Chapter 16.
Liam reached for the dagger but didn't move after her. Couldn't. The crowd swallowed her quickly—students murmuring, a few pairs stepping forward to spar next.
But she didn't rejoin them. She walked toward the far end of the room, toward the exit.
And just before she disappeared, she paused.
Only for a breath.
Then she was gone.
Garrick appeared at Liam's side, arms crossed, eyes hard.
Liam stared down at the blade at his feet.
Her blade now.
She'd won it fair.
And left it behind anyway.
"She forfeited," he said quietly, voice raw.
Garrick stood beside him, arms crossed over his chest, face unreadable. "That wasn't the point," he said after a long moment. "You know that."
Liam's fingers curled into a fist.
He did know.
The crowd around them had already begun to move again—Emetterio calling the next pair, cadets gathering themselves and clearing the mat—but Liam didn't move. His eyes flicked to the gym doors, to the spot where Aeliana had vanished, then back to the center of the floor.
To the dagger.
To the silence she'd left behind.
He looked to Violet.
She was watching him, brow slightly furrowed, expression quiet but not unkind. Like she understood. Like she saw what he hadn't.
He turned back to Garrick.
"Go," Garrick said simply. "I'll stay here."
That was all Liam needed.
He didn't speak—just nodded, sharp and fast—and took off, shouldering his way past the onlookers and out of the gym.
The corridor was empty.
She moved fast for someone with a limp.
He jogged halfway down the hall, boots echoing sharply, then slowed. The corridors split ahead—one way back to the barracks, the other toward the northern terrace.
He hesitated. If it were him, where would he go?
No.
If it were her.
He turned left. Toward the cold wind and quiet walls. Toward the space where few cadets wandered when they needed company—but many went when they wanted to be alone.
And just as he stepped out into the covered walk that overlooked the eastern edge of the courtyard, he saw her.
Back pressed to the stone wall.
Arms braced on her knees.
Head bowed.
He stopped. Then approached quietly, boots whispering over worn stone. Sat down beside her.
She didn't look at him. Didn't flinch. But he could hear the rhythm of her breath.
Measured. Too calm.
They sat like that for a long minute.
Then she broke the silence. Her voice was low. Tired.
"They've been ganging up on me."
Liam's head turned sharply toward her.
"Oren. Tynan. Jace," she said, gaze unfocused. "Mostly verbal. Sometimes not."
His whole body went still. "Why didn't you tell someone?"
She looked at him then.
Not furious.
Not even hurt.
Disappointed.
"I tried," she said softly. "I came to your door. Three times. This week alone. Knocked. Waited. But no one answered."
His breath caught in his throat.
He swallowed. "I—I didn't know. I wasn't—"
"I know," she cut in, gently but firmly. "You've been busy. New squad. New orders."
She didn't say it bitterly. She said it like a fact. But somehow, that made it worse.
Liam dropped his head into his hands. "Gods, Aelia. I'm so sorry."
He meant it. Every word. The guilt hit like a blow to the ribs.
She was still beside him, bruised and bleeding, and somehow it had taken her throwing him to the mat for him to see it.
"I thought—I thought you'd knock louder," he added, wincing at how hollow it sounded.
She gave him a look. "I didn't want to draw attention. Not when I already felt like I was drowning."
He exhaled through his nose. "I'll do better. I promise you. From now on, I'm there."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to."
She didn't say anything at first. But after a moment, she nodded. Just once. And for now, it was enough.
He hesitated. "You should go to the infirmary. Let them patch your hands. They look—"
"No." Her answer was quiet, but firm. "I've got salve. I can make more if I need it. And... I've been to the Healers' quadrant. One of the second-years said they'd check my limp if it gets worse."
Liam stared at her hands again—torn knuckles, darkened cloth—and something in his chest twisted hard.
"I should've seen it," he murmured.
She didn't respond.
Didn't need to.
Because he knew. That was the problem.
He sat with her until the sun slanted further across the stones, casting longer shadows between the columns.
A bell echoed faintly—third bell. Afternoon flight drills.
He winced.
"I have to go."
"I know."
They stood together.
He didn't want to leave her.
And she didn't ask him to stay.
Instead, she offered a small, tired smile. "Go. You've got wings to stretch."
He lingered a heartbeat longer. Then nodded. "You know where I am."
"I always knew."
He touched her shoulder—brief, warm—then turned and jogged down the gallery.
She watched until he disappeared into the light.
Then turned, limp slow and steady, toward the back gardens. Toward the little alcove behind the greenhouse where she kept her drying herbs.
There was work to do.
~
The next morning broke colder than expected.
The mist hadn't yet lifted from the outer courtyards when Aeliana rose in silence, slipping from the lower barracks while the others still slept. Her bunk creaked quietly as she dressed, tugging on her worn running gear, knotting her hair at the nape of her neck.
She hadn't slept well—again. Her shoulders ached from the tension that never seemed to leave, and her knuckles were still stiff with bruising, but her muscles remembered the rhythm of morning. Of routine. Of control.
And control was the only thing she had left.
She ran.
Through the still-wet stone paths, past the watch towers and the empty training rings. Around the back of the college. Her lungs burned with the cold. Her legs protested. But she pushed until her thoughts stopped chasing her, and all that was left was breath and impact.
One foot after the other.
When she returned, the barracks were already stirring. Voices echoed faintly from behind the door as she slowed her pace, sweat prickling at the back of her neck.
But the second she opened the door, she knew something was wrong.
Laughter. Not the good kind.
The cruel kind that lived in the back of a throat. The kind that waited for pain to be funny.
She stepped inside—
And froze.
Her bunk had been torn apart.
Mattress half off the frame, blankets strewn across the floor, her satchel dumped out and contents scattered like a kicked-over offering. Books. Clothes. Her dagger roll—unfastened. The small carved box tucked at the bottom of her bag—
Gone.
Her chest tightened, panic spiking as she stepped forward and saw it.
The wooden box.
In Jace's hand.
"Ooh, what's this?" he jeered, shaking it like it might rattle.
"Give that back." Her voice came sharp, colder than she meant it to.
Oren turned from where he leaned against the post of another bed, arms crossed and eyes lazy with amusement. "Didn't know we were housing hoarders."
Tynan snorted, flipping one of her shirts like it might bite him. "Or secret lovers of pretty boxes."
"Give it back," she repeated, stepping forward.
Her voice trembled—but not with fear.
With fury.
Because that box was hers. And the only thing left that had belonged to her mother.
It wasn't ornate. Wasn't locked. But it was private. Sacred.
And they'd touched it.
"Or what?" Jace asked, still holding it just out of reach.
She didn't answer.
She lunged.
But Oren was faster—stepping between them with a mock-apologetic grin, raising his palms.
"Careful now," he warned. "Wouldn't want to break those pretty fingers."
Aeliana's teeth clenched. Her hands curled into fists—knuckles screaming from the tension.
"Enough."
The voice wasn't hers.
It came from the door—Vessa.
Sharp. Furious.
Jace instantly dropped the box onto Aeliana's mattress. Tynan backed off. Oren just rolled his shoulders and smiled.
"Trouble?" Vessa asked, gaze slicing toward Aeliana.
"No," Aeliana said immediately, bending to collect her things. "Just mess."
Vessa didn't press.
But her eyes lingered.
Aeliana shoved everything back into her bag. She didn't care if it was folded. She didn't even notice if the box was still closed.
She just needed to breathe.
By the time she made it to the showers, her whole body was shaking. But not from cold.
By the time she dressed in her uniform, hair still damp, she realized she'd missed breakfast.
Not that she had an appetite.
Still, dish duty called.
She threw her cloak over her shoulders and made her way down the outer hall toward the dining hall. Her mind was a mess of memories and sharp, unspoken emotions.
And that's when she saw him coming out of the dining hall.
Liam.
Flanked by Violet, Rhiannon, Ridoc, and another Flame Section rider. His brow creased in focus—until he looked up and spotted her.
His eyes widened.
Then narrowed with concern.
"Aeliana—" he started, moving toward her.
She raised a hand—not sharply, but definitively.
"Not right now."
Her voice didn't shake. But it was brittle.
Liam stopped, mid-step, his shoulders tense.
Then her gaze shifted—past him, over his shoulder—
And locked.
Liam followed her line of sight.
Oren.
Lounging by the edge of the corridor, arms crossed, smirk wide and smug.
Understanding crashed over Liam like a storm.
She didn't say anything else.
Just walked past him.
Head high.
Straight toward the kitchen entrance for the dishes.
He watched her go.
And his hands curled into fists.
~
Aeliana stepped into the Battle Brief room, the murmur of the cadets wrapping around her like smoke.
The room was already filling up—two minutes until class began, but nearly every place was half-claimed by now.
Squads clustered instinctively, filling in around their leaders and bonded teammates like puzzle pieces snapping into place.
She gripped her notebook tighter against her ribs, ignoring the ache in her knuckles.
The stinging scent of cleaning solution still clung faintly to her sleeves from the kitchen.
Her hair was still damp at the ends from her hurried rinse.
Her body was sore, her head pounding, and she didn't want to think too hard about the shattered contents of her bag or the fact that Oren had touched the only thing in this world she couldn't afford to lose.
She took one step inside, already scanning for the farthest seat from him—
"Aeliana!"
Her name rang through the room.
She froze.
Liam.
Her head snapped toward the sound before she could stop herself.
He was sitting three rows up near the middle, between Ridoc and Violet. A spot was open beside him. His hand was raised slightly, not waving, but clear. A signal.
The invitation was plain on his face.
So was the worry.
She hadn't seen him since the corridor that morning, when she told him not now, when her voice had still been sharp with fury.
He looked at her like he wasn't sure she'd say yes.
But he'd saved her a seat anyway.
Her fingers curled tighter around her notebook, then loosened.
She crossed the room without a word.
Whispers followed her as they always did now. The unbonded ghost. The girl the dragons didn't want.
She passed the other cadets sitting in the row and slid into the seat next to Liam. She didn't meet anyone's gaze and set her notebook down with more force than necessary.
"Thanks," she muttered, eyes fixed on the front.
Liam leaned slightly closer. "You okay?"
She didn't look at him. "Fine."
"What happened this morning?"
Aeliana's jaw flexed. "They trashed my bunk."
Ridoc, seated on her other side, tilted forward enough to catch her eye. "They?"
"Oren. Tynan. Jace." Her voice was low, flat.
Ridoc's eyes dropped to her hands—raw again, bandaged but angry-looking. "And those?"
She didn't answer.
But her silence was loud enough.
Liam's shoulders stiffened beside her.
"They're doing this to you again?"
She finally turned her head. "It's fine."
"It's not fine."
"Then what do you want me to do?" she snapped under her breath. "Go complain to Vessa? File a grievance to the dragons?"
She didn't mean for it to come out bitter. But it did.
Liam flinched slightly. She sighed and scrubbed her good hand over her face. "Sorry."
"No," he said. "I'm sorry."
Before she could say more, Professor Devera's voice rang out across the room, cutting through the low buzz of conversation like a blade.
"Settle down, cadets. Today we're talking about asymmetrical warfare—when your enemies outnumber you, outmatch you, or have better terrain."
Aeliana turned her attention to the front, but her thoughts didn't follow.
Not immediately.
She felt the heat of Liam's presence beside her, his quiet fury, his concern. She knew Ridoc had pieced together more than she wanted him to.
She was no longer invisible
And maybe... maybe that was something.
The bell echoed softly as cadets began filing out of the Battle Brief room, their murmured conversations spilling into the corridor like low thunder. Aeliana fell into step just behind Liam, the faintest ache pulsing in her knuckles with each sway of her arms.
He slowed to let her catch up, still keeping one eye subtly on Violet up ahead.
"You've been training with Garrick, haven't you?" he asked, his tone light but careful.
Aeliana shrugged. "Not as much lately. He's kind of busy, what with his new bodyguard gig and all."
Liam's brows lifted slightly. "Bodyguard?"
She gave him a knowing look. "Come on, Liam. I may be unbonded, but I'm not blind. Tairn's mated to Sgaeyl. That makes Violet important—strategically and politically. It's not that hard to put the pieces together. Especially when you haven't left her side since Threshing."
He didn't deny it. Just offered a wry smile. "Well. Xaden does like to keep things quiet."
"And yet everyone still figures them out," she said, smirking faintly.
They rounded the bend toward the dining hall, the scent of roasted root vegetables and spiced grain wafting down the corridor. Her stomach twisted—not quite from hunger, but from the quiet dread of navigating the awkward corner table again.
But as they entered the room, Liam didn't break stride toward the bonded's main table.
He glanced over his shoulder and jerked his chin. "Come on. Sit with us."
Aeliana blinked. "What?"
He was already moving, weaving between tables. "You heard me."
Her legs moved before she could argue, and soon she found herself standing before the long bench beside Ridoc, who looked up with a grin.
"Let me do the honors," Ridoc said, voice booming with theatrical flair. "Aeliana Sorynne, meet the elite—and very humble—members of Flame Section, Second Squad."
Aeliana rolled her eyes but didn't object as she took a seat beside him.
Ridoc gestured dramatically. "This tall glass of sunshine is Sawyer. Excellent at climbing and occasionally remembers to wash his socks."
The stocky boy across from her winked. "Don't listen to him. I do laundry biweekly—whether it's needed or not."
Next, Ridoc pointed to the two second-years flanking Sawyer.
"Quinn and Emery. She's the brains, she's the smirk."
Emery grinned, and Quinn offered a polite nod.
"And of course," Ridoc added, sobering slightly, "Dain Aetos."
Aeliana's smile faltered. She knew that name. Had heard it whispered often enough.
Dain offered a neutral, almost calculated smile. "Nice to meet you."
Her gaze narrowed slightly, but she nodded. "Likewise."
"And last but definitely not least," Ridoc said, his voice losing its usual cheer, "Imogen."
The girl sitting at the end of the table didn't smile.
Didn't speak.
Didn't blink.
Just stared.
Aeliana recognized her. Of course she did. The last time they'd been this close, Imogen had pressed a blade to her side in a sparring match where blades weren't permitted.
Aeliana tilted her head and smiled sweetly. "Nice to see you haven't lost the habit of glaring at people who survived your ego."
Imogen's brows rose slightly, but she didn't respond.
"Maybe she's just mad you pulled off pink hair better than she ever could," Ridoc muttered under his breath, earning a quiet snort from Rhiannon beside him.
Imogen finally spoke, her voice cool and clipped. "I didn't realize the unbonded were joining us now."
Aeliana didn't flinch. "Neither did I. But here I am."
She turned back to her tray as if Imogen had commented on the weather.
Rhiannon leaned forward across the table, cutting through the tension. "You're the one who sparred Liam the other day, right?"
Aeliana glanced up. "Guilty."
"You're good," Rhiannon said simply. "I've seen you in class. You move with intent."
Aeliana blinked. "Thanks."
Sawyer grinned. "That's high praise coming from her. Rhiannon doesn't give compliments lightly."
"I just don't like wasting words," Rhiannon replied.
They settled into an uneasy rhythm as conversation picked up again. Ridoc launched into a story about someone in the year above accidentally triggering their signet while in the bathhouse and nearly flooding the dorms. Laughter broke out around the table, even if Aeliana only managed a small smile.
Still, it was easier to breathe here than it had been in days.
Until she felt eyes on her again.
Imogen.
The older girl's expression hadn't softened. Her posture was loose but poised—like a blade sheathed but never forgotten.
Aeliana didn't let it shake her.
Instead, she returned to her food, letting the noise blur around her.
Beside her, Liam said nothing.
But when his knee brushed hers under the table—just lightly, just once—she didn't move away.
~
The sun had long dipped below the horizon, leaving the training yard bathed in the pale glow of lanterns strung along the fence. Most cadets had retreated to their rooms or study halls, the air quiet but for the occasional echo of laughter from the upper levels of the barracks.
Aeliana stood alone near the center of the sparring mats, wrapped hands flexing slowly at her sides. Her body still ached from earlier, but the strain was background noise by now. It always was.
She heard his footsteps before she saw him.
"You're early," Garrick's voice called, even as he stepped into the light, a wooden practice sword slung casually over one shoulder.
"You're late," she replied, not turning.
He stepped closer. "I had to escort Violet to her quarters. Tairn was... pacing."
Aeliana let out a low chuckle. "Even the dragons are protective of her now."
"She is bonded to two of them," he pointed out, stopping a few paces away. "You don't make dragon history without side effects."
She turned toward him then, finally meeting his gaze.
Something about her posture was off.
It wasn't the usual exhaustion. Not the usual guarded calm.
"You look like you got chewed up and spit out," he said bluntly.
"I've had worse."
Garrick raised an eyebrow. "That so?"
"Want me to list them in order of severity?" she asked, half-dry, half-daring.
He didn't smile, not really. "No. I'd rather see if you can still fight."
Aeliana rolled her shoulders. "You questioning my ability, cadet?"
"Just gauging if I should hold back," he said, tossing her a practice dagger.
She caught it one-handed, twirled it once, then dropped into a loose stance.
"Don't," she said. "I need real practice tonight."
Something in her voice stopped him short.
It wasn't challenge.
It was need.
He studied her a moment longer, then nodded. "Alright. Let's go."
They moved into formation—circling slowly at first. Garrick tested her reactions with light feints, but she didn't flinch. When she struck, it was measured but firm. Her balance was solid, even when she pivoted on her injured leg.
But he saw it.
The way she favored her right side.
The tension in her jaw with every hard impact.
"You're holding back," he said after the fourth pass.
"So are you," she fired back.
He stepped forward again—this time faster—and forced her into a short flurry of defense. Her dagger blocked high, then low, but he slid around her left side and tapped her ribs with the flat of his blade.
She winced but didn't cry out.
"Who did it?" he asked under his breath, not stepping back.
She didn't answer.
Garrick leaned in slightly, his voice low. "I saw the bruises yesterday. You're limping. Someone hurt you."
"I handled it," she said, lifting her chin.
He stared at her.
"You shouldn't have to handle it alone," he said.
She looked away. "I don't have a dragon. I don't have a squad. I'm not even allowed to fly. You think the administration's going to care if someone roughs up an unbonded cadet?"
"Maybe not," he admitted. "But I do."
Her gaze snapped back to his.
They stood like that for a moment, the only sound between them the soft rustle of night wind.
"You came to find me on the parapet," she said quietly. "Even though you could've gotten me killed just by startling me."
"I didn't want you to fall."
"I wouldn't have," she said. "But thanks."
He nodded once. Then stepped back. "One more round?"
Aeliana exhaled. "Only if you promise to stop holding back."
"No promises," he said, smirking.
She rolled her eyes—but something in her spine loosened.
This time, when she attacked, it was clean. Controlled.
No anger. Just precision.
Just purpose.
They trained for another half hour—long enough for the sweat to sting in her eyes and the ache in her arms to shift from sore to numb. But she didn't complain.
When they finished, Garrick handed her a towel and a flask of water.
"You're better than you were last week," he said as they walked off the mat.
"Still not enough," she muttered.
"For what?"
She didn't answer.
He didn't press.
But just before they split at the edge of the yard, he paused.
"I'll be here next week," he said. "Same time."
Aeliana looked at him. "I never said I wasn't coming back."
His smile was slight but real. "Good."
And then he walked off, fading into the shadows of the lantern light.
She stood there for a moment longer.
Letting the silence settle.
Letting herself breathe.
Then she turned and made her way back to the barracks, the cold night air biting gently at her bruises—but not enough to stop her.
Not anymore.