Chapter 19.
The courtyard was quiet in the hour before formation. Frost clung to the edges of the stone like lichen, and Garrick leaned against the outer railing, watching breath rise in slow clouds.
Footsteps approached.
He didn't have to look to know who it was.
"You've been up all night," Xaden said simply, stepping to his side.
"I've had worse," Garrick replied, arms still crossed. His knuckles were sore from where he'd slammed the infirmary doorframe last night. He hadn't meant to. Not exactly.
Xaden glanced over. "Didn't realize she was yours to lose sleep over."
Garrick gave a dry snort. "She's not mine."
"That's not what it looked like. You carried her out like she was."
Garrick's jaw twitched.
Xaden didn't stop. "You don't usually get involved with first-year cadets, especially ones who are unbonded."
Garrick didn't respond right away.
Xaden raised a brow. "So? What is she?"
Garrick exhaled, slow. "A friend."
"Hm."
He expected Xaden to press harder. Instead, the wingleader stepped forward and leaned against the opposite railing, watching the first rows of cadets begin to gather in the square.
"She has trauma," Garrick said eventually, low. "Not obvious. But... certain kinds of touch—grabbing her, choking her—it shuts her down. Fast."
Xaden's expression didn't change. "You think it's personal? Or trained?"
Garrick shook his head once. "Didn't look trained last night. It looked... like memory."
A long silence passed.
Then Garrick added, "She fought like hell until your shadows closed around her neck. And the moment they did? She stopped fighting. Like she'd already lived through the worst part."
He didn't mean for his voice to go quiet at the end, but it did.
Xaden watched him carefully now. "So what—you're playing healer?"
"No." Garrick frowned. "I'm saying she's not like the others. There's something... layered. Hidden. She's got this edge—like she was built to survive something worse than Basgiath."
Xaden crossed his arms. "And that matters why?"
"It doesn't," Garrick muttered, though the lie tasted bitter. "It just means I'm watching."
"You train her."
"She asked."
"You said yes."
Garrick cut him a sideways glance. "You gonna start policing who I throw punches with after hours?"
Xaden didn't answer. He just stared at the horizon for a long beat, then said, "She crossed the Parapet with her eyes closed."
Garrick blinked. "You noticed that too?"
"Hard not to."
"You didn't say anything about it."
More cadets trickled in. The morning air sharpened.
"Keep your guard up," Xaden said finally, his voice unreadable. "People who walk through fire without flinching either have nothing left to burn—or something to hide."
Then he turned and walked off toward the dais.
Garrick stayed where he was, arms still crossed.
She hadn't flinched last night.
Not until she couldn't breathe.
And that—more than anything—stuck with him.
~
Cold clung to the air like a second skin.
Liam stood in formation, shoulders squared, breath fogging in front of him in a steady rhythm. The morning sun hadn't yet climbed high enough to offer warmth, just a pale glow behind the clouds that left the courtyard draped in winter chill.
Captain Fitzgibbons stepped forward, a scroll in his hand and grim finality in his voice.
"Oren Seifert."
Liam's spine snapped straighter at the name. His heart gave a sharp, unexpected jolt—relief, white-hot and sudden.
He didn't expect it.
Didn't want to feel it, not exactly.
But he did.
Oren was dead.
That... was something.
Fitzgibbons continued reading the names. One third-year who died during a border attack yesterday. The rest was unknown to him—eight in total.
Liam barely heard the rest. His mind was stuck on the first one. Oren.
Gone.
He tried not to let the feeling sink too deep, but gods—it did. It wasn't joy, and it wasn't satisfaction. Just... a quiet, grim acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, the scales had tipped a little toward balance.
But as Fitzgibbons rolled the parchment and closed the list with a solemn "We commend their souls to Malek," Liam's focus slipped elsewhere.
Aeliana wasn't here.
She hadn't been at breakfast, either.
He scanned the lines of cadets again, just to be sure. His stomach gave a slow, uneasy twist. She always showed for formation. If she wasn't here—especially after everything—
He made a mental note. If she didn't show up by class, he'd go looking.
Check the barracks. Ask around.
He didn't care if it made him look soft. He'd promised her.
And after the last few days—after she came to him in the middle of the night, after she fell asleep safe in his bed for once instead of alone and terrified—he wasn't going to screw that up again.
Fitzgibbons stepped back from the dais, which should've ended the proceedings.
But then Commandant Panchek took the stage.
Liam's brows furrowed.
The man almost never showed up for morning formation.
"What's going on?" Ridoc murmured beside him.
Liam shook his head slightly, eyes fixed on the podium.
"It has been brought to my attention as your commandant," Panchek began, "that a breach of the Codex has occurred."
Murmurs rippled through the courtyard.
Liam's jaw tensed.
He didn't like the tone. Didn't like the weight behind those words.
"As you know," Panchek continued, "breaches of our most sacred laws are not to be tolerated. This matter will be addressed here and now. Will the accuser please step forward."
"Oh, someone's in deep shit," Ridoc said under his breath.
Liam didn't respond.
He was too busy watching the courtyard shift.
A figure broke from the back of formation and strode toward the dais.
Xaden.
Liam's breath caught.
Oh no.
He knew that posture. That precision. That cold, calculating presence.
This wasn't a report.
This was a reckoning.
"Early this morning," Xaden began, voice echoing through the chilled courtyard, "a rider in my wing was brutally, illegally attacked in her sleep with the intent of murder by a group primarily composed of unbondeds."
Shock pulsed through Liam's chest.
What?
He hadn't heard anything about that. And—
He stiffened.
Violet.
He looked over at Ridoc, who was already frowning.
"As we all know, this is a violation of Article Three, Section Two of the Dragon Rider's Codex and, in addition to being dishonorable, is a capital offense."
Liam's hands clenched at his sides.
Eight people dead. Oren on the list. A secret attack.
Was this about—
No. No way.
Xaden's gaze swept the courtyard as Garrick and Bodhi joined him at the dais.
"As it was a matter of life and death," Xaden said, "I personally executed six of the would-be murderers, as witnessed by Flame Section Leader Garrick Tavis and Tail Section Executive Officer Bodhi Durran."
Liam barely registered the shocked murmurs, the whispers about rebellion relics, the disdain in Nadine's voice behind him.
All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart.
He was Violet's bodyguard.
He was supposed to protect her.
He had failed.
His stomach turned to lead.
He turned to Violet—but she was already staring forward, her posture tense, unreadable.
Then Xaden's voice rose.
"I call you to answer for your crime against Cadet Sorrengail," he said. "Wingleader Amber Mavis."
The courtyard exploded in sound.
Amber Mavis.
A wingleader.
Liam's eyes widened as the redhead stepped forward, outrage etched across her face.
Liam didn't hear Dain's protest. Didn't process the arguing, the accusations, or Violet's calm rebuttals.
His mind was spiraling.
He stared at the dais, unblinking, as Xaden called for a quorum.
Then the sound of wings split the sky.
Tairn landed on the high perch, Sgaeyl beside him, the others falling into place with thunderous wingbeats.
The air itself seemed to still.
Liam didn't flinch. He didn't speak.
He only stared at Violet now, heart hammering as she turned her face toward the wind and spoke—too quiet to hear from here.
But Tairn stiffened.
And in the next heartbeat, Liam knew.
A memory was being shared.
He braced.
The vision wasn't long. Just a brief window, a slice of the night:
Amber Mavis, standing at the edge of Violet's bed. Her face twisted with purpose.
And then, like a ripple of dark water, she turned and ran for the door as chaos erupted behind her.
The memory ended.
The courtyard returned.
Silence smothered them all.
But Liam couldn't breathe right. Couldn't shake what he'd seen—or more importantly, what he hadn't.
There had been eight of them.
He was sure of it. He remembered Violet saying there were seven assailants.
But there'd been eight in that room.
"Shit's about to get real," Sawyer muttered beside him, but Liam barely heard it. He was stuck on the memory again. On that eighth figure. She wouldn't have. Would she?
Liam felt the moment it shifted—the hammer-drop of fate.
"The wingleaders have formed a quorum and are in unanimous agreement," Xaden announced. "We find you guilty, Amber Mavis."
"No!" she screamed, wild now. "It is no crime to rid the quadrant of the weakest rider! I did it to protect the integrity of the wings!"
She looked to the others, to anyone, begging for a lifeline.
No one stepped forward.
Even Dain was stone-silent.
"And as is our law," Nyra said coldly, "your sentence will be carried out by fire."
Amber spun to her dragon. "Claidh!"
The Orange Daggertail roared but didn't move.
Not with Tairn turning his massive head, eyes glowing with a menace ancient as war.
His roar cracked the air. His teeth bared in warning.
And Claidh... backed down.
Amber's face crumpled in horror.
Liam saw her try one last time—crying out, "Please give her a chance," Violet whispering to Tairn—but it was already decided.
Tairn leaned forward.
Amber didn't run.
She just... stood there.
And then she was gone.
Flame and ash. A scream that tore the air in two.
The entire formation flinched as the heat washed over them, as Claidh's mournful wail echoed through the quadrants.
But Liam didn't move.
Couldn't.
Ridoc's voice broke through his silence.
"Liam?" he said, quiet now. "You alright?"
Liam didn't answer at first.
He looked around—Sawyer had moved beside him, brow furrowed. Rhiannon had turned too. Even Violet, standing a few paces ahead, was watching him.
Their squad had noticed.
"I..." Liam cleared his throat. "I need to see that memory again."
Violet blinked, confused. "What? Why?"
He stepped forward just enough for his voice to carry to her. "Because there were eight."
The color drained from Violet's face.
"You only showed the part where Amber ran. But there were eight people in your room before that. I counted."
She opened her mouth—but no words came.
"Was she there?" he asked, voice sharper now. "Aeliana?"
Gasps rippled nearby. Even Ridoc's head jerked toward him.
Violet's face crumpled—not in guilt, but in something else. Horror. Regret. Realization.
"Oh gods," she whispered. "No, Liam—no. She wasn't with them."
His hands curled into fists at his sides. "Then what—"
"She came to help me," Violet interrupted, stepping toward him, her voice rising. "She heard the group coming. She followed them. She burst through the door."
The world tilted.
Liam's heart plummeted.
"She saved me," Violet said, her voice breaking. "I wouldn't be standing here if she hadn't shown up."
Ridoc swore under his breath.
Violet turned, eyes glassy, and looked up toward the dais. "Tairn. Show them the rest of the memory. Just... our squad. Please."
Tairn's massive head dipped in the distance.
And then the world faded.
Memory rushed in—
The door bursting open. Violet fighting. Chaos. Shadows. Blades.
And then—Aeliana.
Hurling herself into the room, drawing her daggers. Fighting with a ferocity Liam hadn't seen in weeks. Her arm bleeding. Her throat clutched by shadows. Her lips gasping for air.
His own chest clenched.
Violet's voice rang out again in the memory: "No! Let Aeliana go!"
Then Aeliana, crumpled in the corner, eyes wide with panic. Her voice—raspy, terrified—"Don't come any closer."
The image of her—curled against the wall, trembling, bloody—seared into Liam's brain like flame.
And then Garrick—Garrick, not him—scooping her into his arms and carrying her out.
The memory faded.
Liam stood in stunned silence.
His squad surrounded him. Ridoc. Sawyer. Violet. Rhiannon. They were all looking at him. Waiting for him to say something.
He couldn't.
Because all he could see was her face.
"Where is she?"
The words came out broken. Shattered.
No one answered.
His eyes snapped to Garrick—who had just arrived with Bodhi and Xaden, walking from the direction of the dais now that formation was clearly over.
Garrick's face said everything before he even opened his mouth.
"The med wing," Garrick said quietly. "She passed out from blood loss not long after."
Liam didn't hesitate.
Didn't speak.
He turned and ran.
"Liam—" Xaden called, but Liam shook off the hand that reached for him.
Xaden had hurt her.
Choked her.
And Liam had been asleep in his bed like an idiot while she nearly died saving Violet.
Not this time.
His boots slammed against the stone as he tore across the courtyard. People stared. He didn't care.
She'd come to him.
And he hadn't been there.
But now? Now he would be.
He wouldn't let her wake up alone. Not again.
~
Warmth. Stillness.
Then—ache.
Aeliana blinked awake slowly, the sterile scent of antiseptic and dried blood tickling her nose. Her body was heavy, too heavy, the weight of it sunken into the infirmary cot like she'd slept for days.
She tried to shift, and a sharp tug of pain shot up her right arm.
"Shit," she hissed through gritted teeth, cradling the limb as best she could. Her voice sounded like sandpaper, her throat still raw.
"A little less movement might help."
Aeliana flinched at the sound but relaxed a beat later.
A girl stood beside the bed—barely older than her, maybe by a year or two—with cropped chestnut curls and sharp green eyes. A second-year, based on the single bronze pin on her collar. Not a full healer yet, but close enough to be helping.
Aeliana recognized her. Not by name, but face. The girl had helped bandage her ribs once after a sparring match gone wrong. Quiet. Competent.
"You're awake earlier than I expected," the girl said. "We dosed you pretty heavy last night."
Aeliana managed a half-smile. "Not the first time. I've had worse."
The girl's gaze dropped toward Aeliana's left arm, which had slipped free of the blanket during her stirring.
She stiffened.
The skin there was bare.
Shit.
She yanked the blanket up fast, too fast, sucking in air when it brushed her bandaged right arm.
The girl didn't comment. But her eyes lingered just a little too long.
Aeliana wet her lips. "Could you... maybe get me a long-sleeved shirt?" Her voice was careful. Casual. "This gown is drafty. And I need something to wrap this arm with."
The girl didn't blink. Just nodded once. "Yeah. I think I've got something in the cabinet."
Aeliana kept her arm wrapped as tightly as she could while the second-year turned and rummaged through a set of drawers.
She returned a moment later with a neatly folded black shirt. Soft fabric. Loose sleeves.
Aeliana took it gratefully, clutching it tight in her left hand. "Thanks."
"No problem." The girl paused, studying her. "Does anyone else...?"
"No," Aeliana said quickly. "Just you."
The girl tilted her head. "Should someone else know?"
Aeliana didn't meet her eyes.
"They don't need to."
A silence settled between them. Not hostile—just... thoughtful.
"You don't want them to treat you differently," the girl said after a beat.
Aeliana's fingers clenched slightly around the shirt.
She nodded.
"Okay," the girl said simply. "It's not my secret to tell."
Relief washed over her in a quiet tide. "Thank you."
The girl leaned her hip against the side table and gave a small shrug. "People keep worse things hidden around here."
Aeliana exhaled and carefully started pulling on the shirt, teeth gritted as she eased the sleeve over her injured right arm. The pain was still there, but duller than last night—healers had done their work well.
The second-year wrinkled her nose lightly. "You had some kind of salve on your knuckles yesterday before the attack, didn't you?"
Aeliana blinked. "You noticed?"
"It smelled like eucalyptus. And something... earthy."
A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. "It's my own mix. Crushed plantain leaves, wild mint, and a bit of beeswax to bind. Helps with bruising."
"That's impressive."
"I used to help the healer in my village," Aeliana said, voice quieter now. "She taught me to make all kinds of things. Poultices, tinctures. Salves. It stuck."
"I believe it," the second-year said. "Your knuckles looked rough, but not infected. Most cadets aren't that lucky."
Aeliana snorted softly. "Most cadets don't throw punches as often as I do."
The girl laughed—an actual laugh—and extended a hand. "Name's Elira, by the way."
"Aeliana."
"I know." Elira smiled. "You've been in here enough."
"Not by choice."
"Is it ever?"
They both chuckled, the tension bleeding out of the room for a moment.
~
She hadn't been at breakfast.
And now Liam knew why.
His chest burned with every breath as he rounded the last corridor, nearly plowing through a pair of second-years carrying a stretcher. They shouted after him, but he didn't hear. His pulse was roaring too loud.
Then—finally—the wide doors of the infirmary came into view.
He didn't hesitate.
He slammed them open with both hands.
The room inside was quiet. Too quiet.
A pair of healers looked up, startled.
Then a voice—familiar, soft—cut through the silence.
"Liam?"
He froze.
There she was.
Sitting upright on one of the cots, her auburn hair braided loosely over one shoulder, a clean black shirt hanging from her frame. Bandages peeked out from beneath the sleeves. Her face was pale, but her eyes were clear.
Alive.
Relief punched the air from his lungs.
Gods, he couldn't move fast enough.
In three strides, he was at her side.
"You idiot," he said hoarsely, crouching low beside her.
Aeliana blinked. "What?"
"You took my job," he said, trying to laugh, but it cracked halfway. "Protecting Violet. That was supposed to be me."
"You were sleeping," she pointed out gently.
"I should've been there," he rasped. "I should've known."
Her brow furrowed. "You couldn't have—"
"I should've." His fists clenched against the edge of her cot. "I should've known something was wrong. You weren't at breakfast, you weren't—"
"I'm here," she said quietly.
And that broke something in him.
He dropped his head, shoulders curling. "You almost died."
"I didn't."
She reached out—her left hand, the good one—and rested it against his.
Warm. Steady.
"I'm still here," she said.
Liam looked up, and in her eyes, he didn't see pain or bitterness.
He saw strength.
And for the first time in what felt like days, his lungs remembered how to breathe.
From across the room, a second-year watched them both with a knowing look and quietly walked away, leaving them alone.
"You're not allowed to die on me, Aelia," Liam muttered after a beat, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.
"Not planning to," she said.
A pause.
Then she added, "But next time, maybe you could keep up."
He huffed a laugh.
And this time, it didn't crack.
Liam stayed crouched beside the cot, still catching his breath, but it wasn't from the sprint anymore.
It was from seeing her.
Still alive.
Still her.
He let out a shaky breath, rubbing a hand over his face.
"Gods," he muttered. "I thought I was going to lose it when I didn't see you at formation."
Aeliana tilted her head, her voice wry. "You panicked?"
"I heard Oren's name on the death roll," he said quietly, like the words might burn if he said them too loud. "And I felt... relief. Not because he was dead. Not exactly. But because I thought maybe—just maybe—you were safe."
She blinked, her expression unreadable for a moment. "You don't have to feel guilty about that."
"I do, though." He looked at her, serious. "Because I didn't protect you from him. Not the first time. Not in the barracks. Not in the sparring room. And definitely not last night."
Aeliana's mouth pressed into a line. Then she said softly, "That wasn't on you to stop."
Liam sat back slightly, brows furrowed.
"I mean," she continued, "you weren't responsible for him. Not then. Not now. I chose to act. I threw the knife. I stepped into that room. You didn't fail me, Liam. You were there when it mattered."
He was quiet for a long beat.
"I still wish I'd gotten to him before Xaden did."
She gave a small, tired laugh. "You and me both."
Their eyes met. A thread of understanding pulled tight between them—shared grief, shared rage, and now something lighter. Something closer to healing.
"I don't know what comes next," she said after a moment. "Without him hanging over me. Without looking over my shoulder every second."
"You figure it out one breath at a time," Liam said. "And if it helps... I'll be there. Every damn breath."
Aeliana swallowed hard.
"I'll hold you to that, Liam Mairi," she whispered.
He smirked just a little. "You better."