.” The door swings open before either of us can prepare ourselves.

Varrish enters first. Dain follows, stopping in the doorway like he’s walked into a nightmare he didn’t believe existed.

His eyes sweep over Violet, bruised and bound in the chair.

Then up to me and his face drains of color.

“Violet?” His voice cracks. “Wrenley?”

“Please help me,” Violet whispers, and I can see she’s begging the boy who used to explore lakesides with us, not the Codex-bound wingleader standing there now.

“You’ve been torturing them for five days?” Dain accuses, voice sharp.

Five days? It’s only Thursday?

“Since she stole Lyra’s journal from the king’s private library?” Varrish sounds bored. “Absolutely. They might have been childhood friends, Aetos, but we both know where their loyalties lie now.” His smile is lazy. “With Riorson. With the war he’s planning.”

“That’s not true,” Violet gasps. “I would never hurt civilians. Dain, you know—”

“I don’t know shit about you anymore,” Dain snaps, and anger twists his face into something unfamiliar.

“There’s a war out there,” I force out, desperate to hit something real inside him before he becomes another blade. “Poromish civilians are dying, and we’re doing nothing. We’re just watching it happen.”

“You think we should involve ourselves in their civil war?” Dain fires back.

Violet’s shoulders sag. Defeat settles into her like a weight. “I think you’ve been lied to for so long you won’t recognize the truth even when it hits you in the face.”

“I could say the same for you,” Dain spits, then looks to Varrish. “You’re sure she was trying to take down the wards?”

“I’ve had the journal sent back to the Archives for safekeeping,” Varrish says. “But yes. It gave detailed instructions on how the wards were built. A map to unravel them.” He squeezes Dain’s shoulder. “I know this is hard to hear, but people aren’t always who we want them to be.” He turns his expression sympathetic. “Try not to be angry with her. We can’t always help who we fall in love with, can we?”

Dain stiffens.

“Riorson pulled her into something she couldn’t possibly understand,” Varrish continues. “You saw it happen last year.” A sigh, performative. “I didn’t want to have to show you this, but…” He pulls an alloy-imbedded dagger from his sheath. “Both of them were carrying this too. That metal powers the wards. We believe they’ve been smuggling them out, weakening our protections little by little.”

“Is that true?” Dain’s gaze flies to Violet and then to me.

Violet strains against the binds again. “I can explain. It’s not how he’s portraying it—”

“I don’t need you to explain,” Dain snarls. “I’ve been asking you to talk to me for months. Now I see why you won’t.” He steps closer, and Violet shrinks back. “You’re scared I’ll see what you’ve been hiding.”

“Remember your ethics,” Varrish instructs smoothly. “Search as you’ve been practicing, but focus on the word ward.”

A voice calls from the antechamber. “Lieutenant Nora. All leadership is being ordered to assemble. There have been incidents at the border.”

“By whose order?” Nora demands.

“General Sorrengail’s.”

“We’ll be there shortly,” Nora replies.

Varrish’s mouth tightens. “We might already be too late,” he says. “Riorson deserted days ago, according to reports we received this morning. We’re gathering the marked ones now.”

No.

My body jerks against the chains, the motion sending fire up my arms.

Bodhi. Imogen. Sloane.

The minute Dain sees what we’ve been hiding, they kill us, then the others, and then they turn toward Aretia.

“Violet knows as much as you do,” my mother murmurs close, urgent. “But you have years of the first rebellion. If you think of it first, his mind will have to wade through you before it reaches her.”

“What have you done, Violet?” Varrish asks, voice soft with false disappointment. “Orchestrated another attack on an outpost? Find out what you can, Aetos. The safety of our kingdom depends on it.”

Dain’s eyes flare as he lifts his hands.

“You killed Liam,” Violet blurts.

He pauses. “So you keep saying.” His gaze turns cold. “But I only searched your memory to prove my father wrong, Violet, and all you did was prove him right. If the marked ones died betraying our kingdom, then they deserved what they got.”

“I hate you,” I whisper. The words scrape out of me like sandpaper.

“They’re stalling,” Varrish snaps. “Do it now. If you see something you don’t understand, I’ll explain it once we know where their army is hiding. Trust me. We are acting in the best interest of every citizen of Navarre.”

Dain nods, then hesitates, eyes flicking over me. “She’s bruised everywhere.”

“Show him what you want him to see,” my mother urges.

“She’s nothing more than a traitor,” Varrish retorts.

“Right.” Dain swallows, then moves toward Violet.

“Stop,” I croak, forcing my head up until I can catch his eyes. “You and I both know I likely know more than she does. I’m a marked one. I earned the relic crawling up my arm.”

“Very well,” Varrish groans. “Just get answers, Aetos.”

Dain crosses to me slowly. “Wren…” His gaze takes in the damage and something flickers, grief maybe, or guilt.

“Just do it,” I whisper. “We both know how this ends.”

He reaches up, pressing a hand to the side of my head. The touch stings against swollen skin.

I close my eyes and feel him at the edge of my mind where my shields should be.

They can cut me off from Desa. They can cut me off from my signet, but my mind is still my own.

I reach for his presence and drag him into a memory.

We’re in the heart of Riorson House, seven years ago.

My father stands before me, holding me in a fierce hug while other parents do the same throughout the stronghold.

“Don’t follow us,” he says.

“I can fight,” I argue, voice breaking. “I can help—”

“I know, Little Bird,” he interrupts, brushing stray tears from my cheeks. “That’s why you stay with the younger kids. Make sure they’re safe.”

“Dad—”

“Listen to me, Wrenley.” His hands tighten on my shoulders. “No matter what they say. No matter what they do. You survive. Do you understand me?”

The scene shifts.

Liam stands near the war table, face grim. “Venin,” he says, like the word tastes like ash. “Four of them. Purple robes. Red eyes. Veins crawling all around their temples. Creepy as shit.”

“You’re positive?” Xaden’s voice cuts in, hard and sharp.

Liam nods. “As sure as I can be without having seen them before.”

Then I’m in the air.

“Liam!” I shout, urgency lacing my voice as I watch Tairn and Deigh become surrounded by a swarm of wyverns, their monstrous forms slicing through the air with razor-sharp talons. The world narrows to a singular focus. “I need you!” I call for Xaden. 

“I’m hunting the Venin at the walls!” Xaden’s voice cuts through the din, laced with determination and fear. 

“Please,” I responded, desperation rising like bile in my throat.

“If I leave, these civilians are all dead!” Xaden insists, his resolve hard as iron. “You can do this!”

The weight of his words strikes me deep. I can do this. Adrenaline surges through my veins, igniting a fierce fire in my heart. “We need to get the wyverns away from Deigh!” I urge Desa, who nods without hesitation, her wings unfurling as she dives toward the incoming beast.

Tairn is desperately trying to shake off the wyvern clinging to Deigh, its talons embedded deep in his scales, but his efforts seem futile against the creature’s relentless onslaught. 

“Deigh!” Liam’s voice rings out, a sound that sends icy fear swirling through my chest.

“Hold on, Liam, please!” I cry, pouring every ounce of my heart into our shared connection, hoping he can feel my desperation.

“Wren?” he gasps, his voice strained.

“We’re on our way!” Xaden's reassurance filters through, but even Desa’s fierce determination can't mask the dread pooling in my stomach. 

“It’s too late.”

I feel Dain trying to pull back.

I don’t let him.

If he wants to see, he’s going to see.

I force the details into him, the legs, two not four. The red veins. The way the air tastes wrong around a venin.

“Wrennie,” he coughs, and my heart shatters. 

“I’m here,” I say, grasping his hand, the warmth slipping away.

“You were…” His voice falters, and I feel like I'm choking on the weight of the moment as I gaze up at Violet. Her face, streaked with tears, radiates despair as she cradles Liam’s other hand. “You were in my head, like Deigh could.”

“Yea, Li. It’s my signet,” I reply, letting out a heavy sigh, ignoring Violet’s reaction to my words.

“That’s cool.” He manages to force out a laugh, but it’s riddled with pain, a sound that twists like a knife in my heart. “Take care of Sloane for me, both of you?”

“No.” Violet’s voice trembles, her shock morphing into fervent denial as she tears her gaze from me, a lifeline slipping through her fingers. “You’ll be there. You have to be there.”

“Promise me, Wrennie.” Liam’s focus shifts to me, his eyes reflecting a vulnerability that makes my heart ache. “She’ll need someone. Just… don’t let her be alone.”

“I promise.” A tear escapes, trailing down my cheek. “I got her, Li.”

Then I make Dain feel it.

Every ounce of pain inflicted on me over the last five days, and every ounce I’m still drowning in now.

I pour it into him like a flood.

Dain jerks back with a gasp.

I open my eyes to meet the horror carved into his face.

“Have you had enough?” I rasp, coughing hard enough to spit blood.

“You’re smuggling weapons,” Dain says, voice shaking. “Stealing our weapons to aid another kingdom?”

My heart plummets.

I showed him the truth and it still wasn’t enough.

My eyes find my mother’s. The grief in her gaze is unbearable.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and whatever strength I had left leaks out.

“As you should be,” Varrish sneers.

A shout rises from the antechamber. “They want us now!”

Nora’s voice snaps. “It’s a summons for all leadership.”

Varrish whirls to Dain, composure cracking. “What did you find? Where are they staging from?”

“Give me that knife,” Dain demands. “I want to compare it to the one I saw in the memory. The ones they’re stealing from us.”

Varrish hands my dagger over, irritation sharp. “Just don’t kill her. We need Riorson first. Use her as leverage.”

Dain turns the dagger over in his hand, then nods once. “This is the one. They’re taking them out by the dozen. Arming the enemy. I saw everything.”

My stomach turns.

They’ll keep us. They’ll use us. They’ll bait Xaden.

And I won’t survive it.

“Good,” Varrish says. “Now tell me where they are.”

Dain grips the dagger in his left hand, spins it so the blade runs parallel to his forearm, then he brings it to Violet’s throat.

My blood goes cold.

“You should have trusted me,” Dain says quietly. “None of this would have happened if you’d just trusted me. And now it’s too late.”

Varrish turns toward the antechamber at Nora’s shout.

The knife slips against Violet’s skin.

Dain is going to kill her.

Desa won’t survive my death. Garrick will shatter but survive. Bodhi, Imogen, Sloane… they’ll be okay. My father will die trying to take revenge.

But Xay—

“I’m so sorry, Shadow,” I whisper to the emptiness where I can’t reach him. I brace for one last surge, one last cut, one last pain.

Dain whips his arm back.

I wait for the strike.

It doesn’t come.

Instead there’s the sound of staggering steps, bonds snapping, leather straps being cut free.

“I don’t know if we can fight our way out of here,” Dain says fast, breath ragged. “Can you move?”

I stare through my lashes as he slices Violet free from the chair.

What?

“Aetos!” Varrish snarls, stumbling back against the wall, then sliding down it. Fresh blood trails behind him.

“Wrenley!” Dain shouts, rushing to the chains above me. “We have to go or we’re dead!”

“Get—” I cough, blood thick. “Get Vi out.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Dain snaps, trying to force the cuffs open.

“I’m dying,” I rasp, body swinging weakly. “I have accepted my fate. Now go.”

Dain’s eyes bore into mine, sorrow swallowing the horror that was there earlier.

“Go now,” I force out, another bout of coughing ripping through me.

“I’m sorry, Wren.” He rushes to Violet, then pauses at the door like he’s trying to make a bargain with the universe. “Let us pass and you’ll live.”

Seconds stretch.

Another voice fills the room, calm and lethal followed by another body dropping in the doorway. “I make no such promises.”

“No,” Violet screams.

“Shit,” Dain gasps, and Violet whimpers.

“He saved us,” she breathes. “Don’t kill him.”

“Godsdamn,” I hear Garrick mutter, voice rough with disbelief. “You took off running and then couldn’t save a single one for me? Took me forever to clear the barricade of bodies in the stairwell.” Then, softer, horrified: “Oh fuck, Wrenley.”

Hands tilt my chin. Familiar eyes meet mine. Tears spill freely.

“Gare,” I manage, and then cough until my ribs feel like glass.

“Fuck, Xaden! Help me!” Garrick’s hands steady my head before he lifts me just enough to take weight off my wrists. I scream as pain lances through me, even relief hurting.

Strong arms replace his.

“Come on, love.” Even through blurred vision, I recognize him by the way my body tries to melt anyway. He frees the cuffs with brutal efficiency and gathers me against him like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. “I’ve got you, Little Bird.”

“Xay,” I whine, weak and ruined, sinking into the warmth.

“Stay awake,” he orders softly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I’m getting you out.”

“It’s chaos up there,” Garrick tells him. “Leadership is launching all over the place to get to the border.”

“Then it worked,” Xaden says.

Varrish groans behind us, and I feel Xaden’s head snap toward the sound. “You’re turning traitor?” he bites out at Dain.

“Oh, is that what’s happening?” Garrick asks, dry as dust.

“Your father will be disappointed,” Varrish hisses through a wet cough.

“If he already knows what Wren showed me,” Dain replies, voice shaking with rage, “then I’m the one disappointed in him.”

“If you’re serious about joining us,” Xaden says, grip tightening around me, “then you and Violet can deal with Varrish before we leave.”

“We have to move,” Garrick warns.

“Clear the staircase,” Xaden orders. “And tell Bodhi to track down whatever antidote the girls and the rest of their squad need.”

“I didn’t break,” I whisper, barely sound. “Dain… he saw everything before you got here, but I swear I didn’t break.”

“I know,” Xaden murmurs, voice like salvation. He holds me closer, letting my cheek rest against his throat. “Nothing that happened in that room matters as long as you’re alive and I get another day to love you.”

“Xay…”

He talks over me, frantic now, as if words can keep my heart beating. “Desa is waiting in the courtyard. We’re going to get you to—”

“We can’t leave,” I choke out. “They’ll follow. Brennan isn’t ready.” I try to push out of his arms. I can’t. “You’ll give up access to the forge—”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he snarls. “We’ll figure it out once we’re there.”

“You’ll lose everything you’ve worked for,” I sob, coughing again as pain tears through my abdomen. “Because of me.”

“Then I’ll have everything I need,” he swears, stopping at the bottom of the stairs and looking down at me like he’s seeing the end of the world. “I will happily watch Aretia burn to the fucking ground again if it means you live.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” His jaw clenches. “I’m sorry if you expect me to do the noble thing, but that version of me is long gone, and you still choose me anyway.” He adjusts his grip when my coughing makes my body slip. His voice cracks, just slightly, like it costs him. “How about a truth. Something real,” he says, ragged. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been since we were children.” His breath shakes. “Every day I wake up and think today is the day you decide you’ve had enough of my secrets and my missteps and you push me away, as you should. And every day you don’t… I become more grateful than I know how to be.”

It’s everything I’ve wanted to hear for months.

Not because it fixes anything. Not because it erases what he’s done.

Because it’s real.

“I… I love you too, Xaden,” I whisper, and feel the world finally tilt.

I let go.

X A D E N

“Wren?” I whisper as her weight goes boneless in my arms.

“Xaden!” Garrick’s voice snaps from the top of the stairwell. “We have a problem!”

“Fuck.” I sprint up the stairs, careful not to jostle Wrenley. “What kind of problem?”

“A general-size one,” Garrick answers.

I round the corner and find Lilith Sorrengail with her blade at Garrick’s throat, his hands raised, eyes flat with contained fury.

Lilith’s gaze hits the girl in my arms.

“Wrenley?” Her mouth parts, shock slicing through her composure. Then she turns, sharp. “Violet.”

I feel them behind me before I see them. Violet and Dain, trailing in the wake of blood and choices.

Lilith’s eyes cut back to me. “Who did you kill?”

“Everyone,” I say without hesitation.

She studies me for a beat, then lowers the blade.

Garrick exhales, stepping back until his spine meets the wall.

Lilith reaches into the rib pocket of her uniform and produces two vials of clear liquid. “Antidote,” she says. “For the serum.”

Garrick takes one, pockets it, already moving.

“I would have come sooner if I’d known,” Lilith says, and her voice softens along with her eyes when she looks at Violet. “I didn’t know. I swear it. I’ve been in Calldyr for the last week.”

“So your return is what?” Violet demands. “Coincidence?”

Lilith’s mouth tightens. “I’d like a moment alone with my daughter.”

“That’s not happening,” I snap, and her gaze hardens on me.

“You of all people understand the lengths I’ll go to to protect her,” she says. “And since I’m fairly certain you’re the reason we’re getting reports of dragons dropping wyvern carcasses at every outpost along our border, the reason this college is emptying itself of leadership in a rush to contain the problem, the least you can do is give me the chance to say goodbye.”

“You what?” Violet gasps.

I don’t look at her. She’s alive, and that’s the only thing I can afford to care about right now.

“Would have done it sooner,” I say. “Took a couple days to hunt them down and kill them.”

“You’ve threatened our entire kingdom,” Lilith says, eyes narrowing.

“Good.” Rage burns hot behind my ribs. “You allowed your daughter and your best friend’s daughter to be tortured for days. I don’t give a shit whether it was absence or negligence. It happened on your watch.”

“Three minutes,” she orders, voice like steel. “Now.”

“Three minutes,” Violet agrees.

“Fine,” I bite out, stepping past Lilith. “But I’m not waiting while Wren’s life is on the line.”

“You’ll never make it,” Garrick calls, following.

“I have to try.” I insist, pushing towards where our dragons wait.

“Let me take her,” Garrick insists. “I’ll get her there ten times faster than Sgaeyl could.”

Sgaeyl growls in my mind, offended. “As insulting as his comment is,” she says, clipped, “he is the Wise One’s best bet.”

I stop. The motion nearly breaks me.

Garrick slides in front of me, and everything I’ve been holding back cracks open when I look down at Wrenley’s face.

“I can’t lose her,” I say, voice raw.

“I won’t let that happen,” Garrick swears, reaching for her with care that makes my throat burn. “You know we can’t just abandon Basgiath. You know Violet won’t leave everyone here.” He shifts Wrenley into his arms, holding his cousin close. “Do what has to be done. Meet us back home.”

I point at him, helpless and furious. “Keep her safe.”

“Always, brother,” Garrick promises.

And then he turns and runs, carrying my heart away from this hell.

next part

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X A D E N

I forced us to relocate to my office before anyone could notice us.

Getting Liam inside unnoticed was a little harder now than it would have been ten or so years ago. We’re a lot bigger now, and the house is more guarded, more at risk.

I close the door behind us, locking it without thought before turning back just in time to see the calm facade Wren has had in place since we set out from the oak grove finally snap.

“Let me get this straight.”

Fuck, her tone. I have to fight every urge to drag her down the hall and take her the way I’ve been craving since she was in Samara, but I know she could never relax if she doesn’t get answers tonight, and I’d be too worried about hurting her this soon after getting mended.

I take up a post at the front of my desk, leaning back just enough to lean but not enough to put me at a disadvantage if needed.

“We left Liam and Deigh’s bodies in Resson because Tairn was really the only one capable of carrying them, but he was busy getting Violet to help.”

I nod once, letting her sort out everything she just learned.

“But when you and Garrick went back–”

“The villagers said they burned the bodies for us out of fear that the venin would return,” I answer.

“But really,” she says, turning sharply towards the all too familiar girl sitting beside Liam, “You found him and mended him, which we are definitely coming back to.” 

The girl doesn’t flinch but accepts every statement.

Wren releases a deep sigh and reaches a hand up to run it through her loose hair, which is also not helping the urge to drag her out of here, but I tamp it down when I see her wince at the motion.

I push off the desk immediately and move to her side. “Love, maybe you should sit—” 

The glare she sends me is enough to make me sit in the chair behind her instead.

“Then you spent the last three months running around Poromiel helping civilians after venin attacks,” she says carefully, her restraint slowly slipping away as she turns back to Liam, “and at no point did it occur to you to tell a single person that you were alive?”

Liam opens his mouth to respond, then closes it.

We all learned at a pretty young age not to argue with Wren when she got like this. Mostly the hard way, because when in doubt, she was usually the only one seeing things clearly.

“You didn’t think to tell anyone who loves you that you were alive?” she demands, eyes locked on Liam now. “You let us spend three months believing you were dead.” Her voice trips on the last word, and I reach up to hold her hand. “I had to look your sister in the eye, knowing I watched her brother die two weeks before she got to see him again. Do you understand how fucked that is?”

“I’m sorry, Wrennie,” Liam says, guilt flooding his voice. “I wanted to tell you, but–”

“But what, Liam?” Wren snaps, “What could possibly have been more important than telling your family you were alive?”

Well, this is going farther than I thought it would as I watch Liam go from the six-foot, twenty-one-year-old dragon rider I knew a few months ago to the boy who never stood up for himself from before the executions.

“We are your family,” she says, louder now. “All of us. We are all any of us have left, and you let us grieve you.”

Liam doesn’t utter a word, but the brunette? She straightens and decides to speak for herself.

“It wasn’t his fault.”

Wren’s head snaps so sharply that I’m sure her vision swims, and she tenses like there’s pain radiating. “Who even are you?”

My hand quickly shifts from clutching her to her waist before she can take a step forward and drag her down to my lap. “You need to breathe, Love,” I murmured in her ear, offering the quiet steadiness I know she needs.

She tries to stand, muttering to herself as she fights my arm around her waist. “Let me go, Xaden. We don’t even know who she is—”

“She’s not a threat,” I say, allowing that secret part of me to reach towards the girl. “Are you, Princess?”

It’s been nearly three years since I’ve seen the presumed dead Princess of Navarre, and still, I can tell that she doesn’t hold any loyalty to her kingdom. It’s how I know that I can bring her into the Assembly tomorrow and we’d still be okay.

“It’s good to see you, Riorson.” 

Wren stills in my arms, confusion intertwining with her anger.

“Maelira was my wingleader my first year,” I explain softly, keeping her in place. “She disappeared about halfway through.”

Wren starts to settle with my explanation, so I add the last bit of information I have.

“She’s Tauri’s oldest.”

Liam perks up quickly, taking Maelira’s hand. “She’s not exactly wanting to advertise that.”

“I’m not keeping secrets anymore,” I say, more to the room than any one person, as Wren turns to face me. “If I know, you know,” I say directly to her, and I can see her gaze soften on me.

I am so in love with this girl. If I can keep this softer version of her, I will do anything to ensure it.

“Right,” Wren says, using the moment to slip free, but not before pressing a quick kiss to my cheek. “Back to the part where Liam is somehow alive.”

Liam groans. “Wrennie—”

“No.” She turns on him. “You don't get to ‘Wrennie’ your way out of this one.”

I can’t fight the uptick in the corner of my mouth.

I love the softer version of Wren, but this version just might be my favorite. 

This is who I see leading Assembly meetings while I’m away, who leads our people into a battle she knows must be fought.

My lineage may not hold the province’s dukedom anymore, but I am the heir apparent to the dukedom of Aretia. 

And Wrenley would have made a spectacular Duchess had we still held the title. 

And if Queen had been a title in her future, one I would not allow to happen at the hands of Halden Tauri, I have no doubt in my mind that she’d be just as perfect for the role.

“You’re a gravecaller.”

What the fuck—

“Wren—” I say, reaching for our open connection while I watch Maelira’s eyes open in shock.

“Desa confirmed it, Xay. I know it’s crazy—”

“But we have a dead man sitting in front of us and someone who claims to be only a mender,” I reach for her again, knowing this has gone on too long. “She didn’t know.”

Wren shakes her head, finally turning to face me. “How do you resurrect a dragon and its rider and not know it?” Her eyes flick back towards Maelira before returning to me.

I sigh, brushing her hair back again. “The same way you still don’t understand half the things you’ve done with your signet. There’s no one left to teach you.”

And if she knew half the things she did— gods, I can’t think about how she’ll react.

“What?”

I clear my throat as I stand. “It’s been a long night,” I say. “Liam, your old room remains untouched. We should all get some rest and meet back in here for your reunion in the morning. Then you can find your squad and return to classes. You have a lot to catch up on.”

“Of course,” Liam laughs almost awkwardly as I move towards him.

Before he can do anything else, I tug him from the couch and into a hug. “It’s good to have you back, brother,” I mutter, holding him close.

“You have no idea how much I missed you guys,” Liam’s smiling now as he pulls away from my hug before his attention turns to Wren. “Wrennie–”

Wrenley wraps him tightly in her own hug. “You know I am in no way upset that you are back, right?”

Liam holds her even tighter. “What kind of little brother would I be if I didn't give you a little anxiety?” 

“Your sister gives me enough, asshole,” Wren laughs. “She tried to fight Violet on the first day of challenges.”

“Sounds like Sloane,” Liam says with his own laugh.

Wren pulls back just enough to hold Liam’s shoulders. “Get some rest, Li. Tomorrow is going to be one hell of a day.”

“Good night, Wren.”

I hold my hand out for Wren to take as she backs away from Liam, leading her towards the door.

“You guys did figure yourselves out, right?” Liam asks as I pull the door open.

“Almost,” I say, my eyes fully focused on Wrenley as I guide her out the door, slowly closing it behind us.

I enter the door to our bedroom two days later to find Wren face down on the mattress.

The only acknowledgement I receive is a long, miserable groan that’s muffled by the bed. She’s still in part of her leathers, the other pieces creating a trail from the door to the bed.

“Did you eat dinner?” I ask, picking up the clothing and setting it on the desk.

I already know her answer before her groan reverberates through the bed.

I hum in understanding as I kick my boots off by the armoire. “You are fully capable of speaking in my mind,” I say, tugging off my flight jacket, “and yet you’re still choosing to communicate entirely in groans?”

And because the love of my life is nothing but a creature of habit and stubbornness, she answers me with another one.

I laugh again, settling onto the bed beside her.

“Little Bird,” I murmur, running my hand down the length of her spine, a touch she nearly moans over when I repeat it. “Do you want to sit up and have an actual conversation with your boyfriend?”

“No,” comes her muffled voice.

I gently slide my hands between her stomach and the bed, hand resting on her right hip, and roll her onto her back, despite her protests. Once she settles and her vision focuses on me leaning over her, I brush a loose strand of hair away from her face with a smile. “Hi, Love.”

“Hi, Xay.”

“How are classes?” I ask again.

She sits up beside me, resting her head on my shoulder. “History is weird.”

“Yeah?”

“For one, it’s in your father’s office,” she mutters. “Which is unsettling, considering the last time I was in there, he threatened all of us for existing too loudly in his general vicinity.”

I laugh again because that was my exact thought when Ferris insisted I take over that room nearly 5 years ago. “Why do you think I converted the old sitting room into my office?”

Her huff almost sounds like a laugh. “Also,” she adds, sighing as she does, “we’re covering the rebellion.” 

My spine straightens at her words. I knew they would, but there is still so much she doesn’t know, and that’s on me.

“It’s weird knowing what everyone was keeping from me. I never knew it was that bad.”

I shift to wrap an arm around her, pulling her closer into my side. “You have no idea how many times I wanted to tell you.” The words are almost a whisper when I speak. “How many times I almost did.”

She tilts her head up to look at me.

“But Harlow was very clear on how he wanted you to live a normal life for as long as possible,” I finish.

“I know,” she says on an exhale. 

But I can almost hear what she isn’t saying.

The secrets dating back 8 years sting more than the lies and secrets from the last 2 years

Keeping Aretia and her father a secret is understandable.

Keeping the truth about what was out there should never have been an option.

I should have fought harder when Harlow pulled Bodhi, Garrick, and me aside that day. Should have told him how wrong it was to hide it.

Maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe we wouldn’t have set that precedent to lie to her about anything.

Maybe I wouldn’t be questioning whether she’d accept the ring I have stashed in my pack or not. 

She’ll grow tired of the lies and secrets, no matter how many you reveal. She’ll never accept that you’ve told her everything, not when there’s one you’ll never tell her.

No, because I will tell her everything, even that one that only Sygael knows about.

“At least we all have a break this weekend.” There’s a hint of excitement in her voice, and it takes every inch of myself not to kill that joy when there’s so little in our lives. “You and I finally have a full two days without anyone dragging us into a meeting, or a patrol, or even a near-death experience.”

Zihnal, please let her not hate me.

“Suri and I leave tonight.”

And like that, I can see every dark corner she’s been hiding from me.

“What?”

The brightness in her eyes disappears by the millisecond, and I do a quick check to make sure she’s not about to run.

“Being home was supposed to mean more time, not less.”

“I know, Love,” I say softly, resting my hand on her cheek as I turn us to face each other. “I wanted to stay.”

“Then stay,” she pleads, tears welling up almost immediately.

Fuck, how had I been so blind?

Wrenley Tavis doesn’t cry, not unless she’s angry or hurting in a way no one can see until it explodes. And there’s nothing but pure hurt in her voice.

“Wren–” Something’s wrong.

I can’t leave. Fuck what the Assembly says; they can go without me.

Wrenley needs me here because she’s hiding something big and fighting it on her own.

Her eyes squeeze shut as her hands turn into fists, gripping my shirt in a vice.

“Love?” Panic laces my voice. “What’s wrong? Does something hurt?”

“Please, don’t leave me,” she mutters under her breath as another tear escapes. 

“Wren, please look at me.”

It takes her a second, and a few deep breaths, before her eyes finally meet mine.

“What’s going on? Do I need to get Brennan?”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, just…” she pauses. “Fuck, Xay, please don’t leave me.”

I gently run my thumb under her eye, wiping away her tears.

“Hey,” I say softly. “Talk to me, please.”

I can see the war behind her eyes before she breaks completely, letting every emotion free.

“I’m tired,” she cries softly, her voice so small. “I’m so tired, Xay.”

I pull her onto my lap so I can hold her closer. “I know.”

“No,” she nearly snaps before the anger fades with a sniffle. “I know you know I’m tired. Everyone knows I’m tired. Bodhi watches me like I’m going to collapse in the hallway, Dad keeps finding excuses to hand me tonics, Imogen has threatened to sedate me twice, and every time I so much as breathe too hard, someone asks if I’m alright.” She laughs, but it doesn’t sound like her; it’s something I can’t place in this world. “I was tortured for five days, and now everyone looks at me like I’m made of glass.

“And now you’re leaving.” She mutters. “Again.” She wipes at her own tears now. “I know it’s ridiculous. I know there’s the revolution and the province and about twelve disasters trying to kill us at any given moment, and I know you can’t just stay here because I’m having a bad week, but Gods, Xaden—” Her voice cracks. “I just got you back, and I need you.” 

I know this isn’t everything. I can tell by the way her explanation seems to go in a circle.

I make a mental note to talk to our friends before I leave.

“We both know I have to go,” I say slowly, choosing my words with care, “but it doesn't mean I like leaving you here like this.” 

Her head lifts in almost shock.

“You think I don’t see it?” I ask quietly. “You think I haven’t noticed the way your hands shake when you think no one’s looking? Or the way you stop breathing every time someone closes a door too hard?” I drag my thumb beneath her eye again. “You think I don’t know what it cost you to survive in that room?”

Gods, I want to hold her and never let go.

“I know I’m leaving you before you’re ready, but I also know this,” I brush her hair back again, smiling softly at my girl. “You survived before I got there. You survived when you thought no one was coming. You survived long enough to make sure I had something to come back to.

“Wrenley Arden Tavis. You are the strongest person I know, and I am always coming back to you.”

She swallows hard. “You can’t promise that.”

“No, I can’t,” I say as I rest my forehead against hers. “But I can promise that I will spend every second between now and then trying.”

She lets out a shaky breath and presses her face into the curve of my neck. “That was disgustingly romantic.”

I chuckle at her revelation. “There she is.”

“Don’t sound so relieved.”

I chuckle, mockingly placing a hand over my chest in relief. “I was getting concerned.”

She pulls back just enough to glare at me. “You’re still leaving.” 

“I am.”

“I still hate it.”

“I know.”

“You’re very calm for someone who is letting me be very close to their throat.”

The corner of my mouth twitches into a smirk. “Threat noted.”

She sniffs and wipes at her face. “You’d deserve it.”

“Probably.”

“Definitely.” 

I’m full-blown smiling now as she starts to have her own.

“How long?”

“A few days if everything goes to plan.” I sigh. “A week if it doesn’t.”

She groan sand drops her forehead back to my shoulder.

I run my hand along her spine again, placing soft kisses on her head. “Eat with me?” I ask into her hair, refusing to pull away. “Then we can take the rest of the night to ourselves before I leave. I’ll even let you glare at me with no complaints.”

She huffs, the sound extremely close to that of a laugh. “Romance is alive after all.”

“I’m versatile.”

W R E N L E Y

“Wrenley!” A force hits the door hard enough that it rattles in its frame. 

I don’t move.

“Is she even in there?” a second voice asks, lower, uncertain.

“She has to be. Second squad said they haven’t seen her all day.”

Silence follows that, the kind that stretches just long enough for concern to turn into something heavier.

“Maybe we should get Brennan.”

“Or her dad.”

I groan into the pillow, the sound muffled and useless, but it buys me exactly two more seconds of stillness before the weight of it presses in.

They’re not going to leave, I know that deep down.

I drag myself upright, the room tilting for a brief, unpleasant moment before it steadies. My body protests every step I take toward the door like it remembers something my mind is still trying to pretend didn’t happen. I yank it open. “What?”

Imogen’s expression snaps from irritation to something far worse the second she sees me. “Wren,” she breathes.

I roll my eyes and turn away from them, already retreating into the room. “I’m alive. You can all go away now.”

“Have you been in here all day?” Bodhi asks, softer now, like I might shatter if he pushes too hard.

“Didn’t want to get up,” I say with a shrug.

It’s not technically a lie, but it's not the whole truth either. The truth is a lot heavier than just the exhaustion I’ve been convincing myself is the truth.

It’s that every time I close my eyes, I’m back in that cell. Every time I open them, I half-expect to still be.

Staying in bed gave me some semblance of control over where I was. Mostly.

“We’re not doing this, Wrenley.” The shift in Bodhi’s voice is sharp enough to cut through the fog in my head. He crosses the room in three strides and hauls me upright before I can sink back into the mattress. “You are not going to waste away in this room just because your boyfriend left.”

I don’t even bother glaring properly. I don’t have the energy for it. “Leave me alone, Bod,” I mutter, already trying to fold back in on myself.

“No.” His grip tightens, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold. “Because this isn’t healthy.”

“Bodhi, please—”

“You wouldn’t let one of us do this,” he snaps. “So we’re not letting you.”

I swallow down the irritation that flares, weak and fleeting.

“Im,” he calls over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off me, “grab her leathers. Put them in the bathroom.”

“Already done,” Imogen says quietly.

Of course she did. They planned this, and I hate that a small, traitorous part of me is… relieved.

“Seriously?” I groan, dragging myself free of his hold.

“You’re going to shower,” Bodhi says, firm now, hands settling on my shoulders like he’s anchoring me in place. “You’re going to Battle Brief. You’re still my executive officer, and you’re one of the best strategists we have.” His voice softens, just a fraction. “You’ve been through hell, Wren. Worse than anything we can understand, mostly because you won’t let us.” His jaw tightens. “So if we have to drag you to classes and meals just to make sure you’re still here, we will.”

Still here.

I almost laugh, because I don’t feel like I am.

I feel like I left something behind in that cell, and whatever came back is… thinner. 

Quieter. 

Wrong.

“Glane says Desa called for Brennan and Harlow.”

Bodhi exhales slowly. “Please, Wren. We’ve all lost enough. Don’t make us lose you, too.”

I pull away without answering and head for the bathroom, shutting the door behind me with more force than necessary.

The quiet inside is immediate. 

“Don’t run from your friends, my darling girl.” Mom appears in the corner of my vision.

I ignore her as I have for the last few days. 

I have to be in that damn cell still. Why else would she still be here?

“They just want you to be okay. We all do.”

But she’s not here to want something.

Because Eden Tavis is dead, and yet she is as present in my life now as she was when alive.

Water, soap, lather, rinse, repeat.

I work through the motions as I clean myself of the sheen of sweat my nightmares have brought on.

They weren’t as bad when Xaden was here. A calm, soothing presence within the storm that is my own mind, but I can’t expect him to stay at my side when he’s leading a revolution. When others need him more than I do.

I flinch slightly at the reminder of how I begged him to stay the other day. Fuck, I should apologize. He doesn’t need to worry about me right now.

I can handle this by myself.

Water, soap, lather, rinse, repeat.

I’m methodical in my cleansing, focusing on the task rather than the memories that continuously pop into my head.

It’s a few minutes before I’m stepping out to dry and dress, taking every spare second before reaching for the door.

My father’s voice filters through before I can open it.

“Tell me exactly what she said.”

“She didn’t say anything, Uncle Harlow, that’s the problem,” Bodhi fires back. “You cannot tell me you think she’s fine.”

“I don’t,” my father says, quieter now. “But she’s still her.”

“Is she?” Bodhi demands.

“I’m trying here, Bodhi,” my father continues after a moment. “But you know her better than anyone, so you tell me what’s going on.”

“I—”

I open the door then.

“You could at least be quieter if you’re going to talk about me.”

They all turn.

My father’s face shifts instantly. Relief. Concern. Something dangerously close to fear.

“Little Bird—”

I don’t let him finish.

I cross the room, grab my boots, and shove my feet into them, yanking the laces tight with more force than necessary.

“If you want me at Battle Brief,” I say evenly, braiding my still-damp hair over one shoulder, “then let’s go. No need to make this a whole thing.”

“You know your father doesn’t deserve that.” My mom reminds me.

Why are you still here?

I pause in my steps for a moment, fingers barely holding onto my sheaths before I shake off the thought, securing the buckles around my thighs and adding the ones at my ribs.

Secure the straps, slip the blades in, tie my hair into a braid—

And step out into the hallway without a word to anyone in the room.

Battle Brief is already half full by the time we arrive.

Voices echo off the stone walls. Chairs scrape. Papers shuffle. It’s loud in the way Basgiath always is, chaotic and alive and — wrong. 

My steps falter just inside the door. The room is too bright for the theatre where the boys and I grew up watching plays. 

Too open.

Too—

My chest tightens.

“Wren?” Bodhi’s voice is low at my side.

“I’m fine.” I lie.

I take another step, and the door slams somewhere behind us.

The sound cracks through me like lightning.

For a split second—

Stone walls turn damp, voices turn to screams, the air turns thick with blood and iron—

I stop breathing.

“Are you okay?” It’s Sawyer, I think, the only person who can push through my shields to communicate mentally.

My fingers curl into fists as I force air into my lungs.

In.

Out.

In—

“I’m right here, Wren,” Bodhi’s voice breaks through my panic. He stands close to my left, but not touching. “You’re safe now.”

Safe. Safe. Safe—

I drag my gaze forward. Focus on something real.

The rows of cadets who chose the right side, the stage, the map with— 

The map has far too much orange. Is that up to date? 

“Sit,” Imogen mutters, nudging a chair toward me. I drop into it before my legs can betray me.

Around us, people keep moving.

Talking, laughing, normal.

Most of my section makes brief glances in my direction, meant to be quick and subtle, but I see them. Watching, waiting, the way the quadrant always had. 

Only, instead of watching to see when I’ll explode for not manifesting, it’s to see if and when I’ll break. My nails dig into my palms.

“Wren.”

“I’m here,” I say, even though it still feels like a lie.

Even though part of me is still chained to a wall somewhere underground.

“Let’s get started!” Professor Devera says as she steps onto the stage, her voice easily carrying across the room. “Welcome to your first battle brief as traitors!”

The attention in the room finally snaps to the front.

“Get used to the sound of the word,” she says unapologetically. “Because that’s what Navarre now considers us. Whether or not that’s how we feel about the choice we made to defend those who cannot defend themselves, that is how we will be seen by the friends and loved ones we left behind. But personally, I’m proud of every single one of you. It’s hard to leave behind everything you know, everything you love, because your honor demands it. With that said, please welcome Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh, who will take the place of the Scribe Quadrant Curator, since we don’t have them here.”

Brennan steps onto the stage, Kaelin not far behind.

I glance over at Bodhi, and he’s not watching her with that lovesick gaze anymore. Did bringing her here fix whatever was going on? How long have I been checked out when it comes to my friends?

“Hey, Wrennie,” Liam whispers from the seat in front of me, and I can’t fight the soft smile I get when I see him and Sloane sitting next to each other. “You okay?”

I nod softly. “I will be.”

“We believe in sharing information here in Aretia.” Brennan starts. “First, we’ve done as you’ve asked and kept you in your respective wings. Second Wing and Third Wing, you know that Eleni Jareth and Tibbot Vasant are now your respective wingleaders. We expect any missing section leaders or squad leaders to be replaced by tomorrow, and you’ll notify Devera of your choices.” 

“You won’t choose for us?” One of the squad leaders in First Wing asks.

“Are you saying you’re not capable?” Brennan challenges. 

“No, sir.” 

“Excellent. Moving on.” He turns in our direction. “We double-checked the rolls to be sure, but it appears that not only does Fourth Wing currently boast this year’s Iron Squad—” 

The first years that sit towards the front of our squad start to cheer; even our second years cheer as well, but it’s only Bodhi, Imogen, and me who stay silent.

“—but Flame Section has the unique honor of being completely intact.” Brennan looks down at Bodhi. “Durran, Tavis, you two brought every single cadet. I guess that would make you the Iron Section.” 

Bodhi’s smile quirks up at that as I elbow his side. “Good job, Section Leader.”

“I’m assuming you’d like a patch?” Brennan asks, a smile tilting his lips. 

“Fuck yes, we do!” Ridoc shouts, coming out of his seat, and our entire section cheers loudly, my own smile quirking up.

“Yes, sir,” Bodhi says once they all settle, glancing down at the rest of our section.

“I’ll see what we can do,” Brennan says with a nod and a smile. “Now to real business. We’ll start with your update from Navarre. As far as we can tell from our sources, the public doesn’t know.” 

Big shocker there. Navarre keeping secrets? Never heard that one before.

“To our surprise, the outposts have successfully dispatched with the wyvern Lieutenant Riorson gifted to them, and General Melgren has kept the news from reaching the general public, though obviously all present military now know. And unfortunately, they are still turning away every Poromish citizen at the border.

“Our forces have doubled their patrols at the borders of Tyrrendor”,—he rubs his thumb along the bottom of his jaw—“but we feel confident that our location is still secret.” 

“Even with flying the Continent’s largest riot across Navarre?” someone from First Wing asks. 

“Tyrs are loyal,” Sloane says, her chin rising. “We lived through the last rebellion. Whatever we see, we’ll keep to ourselves.” 

Brennan nods. “The good news is: as far as our extensive sources can tell, your families have not been targeted, and we are reaching out with not only your letters but offers of sanctuary. If they’re willing to risk stepping into the unknown, we’ll work to get them here.” 

“What does this lack of troop movement tell us?” Devera asks, shooting Brennan a little side-eye. “Or do you not remember how Battle Brief works?” 

“My apologies.” Brennan puts his hands up and stands back. “Been a few years.” 

“They’ve been too busy cleaning up the mess Riorson dumped at the border to bother with us,” Dain answers. 

“For now,” Brennan agrees with a nod. “They might be in shock, but don’t doubt that we’ll be fighting a war on two fronts as soon as they can get their bearings and decide how much they can risk the public knowing.” 

“When do we get to fight them?” a guy from Third Wing asks, pointing up at the map. “The dark wielders?” 

“When you graduate,” Brennan answers, lifting his brows in a way that makes him look exactly like Uncle Asher. “We don’t send cadets to die, and that’s exactly what will happen to you if you try to take on a dark wielder before you’re ready. You will die. Are you really so anxious to start a new death roll?” 

“Sorrengail and the others didn’t die,” that same Third Wing cadet responds. 

“Two of us did die,” Imogen snaps, and the rider slides down in his seat. 

“Technically, one came back from the dead, so does that really count?” one of the last kid's buddies pipes, and I can see Liam sink into his seat. 

Fuck, I hate this for him more than anything. I want to say something, but Devera speaks up first.

“When you wield lightning, come and talk to me.”

“Before you graduate, you’re going to learn how to take on a dark wielder and survive,” Brennan promises. “It requires a different style of fighting, and honing your signets, which you may have noticed are a bit testy up here. Remember, magic is a little wild out here beyond the wards, but we’re currently deciphering Warrick’s journal in order to get our wards operational as quickly as possible. We’re also working on getting our forge up and running to supply both our forces and the gryphon fliers with weaponry, which is part of our mission—” 

A grumble of disapproval ripples through the auditorium. 

“Knock it off,” Brennan chastises. “Fliers are dangerous, but they are not the enemy you’ve been raised to fear, though some are still hostile toward us, as evidenced by the attack on Samara four days ago.” 

Again? Fuck, they really don’t listen.

“Which brings us back to Battle Brief,” Devera continues. “One dragon was injured, but no riders were lost in the attack, according to our sources, mostly because there was only one dragon present at the outpost during the attack—political turmoil, remember? The wards did not fail, but a drift of fliers infiltrated the post, killing a dozen infantry before two of them were killed in the lowest level of the fortress.” 

“They were looking for weaponry,” Violet whispers in the row below me. “That’s where the armory is.” Navarre’s citizens might not know that we’re gone, but the drifts do. 

“Say it,” Rhiannon urges from beside her. 

“What questions would you ask about the attack?” Devera cuts in. “This one’s been briefing officers for too long and doesn’t remember the art of teaching.” She cuts another mean side-eye at Brennan. 

“Fuck it. I’ll say it,” Ridoc mutters. Then asks at full volume: “Were they looking for weaponry?” 

“Absolutely.” Brennan nods. “That’s the only reason for fliers to attack Navarrian outposts directly.” 

“Did the fliers attack Samara before or after the news of our… departure from Basgiath leaked into Poromiel?” 

“After,” Devera answers. 

Brennan turns to the map. “On to enemy movements. In the last week, venin have taken the town of Anca. Not surprising, given its proximity to the recently fallen Zolya.” 

“What’s concerning is that it appears the town was drained, and then the dark wielders pulled back to reassemble in Zolya,” Devera says. “What does that tell us?” 

“They’re organized and basing out of Zolya,” Rhiannon answers. “It’s like a supply trip for an ongoing campaign.” 

“Yes. They’re not just consuming but occupying territory for the first time. Good—” Brennan quiets, no doubt talking to Marbh, then focuses as the entire theater falls silent. “Everyone get to the great hall and wait there,” he orders, turning to Devera as the auditorium descends into quiet chaos. 

“Wren, we have to go,” Bodhi pulls me from the seat. “Fuck, Sorrengail!” Bodhi shouts as Violet takes off through the crowd.

“Go, I got Wren,” Liam says, taking Bodhi’s place as the rest of second squad follow their Section Leader. “Wrennie?”

“I’m fine,” I say safely, pulling away. “You should go help. Farsight is probably pretty useful right now.”

“I’m not leaving you.” Liam protests, moving to stand in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. “What’s going on, Wren?”

“I’m fine,” I say with what I hope is a smile. 

Leave me alone, please.

“Wren–”

“Just go! Okay?” I snap, pulling out of Liam’s hold.

Liam stands before me in shock before taking a step back. He nods, then moves to follow the rest of our squad.

“Wrenley,” My mother says from beside me.

“I’m fine,” I say it aloud as I walk down the hall opposite everyone else.

“You’re not. I thought you learned not to keep secrets?” She scolds.

“I’m not the one who’s been keeping secrets for years. That was Xaden and Dad,” I snark, pushing through the doors to Fen’s old office, “and you.” I slam the door behind me.

I twirl a blade in my hand, occasionally stabbing it into the arm of the chair.

My gaze doesn’t leave the table before me, the map reflecting the patrol routes, the only thing even remotely readable through my tunnel vision. Which route is Xaden on? Is he safe? 

Will he come home on time?

“I heard a distinct crunch,” Violet’s voice comes through the door before it opens.

“You deserve it.” Mira’s voice is the next one I hear. Wait– What? “Don’t fucking touch me.” 

“Leave my sister alone,” Brennan orders, sitting back against the edge of the table. “It’s a family matter.” 

“Family? Family doesn’t let each other think they’re dead for six years.” Mira leans against the wall, putting Violet in the middle and still keeping me just out of sight. “The only family in this room is Violet and me.” 

“Mira?” I question, sitting up in my chair.

“Wrenley?” Mira’s eyes widen as she moves over to me. “Gods, what happened to you?”

“Besides getting tortured for 5 days and almost dying from a sword through the back?” I laugh, leaning back again.

Mira sighs, running a hand over my cheek. “We’re coming back to this.”

I internally groan.

My friends and father may be willing to ignore what I’m clearly hiding, but Mira Sorrengail? There’s no getting out of this.

“Correction, the only family here is Violet, Wrenley, and me.” She says, glaring at Brennan.

“Lieutenant Colonel?” Ulices interrupts, pushing through the guards.

“Lieutenant Colonel?” Mira’s gaze swings from Ulices to Brennan, and she folds her arms across her chest. “At least playing dead for six years earns you rank.” 

Brennan gives her that older brother look before turning back to Ulices. “I’m fine. Everyone can relax. I’ve had worse injuries sparring.” 

“Wouldn’t be the first time I broke his nose.” Mira smiles at Ulices, a sickeningly sweet smile.

My dad brushes past Ulices into the room, immediately moving to Brennan to check his nose, holding a cloth-covered icicle.

“Well, the good news is, it’ll heal properly even if you don’t mend yourself.’ He says, passing the icicle into Brennan’s hands.

“Uncle Harlow?” Mira gapes at my father.

“Mira?”

“Deploy every rider currently not scheduled to scout the Tyrrish outposts as quietly as possible,” Brennan orders Ulices. “We need to know if other riders are deserting, or if they’re surging here in preparation to strike.” 

“With all the extra riders we have,” Ulices mutters. 

“Switch,” Violet orders her brother.

“What about the new riot?” Ulices asks. “Same procedure as the cadets’ arrival?” 

“Riorson vouches for them, according to Marbh, but make sure the dragons do as well. Get them up to the valley.” Brennan nods, and blood trickles off his chin. 

“Switch,” Violet says again, firmer this time. 

Ulices glances at Mira. “You’re sure—” 

“I can handle my own sister,” Brennan assures him. 

“Don’t be so sure about that,” Mira counters, arching an eyebrow as Ulices departs, leaving the doorway empty but guarded outside.

“Bren?” Renna Sorrengail pushes through the door, checking over her husband almost immediately.

“Oh, you have got to be shitting me.” Mira scoffs, eyes locked onto the doorway where— well, I don’t exactly know who is standing in front of us. “I must have died because now three dead men are standing in this room.”

“Hey, Mira,” the stranger smiles almost shyly as his eyes shift to Violet. “Bookworm.” He nods to her.

“Naolin?” Violet gasps.

 “What happened to your nose?” Renna asks, checking over Brennan.

“She hit me.” He mutters to his wife before looking at Mira. “I can’t believe you hit me. Do you know how hard it is to mend myself? You? No problem. Doing it for myself? Giant pain in the ass.”

“Oh, do cry for me, big brother.” Mira scrunches her face as she mocks him. “You know, the way we cried for you.” She points at Brennan. “And you,” she turns to my dad. “And you.” She says, settling on Naolin.

“I knew you wouldn’t understand.” Brennan jabs his finger in Mira’s direction and flinches. “Shit, I’m going to have to set the cartilage.”

“Keep the ice on it, Brennan.”

“Understand? Understand that you let us burn your things?” 

“I’ve already had this fight with him,” Violet assures her. 

“Let us watch our mother become a shadow of herself?” Mira continues. “Let us watch our father’s heart give out because your death broke him?” Mira pushes off the wall, moving closer to the table. 

Oh, now I’m entertained.

“Maybe I didn’t go quite that far,” Violet mutters.

“I did,” Renna says, moving to stand between Brennan and his sister. “Mira, I know it’s a lot to take in–”

“A lot would be that everyone, including our mother, has been lying about the real enemy. That my entire career was built on a lie!” Mira shouts, nearly in Renna’s face. “This? With everything it changed about our lives? And you’re just okay with this?”

“No, honestly.” Renna answers. “I’m pissed that I went six years without the loves of my life. That I mourned them and cried more times than I can count, but they’re alive, Mira. That’s all I ever wanted.”

“Dad’s grief killed him! He could still be here if he knew!”

“Our father would understand what I’ve been doing.” Brennan’s voice turns nasal as he moves the blood dam. “And as for our mother.” Brennan stands, moving Renna aside to stand before his sister. “I hope my death haunts her every damned day. She was so willing to sacrifice my life for a lie.” 

“That’s not fair!” Mira snaps. “I may not agree with what she did, but I understand how she thought it was best to keep us safe.” 

“Us safe?” Brennan’s eyes narrow. “You weren’t killed!”

“Neither were you!” she yells. “You hid up here like a coward instead of coming home when we needed you!” She gestures at me. “You chose complete strangers over your sisters and wife!”

“I chose the good of the Continent!” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Stop it!” Violet shouts, standing between her siblings the way she used to as a kid. “Mira, he was a brand-new lieutenant, and what’s done is done.” Pivoting toward Brennan. “Brennan, put the fucking ice back on your face before you stain the floors, you stubborn ass!” 

Brennan slowly lifts the ice to his nose, looking at Violet like he’s never seen her before. 

“And to think, I used to wish I had siblings,” Xaden says from the doorway behind Naolin, leaning against the doorframe casually, like he’s been watching this disaster for a hot minute.

“Xay,” I’m damn near grinning as I jump from my seat and run into his arms. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says, tilting my chin up to kiss me.

It’s soft but ever so passionate. Gods, I could kiss him forever.

“Alright, break it up.” My father’s voice is the first to break through our little world.

“Ugh, seriously, Xaden?” Brennan groans.

I smile into the kiss as we reluctantly pull apart. “Are you okay?”

“Better now that you’re here.”

I settle my forehead against Xaden’s chest, listening to every beat of his heart. Fuck, I missed him.

I can hear the Sorrengails — all five of them — break into another argument, my dad trying to break them up while I hold Xaden tighter.

“Are you okay, Love?” Xaden whispers into the top of my head.

I nod against him, enjoying every second in his arms as the memories of that cell fade.

“So,” Xaden says, interrupting the arguments, “what are the Sorrengail siblings going to do now that you’re all reunited?”

“We’re going to beat the shit out of our brother,” Mira smirks, and I can’t help but laugh. Naolin is the only other one laughing.

“Survive,” Brennan adds. 

It’s a comfortable silence for a moment, and we all remember that we’re alive, and we’re all here.

“I need the blood of the six most powerful riders.” Violet blurts out, and confusion covers everyone’s faces.

“Ever? Or just living now?” Xaden questions.

“Why?” Brennan asks, because that’s really the question we need answered.

“In residence, I think,” Violet answers, taking a deep breath. “I know how to raise the wards.

Nine of us walk out the back door of Riorson House hours later and begin the trek to the wardstone chamber.

Xaden and I are towards the back of the group, with the Assembly leading the way.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

No, but I can’t admit that now. 

“Yes, Xay, I’m sure.”

He’s giving me that look, the one that screams that he knows I’m full of shit. 

Hey, I’m still having vivid nightmares about those five days of torture, and the only time I have some semblance of peace from it is when I can be attached to you at the hip. You’re not allowed to lead this revolution until I’m not traumatized anymore. Oh, and my mom keeps popping up to add in her two bits about my life.

I think I’m good on that.

Xaden slips his hand into mine, offering a comforting grip as we enter the chamber.

“We should be using this time to discuss the negotiations with Tecarus, since we’re all here.” I hear Ulices say from beside Brennan

“Missive arrived today. He wants us to come to his aid when called,” Brennan says. “The seaside drifts are armed first, and he says he’ll let us bring the luminary back to Aretia—”

“He won’t,” Xaden interrupts as we take the only open space around the wardstone.

“— if he can see Vi wield,” Brennan finishes.

Xaden scoffs. “And if you’re willing to never see your sister again, by all means, let her show off. You and I both know Tecarus will keep her as a weapon.”

“I can talk him out of any thoughts in that direction.” Brennan’s jaw ticks. 

“If there was another luminary, don’t you think we’d be negotiating for that one?” Kylynn retorts. 

“Then offer him a full armory.” Xaden looks back and levels a glare at her.

“I’m not against trading her away,” I say matter-of-factly.

“We don’t trade in people. Even if it’ll solve a few problems.”

I laugh across that bond, drawing a smile to Xaden’s face.

“Fuck, I missed that laugh.” Xaden chuckles. “Do you think everyone will notice if we sneak away?”

I laugh again, barely leaning into his side. “This could protect everything we care about. At least give it a chance.”

“Oh, but I have a much better way we can spend my first night back,” Xaden smirks just as everyone positions themselves around the onyx stone.

“Let’s get this done.” Ulices gruffs, his voice echoing through the cave.

“And what are we doing, exactly, to raise the wards?” Bodhi asks from my other side.

“One second.” Violet pulls Warrick’s journal from her flight jacket and reads from a slip of paper. “‘And we gathered the six most powerful riders in residence, and the blood of the six and the one combined and set the stone ablaze in an iron rain.’” She glances around the circle. “Six”—She points to the stone—“and the one.” 

“You want us to bleed on the wardstone?” Felix asks, his silver brows rising. 

“I’m just telling you how Warrick and the First Six did it.” She answers with a bit of the sass I usually expect from Violet. “Unless there’s someone here more capable of translating Old Lucerish?” No one speaks. “Right.” 

“By our best calculations,” Brennan says, rubbing his hands together to keep warm, “the six most powerful riders currently in Aretia are Xaden, Wrenley, Felix, Bodhi, Violet, and me.” 

“I feel like Maelira is more powerful than some of us,” I mutter across the bond. No one here knows the truth about her signet besides Xaden and me at her behest. The princess wants to keep a low profile; who am I to argue?

“It’s her choice,” Xaden responds.

“Looks like there’s something to be said for family lines,” Suri notes, glancing at the Sorrengails, Xaden, and Bodhi.

“According to Warrick, the First Six bled their life—” Violet starts.

“I know I did not just survive twice to die for wards,” I mutter.

“I don’t think it means to death,” Violet quickly clarifies. “Clearly, the six lived on after they constructed Basgiath’s wards. With any luck, it’ll be a quick cut across the palm, place our hands on the wardstone, and we should have wards.” 

“In an iron rain,” Bodhi says slowly.

I’m the first to draw my blade. “Well, I for one am tired of waiting,” I say as I slowly drag the blade over my palm.

“Anywhere?” Bodhi asks, lowering his own knife to just above his palm. 

“The journal didn’t specify.” Brennan draws his dagger over his palm, then presses his hand to the wardstone.

The rest follow.

The stone feels… cold and lifeless, much like the stone from that cell.

My breath shudders as I hold my hand firmly in place. A chill runs up my arm the longer we stand there.

“This isn’t working,” I say to Xaden.

“I know.”

“And it won’t,” Desa says, chuffing along our bond.

“Why?” I question, pulling my hand back so that the fear creeping up my spine disappears. 

Desa doesn’t answer me, as everyone, including Violet, removes their hands.

“I failed,” she whispers, her hand falling away. 

“Violet, I can—” Brennan starts, reaching for her hand after he finishes mending mine.

She shakes her head, eyes never leaving the small pool of blood forming in her palm.

Xaden quickly rips the bottom of his uniform and wraps a strip around her palm.

“Thank you.” She says softly.

He nods, tucking the ends in. “You’ll try again,” he says before moving back to my side, taking my hand as Brennan mends his. Xaden gently runs his thumb over the red line that will disappear within hours.

“Now, can we please discuss how we plan to actually acquire that luminary?” Suri’s tone rises with annoyance. 

“Offer the viscount twice the number of weapons he asked for,” Ulices says, his voice fading with his footsteps. 

“I’ll send a missive tomorrow,” Brennan promises as the others walk out of the chamber. 

Xaden stiffens as the elder Assembly members exit the chamber. 

“You okay?” I ask, watching his every movement.

He shakes it off with a snarl, wrapping an arm around me as we walk. “Violet wants to go to Cordyn, and before you can say it,” He adds, eyeing me. “I will not just let her go. That’s not how we’re going to handle things here.”

“I didn’t say anything,” I say defensively. 

“But you thought it.” He mutters. He looks around a second to ensure no one’s looking before pulling me into a kiss. “Let’s go?”

I nod as he laces our fingers together and pulls me away from the chamber.

Xaden’s quiet on the walk back to our room, his hand occasionally tightening and loosening around mine as he leads the way.

Almost as soon as he shuts the door to his room, my back is pressed to it, and his lips are on mine again.

I lean into his mouth, my body already craving more. One hand slips into my hair, tugging it loose before gripping tight and tugging so that I’m angled up to him, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

“Xaden,” I whisper when he finally pulls away.

“Tell me to stop, Wren.” His forehead rests against mine, his voice straining as if it's affected by his will to stop. “It’s been weeks, but I don’t want to hurt you. Physically or emotionally.”

My throat tightens with words I don't say. 

Don't stop. Please don't stop. 

The thought alone sends a shiver through me.

Are there still secrets he’s hiding from me? Almost certainly. But—

He’s been truthful so far. Doesn’t that count for something?

His lips trail along my jawline, soft and searching, resisting enough to wait for my permission.

My fingers find his hair — it’s longer now, similar to the length when we were teens — and I gently tug until he meets my eyes.

“Wren?” He searches my face, trying to discern the answer before I pull him to me.

I know what I want. What I’ve wanted this entire time.

“If you stop,” I murmur against his lips, “I’m sleeping in my old room.”

A low chuckle vibrates in his chest. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His hands slip beneath my shirt, warm against my skin, tracing the curve of my ribs. 

I arch into his touch as his lips find the spot behind my ear — the perfect spot that turns me into putty under his touch.

“Try me,” I gasp, the word fading into a moan as his teeth graze the sensitive skin.

My shirt disappears almost instantly before his mouth is on me again, working his way down my neck. His grip tightens on my thighs as he lifts me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist.

Two steps, three, and then there’s a soft thud from the bed as we fall, his weight pinning me. His shirt follows mine without a second thought.

My palms explore his shoulders and down his back, tracing each of the scars he took for the marked ones, but I linger on one. The one meant for me.

“I love you,” he murmurs against my lips as I trace the small line.

Before I can respond, he’s biting down where my neck meets my shoulder, pulling a cry from my throat. I let my hands trail lower, fumbling with his waistband until his pants join the growing pile of clothes on the floor just as he tugs mine down and tosses them to the floor too.

I glide my fingertips along his hips, seeking, but a cold band of shadows wraps around my wrists, pulling them above my head.

“As much as I want your hands on me, love,” his voice is thick with want, “this will be over too damn quickly if I let you.”

He trails kisses down my body, pausing to take my left breast into his mouth. My back arches off the bed, practically begging for more contact.

“Xaden,” I breathe, my voice barely coherent.

He shifts, giving the same attention to my right breast before moving lower, lower, lower until his shoulders part my thighs.

“Beautiful,” he whispers against my skin. “Don’t you dare hide those sounds.”

If I weren't looking down at him, I would've felt his smirk before his tongue touches my clit, light and teasing. My hips lift from the bed, but his hands press me down, holding me in place as he licks a broader stripe against my core.

I need my hands free, need to grip his hair. It’s as if he heard my thoughts; the shadows dissolve. My fingers thread through his hair as I moan his name.

“Gods, Xaden,” I gasp, yanking gently when he sucks, letting his teeth graze just enough to send a jolt through me.

He works me until screams tear from my throat. The tension builds, coiling tighter and tighter until my vision whites out and I shatter around him.

“You,” he says, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh, “are,” another kiss to the other side, “fucking perfect.”

He moves over me again, his body covering mine as he positions himself between my legs.

“Ready for me, love?”

I nod, my body still trembling as he pushes inside, slowly filling me until he's fully seated. He pauses, letting me adjust to the stretch, the burn. My eyes are squeezed shut as I try to relax.

“Look at me,” he softly commands, a hand slowly running along my cheek.

My eyes flutter open as he begins to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in, hard and deep. Again. Again. Again.

His name becomes a prayer on my lips, our bodies finding that perfect, familiar dance.

“Gods, I've missed this. Missed you,” he breathes, rolling his hips in a way that makes me see stars.

The world narrows to this: the slide of his body against mine, each ragged breath from either of us.

“Xaden,” I gasp, my fingers digging into his back as I teeter on the edge again.

He shifts, angling deeper, hitting that spot that makes me lose all control. My eyes roll back as pleasure washes over me, intense and overwhelming.

“That's it, love,” he groans, his movements becoming more erratic as he follows me into ecstasy. 

My body writhes around him as waves of pleasure crash over me. He buries himself deep with a final thrust, spilling into me with a cry of my name.

For a few long moments, we just breathe, neither of us moving.

Xaden’s the first to move, though, gently slipping out of me to move to the bathroom, returning with a damp cloth.

He gently wipes away any evidence of our activities before tossing it towards the hamper in the corner, landing perfectly inside. He tugs me into his arms, letting my head rest on his chest as he leans against the pillows.

A comfortable silence settles between us.

“Little Bird?” His voice is soft against my hair.

“Hmm?”

His hair is disheveled when I look up at him, and I can't help but reach up to smooth a stray strand.

“I meant what I said,” he says, his expression serious. “I love you.”

I lean in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. “I love you, too.

It’s quiet between us again. I sit up suddenly, turning around until I’m facing him, the blankets pooling around my waist. 

“What’s the real reason you won’t let Vi wield for Tecarus?” I ask, looking at him directly.

His expression falters. The softness in his eyes vanishes. The wall that had been missing for the last few minutes rebuilds itself, brick by agonizing brick. He sits up too, pulling the blankets up to cover both of us.

“I already told you why.”

“We don’t deal in people is a bullshit answer, and you know it,” I challenge, my voice soft but firm. “I’m not looking for a fight, Xaden. But you promised to be truthful with me.”

A muscle twitches in his jaw, and then he sighs. “Tecarus wants me to reconsider the arrangement between Cat and me.”

Oh. That’s… honestly, that’s not what I was expecting him to tell me.

“And if Tecarus manages to get Violet in his collection,” I start, slowly working through what he really means. “It’ll have you in Cordyn so often that Tecarus will only see the benefit of your engagement again.”

Xaden nods, running a hand through his hair. “I know that sending Violet away to Cordyn would ease a lot of the animosity between us, but it’ll just put us back to where we were in September.”

I nod as he lies back down, already drifting to sleep after the day we’ve had.

Tecarus was never a reasonable man, but he does like making deals.

I already know my plan before I lie down, resting my head back on Xaden’s chest as he adjusts the blankets around us.

I just need Xaden to be away on patrol again, as much as I hate to wish that on us.

next part

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Birthday rides are sacred to the Aretian children.

Every year, no matter the weather, the state of affairs, illness, injury, or even being grounded, nothing stopped the tradition. Garrick and Xaden started it when they were eight, newly trusted to ride alone and far more interested in racing each other than appreciating the freedom beneath them. The next year Bodhi, Wrenley, and Imogen joined. By the time Liam was meant to ride for Xaden’s tenth birthday, it had already become law among them.

But that year, Xaden’s mother had just left him.

The ride didn’t happen. Instead, Wren and Xaden sat in silence, backs against rampart walls, grief heavy and unspoken between them.

Years later, after Wrenley’s mother died, they almost skipped the tradition again.

She had barely spoken for weeks after returning to Aretia. Her eyes were hollowed out, grief clinging to her like frost that refused to thaw. She barely ate when food was placed in front of her. Slept when exhaustion dragged her under. Existed because the alternative required too much effort. There was a piece of her missing, and everyone could see it.

It was Xaden who pulled her back.

Not with speeches. Not with pressure. Just presence. He sat beside her when the nights were too long. Walked beside her when the corridors felt endless. Reminded her, quietly and stubbornly, that she was still here.

She made it to Garrick’s birthday ride that year because of him, and somewhere in the quiet space between heartbeats, something shifted.

They hadn’t meant for it to. Grief has a way of stripping everything down to its truth, and the truth was they had always been orbiting each other. It just took loss to knock them off balance enough to collide.

The first kiss happened months later under a sky heavy with stars, hesitant and trembling and terrifying in its honesty. After that came stolen moments. Late nights in empty corridors. Laughter swallowed in shadowed corners. Fingers brushing that lingered just long enough to mean something.

It was theirs. A secret in two lives that belonged to everyone else.

Wren wasn’t ready for the questions. Xaden wasn’t ready for the scrutiny.

And then there was Garrick. If Garrick found out his cousin and his best friend were together, he would absolutely lose his mind.

Which was how they ended up tucked into the farthest corner of the stables on Xaden’s seventeenth birthday.

“You should be helping them plan my surprise for after the ride,” Xaden murmured against her mouth, pulling back just enough to breathe.

“You’re terrible at pretending you don’t know things,” she whispered. “Besides, I wanted to see you first.”

His thumb brushed her cheek, reverent and soft. “You always see me first.”

She smiled faintly. “Habit.” She kissed him again, slow and warm. “Happy birthday, Shadow.”

“Best birthday ever,” he replied, refusing to look away from her.

For a moment they just stood there, Wrenley pressed gently against the stall wall, Xaden’s hands steady at her waist. Leather and hay scented the air. The horses shifted softly in their stalls. The world outside narrowed until it was only breath and warmth and the quiet certainty of each other.

“Are you nervous?” she asked.

“About the ride?” He huffed. “I’ve been riding with Garrick since I could walk.”

“About turning seventeen.” She shoved him lightly, but it lasted all of two seconds before he pulled himself back, lips chasing hers.

“One year older,” he muttered against her mouth. “Dad says I’m ready to sit in on Assembly meetings.”

Her eyes lit. “That’s amazing, Xay.”

“Just another step toward my future.”

She swallowed. “Does that future still have me in it?”

His hands tightened instinctively at her waist. “Always,” he said without hesitation. “Wren, you are it for me. You’re my home.”

Emotion flickered across her face, fragile and bright all at once. “Xay—”

He kissed her before she could finish, deeper this time, urgency threading through it. Seconds blurred. The rest of the world fell away.

In this moment they were just Xaden and Wrenley

Shadow and Little Bird.

They were—

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

The shout shattered the moment like glass hitting stone.

Wrenley jumped as Xaden spun, instinctively stepping in front of her. Garrick stood at the end of the row, fury already blazing in his eyes.

“Oh no,” Wrenley breathed.

Garrick stalked toward them. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Garrick,” Xaden started calmly.

“Don’t Garrick me.” His gaze snapped to Wrenley. “And you. What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Her cheeks burned. “We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

“Really? Because it looked a lot like you were doing Xaden Riorson.”

“Garrick!”

“That’s my best friend!” he barked. “And you’re basically my little sister!”

“I’m your cousin,” she shot back, stepping forward despite the tremor in her chest. “And I am not a child.”

“You might as well be. I watched you learn to ride. I braided your hair when you cried over scraped knees. This isn’t—”

“Enough.” Xaden stepped fully in front of her.

Garrick shoved him hard.

“You don’t get to play protector.”

“I do when you’re acting insane,” Xaden said evenly. “And because I care about her.”

“You care about her?” Garrick laughed sharply. “You don’t sneak around with someone you care about.”

“We didn’t sneak because we’re ashamed,” Wrenley said, voice firm despite her racing heart. “We weren’t ready.”

“For what?”

“For this,” she gestured between them. “For your reaction. For everyone’s opinions.”

That slowed him. Barely.

“How long?” he asked quietly.

Wrenley mumbled the answer, not loud enough for Garrick to hear. His jaw clenched.

“How. Long.”

“A little over a year,” Xaden answered louder, keeping his eyes locked on Garrick.

“A year,” Garrick said, calm at first. Too calm. The fury built slowly beneath the surface until he was advancing on Xaden and slamming him back against the stall wall. Xaden kept his hands down, not fighting back but not going limp either. “A year,” Garrick repeated, shoving him again. “You’ve been together for a year?”

“Garrick!” Wrenley moved immediately, trying to wedge herself between them.

“When exactly?” Garrick demanded, ignoring her as he shoved Xaden harder. “When did this start?”

Xaden hesitated, just for a second.

That was all it took.

“When?” Garrick barked, slamming him back once more.

“A few months after my mom died!” Wrenley screamed.

The stable went silent.

Garrick’s head snapped toward her.

“For fucks sake, let him go, Garrick!” she shouted, shoving at his arms. “He didn’t take advantage of me!”

Garrick released Xaden slowly, stepping back, his chest rising and falling hard.

“I was drowning,” Wrenley continued, her voice shaking now but strong. “No one could drag me out of that pit I dug myself into. You tried. All of you did. But he understood. He sat with me in it. He didn’t push. He didn’t rush. He just… stayed.” She swallowed thickly. “He helped me come to terms with my new normal. Because yes, Garrick, my mom died. And he made sure I kept going.”

Garrick stared at her for a long moment before looking back at Xaden.

“I trusted you,” he said, his voice rough. “No one could reach her. But you could. I trusted you to drag her out because you understood.”

“I did,” Xaden said quietly.

“Did you?” Garrick shot back. “Or did you blur the lines when she was at her weakest?”

“I would never,” Xaden replied immediately. “Not her. Not ever.”

“Do you even love her?”

The question landed heavily between them but Xaden didn’t hesitate.

“With everything I am.”

Wrenley turned slowly toward him. “You love me?”

“I’ve always loved you,” he said gently, finally lifting a hand to rest against her cheek. “At some point it stopped being ‘she’s my best friend’s cousin’ and became ‘I don’t know how to breathe without her.’”

Wrenley let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch. “I love you too.”

Something in Garrick’s chest cracked at the sight of them.

“You’re both serious,” he muttered.

“Yes,” Wrenley whispered, stepping closer to Xaden, his arms wrapping around her instinctively.

“You know if this goes wrong,” Garrick said, his voice steady now but no less intense, “it won’t just hurt you two. It’ll tear our whole group apart.”

“I won’t let it,” Xaden said fiercely. “I swear.”

Garrick stepped closer again, but this time there was no shove.

“If you hurt her,” he said low, “I don’t care how strong you are or how big of an army you end up commanding. I will destroy you.”

Xaden met his gaze without flinching. Then he looked down at Wrenley, who was staring up at him like the world had narrowed to just the two of them again. “I’d die before hurting her.”

Garrick watched the way her smile grew at that. Watched the way Xaden held her like she already belonged there.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I should be furious.”

“You are furious,” Wrenley corrected gently.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But I see it. The way you look at each other.”

They didn’t even realize they were doing it again.

“Damn it,” he sighed.

Wrenley finally stepped away from Xaden and wrapped her arms around Garrick. For all his size and temper, he hugged her back instantly.

“I didn’t want to hide it forever,” she whispered. “It was just… nice. Having something that was ours.”

Garrick held her tighter than he meant to. “Are you happy? Does he make you happy?” he asked quietly.

“I’ve never been happier.”

He glanced at Xaden over her shoulder. “You’re on thin ice, Riorson.”

“Understood.”

“Real thin.”

“Crystal clear.”

Garrick exhaled sharply. “Fine. I’ll allow this—”

“Allow?” Wrenley arched a brow when they released their hug.

“Yes. But you tell your fathers today.”

“Done,” Xaden said immediately.

“And I never want to see your tongue down her throat again.”

Wrenley made a strangled noise. “Oh gods, no.” She slipped past them toward the stall exit. “I’m going to help Bodhi and Liam with—”

“The very secret dagger surprise I already know about?” Xaden supplied.

She groaned. “I’m never getting you another birthday present.”

He caught her wrist gently and pulled her back for one last kiss. “You’re the only present I need.”

“HEY!” Garrick barked, hurling a handful of hay at them. “What did I just say?”

“Go, Little Bird,” Xaden said with a grin, sidestepping another handful of hay. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

“One hour,” she called, laughing as she slipped out. “Bye, Gare!”

“You two are insufferable,” Garrick muttered, grabbing his riding gear. “I changed my mind, keep your hands off her.”

“Garrick,” Xaden said, clapping his shoulder. “I love you, but no.”

Garrick groaned. “I will never know peace, will I?”

Xaden only smiled.

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L I A M

The first thing I noticed was the silence. Not the peaceful, soft kind of silence, but the kind that presses down, heavy and suffocating, leaving my chest aching just to draw a breath. My body screamed in protest, every limb a tangled knot of pain and exhaustion. 

A low, vibrating hum pulled me back from the edge of panic. It was soothing, precise, commanding. My eyes finally focused, and I froze.

She was kneeling over Deigh. My chest tightened at the sight — scales battered, wings twisted awkwardly, breath ragged, and blood everywhere. Her hands glowed faintly, tracing lines along his injuries with the sort of delicate certainty that made everything else fade away. Deigh shuddered under her touch, then exhaled a long, shivering rumble that sounded almost like a sigh of relief.

And then she spoke.

“I’m trying, Dìls. Let me focus.”

Her voice. Clear. Confident. Gentle.

There was another presence too — a smaller, brown dragon perched near her, wings tucked and tail coiling nervously around her legs. It shifted, eyes wide, golden flecks catching the light.

“He’s awake but fragile. You need to be patient,” she said, all the while her hands never left Deigh.

I blinked, disoriented, heart racing. Who is she? How… why…

Panic bubbled in my throat. I tried to call out, but when I called out to Deigh, all that came out was a staggered breath. 

The light from her hands flared faintly, and I felt warmth ripple through the air, Deigh trembling under it. He was alive. Somehow — impossibly — he was alive. And I was alive too. My body ached with the memory of what I’d survived — or what I thought I hadn’t.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I could only watch.

She shifted slightly, brushing a hand over Deigh’s neck, murmuring words I didn’t understand. The hum resonated deep in my chest, and I felt Deigh’s trust transfer through the bond. My dragon had accepted her. 

“She’s safe.” Deigh’s voice comes through our bond and my breath catches.

In the corner of my vision, Dìls pressed into the girl’s shoulder, nuzzling, eyes wide and the girl’s voice softened. “Yes… I know. I know it’s frightening. But we’ll get him through this.”

The way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she was, it was mesmerizing. Every small motion carried certainty, confidence, a strength I wanted to grab onto. I wanted to be able to stand, to reach her, to tell her… something, anything, but my body refused.

I tried again. Just a whisper, more felt than heard: “Hey…”

Her head tilted slightly, but she didn’t look at me. Not yet. Her focus remained on Deigh.

Of course she’s focused on him, I thought, both awed and frustrated. But she’s… incredible.

I tried to push myself upright, shifting my arms beneath me, and pain shot through my ribs. I groaned, low and unsteady. My heart raced. Deigh stirred, and I panicked, desperate to reach him, desperate to reach her.

“Shhh…” she cooed, still murmuring over Deigh. “You’re safe. You’re gonna be fine.”

I watched her, trying to memorize every detail: the way her hair fell over her shoulders, the steady patience in her hands, the way she coaxed both dragons with the same calm authority. She seemed impossible. Invincible. And… beautiful. Not just in the way people see beauty, but in the way her presence demanded trust and respect all at once.

Finally, after what felt like hours but could barely have been minutes, she straightened slightly. Deigh’s body had relaxed under her touch, the glow around her hands dimming. Carys nudged her shoulder once more, and she looked up. Her eyes met mine briefly. Something flickered — recognition? Concern? Acknowledgment? My chest clenched painfully.

I rasped out, forcing the words: “I… I’m alive.”

Her gaze sharpened, and relief softened the line of her mouth. “Finally,” she murmured. Then she moved closer, but not too close, her voice gentle yet steady. “You’ve been through a lot. Rest now. You’re safe here.”

Safe here.

The words sank into me, and for the first time since I woke up, I believed it. I was alive. Deigh was alive. And she… she saved us.

I shifted slightly again, just needing to be close to Deigh but my body is stiff still from my… did I actually die? I have so many questions. “Don’t worry about Deigh. I’ll make sure he’s alright. You just rest, it’s better for him if you stay calm.”

Rest. I wanted to, but I couldn’t stop staring at her. At the way she moved, how gentle she was for a dragon rider, at the way both dragons trusted her implicitly.

A rider without a riot? I don’t recognize her from Basgiath, or even Athebyne or Resson.

Where did she come from?

Who is she?

How was she able to so easily heal a dragon that died?

I wanted to say something, to do something, but my body wasn’t cooperating. So I simply watched until everything faded to black again.

My eyes open slowly, sunlight filtering through the trees overhead. The sharp scent of pine and damp earth fills my lungs when I breathe in, and though my ribs protest, the pain is dull now. Manageable.

I’m alive.

My fingers flex against the ground beneath me. Dirt. Leaves. A blanket thrown over my shoulders that definitely wasn’t there before.

I blink up at the canopy again, trying to piece together where the hell I am.

The last thing I remember is fire. Venin. Deigh’s roar as we plummeted from the sky. Wrenley’s voice in my head. Making sure Sloane was taken care of. 

Making sure Wrenley and Xaden knew they needed to work things out.

I remember the certainty that I was going to see my parents again. That I was gong out honorably.

I was sure we died.

My heart lurches as I sit up, looking around for familiar red scales. “Deigh?”

A deep rumble answers instantly through the bond. “I am here.”

Relief crashes through me so violently I nearly laugh. I turn my head and immediately regret it when the world tilts slightly.

Deigh is lying a few yards away, wings tucked loosely at his sides. His scales are still scuffed and scratched, but the torn flesh I remember seeing is gone. Completely gone.

He looks… normal. Just tired.

“How…” I whisper.

“That would be me.” The voice comes from somewhere to my left.

I freeze, slowly reaching for the dagger I know is on my hip — where is my dagger?

The owner of the voice sits against a fallen log, one knee drawn up while the other leg stretches out in front of her. A waterskin dangles loosely from her hand as she studies me with an expression that sits somewhere between curiosity and caution.

Now that my vision has cleared, I can fully make out the girl before me.

She looks only a few years older than Xaden, her deep brown hair falls in loose waves over her shoulders and her brown eyes follow my movements.

“Sorry,” she chuckles, holding up my sheaths. “I had to remove them to mend you which worked out because you can’t be too careful over what kind of rider you just saved.”

Her dragon, the smaller brown one from before, lies curled on the otherside of that log, golden eyes watching me carefully.

Dìls.

The name floats up from the fog in my memory.

“I’m glad you're awake. Dèigh was getting restless waiting for you,” she says simply.

Her voice is the same as before. Calm. Steady. Like she never doubted I’d get here eventually.

“How?” I rasp. My throat still feels like sandpaper.

She tosses the waterskin toward me without standing. I barely manage to catch it.

“Drink,” she says. “You were out for two days. Malek knows how long before I found you.”

Two days.

I stare at her over the rim as I drink and—

Sweet Amari, the water tastes like the best thing I’ve ever had.

“What day is it?” I ask, voice still raspy.

She’s quiet for a moment before saying, “Fourth of July.”

Well fuck. 

Two days.

Two actural days since I thought I died.

Two days since she apparently… resurrected my dragon? Resurrection isn’t even possible!

We’re we not dead then?

I lower the waterskin slowly. “Alright,” I say, voice rough but steadier now. “I’ve got questions.”

One corner of her mouth lifts slightly. “I figured you might.”

I glance toward Deigh again. His head lifts slightly, amber eyes calm. Comfortable.

“At least say thank you,” he grumbles softly through the bond and if I couldn’t feel how weak he was already, the softness I hav never known Dèigh to possess would be a dead giveaway. “We would still be dead if not for the Savior.”

I look back at her.

“You healed him.”

“Yes.”

“You healed a dragon that was dead.”

Her brow furrows slightly. “He wasn’t dead.”

“He was.”

She studies me for a moment, then shrugs lightly. “Agree to disagree.”

I blink at her.

Is she serious?

“Who are you?” I ask finally.

Because that’s the real question.

Sure, coming back from the dead is pretty crazy but—

She’s a rider who is miles from an active outpost for a kingdom that has been hiding the Venin problem for too long.

She watches me for a long moment like she’s deciding something.

The brown dragon behind her chuffs and the steam from the dragon blows over her.

“Alright,” she sighs, pushing to her feet. She brushes dirt from her hands as she walks a few steps closer, stopping just far enough away that Deigh doesn’t even think to growl at closeness.

Smart.

Her eyes meet mine again.

Sharp. Observant. Completely unafraid.

“I’m Maelira T– Rowan. Maelira Rowan,” she holds her hand out to help me stand.

Something about the name settles deep in my chest as I reach out to take her hand, allowing her to pull me up.

She’s short. Like, Violet short which is crazy for someone in the Riders Quadrant. It’s already a fucking miracle Violet survived out first year.

Fuck, did she survive?

“I’m Liam Mairi.” I say, shaking the hand that's still firmly held in mine. “Thanks for saving us, Maelira.

“It’s what I do,” she sas with a smile and fuck, she is stunning. “And please, Mae is fine.”

M A E L I R A

The fire had settled into a steady burn by the time the sun disappeared completely.

Liam hadn’t spoken much since we moved from the field where I’d found him. I had hoped to reach Draithus before nightfall, but Deigh was still far too weak to fly, and pushing a recovering dragon was a good way to undo all the work I’d put into healing him.

So I settled for a small cluster of trees along the Cliffs of Draylor, a few miles south of Resson.

The last streaks of sunset had long since faded behind the mountains, leaving only the soft glow of firelight and the quiet chorus of insects hidden in the tall grass.

A stew simmered gently in the pot between us, the scent of herbs and root vegetables I’d scavenged earlier drifting through the cool evening air. I stirred it slowly, more out of habit than necessity, letting the familiar motion steady my thoughts.

Across from me, Liam sat propped against a broad rock, long legs stretched toward the fire. He was still stiff, still moving carefully in the way people do when their bodies haven’t quite decided if they’re finished healing yet.

But he was alive.

And Deigh — who rested just beyond the trees with Dìls, wings tucked loosely at his sides — was alive too.

That alone felt like a quiet miracle.

Every so often I saw Dìls lift his head, golden eyes reflecting the firelight as he scanned our surroundings before settling again beside the larger dragon.

It’s all so peaceful.

Strange how foreign peace feels when you haven’t had it in years.

“How did you find me?” Liam’s voice cut through the quiet, low and thoughtful rather than demanding.

I lifted my eyes from the fire.

There it was. The question I knew he’d been holding onto since he woke.

“And what,” he added after a moment, “are you doing this far outside the wards?”

My body stiffened before I could stop it.

The wards.

After three years, I had almost forgotten what it felt like to live behind them. Forgotten the strange comfort of believing something invisible stood between you and the rest of the world.

I pushed myself away from the fire and leaned back on my hands so I could meet his gaze fully.

He wasn’t suspicious. Just confused. Which is fair.

How do I even answer this?

So I faked my death during my third year and started working with Navarre’ number one enemy by flying to Poromish cities that were attacked by Venin and mending injured civilians so that they can go back to life as normal.

That would go over well.

“You could try that,” Dìls snickered across our bond. “He seems to be of the understanding variety.”

“Yes, thank you for your input that no one asked for,” I shot back.

“He possesses a rebellion relic.”

“That doesn’t make him more trustworthy.”

Children of the rebellion had every reason to hate riders like me. If anything, that relic on Liam’s arm was proof he might have even more reason not to trust me.

But if I gave him the full truth…?

“I didn’t intentionally find you,” I said slowly.

Liam’s brows furrowed faintly.

“Ooh, great start,” Dìls laughed.

“That’s enough from you,” I muttered, forcing my shields up.

“What does that mean?” Liam questions.

“I was on my way to help any injured civilians,” I said with a small shrug. “But you riders did a pretty damn good job getting them to safety. The only ones who still needed help were you and Deigh.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“Why?”

Not why I helped him. Why I was there in the first place.

Because I looked exactly like what I used to be: a Navarrean rider with a dragon.

There were a thousand answers to that question.

Because venin leave devastation behind them. Because someone has to help the civilians. Because Navarre refuses to see the war that has already begun.

“Start from the beginning,” Dìls said, pushing through my shields like he always does.

I sighed quietly.

“In my third year, I was sent with a squad of other third-years to cover Athebyne while the active riders rushed to Sumerton’s aid.”

Twelve riders. Twelve dragons. Twelve people who believed the world made sense.

“We’d been stationed there for three weeks.”

The smell of smoke from the fire curled upward, and for a moment it was easy to remember a very different fire.

“There was an attack just before sunrise.”

Liam leaned forward slightly but didn’t interrupt.

“They moved through the camp like shadows,” I continued. “Draining riders before anyone realized what was happening.”

The screaming had started seconds later. Then the dragonfire — not dragonfire.

“There were twelve of us when we went to sleep that night.” I met his eyes across the fire. “Only one of us woke up.”

Silence settled between us.

“You,” Liam said, not like a question but a quiet conclusion. “What did you do?”

“I reported it.”

I see his brows raise in surprise. “You told command?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

I gave a small, humorless smile. “They told me it was just a gryphon attack.”

His jaw tightened.

“They said grief and exhaustion must have confused what I saw. That maybe a flier got into my head and made me see ‘fairytales’.” I exhaled slowly. “They ordered me back to Basgiath for evaluation.”

His eyes flicked briefly toward Dìls before returning to me. “And instead?”

“We found a wyvern close to Dìls size, made it look like he lost his front legs and was drained.”

Understanding dawned across his face. “You faked your death.”

“Yes.” I nod.

For a moment he leaned back slightly, running a hand through his hair. “You figured out that Navarre had been hiding the truth.”

“I knew they were lying,” I said quietly. “For years.” I paused before finishing. “I just didn’t know about what until I saw my best friend dead in her bed.”

Liam studied me for a long moment. “So what have you been doing since?”

“I started out tracking venin movements,” I said. “Going after the smaller groups the fliers couldn’t reach in time.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

Dìls shifted, reminding me of his presence.

Not alone. Never alone.

Eventually Liam asked the question I expected. “And the gryphon fliers?”

“One of the Nightwing drifts found me right after I killed a venin and a horde of wyvern in northern Cygnesian,” I said.

His eyebrows lifted.

“Their leader noticed I was mending civilians. We made a pact.”

“What kind of pact?”

“I teach them a better way to track,” I explained. “They kill the venin, then I help the civilians afterward.”

“And you agreed just like that?”

“You don’t get it, Liam,” I scoffed, gesturing toward his arm. “You have the other separatists’ children to trust. You have a visible marker telling you exactly who you can rely on.”

The rebellion relic gleamed faintly in the firelight.

“The four people I trusted,” I said quietly, “the ones I built that trust with… they’re dead.” The words felt heavier than I expected. “And the kingdom they chose to fight for did nothing then,” I continued. “And it’s still doing nothing now.” I looked back at him. “At least the fliers know where the real fight is.”

Liam studied me carefully. “So you’ve been flying around Poromiel for—”

“Three years,” I said, nodding as I ladled stew into the travel bowls from my pack.

“That’s a long time to be on your own.”

I shrugged the comment away as I leaned across the fire to hand him the bowl. He took it carefully and tested a spoonful.

He wasn’t wrong about being alone all this time, but it had purpose. And purpose makes difficult things survivable.

Eventually he said quietly, “You know… most people would’ve left us there.”

I shrugged. “Probably.”

“So why didn’t you?”

The answer came easily. “There was still life in both of you.” I took a spoonful of my own stew, sighing as warmth spread through me. “And I’m a mender. We’re bound to the Healers Codex just as much as we’re are bound to the Riders Codex.”

Across the fire, Liam watched me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

Like he was still trying to decide what kind of person would fake their own death, hunt venin across Poromiel for three years, and drag a rider and his dragon back from the edge of death.

Like he hadn’t decided yet whether I was reckless…

Or exactly the kind of ally someone would want in this war.

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W R E N L E Y

It’s been three weeks since the impromptu trip to Samara, and despite two of those weeks supposedly being spent with Xaden back at Basgiath for the weekend, I’ve seen him for a total of five minutes — most of them while I was being dragged into all-day leadership meetings.

Every.

Single.

Saturday.

Basgiath doesn’t pause just because Xaden and I finally figured us out. If anything, it tightens its grip — stacking duty on top of duty until there’s no space left to breathe, let alone focus on us.

But we promised each other we were okay.

And we are.

Mostly.

Still, three weeks is a long time to pretend five minutes counts as enough.

In those three weeks, Violet brought Rhiannon, Ridoc, and Sawyer into the rebellion, while Imogen brought Quinn in. It’s good—having more people who know the truth.

It’s also four more people who go down with us if we get caught.

“Any sign of Sloane?” I ask Imogen, stepping up beside her on the flight field. It’s Threshing finally and I am on edge.

“No.” She crosses her arms. “She’ll make it.” But the tension bleeding through our words tells me she’s just as worried as I am.

“If I have to leave before she’s back,” I say quietly, “the door will be open.”

Thanks to Bodhi and Imogen, we’ve managed to extend the distance that I can connect to others mentally. So far, the Academic Wing to the flight field is the farthest range that works, which is perfect for today.

“There,” Rhiannon says from behind us.

I look up just in time to see a red daggertail land in the center of the field.

“A red daggertail,” Violet murmurs. “Just like her brother.”

I exhale slowly. 

We got her, Li.

“Where’s your watch?” Imogen asks as we fall in behind Rhiannon, Ridoc, and Violet, walking back towards the citadel.

“Academic. With Violet.” I nod toward her as she heads for the rotunda doors.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with someone who really wants your boyfriend,” Imogen presses.

She isn’t wrong. Every watch. Every patrol. Every class. I’ve been ten steps behind Violet because I’m not losing Xaden to her inability to stay alive — no matter how much Imogen trains her.

I shrug as I start up the steps. “Someone has to keep the nuisance alive. I’ll catch you in a couple hours.”

Imogen nods, and I slip through the doors.

The Academic Wing is quiet, most of the quadrant still out on the flight field. The silence is almost peaceful.

I roll my shoulders as I pass the history hall and the Battle Brief rooms. Voices echo faintly behind me, but I don’t turn.

Probably just someone heading to or from their watch.

I’m reaching for the stairwell door when something slams into my back.

A voice leans close, breath warm against my ear. “Secrets die with the people you keep them.”

Then pain blooms — and I’m staring down at the blade protruding from my chest.

The first thing I notice is the smell. 

Clean linens, antiseptic, the faint metallic tang that never quite leaves the Healers Quadrant no matter what they do.

The second is the pain – distant, dulled, but still present. Not sharp enough to panic. Not gone enough to ignore. The kind that reminds you that your body remembers what your mind hasn’t caught up to yet.

I blink, lashes heavy, the mage lights in the small, curtained-off space stinging as they come into focus. White. Too white. 

“Shit—let me turn those off.”

Bodhi.

The tension in my body releases at the familiar voice, the pain that had bloomed as I woke starts to ebb away as I relax into the cot.

My body reacts before my thoughts do. Tension drains. Muscles loosen. Breath comes easier as I sink back into the cot like gravity finally remembered I exist.

“Is that better?”

Yes.

“Take your time, Youngling.” Desa’s voice smooths over my mind, steady and sure. I’ve never been so grateful for it. “You’ve been out for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Three days.”

Three. Days?

The word settles heavy in my chest.

Fuck. Then it’s — oh fuck, what day is it?

“Dammit, Wren.” Bodhi exhales, the sound breaking around the edges. “You scared the shit outta me.”

A cup touches my lips. Water. Cool. Necessary. I drink like I’ve been stranded somewhere dry and cruel.

“You gave everyone quite the scare.”

My eyes finally find the figure standing at the foot of the bed.

Cream robes. Still posture. Familiar presence. Kaelin.

For half a heartbeat, hope flares stupid and unhelpfully. Maybe she and Bodhi finally fixed whatever happened between them. Maybe this is one of those moments where fear sharpens priorities and the important things snap back into place.

I hope so.

Then my vision sharpens.

Bodhi’s jaw is clenched tight enough to crack teeth. His eyes are red-rimmed, exhaustion carved so deep it looks permanent. He doesn’t look panicked anymore.

He looks wrecked.

The kind that settles into your bones and refuses to leave.

I try to speak.

Nothing. Not a sound. Not even a rasp.

So I reach for the mental door instead — the one that’s always there, waiting.

“Hey,” I murmured into Bodhi’s mind.

“Gods—” He startles. “Don’t do that. You can’t talk?”

“Desa said to take it easy.” I let my body sink fully into the mattress, eyes sliding shut. “What happened?”

“Guess it was your turn for an assassination attempt.” He laughs, but it’s hollow. Brittle. The sound of something fractured trying to pretend it isn’t. “You were muttering about ‘secrets dying with the people who keep them’,” he continued. “Completely out of it. And considering the amount of blood in the hall…” He doesn’t finish the thought. He doesn’t need to.

“How—” I try aloud, pain scraping my throat raw. Bodhi moves closer instantly. “How am I… alive?”

Speaking hurts. But silence invites questions I can’t afford.

“Nolon mended you,” Kaelin says softly. “He was close to burnout by the time he finished. Said something about a life debt.”

“And,” Bodhi adds through the link, quieter now, “you unlocked a new part of your signet.”

I open my mouth to ask what that means and it feels like the world tilts on its axis.

“You better be awake when I fucking get there, you asshole.” Imogen’s voice slams into my mind like a thrown dagger.

“Imogen?” I ask, stunned.

“Freaky, right?” Bodhi laughs—and suddenly it feels like I can’t breathe.

“What?” I demand.

“Despite being unconscious, you reached out mentally to three people,” Desa says calmly. “Only two were within range.”

“Still deeply honored I was one of the three,” Imogen snarks.

“Wait… you can—”

“Yeah,” Bodhi cuts in. “It’s the only reason we knew what happened. Even Cuir and Glane heard all of us.”

That lands harder than the blade did.

Kaelin reaches for Bodhi’s sleeve, grounding him the way she always does even when she pretends not to. “We’ll let you rest,” she murmurs.

“Wait.” I force my eyes open. “What day is it?”

“Thursday,” Bodhi says, even though I can’t see him anymore. “So do me a favor and get discharged by tomorrow so I can tell my cousin you’re okay, please?”

Normally, I’d laugh. He’s said it a hundred times since Xaden and I started dating, since first year. Half-joking. Half-warning.

This time, the words don’t land the same.

Screw if I’m okay.

Someone tried to assassinate me outside the parameters of my agreement.

Someone tried to assassinate the future Queen of Navarre.

A laugh slips out of me — raspy, broken, wrong — and echoes through the still-open connection.

“Why is she laughing?” Imogen asks.

“I can only talk here,” Bodhi says dryly. “Her signet doesn’t let me read her godsforsaken mind.”

I laugh harder as Imogen demands answers.

“Someone better make sure the Tauri’s know they need to find a new bride for the prince,” I say calmly, deliberately, “because our deal is done.”

Silence.

Then—

“Holy shit.”

Holy shit indeed.

Saturday arrives faster than it has any right to.

By the time the Healers release me at dawn, my body feels hollowed out — scraped clean and stitched back together. All I want is my bed. My blankets. The echo of Xaden that lingers in the room long after he leaves it.

I slip into my room and kick my loose-laced boots toward the wall. They don’t land neatly.

I cross the room on instinct alone, fingers closing around the shirt on my dresser, dark fabric pressed to my face like a lifeline.

Mint.

Leather.

Him.

I barely make it to the bed before exhaustion pulls me under—

“What the fuck happened to you?”

I’m upright before my mind catches up.

Dagger in hand. Heart hammering. Muscles screaming. Then—

“Xay?”

He stands in my doorway like a mirage my exhaustion conjured. Hair still tangled from flight, shadows curling lazily around his shoulders. His eyes are too dark. Too glassy. Too awake for someone who shouldn’t be.

“You look like you haven’t slept,” I say, because it’s obvious in the way he’s holding himself together by force alone.

“Renna cleared me after my rotation,” he replies, already crossing the room. His hands find my hips like they know the path even if he doesn’t. “And I needed to see you.” He kisses me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t anchor himself to something real.

“Xay…” I swallow.

“Missed you so much, Little Bird,” he groans, slowly guiding us toward the bed. “Please tell me you don’t have any meetings today.”

“None,” I sigh as his lips trail down my neck. “But Xay, we should talk—”

“Later,” he says. Not unkind. Not commanding. Just… asking. “Please.”

We fall back onto the mattress together, the world narrowing to the familiar weight of him. The quiet proof that he’s here.

That I am.

There’s no sting from my back like there used to be. When Kaelin said Nolon mended me, she wasn’t exaggerating.

Xaden’s kisses trail from my lips to my neck and I gasp.

“Xay,” I breathe again, arching into him and he freezes.

“Fuck.” He pulls back immediately, hands reverent as he eases me onto my side. “I forgot about your back.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” I promise.

He doesn’t look convinced. His eyes meet mine, darker than they should be, exhaustion bleeding through the desire.

“You need to sleep,” I murmur, pushing myself upright so we’re sitting on the bed.

“I don’t want to,” he admits, voice rough, leaning in to kiss me again.

“Lay down, Shadow.” I press him gently back. He resists the pull of sleep with everything he has. “That’s not a suggestion, Riorson. Sleep for a few hours. Then we’ll talk.”

He exhales, lips twitching faintly. “You’re the boss.”

“And never forget that,” I murmur, brushing his hair back. I kiss his forehead softly. “Get some rest, Xay.”

He’s already asleep.

When Xaden is awake, he’s all sharp edges and shadowed strength.

But asleep?

He’s the little boy who would’ve followed his father anywhere. The boy who told his best friend it was okay if their cousins wanted to tag along. Who held me when I finally broke after losing my mom.

A knock breaks the moment.

I flinch, watching his chest rise and fall. When he doesn’t stir, I move quietly to the door.

“Dain?”

“Vice Commandant called a last-minute leadership meeting,” he says. “Now.”

“I was released from the Healers an hour ago,” I counter.

“Varrish said no exceptions.”

My gaze flicks over my shoulder to Xaden’s sleeping form.

Dain follows it.

“Wren—”

“I was stabbed five days ago,” I say carefully, precisely. “I’m under strict orders to rest. Which means you cannot drag me into that room.”

His eyes shift past me and to the bed. To the unmistakable shape of someone sleeping. To the shadows curled protectively at the foot.

“You’re not alone,” he says quietly.

I lift my chin. “No.”

He pauses, like he wants to say more.

“If you were ever my friend,” I add softly, “you’ll get me out of this.”

Dain exhales through his nose, jaw tightening. “I’ll handle it,” he says at last. “But this will come back around.”

“I know.”

He hesitates, then steps back. “Get some rest.”

I close the door gently. Lock it.

It was dark when I woke up.

The bed is cold where Xaden should be, folded up neatly while my side is still a mess.

“Xaden?” I reach out mentally.

Nothing.

Fear doesn’t sink in immediately but the longer I reach out for him while I get dressed, the farther it creeps in.

“Xay, this isn’t funny.”

He wouldn’t leave without telling me. He wouldn’t—

I’m halfway down the stairs before I can finish the thought.

The courtyard glows faintly under magelights, voices low against the wind. I slow as I turn a corner and stop.

Xaden stands near the edge of the bridge, posture loose in the way it only ever is when he’s just come back from something dangerous. Violet is with him, satchel slung over her shoulder, face flushed, eyes bright.

They’re smiling and not polite smiles either. Real ones.

I don’t hear what they say. I don’t need to. I see it instead.

The way Violet lifts something from her satchel and holds it between them. The way Xaden’s attention sharpens instantly, body angling closer. The way he unbuttons his flight jacket and tucks whatever she hands him against his chest like it matters more than breath.

Like it’s worth the risk.

She steps back first, turns to leave, and suddenly I’m moving.

“Riorson!” My voice cuts across the courtyard, sharp enough that both of them freeze.

Violet turns, eyes widening slightly when she sees me. She opens her mouth — then thinks better of it and keeps walking toward the rotunda. Good.

I don’t look at her again. I walk straight up to him.

“Wren?” Xaden says, surprise flickering across his face as his arm lifts instinctively, protectively, over his torso. “I thought you’d still be asleep.”

I scoff. “So you figured it was the perfect time to sneak out on me?” “Wren—”

“You're gonna argue against exactly what this looks like?” I cross my arms, head tilted back.

He exhales sharply. “Violet had a plan. A reckless one. She found some old texts from the First Six about the wardstones and she didn’t tell me until minutes before Jesinia cleared her access.” He steps closer. “I went with her to make sure she didn’t get caught. Or killed.”

His hands come up, cupping my cheeks before I can stop him.

“I wanted to tell you,” he continues, voice tight. “But we were out of time. I was going to tell you the second I got back.”

My eyes burn. I keep my gaze anywhere but his.

“I have to take this to Brennan,” he says. “Which means I have to leave now if I’m going to make it back to Samara on time.”

“You promised,” I whisper. “No more secrets, Xay.”

He wipes away a tear I didn’t even realize had fallen. “I swear, Love, ” he says softly, turning my face to face him. “I did not mean to keep this from you. And I will answer everything when I’m back.” His lips press gently to my forehead. “I love you, Wrenley Arden. I will not mess this up again. Please— trust me.”

My tears spill freely now.

I do trust him.

Gods, I want to trust him.

“I—”

“Go back to your room,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead again. “Nothing has changed between us. I promise. But I do have to go.”

This time, his lips meet mine in the softest kiss.

“Thirteen days, Little Bird.”

And then he’s gone.

I slowly walk back towards the dorms, arms wrapped tightly around myself.

“Well,” a voice says lightly behind me, “this is… unconventional.”

I turn toward the sound and everything goes black.

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B R E N N A N

6 years ago during the Battle of Aretia....

Naolin is pushing back onto his knees after Renna leaves. 

His hands went right back to where they were resting before, the surge of power flowing into me.

“Naol,” I rasp. “It’s over.”

“I know,” he mutters. “I know.”

His hand shakes harder. His signet flares, wild and unfocused as it burns hotter the longer he holds the connection. Pain lances through me, sharp enough to drag a gasp from my lungs.

“Stop,” I choke. “You’re—”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t tell me to stop.”

I hear it then.

Not words. Pressure. A presence looming just beyond my awareness, heavy enough to bend the air. I’m sure Tairn has moved closer, urging his rider to stop.

Naolin jerks his head sharply to the side, teeth bared. “No.” His voice cracks on the word. “I won’t,” he growls aloud. “You don’t get to decide that.”

The magic surges again. It hurts. Gods, it hurts. I arch despite myself, fingers clawing weakly at the stone.

“Naolin,” I gasp. “Listen to him.”

He laughs, short and sharp and wrong. “Of course you’d take his side.”

My vision swims. The sky above blurs, stormlight bleeding into smoke and shadow.

“Renna only gets to lose one husband today,” Naolin says hoarsely, “and if I can guarantee it's me, then I’ll gladly do it.”

The pressure intensifies. The air feels too thick to breathe.

“Naol,” I whisper. “You’re burning out.”

“I don’t care.”

“You will,” I insist, panic clawing its way through the fog. “You will if you keep—”

“Then let me,” he snaps. “Let me die if it means you don’t.”

His hands press harder. The magic changes. It feels different now. Sharper. Hungrier. It doesn’t just knit and soothe. It pulls.

Something deep inside me recoils. “Naol,” I say, my voice barely a sound. “Promise me—”

“No,” he says immediately. “I’m not promising you that.” He answers like he knew I was going to make him promise to keep an eye on Renna.

The pressure spikes again, violent enough that the world tilts sideways. My heart stutters. Pain explodes behind my eyes.

“Stay,” Naolin demands, his voice breaking open completely now. “You stay. You hear me? You don’t get to leave.”

I want to answer him. I want to tell him I’m trying.

The darkness rushes in instead, fast and merciless, swallowing sound and light alike.

Then I hear voices and there are hands — too many hands — that grip onto my arms, hauling me up. My body screams in protest, every nerve flaring like I’ve been flayed open.

“Easy— easy.” A male voice orders to my left… or was it my right.

“We need to get ‘em inside quickly.” A female voice calls from a different direction.

I suck in a breath that burns the whole way down.

“Naol—”

There's swearing and a new set of hands grabs me.

“I got you, Brennan. Stay with me.” I don’t recognize the first two voices but this last one? I’ve heard it a hundred times before.

“Uncle Harlow…” I mutter, turning towards where I think I heard his voice.

“Hey, stay with me, okay? We’re gonna get you patched up.” Harlow promises as he starts walking, dragging me along with him.

“Where’s Naol—” I say, louder this time. Panic spikes in my chest beside the pain as I try to reach out.

No one answers. They all move quickly, dragging me towards shelter, stone walls rising around us. 

“Harlow…” I plead, leaning further into the man who is holding me up.

“I gotta get you inside,” Harlow mumbles, moving quicker across the field. “We’re gonna get you checked out.”

“Where is he?” I say, turning to look behind us before Harlow can drug me through a door. “Where’s my husband, Harlow?”

“Just focus on me, Bren.”

“Is he hurt?” I demand, pulling from my godfather. “Is he–”

“Brennan!” Harlow snatches me by the shoulders, forcing me to look directly at him. “Please, just focus on staying awake right now okay?”

That's not an answer. Why won’t he answer me? Why won’t he let me look?

“Naol!” I shout, trying to pull from Harlow’s grip. “Naolin!

“Brennan!” I hear him shout as I turn towards where the others stand.

“No–” I stumble towards them, catching a glimpse at the all too still body in the grass. “No, Naol.”

“Brennan—look at me!” Hands grip my shoulders, solid and urgent, hauling me back. Stone starts to blur. Torchlight streaks. My chest burns like I’ve been torn open from the inside.

“Naolin,” I choke. “No—”

“Brennan.”

The voice is steadier now. Older.

I blink.

The Assembly chamber comes back into focus, rows of empty chairs stretching away in orderly silence. The air smells of ink and wax instead of smoke and blood. Maps lie spread across the long table before me, miscellaneous items weighing down their corners, missives scattered like fallen leaves.

Harlow stands at the opposite end of the table, arms crossed, concern etched deep into the lines of his face. “The meeting’s over,” he says, softer now. “You disappeared there for a minute.”

I drag a hand down my face, grounding myself in the present. “Sorry. I’m fine.”

He studies me for a moment longer, clearly unconvinced. “You should get some sleep. We’ll pick this back up tomorrow.”

“In a bit,” I reply automatically. “I just want to finish reviewing these routes.”

Harlow exhales through his nose, the sound sharp with resignation. “Brennan, you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I know.”

He hesitates, then nods once. “Don’t stay up all night.”

“I won’t.”

He leaves, footsteps echoing briefly before fading into nothing.

Silence settles again.

I turn back to the table, fingers tracing the edge of a map without really seeing it. Poromiel. Supply lines. Outposts lost and reclaimed and lost again. Names bleed together.

Renna’s face rises unbidden.

Six years of lies pressed down on me, compacted and buried. How much longer can I let her believe the lies? How much longer before the truth poisons everything anyway?

Maybe Xaden should tell her.

Or simply tell her to fly here, surely she’s been stockpiling her leave. She can come here and I’ll have Marbh meet her on the field before I join them and tell her everything. About me, the revolution — as my sister insists it’s called, Naolin…

I lean forward, bracing myself on the table, eyes skimming missives without absorbing a word.

Ink blurs. Lines bleed together. Routes loop back on themselves until nothing feels certain except the weight pressing down behind my eyes. I shift stack, then another, reorganizing papers I’ve already sorted once. Twice.

The chamber grows quieter. I don’t notice the torches burning lower. Don’t register the echo of my own breathing in the empty hall. My thoughts circle the same question again and again, gnawing and relentless.

I reach for another missive and then—

A precise, intimate pressure at my throat.

Cold steel held firmly in place.

Every muscle locks at once, breath halting mid-inhale as the world snaps back into sharp, brutal focus. I don’t move. Don’t speak.

“Well,” a voice murmurs softly behind me, all amusement and threat braided together, far too familiar to be anything but dangerous. “If it isn’t my favorite dead man.”

Her breath ghosts my ear, close enough that I can feel it against my skin.

“Hello,” she says sweetly, “husband.”

R E N N A

It’s all still here.

The city that was burned to the ground stands before me as if fire  never touched it. Not pristine, no — scaffolding clings to rebuilt towers, fresh-cut stone contrasts against older masonry, and the faint scent of mortar lingers in the air — but alive. Whole in a way that feels almost defiant.

I had prepared myself to find nothing here. For proof that Navarre wasn’t lying again. For all those official reports and speeches to be the truth.

Instead, I walk through streets filled with civilians who are not prisoners, not hidden sympathizers, not ghosts lingering among ruins. They are trading. Laughing. Living. A woman scolds a boy for running too close to a forge. A merchant argues over grain prices like he has done it every week of his life. Children weave through the crowd with sticky hands and scraped knees, their joy careless and loud.

This is not a hidden rebellion base.

This is a city.

And the realization unsettles me more than destruction ever could have.

My steps slow when I reach the fortress carved into the mountainside. I have seen it before in the textbooks Violet memorized and obsessed over in the years after the rebellion. I know the shape of its corridors from drawings alone.

Seeing it in person tightens something low in my chest.

Inside, the hall is cool and echoing. The architecture is exactly as described — vaulted ceilings, banners spaced with military precision, corridors branching in ordered lines. It should feel foreign.

Instead, it feels like walking into a place that was waiting for me.

“Renna?” The voice slices through the stillness.

I turn and find Harlow Tavis stands at the end of the corridor.

Alive.

My mind refuses to accept it at first. I remember his name on the list of Rebellion Leaders. Lilith had mentioned losing one of the last connections to her late friend the day of the executions. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, confusion furrowing his brow.

“Me?” My voice sounds distant, like it belongs to someone else. “You’re the dead man talking to me.”

My hand drifts to the dagger at my thigh, not in aggression but in grounding. Steel is real. Steel makes sense.

This does not.

“He didn’t…” Harlow begins, then pauses as something clicks in his expression. “Oh. Shit.”

“How are you here?” I press, stepping closer until the rider beside him moves sharply between us, blade raised in warning.

“Don’t even think about it, loyalist,” she snarls.

My fingers curl around my dagger but I don’t draw it. Not yet. My mind is too busy trying to rearrange reality.

“Let her pass, Trissa,” Harlow says, lowering her blade with steady calm. “You know he’s the one that has to explain everything to her.”

He.

The word settles heavily.

“Who is he?” I demand.

Harlow doesn’t answer. He simply nods toward the cracked double doors at the end of the hall and walks away.

My pulse begins to hammer. I wait until their footsteps fade before I draw my dagger.

The doors open silently beneath my hand.

The Assembly chamber beyond is dim, lit by low-burning torches and moonlight slipping through tall windows. Shadows stretch long across stone.

Someone sits at the table alone.Broad shoulders. Familiar posture. Head bent over maps and missives like he has accepted the burden of them.

My heart stutters.

No.

That pull in my chest — the one I ignored when I first arrived, the strange tug that felt like instinct misfiring — tightens into something undeniable.

I move forward without sound, the years of training guiding my steps.

When I reach him, I don’t hesitate.

Steel rests against his throat.

He freezes.

“Well,” I murmur, calm wrapping around me like armor even as my insides splinter, “if it isn’t my favorite dead man.”

He doesn’t reach for a weapon.

Doesn’t resist.

I lean closer, my lips near his ear.

“Hello,” I whisper, and the word trembles despite me, “husband.”

The title tastes like grief and fury all at once.

He exhales slowly. “Renna.”

The sound of my name in his voice is a physical blow. It hits low and deep and threatens to unravel me.

I press the blade harder instead.

“No,” I snap, because anger is steadier than collapse. “Don’t say my name like that.”

He nods once. “All right.”

I circle him slowly, blade never leaving his skin until I see his face fully.

Gods. It is him.

Older. Thinner. The kind of exhaustion etched into his features that only years of leadership could carve. But undeniably him.

And that makes it worse.

“I don’t know who you are,” I say, my voice shaking now despite my grip, “or how you look like him, but if this is some twisted attempt at manipulation—”

“The night before the battle,” he says quietly. “You and Naolin wouldn’t stop arguing.”

The memory strikes with violent clarity.

“You were furious because he volunteered for the front line without saying anything. You said you were tired of Naolin going through life like he didn’t have others to worry about.”

My breath catches.

“And you threw a cup at the wall,” he continues gently. “Missed his head by a foot.”

Naolin’s pained laugh echoes in my mind. Brennan stepping between us. Mediating. Always mediating.

“You told me that if either of us died because we didn’t communicate, you’d haunt us both.”

“That you’d make sure Malek himself regretted letting us through his gates.”

I raise the blade one last time, because if I don’t test this fully, I will shatter.

“Why prove anything?” I whisper. “I can tell if you’re lying.”

He hesitates only a fraction. “Because only one person has ever been able to lie to you,” he says softly. “And if I played that card. That blade would be the full four inches inside me.”

The blade slips from his throat.

He’s alive, but the realization doesn’t bring me relief.

“I watched you die,” I whisper.

“I know.”

“I burned your things.”

“I know.”

“That’s all you have to say?” I gasp, my hands are shaking now as I rest them on the table. “I know?”

He looks at me with such open sorrow that it I almost throw my anger out just to hold him. Almost.

“I–” Fuck, just walk away Renna. Go back to Díom, go home. Pretend like this never happened.

“I’m sorry I never told you.”

I freeze when Díom speaks.

“Sweet Amari,” I cry, turning back towards the door. “This is…” I pause, turning back to the hazel eyes man. “Six years.” I finally say to him. “Six years and you what? Never thought once to let me know? Let your sisters or your mom know?”

“Like I’d tell General Sorrengail, she’s the one who sent me to my death.” He scoffs.

“And your father? His heart failed, you know?” I say, disgusted that this is the conversation. “Died after 4 years of chest pains after his son…” I storm forward to shove him, “fucking…” I shove him again, “died!”

“Ren…”

“I can’t do this.” My hands rise in surrender as I back away. “This is too much.”

“I can show you to a room,” he offers carefully.

Just leave.

“You can bathe and sleep,” he continues. “We can talk tomorrow.”

He steps closer and I nearly reach for the blade again.

“I just—”

“Please, Renna.” His hazel eyes turn pleading. “Give me a chance to tell you everything.”

Fuck him and those godsforsaken eyes.

“Tomorrow?” I ask.

There’s a flicker of hope in his expression.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Brennan is alive.

The thought doesn’t land cleanly. It doesn’t feel like salvation. It feels like the foundation of my last six years shifting beneath my feet. Brennan being alive means the funeral wasn’t real. The burn wasn’t real. The grief that reshaped my bones wasn’t real — except it was. I lived inside it. I survived because of it. I rebuilt myself around the absence of him.

Now that absence has shape again.

I move through the bath in a daze, stripping and stepping into warm water as if that might anchor me. I scrub my skin raw, as though the dirt is what’s making this impossible.

Brennan is alive.

He said my name the way he always did. Soft. Certain. Like it belonged to him.

I let the water drain and sit there long after it empties, staring at the stone.

Brennan is alive.

When I step back into the room, I open the armoire without thinking. Theres a collection of t-shirts and jackets hung neatly. I tug the last shirt in the line off the hanger and slip it over my head.

Brennan is alive.

Something catches my eye. 

The flight jacket tucked into the far side of the armoire, a lieutenant colonel rank denoted on the collar. Probably just some spares kept in an old room, I tell myself as I close the doors and move to the dresser. 

Brennan is alive.

Several items rest on its surface, arranged with care. My gaze locks onto one in particular.

Virellen.

The stitching is crisp, deliberate. My maiden name. A patch I haven’t seen in as many years as I haven’t seen Brennan. And beside it… a simple sketch of three rings stacked on a patch of grass.

The air leaves my lungs slowly.

This isn’t some spare room. This isn’t temporary lodging for visiting officers. This is Brennan’s room.

I’m awake before the sun fully crests the mountains, long before the city outside begins its slow climb into noise and movement. Sleep never truly came. It hovered just out of reach, taunting me with the promise of rest before abandoning me again the moment my thoughts drifted too close to him. Every time my eyes closed, I saw his face exactly as it had been in the Assembly chamber — older, thinner, alive.

Alive.

The word doesn’t feel real yet. It feels fragile, like something that might dissolve if I examine it too closely.

I’m already dressed when the knock comes. Quiet. Careful. Like whoever stands on the other side isn’t entirely sure they’re welcome.

My hand hesitates on the handle before I pull the door open.

Brennan stands there, a tray balanced carefully in his hands, his hazel eyes flicking over me with something dangerously close to relief before he reins it in.

“Hi,” he says, the word awkward in a way I’ve never heard from him before. Brennan was never awkward. He was always steady. Always certain. “I thought you might want to eat. And then… we could talk.”

Talk.

Such a small word for something that feels like it could break me open.

I step aside without answering, letting him enter. He moves slowly, deliberately, like he’s afraid sudden motion might spook me into bolting. The tray settles on the desk beneath the window, morning light catching on the edges of metal and ceramic.

I remain where I am, near the door, watching him exist in a space where he shouldn’t exist at all.

Brennan is alive.

The thought circles endlessly, never settling, never solidifying into something I can hold.

I didn’t sleep. Not really. I layed in his bed — gods, his bed — staring at the ceiling while Díom filled in the fractures of truth she’d been hiding from me. She knew Marbh never returned to the Vale. She knew he was alive long before I knew Brennan was. But she didn’t know everything until three years ago, when Marbh slipped and revealed more than he intended.

Three years.

Three years of silence while I drowned in grief she couldn’t share.

“The cooks here are better than Basgiath,” Brennan says, his voice carefully neutral, like he’s testing whether conversation is still allowed between us.

He’s making small talk.

Small talk, after letting me believe he was dead.

Do I feel… pity?

No, No! I’m angry, I’m furious, I’m–

“Stop lying to yourself,” Díom murmurs dryly in the back of my mind. “You want him.”

“Get out of my head,” I shove the bond quiet and focus on the man standing in front of me, pretending distance is still possible.

“I convinced them to make something familiar,” Brennan continues, glancing at me before looking away again. “I know this has been… a lot.”

Something inside me fractures.

I don’t remember deciding to move. I only know that suddenly I’m crossing the space between us, the distance collapsing under the weight of everything I’ve lost and everything I’ve found again.

“Ren—” He starts, standing to his full height when I reach him.

“Stop talking,” I whisper.

My hands rise to his face before I can stop them. His skin is warm beneath my palms, solid and real and undeniably alive. The sensation alone makes something deep in my chest unravel.

For six years, he was memory and now he’s here, breathing and looking at me like I’m something fragile.

So I kiss him.

The contact steals the air from my lungs. His lips are familiar in a way that bypasses thought entirely, muscle memory overriding anger, grief, logic. He freezes for the briefest moment, like he doesn’t trust the reality of it either, before his hands find my hips, gripping me with restrained urgency.

The kiss deepens without thought. Without permission. It becomes something desperate and searching, six years of loss collapsing into this single, impossible moment. His breath stutters against mine, and the sound alone nearly undoes me.

I missed this. Missed him. Missed the quiet certainty of his presence beside me.

He pulls me closer, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he loosens his hold. The warmth of him seeps into me, grounding and destabilizing all at once.

“Renna,” he breathes against my mouth, my name breaking apart between us like something sacred and fragile.

I tilt my head, letting him deepen the kiss, letting myself forget everything for just a moment. His fingers flex against my waist, familiar and reverent, and it hurts how easily my body remembers him. How easily it responds.

Gods, I missed him.

I missed him so much it feels like grief all over again, just reshaped into something living.

His lips leave mine, trailing along my jaw, down to the sensitive skin beneath my ear. The contact sends heat through my body, instinctive and unwelcome and entirely impossible to stop.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, his voice breaking against my skin as he voices my innermost thoughts. “My beautiful, beautiful wife.”

For a moment, I let myself believe it. Let myself exist in the version of reality where none of this hurt. Where the last six years didn’t exist.

Then the truth claws its way back in.

He let you mourn him.

He let you break.

My body stiffens before I can stop it and he feels it instantly. He always did.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his hands loosening like he already knows what he’s done wrong.

“We should talk first,” he says quietly, the words thick with regret.

And gods, I hate that he’s right.

I step away before I can change my mind again, before I can pretend none of it matters.

Because it does.

It matters more than anything.

The warmth of him lingers against my skin like a brand, but distance feels necessary. If I let myself sink into him again before we talk, before I understand what he chose and why, I won’t be able to hear anything he says without forgiving him first.

I move to the desk and pick up a piece of toast simply to occupy my hands. The food tastes like nothing. My body might be starving, but my mind is too loud to register hunger.

Brennan doesn’t push. He sits on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped like he’s bracing for impact.

“From after you left us?” He asks quietly.

I nod once.

He tells me about the days immediately after. About drifting in and out of consciousness. About the healers stabilizing him just enough to survive. About how it took days before he could mend himself fully without risking collapse again. His voice is steady when he speaks of the physical pain, clinical almost, as though it’s easier to recount the damage done to his body than the damage done to everything else.

What makes my chest tighten is the way he avoids looking at me when he describes the decision.

“We couldn’t risk anyone knowing,” he says. “Not at first. The moment word got out that I was alive, Navarre would have hunted every person connected to me. You. Violet. Mira. My mother. They would have used you to get to me.”

“They were already uing me,” I say before I can stop myself.

He flinches, and that small reaction hurts more than if he’d argued.

He continues anyway. He talks about hiding underground for nearly two years. About building alliances quietly. About watching the political landscape shift and fracture. About the revolution not being some grand, reckless rebellion but a calculated attempt to survive what Navarre refused to acknowledge. He talks about Harlow. About the others who knew.

By the time he finishes explaining the structure of the revolution and its current position, my head feels heavy with information I never asked to carry.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally. The words are soft. Honest. And far too small. “I’m sorry I let you believe it. I’m sorry I let you grieve me. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to find a safer way.” His voice cracks on that last part.

I watch him carefully. My signet hums faintly beneath my skin, not searching for lies but confirming what I already know.

Truth.

Every word is the truth.

That almost makes it worse.

Because he believed he was protecting me. Because he still believes it.

“I needed to know,” I say quietly. “Even if you couldn’t tell anyone else. I needed to know.”

“I know.”

“You don’t get to decide what I can or cannot survive.”

His jaw tightens. “I was trying to make sure you didn’t have to.”

“When have I ever let you decide things for me?”

Silence settles between us. Thick. Heavy. Not hostile — just bruised.

He wipes at his face, embarrassed by the tears he probably didn’t mean to show.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he says. “I thought if I kept you in the dark, you’d be safer. I thought if Navarre believed I was dead, they’d stop looking.”

“And did they?” I ask.

He hesitates. That hesitation tells me enough.

“I won’t defend the pain it caused you,” he says. “I can’t.”

Good, because I don’t want him to.

“Is there anything else?” I ask after a long pause, my voice quieter now, more tired than angry. He goes very still.

“Yes,” he says finally. “But that one… is easier to show.”

A flicker of unease crawls up my spine.

“No more secrets,” I whisper.

He stands and offers his hand.

I take it and he doesn’t let go.

That detail unsettles me more than the apology did.

We leave the room in silence, our footsteps echoing faintly against stone as he leads me through corridors I still barely recognize. Down one staircase. Then another. Then deeper still, where the air cools and the light thins.

Every few steps he glances at me, as if memorizing my face in case this is the last time I look at him without hatred.

“What are you so worried about, Golden Boy?” I ask softly, using the nickname I haven’t spoken in years.

He huffs out a breath that might almost be a laugh.

“That what I’m about to show you will make you run.” The certainty in his voice makes my stomach drop.

We stop in front of a reinforced door.

A cell door.

A chill settles deep into my bones

“Just… let us explain,” he says quietly, his hand resting on the handle. “Before you react.”

“Us?” The word claws its way up my throat as he opens the door.

The cell is dim. The air inside feels heavy, thick with something I can’t immediately name.

“Brennan, whats going o—”

“Renna?”

The voice hits me like a physical blow. Familiar and impossible.

Magelight flares to life, casting sharp shadows across iron bars.

And there, standing perfectly still behind them, eyes wide in disbelief—

is Naolin.

next part

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He blinked once.

Then smiled, slow and awestruck. “You just—fuck, trouble. That was so fucking pretty.”

Her eyes were still glassy when she tried to speak. “Did I—?”

“Oh, yeah,” Bodhi said, grinning as he kissed his way back up her stomach. “You did. And now I want to see if I can make it happen again.”

Kaelin flushed, face already red from the stretch of orgasms he’d already drawn out of her. “Bodhi—”

He silenced her with a kiss. Deep, messy, tongue brushing hers while his fingers slid back between her thighs, unhurried but knowing.

“You can take it,” he whispered against her lips. “You’re so good for me. You’ve already come how many times? Three? Four?”

“Four,” she breathed.

His thumb brushed lightly over her clit and her hips jumped.

“Make it five.”

“Bodhi—”

“You said you wanted to know what you could handle,” he murmured, voice velvet-soft as he kissed down her neck, his fingers dipping lower. “Let’s find out.”

She whimpered as two fingers pressed inside her, slick and easy from how wet she already was. Her legs trembled again, trying to stay open, trying to stay grounded, but she was unraveling under his touch, and he knew it.

“Kae,” he said, eyes locked on hers as his thumb circled slow and tight, “you should see yourself right now. All pink and swollen and begging for it.”

“I’m not—begging—”

“You are,” he said gently, not mocking, just utterly gone for her. “Your body’s been begging since I touched you. Don’t need your mouth to say it when I can feel it here—” he curled his fingers, “—and here—” his thumb stroked a little harder, “—and here—” he kissed the underside of her jaw, his voice dropping to a growl, “—where you soaked the sheets for me, trouble.”

Kaelin’s head dropped back with a gasp, mouth slack as her body started to tighten again.

“That’s it,” Bodhi coaxed, fingers steady now, fucking her slow and deep while his other hand gripped her thigh to keep her open. “That’s my girl. Let go for me.”

“I c-can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he whispered. “You already did. You’re gonna do it again.”

She choked on a sob as her muscles started to seize, thighs straining and shaking under his grip, her back arching up toward him like her body couldn’t decide which way to fall.

“That’s it, Kaelin—that’s it, trouble, fuck, you’re so close—”

And then she broke.

Harder this time. Wetter. Her whole body trembled as a cry tore from her throat, and Bodhi didn’t stop — didn’t even think about stopping — just slowed his hand down and kissed her through it, dragging her back down with careful touches and reverent whispers.

“You’re unreal,” he murmured against her skin. “You’re fucking unreal.”

Kaelin was wrecked — chest heaving, lips trembling, fingers twitching against the sheets.

And when she opened her eyes to find him watching her like he was in love with her, her breath caught all over again.

“I didn’t even know I could—” she started, but her voice broke.

“You can,” Bodhi whispered, brushing his lips against her temple. “And you will. Again.”

She blinked up at him, dazed.

“Bodhi—”

“You trust me?” he asked gently, hand still warm between her thighs.

Her nod was soft. “Always.”

He smiled.

And slid back down her body like a man on a mission.

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