Chapter 22.
The wind tugged at the ends of her braid as Aeliana stood at the edge of the flight field, arms crossed loosely over her chest, watching the cadets soar through the sky.
A week had passed since the Chradh incident, and in that time, she'd made it a habit to show up to Second Squad's flying practice.
Technically, she was still excused from chores until her arm finished healing—but that wasn't the only reason she was here.
There was something calming about watching them.
Violet, Rhiannon, Liam, Ridoc, Sawyer—each gliding with their bonded, threading between formations like it was second nature. Even from the ground, Aeliana could sense the rhythm in it. The silent conversation between dragon and rider. The way the wind curled around their wings.
A familiar voice cut through the air.
"Excellent work, everyone. That's all for today!" Professor Kaori stood near the edge of the field, a hand on his throat, using lesser magic to amplify his voice. "Land and cool down!"
The dragons began their descent. Aeliana shielded her eyes against the sun as she spotted Tairn streaking ahead, black and all razor-sharp elegance.
Violet leaned forward, perfectly balanced.
Ridoc came next, grinning as he guided his brown swordtail, Aetrom, into a graceful arc that swept across the edge of the field before landing.
The others followed in bursts of speed and color.
Aeliana stood, brushing grass from her trousers, and made her way toward the squad as they dismounted and pulled off their riding harnesses. She didn't miss how Ridoc immediately waved when he spotted her.
"Hey! Spectator's back," he called, tossing his flight gloves into a side pouch.
Sawyer grinned. "You really are determined to make us nervous with your judging gaze."
"I'm just here for the entertainment," she deadpanned.
Violet jogged up, her cheeks flushed from the cold air. "Glad to see you back yet again. Starting to think we should just give you an honorary seat during practice."
Aeliana smiled softly. "You guys make it worth it."
They laughed, joking among themselves as they began walking toward the barracks in a loose group, dragons trailing behind them like loyal shadows.
But something made Aeliana pause.
Someone was missing.
Her brow furrowed as she glanced around the field. The red wings of a Daggertail were usually impossible to miss.
Liam wasn't with them.
She turned, scanning the sky again—and that's when she saw him.
Still seated on Deigh, his crimson Daggertail perched at the far edge of the field, tail wrapped loosely around his feet. The others hadn't even noticed—they were halfway to the outer gates now, still bantering.
Deigh's golden eyes were locked on her.
And then Liam lifted his hand.
Palm open. Reaching out.
Her heart skipped a beat.
She blinked, stepped forward slowly. "Liam?" she called, unsure if he'd hear her over the distance.
His voice reached her clearly. "Come here."
Her steps slowed. "What are you doing?"
Liam's face was calm, unreadable in the shadow of the dragon's wing. "I know you miss the Parapet," he said. "But I also know why you don't cross it anymore."
She swallowed hard, the words striking too close.
"I want to show you something else," he continued. "Somewhere better. Safer."
Aeliana hesitated.
Then Deigh dipped low—knees bending, body angling to make the climb easier. She realized suddenly that he was doing it for her. Because of her injury.
Her throat tightened.
"You're serious," she murmured.
Liam smiled gently. "Always."
From his place on Deigh's back, Liam watched the hesitation flicker across Aeliana's face. She was torn—he could see it clearly in the furrow of her brows, the way her fingers twitched like they wanted to close around something solid.
But she took a breath.
And she moved.
Step by step, she walked across the field until she stood at Deigh's side, one hand braced against his warm scales for balance.
"You're insane," she said, eyeing the saddle.
"Probably," Liam said. "But I'm a very responsible kind of insane."
He held out his hand again, palm up. "You trust me?"
Aeliana looked at him for a long moment.
Then she placed her hand in his.
He guided her up gently, making sure her injured arm didn't strain with the movement. Deigh adjusted under them, a low rumble of acknowledgment vibrating through his frame as she settled behind Liam.
The moment she was secure, he glanced back.
"You good?"
"Yeah," she said, though her voice had gone quiet. "Just... haven't been up like this before."
"You'll be fine," he said, smiling as he leaned forward. "Deigh, lift."
With one powerful surge of muscle and wings, the dragon launched skyward, wind whipping past them in a thunderous rush. Aeliana's arms instinctively wrapped around Liam's waist, and he felt her grip tighten as they soared higher and higher over the training fields.
The world dropped away below them.
Just air and sky and sunlit clouds.
No barracks.
No whispers.
No Parapet.
Just this.
Liam looked back once, just enough to see her eyes wide with awe, the tension slowly leaving her frame.
He grinned.
"Still think I'm insane?"
"Absolutely," Aeliana said, the wind tugging at her words. "But... maybe just the right amount."
~
The infirmary was quieter than usual, lit by the soft morning light filtering through the high windows. Aeliana sat on the edge of the familiar cot, her arm cradled across her lap, fingers drumming lightly against the blanket beneath her.
Footsteps echoed lightly on the tiled floor.
"Back so soon?" Elira's voice was warm, teasing as she stepped into view, a clipboard in one hand and a mug in the other. Her cropped curls looked slightly wind-tossed, and there was a faint smudge of ink near her collarbone.
Aeliana gave her a crooked smile. "You know me. Can't stay away."
Elira snorted, setting the mug aside and flipping through her notes. "Right. Thrilled to be here for another round of poking and prodding, I'm sure."
"I live for it," Aeliana deadpanned.
Elira grinned and stepped closer, gently reaching for Aeliana's arm. "Let's see how this is healing."
Aeliana let her take it without complaint, watching as Elira carefully unwrapped the bandage and tilted her head, examining the slowly knitting gash along the muscle.
"Looks better than I expected," Elira murmured. "Still some bruising... tissue's healing nicely though. No signs of inflammation."
Aeliana winced when Elira pressed near the edge of the wound. "It still aches. Mostly when I move too fast."
"That's normal," Elira said, re-wrapping it with practiced ease. "It'll keep aching for a while. It tore through a lot."
"I noticed."
When she was finished, Elira stood back and folded her arms across her chest, assessing her like she was weighing a list in her mind.
"So?" Aeliana asked.
Elira tilted her head. "You're cleared for light chores."
Aeliana raised a brow. "Define light."
"Nothing overhead, nothing that involves combat, and if I catch you anywhere near the sparring ring, I will personally tell the professors you're being reckless."
Aeliana groaned. "You wouldn't."
"I would. Happily."
"Sadist," Aeliana muttered, but her smile was genuine.
Elira chuckled and tucked the clipboard under her arm. "Cleaning gear, sorting training weapons, hauling laundry, those kinds of things. Just no heavy lifting or punching things."
Aeliana gave a mock sigh. "There goes my afternoon plan."
"Good. You need the rest."
For a moment, they both stood quietly, a familiar stillness settling between them.
Then Elira added, more softly, "You're healing well, you know. Better than I expected."
Aeliana looked down at her arm. "Still feels like I'm made of glass some days."
"You're not." Elira's tone was matter-of-fact. "You're recovering. That's different."
Aeliana met her eyes. "Thanks."
Elira nodded once, then moved to gather her things. "You're on the afternoon shift this week if you want to be. Weapons sorting, nothing too strenuous."
"Got it."
"And Aeliana?"
She glanced back as Elira paused at the doorway.
"Don't be a hero," the second-year said simply. "Not until your body can keep up with your heart."
Aeliana blinked at her.
Then nodded.
"Deal."
~
The flickering torches barely reached the upper floor of the old wing, where the communal bathrooms had chipped stone sinks and a cracked mirror she could still use just fine.
The door creaked as she pushed it open. Empty.
Good.
Aeliana set the pouch on the sink and rolled up her sleeves with practiced ease—except her right sleeve stuck slightly over the gauze, and when she tugged, it pulled too hard and made her eyes water.
She swore under her breath again.
Eventually, she got the fabric off and set to work.
Crushing the walnut powder, mixing it with water from the old basin. Adding just a pinch of mugwort and ash. Stirring until the paste turned that rich, familiar dark. Her fingers tingled as she worked it into her hair in sections, the movement slow but sure.
It smelled earthy. Sharp. Like summer leaves burned to ash.
Like memory.
The paste dripped once, running down her temple, and she caught it with the edge of her sleeve, her right hand trembling slightly from the strain.
"Almost there," she muttered to herself. "Just a little more."
Her arms ached now. Both of them. But the job was done.
She stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror—face pale, hair slicked back with the inky paste, jaw tight but eyes steady.
Aeliana exhaled softly, turning to rinse her hands in the icy water and drying them on her pants. She'd sleep with it in—let the color settle deeper—and rinse it out at sunrise when the water was warmer, when her arm wasn't screaming.
For now, it was enough to sit in the corner of the bathroom, back against the wall, and close her eyes.
Let the silence hold her for a while.
Let the pain fade, and the color set.
~
The scent of sweat and old wood hung in the air as Aeliana pulled open the door to the sparring room. She was cleared to resume light chores, and today that meant sweeping mats, straightening racks, and organizing discarded practice weapons. Nothing exciting.
But familiar.
She liked that part.
The quiet. The repetition. The way the sparring room smelled like hard work and determination. It grounded her.
She'd barely started stacking the dull-edged training swords when she heard the door creak open again.
Footsteps. Heavy ones.
Aeliana didn't even need to turn to know who it was.
Tynan.
And Jace.
The two shadows that had once clung to Oren like parasites. They'd kept their distance for the last few weeks—since Oren's name hit the death roll. But apparently, they were done being subtle.
"Well, look who's back," Jace said, voice thick with derision.
Aeliana didn't flinch. She simply turned, broom still in hand, gaze steady. "You need something?"
Tynan stepped closer, crossing his arms. "Yeah. To know how the hell you keep getting away with shit. You should've been on that death roll with Oren."
Her grip on the broom tightened.
But she didn't move.
"You want to try finishing the job?" she asked, tone flat.
Jace sneered. "If we did, we wouldn't fail like he did."
They started to advance, postures loose but dangerous.
She stood her ground. Her left foot shifted, balancing her weight away from her injured arm. "If this is your version of a challenge, you better think twice. I don't need both arms to put you down."
"Oh really?" Tynan asked, eyes glinting. "Wanna bet on that?"
Just as they stepped in—
The door slammed open again.
Boots hit the mat.
Ridoc's voice rang out first, sharp and incredulous. "You two looking to die stupid?"
Sawyer appeared beside him a second later, arms crossed, flanked by Liam—jaw clenched, eyes cold.
Aeliana didn't move.
But her smirk was subtle.
Tynan stopped mid-step.
Jace's bravado deflated like a punctured wineskin.
Ridoc stepped between them and Aeliana, shaking his head. "This is pathetic. You gonna jump her while she's cleaning?"
"We were just talking," Jace muttered.
"Yeah," Tynan added. "Didn't realize she needed a guard squad now."
Sawyer rolled his eyes. "She doesn't. But we're not about to let you two assholes gang up on her."
"Hide behind your guard dogs then, princess," Jace sneered at Aeliana.
That was when she finally moved.
She stepped to the side, just enough to come into full view.
Her voice was calm. Measured.
"I don't need anyone to fight my battles," she said. "Just waiting until I can use this arm again."
Then she smiled—sharp and unbothered.
"But you better hope I'm not cleared before your next lesson."
The look Tynan and Jace gave her was pure venom.
But they backed off.
The door slammed shut behind them.
Ridoc let out a low whistle. "Gods, I hate those two."
"Should've let me deck one," Sawyer grumbled.
Liam turned to her, studying her face. "You okay?"
Aeliana nodded once. "Yeah. Wasn't scared."
"I know," he said, quietly. "You didn't even blink."
She tilted her head. "You did, though."
He gave a small smile. "Just checking if I needed to break someone's nose."
"Sweet of you."
Sawyer chuckled. "Next time, let us clean the room. You can just supervise."
Aeliana shook her head. "Nah. Wouldn't want to miss out on the fun."
~
The barracks were quiet.
For once.
Aeliana sat on her cot, elbow resting on her knee, thumb absently brushing the edge of her bandage. Her right arm was healing—almost. Elira had cleared her for light chores, but that didn't mean she knew what the hell to do with herself when the hall was this silent and her thoughts were this loud.
The door creaked.
She looked up.
Liam.
"Come with me," he said, already turning back.
She blinked. "That's your opening?"
He glanced over his shoulder. "You'll like it. And you don't have to do anything. Just watch."
Curious now, she stood, tugged on her long-sleeved shirt, and followed.
They walked in companionable silence through the corridors, the hum of torches low around them. The sun had set an hour ago, and most cadets were tucked into study groups, eating, or preparing for tomorrow's flight rotation. But Liam took a sharp right into the sparring wing.
"Dain's scheduled Tuesday night for squad hand-to-hand practice now," he explained. "Tried to say it was to make sure no one fell behind, but we all know it's to keep tabs."
Aeliana snorted. "And you're okay with that?"
He shrugged. "Better than not training at all."
When they entered the gym, the air buzzed with tension and motion.
Rhiannon and Violet were already mid-spar, staves clacking as they moved in tight circles. Imogen had Ridoc in a headlock a few mats down, and Sawyer was circling a second-year named Quinn, both of them slick with sweat.
Liam led her to the edge of the mat, just beside Violet's water flask and drying vest.
"You're not cleared to spar yet," he reminded her gently.
"I'm know," she said, rolling her eyes, like she wasn't the person to have told him that. "Just watching."
But something about the way her fingers twitched against her side told him she missed the feeling of the mat beneath her boots.
They stood in easy silence for a minute.
"She's not wrong," a deep voice cut in—familiar and unmistakable.
Aeliana's head snapped up just as Xaden strode past, Garrick a step behind him.
Her breath caught.
He wasn't looking at her—at anyone—but his presence was as cutting as ever, part shadow, part fire. Her eyes drifted, then locked with Garrick's as he passed.
One brow arched in silent question.
She offered a short shrug, a tight smirk. "Just observing," she called quietly.
Garrick tilted his head in acknowledgment, mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile.
Then they were gone, headed to a central mat where a few third-years were warming up.
"I'll never understand how someone can look both murderous and bored at the same time," she muttered.
"You get used to it," Liam said.
Aeliana folded her arms, careful not to jostle her injured one. "What are the chances he and Garrick end up sparring tonight?"
"Low." Liam cracked a smile. "But not zero. You should stay and find out."
Rhiannon landed a solid tap on Violet's leg, forcing a brief reset.
From behind them, Imogen released Ridoc, who flopped dramatically to the mat.
"I think I blacked out," he groaned. "That woman is terrifying."
"She's five-foot-six," Aeliana pointed out.
"She's five-foot-six of vengeance and power," Ridoc said, rolling onto his back.
Sawyer walked over a few moments later, wiping sweat from his brow. "Thought you weren't cleared yet," he said to Aeliana.
"I'm not."
"She's here to watch," Liam answered for her. "Doctor's orders."
"And to admire us all in our sweaty, bruised glory," Ridoc added, throwing her a wink.
Aeliana huffed out a laugh. "Well, don't flatter yourselves too much. Imogen's clearly the star of the show."
"Damn right I am," Imogen said sharply without looking up from wrapping her knuckles.
Violet and Rhiannon reset again, staff tips pressed together.
And Aeliana turned slightly, watching the center mat where Xaden and Garrick now stood facing each other.
Her breath hitched.
Because Liam had been wrong.
They were sparring.
And something about it—about the way they squared off, the way their stances mirrored one another, sharp and lethal—made her realize she'd never truly seen what experienced riders looked like in motion.
She leaned in unconsciously, Liam chuckling softly beside her.
"Told you you'd like it."
"You undersold it," she muttered back.
It wasn't only the sparring that caught her attention—though its sheer speed was stunning—it was also the lack of shirts. She stared, mouth slightly ajar, as Garrick and Xaden moved across the mat in a blur of fluid, devastating motion.
No armor. No training gear. Just skin and sweat and muscle—coiled tension and raw power honed into lethal precision.
Garrick's back was to her, his shoulders rolling as he ducked under a strike and countered with a brutal elbow that Xaden blocked with ease.
Her eyes trailed the movement, catching the way Garrick's muscles flexed and shifted beneath skin dusted with sweat.
His rebellion relic curled across his left shoulder like molten ink, stark against the bronze of his skin.
She'd seen Garrick spar before. Hell, she'd sparred with him.
But she'd never seen this.
Never seen him like that.
And Xaden—gods. He was built like a blade.
All long lines and cutting angles, every motion executed with the kind of calculated violence that made her pulse hitch.
His relic wound around his arm and upper body in sharp, jagged spirals, accentuating every controlled strike, every twist of his torso.
Sgaeyl's mark consumed his entire back like armor carved into flesh.
The two of them moved like a mirrored storm—Garrick's heavier form grounded, Xaden's sharper, coiled. Every blow was countered. Every strike, dodged. They didn't hold back. Not for an instant.
She barely registered Rhiannon's exasperated sigh or the sharp crack of staff against thigh that followed.
"Pay attention!"
Violet yelped in the background.
Aeliana's head turned slightly at the sound but didn't quite move. Her eyes were locked—utterly, embarrassingly transfixed—on the sparring pair.
Gods, she had no business watching this closely. She should look away. She wanted to look away.
But she didn't.
Couldn't.
Because Garrick was grinning now—just barely—and it was a grin that she hadn't seen before, one that reached his eyes, one that said he liked this. Liked the challenge. The clash. And despite herself, her stomach twisted in response. Not with nerves. Not quite.
She swallowed hard, shifting her weight. It didn't help. The heat rising beneath her skin had nothing to do with the temperature in the room.
And then, just like that, it was over.
Garrick and Xaden froze, both panting lightly, their bodies held just apart. For a breathless moment, no one moved.
Then Xaden rolled his neck, turned, and—godsdamn it all—walked straight toward their mat.
Aeliana flinched like she'd been caught stealing.
The world returned in pieces: the hum of conversation, the scuffle of boots on mat, the faint sting of embarrassment in her chest. Her heart thundered against her ribs as she tried to compose herself.
"Tell me, though. You are getting tired of playing the nursemaid, aren't you?"
The taunt cut through the noise of the gym like a blade.
Aeliana's eyes snapped toward Jack Barlowe's voice, the haze of heat and embarrassment evaporating instantly, replaced with something colder. Sharper. Her breath stilled in her lungs.
Jack was smirking at Liam, lounging near the edge of the mat like he owned the godsdamned place.
Violet lay on her back, winded, staff clutched in her grip.
Rhiannon hovered beside her, apologizing quietly.
But Jack's eyes weren't on either of them.
They were on Liam. And the malice behind his grin made Aeliana's stomach twist.
Liam didn't move—not yet—but Aeliana saw the subtle way his hand brushed the hilt of his dagger. His whole stance had shifted, no longer relaxed or teasing. Guarded. Ready.
From where she stood behind him, Aeliana could see the lines of tension strung through his back, the way his shoulder blades pulled tight beneath his uniform. He wasn't just annoyed.
He was waiting for an excuse.
And gods, Barlowe was giving him plenty.
"You're disgusting," she muttered under her breath, too quiet for Jack to hear.
He was still talking, of course. Gloating. Someone tried to offer him a slice of fruit—an orange maybe—and Jack swatted the hand away like the world itself was beneath him.
"Do you want me to end up in the infirmary?"
Aeliana wanted to punch him in the mouth.
But it wasn't her fight. Not yet.
Then Jack's eyes lifted—and everything about his expression changed.
From smug to pale.
From smug to terrified.
Aeliana didn't even need to turn around to know who stood behind her.
Xaden Riorson had arrived.
The air shifted, thick with something that wasn't magic but felt just as tangible. Power. Command. Fury, simmering just beneath the surface.
"She's only alive because of you," Jack spat, but it came out thin. Brittle.
Xaden didn't need to raise his voice.
"Right, because I'm the one who buried a dagger in your shoulder at Threshing."
It was almost casual, but the weight behind the words hit like a hammer.
Aeliana's eyes flicked to Violet, who had scrambled to her feet and now held her staff like a lifeline. She didn't look away from Jack—not even as he tried to pivot.
"We could just settle this now..."
The challenge hung heavy in the air.
Aeliana's muscles tensed. She hated this—hated the truth in it. Because Jack was right in one thing: Violet hadn't accepted the challenge. And not because she was weak. But because—like Aeliana—she wasn't sure she'd win.
And that knowledge—it burned.
She followed Jack's gaze as it slid across the room, taking stock of the people now standing between him and whatever victory he imagined he could steal.
Liam. Xaden. Garrick, hulking and unreadable as he stepped closer. Even Imogen, eyes narrowed, watching—but not for Violet's sake.
No. Not for their sake at all.
Jack sneered.
"That's what I thought."
He blew Violet a kiss.
Violet's grip on her staff tightened until her knuckles went white.
"You ran," Violet hissed. "That day in the field, you fucking ran..."
Jack's face turned red. Not from anger—from shame.
Aeliana's lip curled.
"She's not wrong," Xaden said flatly.
Garrick chuckled. Liam lunged.
The sudden motion snapped Jack out of his posturing as Liam bodily shoved him off the mat, boots skidding across the polished floor. Jack cursed, flailing to regain balance, but Liam wasn't giving him an inch as he pushed Jack out the doors.
And then—without a word—Xaden raised a hand and flicked his fingers.
The doors slammed shut behind Jack with an echoing crack that silenced the room.
Aeliana felt it deep in her chest. Like thunder.
Her heart hadn't stopped hammering since the moment Jack opened his mouth.
"What the hell were you thinking, egging him on like that?" Dain demanded, storming toward Violet.
Aeliana's lip twitched.
Oh, now he speaks.
But Violet didn't even get a chance to answer.
Xaden was already moving, stepping between her and Dain like a wall of pure command. His tone was deceptively soft as he pointed to Violet's armor lying on the bench.
"You want to tell me why the fuck you're not wearing that?"
Aeliana watched the entire exchange like someone watching a storm roll in from high ground. She couldn't hear everything—they were standing too far—but she didn't need to. The body language said enough. The tension between Violet and Xaden crackled across the mats like an unspoken current.
Anger. Frustration. Something deeper she couldn't name.
And Aeliana wasn't the only one watching.
Rhiannon stood frozen beside her. Liam was still a step off the mat, arms crossed, expression unreadable now. Garrick—who held Xaden's shit in his hands—was still silent, jaw tight, his earlier good humor gone. He stood almost protectively between Xaden and the rest of the room.
And Imogen... Imogen's eyes were locked on Garrick like he was the only person in the world.
Aeliana's gaze dropped. She didn't want to see that.
Xaden said something else, and Violet stepped back, face pale. Dain looked like he wanted to speak but couldn't.
And then Xaden turned, muscles rippling across his back as he walked off the mat.
Garrick handed him his shirt in silence.
Aeliana caught the soft sound of her own breath hitching as Xaden pulled the shirt over his head, covering the massive navy-blue dragon relic that spanned his back—etched with silver lines, like jagged scars she hadn't been able to see from a distance.