Chapter Text
Soulmarks are curious things. They are the one piece of magic everyone carries, they all function the same way—and yet, each bond is entirely unique. The words show that Loial has tied two—sometimes three—souls together, in this life and the next.
-A Treatise on Soulmates by Colonel Kindra Trent
Knocking on the door while holding the tray takes a special kind of balance. I don’t dare set it down, clutching it with white knuckles as if it holds the answers. As if a simple dinner can fix any of this.
“Lettie? I have dinner for you.” I wait, eyes shut tightly, straining to hear even the slightest noise. It takes a second knock before I hear the sniffle, but at least it’s a sign of life.
“I’m not hungry.”
She hasn’t been hungry in days. Weeks. My own gut twists with unease. “Please, Lettie. Just a few bites.”
“No.”
The single word cuts sharper than it should. It’s final, heavy, with that special stubborn twists us Sorrengails are known for.
“Alright. I’ll leave it on the counter if you change your mind.”
She won’t. I know she won’t. But I return the tray to the kitchen, covering everything carefully so it keeps. A few crackers with thinly sliced cheese; a fresh roll smothered in honey; an optimistic mug of broth. She wouldn’t even have to use a spoon.
As if the use of utensils is the problem.
I make a second tray, leaving little notes on both. One says Violet, the other Mom. The notes are wrinkled and smudged from use. This ritual has become routine, a prayer to the ghost haunting our home. There’s no point in rewriting the cards each time. Violet’s goes untouched until I clean up in the morning. Some days, if I’m lucky, Mom might come in and eat.
It hits me, all over again. Like a punch to the gut, or dagger between the ribs. I have to brace myself on the counter, squeezing my eyes shut just to breathe.
Dad is dead. Dead and burned, like Brennan. I’ve always known my family is odd, malformed, but I didn’t realize how much my dad held it together until he was suddenly ripped away. The center piece of a puzzle, now leaving all the edges floating.
Pitifully, I want Brennan. I want my brother to take it all away, to be the steady stone for me to lean on. I want someone else to try and get Violet to eat, someone else to deal with the blank, empty glaze in Mom’s eyes now that her soulmate is gone. But I’m all that’s left.
Mira is at her first posting, not even getting leave for the funeral. I haven’t seen her since her Conscription Day. Similarly, my goodbye to Brennan happened years before he was actually dead. There’d been mere days between his graduation and him going to the front lines of the rebellion. I hadn’t been present during his quick stop to visit, missing out on the final goodbye that Violet got.
I squash the ugly curl of envy before it can rise up. One deep breath, another. I remind myself of the last time I saw him, the last time I saw Mira. They were echoes of each other, years apart but so very similar.
You gotta protect Vi, okay Vivienne? I’m trusting you.
As if they had to say it. As if my whole existence isn’t pinned to my baby sister. It was an older sibling’s job to protect the younger. Brennan taught me that.
I reorganize the trays again, making doubly sure everything is covered. Maybe Violet will be tempted in the middle of the night. She has to go to the bathroom at some point, and that means passing the kitchen. I clean up the mess, the extra dishes, make sure everything is put away neatly, like my mother prefers. I do a full walk through of the apartment, leaving only the private rooms untouched. There’s not much to tidy; there never is.
My evening ritual is complete. There’s nothing more to be done, not really. It leaves me standing in the middle of the apartment, hands hanging uselessly at my side. There’s a bothersome buzz beneath my skin, an itch in my brain that won’t shut up. I should be calm, should be pleased with staring at my work.
But my dad is dead. My mother absent. One sister across the continent and the other trapped in her room.
There’s heat in my eyes, a rough ball in my throat. I press the tears back, force them down. I am a Sorrengail. This will not break me. Nothing will. Even if it feels like I’m held together with glue and spite.
The apartment feels too small, too empty. There’s walls on all sides, pushing in. I collect my bag and slide out, careful to lock the door behind me. Basgiath always feels like a tomb, like ghosts are watching every step. Tonight is worse than most, so I go up high, slipping through secrets passages I’ve made use of for years.
Finally, the cool summer night slaps me in the face. Immediately, my breath comes easier, my chest less heavy. I take a second to simply stare up. There’s a million stars painting the sky, a half moon providing a sliver of light. The lights of Basgiath don’t reach this high, and I’m grateful for it.
The east tower is only somewhat maintained. As the entrance to the Rider’s Quadrant, it goes without saying that any damage to it just adds to the challenge of the entrance exam. Being a healer or scribe might require a written test, but being a rider just means surviving. There’s crenelations, but moss is growing in the cracks, pieces crumbled to the ground. It makes it painfully easy to see the massive curtain wall that makes up the Parapet.
Not a parapet, though it is that. The Parapet. The one that serves as the first obstacle to being a rider. The one I’ll have to cross in less than a year.
The August air is sticky with humidity, still with a distinct lack of wind. Even when I stop on the edge, there’s barely a breeze, despite the height. With a sigh, I take a careful step onto the Parapet, then another and another. It’s a little over a foot wide, uneven and untrustworthy. Every moment on it is a death wish, Malek standing at your shoulders.
The noise in my head goes quiet. The weight of my dad’s specter fades, just a little. This high, I can’t think about Lettie or Mom or anyone else. I’m just a young woman dancing with death. I reach the halfway point before I stop, slowly easing myself into a sitting position. I’m careful to stay on this side of the line. Crossing it feels like a violation of something sacred.
You can’t grow up a Sorrengail without respecting the Codex.
Beyond Basgiath, the rolling hills of Morraine spread out beneath me. The mountains to the south create a sharp wall, boxing the world in. Moonlight casts everything in contrasts, deepening shadows. I pull out my notebook and charcoal, carefully beginning to sketch the scene. It’s impossible to think and draw at the same time and my muscles relax, one by one. Up here, I’m free of everything.
“Weird place to draw.”
I startle, foot kicking the wall hard enough to bruise. Only years of training mean I keep my balance and don’t go tumbling into the void below as I whip my head around. What peace I’ve collected scatters, heart pounding a solid beat in my throat.
I know those words. I know those words better than I know my own name. They curve across my left ribcage, seared into my skin like a brand. They’re why I started drawing in the first place. Why I’ve never given it up, though my mother disapproves of the hobby.
From the rider’s side of the Parapet, a cadet has joined me. Details are hard to make out in the dim moonlight but he’s large, broad. A single star glints at his throat, marking him as a first year. He stops a few feet from the center line, staring down at me with a half smirk on his lips. Dark hair and skin place his ancestry somewhere in Tyrrendor or Deaconshire.
I’m staring. I know I’m staring, but I can’t seem to stop. My heart thrums in time with my thoughts, drowning out common sense. I finally manage to swallow, collecting my jaw and wits enough to speak. “Generally, I don’t get interrupted.”
I’m staring, which means I see the absence of a reaction. The hollow void where it should be, a mirror to this exhilaration I’m feeling. But he gives nothing, not even a blink, as if the words mean nothing to him. How is that possible?
“Admittedly, this is a good place for that. Risk of death and all.”
“You don’t seem to mind the risk.”
“I’ve already survived before.” His head tilts, hair shifting as he watches me in turn. “But those stones are stained red for a reason.”
I snort before I can stop it. “Well, aren’t you a bundle of sunshine.”
His eyes narrow. “Arrogance or confidence?”
“Can’t it be both?”
He huffs, almost a laugh. I get the sense it’s rare for him, because he looks vaguely surprised. His staring gets sharper, and slowly he eases himself down, swinging his legs so he’s facing opposite me, back into Basgiath and towards the Vale.
There’s two feet of space between us and I’m suddenly hyper aware of it.
“You know, you’re lucky I’m nice. Someone else would just push you off for breaking Codex and coming into our quadrant.”
“One, I’m technically not in the quadrant until I finish crossing. I even stayed on this half, just to give your egos extra space.”
Another huff, this one definitely recognizable as a chuckle. “And two?”
“I’d just push them off first. Maybe draw a little map so command could find their body and add it to the death roll.”
His brows shoot up. “Vicious little beast, aren’t you?”
I shove a loose curl behind my ear. It’s starting to brush my shoulders, meaning it needs to be cut soon. His eyes follow the movement.
“I don’t believe in letting enemies live.”
“You’re going into the riders, aren’t you?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m actually contemplating infantry.”
He snorts. “Bullshit.”
A smile pulls at my lips, feeling foreign. When was the last time I actually enjoyed myself? Even as quiet falls between us, it feels easy, comforting. I don’t love to talk the way Lettie seems to, and its been a long time since someone was willing to just sit in silence with me. Not since Brennan, probably.
“So why are you out here? It’s midnight.”
Already? I’ve been out longer than intended. “Sunshine, don’t you know some women like to be mysterious?”
“I’ve been called many things, but sunshine isn’t one.”
“Really? But you’re so cheerful.”
Finally—finally—I get the laugh I’m looking for. It’s short, cut off the moment it starts, but I hoard the sound. The startled look is back on his face, and that’s its own small victory.
“Don’t think I don’t notice what you’re doing, Vicious.”
Heat climbs my cheeks so fast it makes me dizzy. I’ve never been much interested in relationships, more attracted to sharp, shiny things than people, but I have done the whole song and dance simply to see what the fuss is about. There were no pet names involved though, and certainly no praise for bloodthirstiness.
I can’t look at him, opting to return to my drawing. I smudge a few lines to add shadows, sharpen a few edges. I don’t blush. Why would I blush?
Does he know who I am, what I am? He has to, but he gave no reaction when I first spoke. I could ask, of course, but what if he’s not my soulmate and the words were just coincidence? It’s rare, but it does happen. I can take off my shirt and check, but that’s equally as humiliating if the words remain black.
From my periphery, I see him reach out, stopping short of touching me, opting instead to set his hand on the stone between us. “Where’d you just go?”
Into my head. Into my anxieties. I don’t say it, of course. I can’t say any of it. So I blurt what pops up next. “My dad died.”
He goes very still. I can feel his eyes on me, watching, waiting. It makes it easy to keep going.
“Last month. Lettie keeps refusing to eat. I keep trying but—” I bite my tongue, hard enough to hurt. There’s heat behind my eyes again. I swallow it back. “Drawing makes the thinking stop.”
“Lettie?”
“My little sister. She’s the baby, and was closest to Dad. I—I’m all she has now, really. Mom’s hollow without her soulmate, and she wasn’t a very good mother to begin with.”
A soft wind ruffles my hair, sending it scattering. I don’t have my usual clip with me. Touch incredibly gentle, as gentle as his voice, he reaches out to tuck the curls back. I have to close my eyes to resist leaning in. There’s callouses on his palms, his fingers, and a part of me aches to feel them again.
“You can’t force her to eat.”
“She won’t come out of her room. I keep leaving things on the counter, hoping she’ll take them in the night.” I huff, shaking my head. “Fuck, this isn’t your problem.”
“Sometimes it’s easier to share with strangers.”
It is. There’s no one for me to go to with this, no one that can understand. Sorrengails, broken by a loss? It doesn’t happen. It can’t happen, not when Mom is a general and Mira a nearly legendary rider already. Not when Brennan had been famous for his signet, one of only two menders in the last fifty years.
Sorrengails are riders, warriors, the invincible. I can’t let myself be the weak link.
I heave a tired breath, forcing myself to regain control. I pull up the pieces of Vivienne Sorrengail like a wall, encasing myself in everything I’m supposed to be. Strong, loyal, obedient. The third-born of Basgiath’s General. By the time I open my eyes again, my weakness has been tucked away, hidden alongside the ugliest parts of me.
Sunshine watches me, something unbearably knowing in his gaze. His fingers twitch, but he doesn’t reach for me as I carefully find my feet.
“Thanks for the company, Sunshine.”
I leave before he can respond, hurrying across the wall and into the secret passage that will take me back to the western side of the college. It’s only when I’m safely ensconced in my room that I finally give in and remove my shirt.
The words are in calligraphy, the sort of handwriting a noble might have. Beautiful, smooth strokes that are near as tall as my hand is wide. From my sternum all across my left rib cage and stopping just under my arm. I know the handwriting as well as I know my own. It has been black all my life.
The white words blend into my pale skin, handwriting unaltered save for the color. The color of a partial bond, one initiated but not completed. Whoever he is, he’s my soulmate. But if the bond hasn’t been activated on his side then…
Then Navarrian isn’t his first language. Whatever his first word was, it wasn’t spoken in the common tongue. And until I can figure out what that language is—until I can speak to him in it—his side will remain inert.
I could just tell him, I suppose. Show him the mark as proof. But that feels wrong some how, like skipping to the end of the book. I don’t even know his name. And I didn’t tell him mine.
Names have power, history. They paint impressions before the pallet has even been seen. I have never been more than the third Sorrengail and I probably never will be. I don’t want that to shape our bond, whatever form our relationship takes. This is the one thing in the world that is mine and I want to keep it that way.
Slowly, I get ready for bed, trying to push aside the memory of his face, sharp in the darkness. It doesn’t work.
A week later, I sense him as he gets closer. I’ve returned to my new favorite spot, slowly sketching out weapon designs. The sort that will never be practical or possible, not least of all because I don’t know the first thing about forging. But designing it is fun.
There’s the scrape of a boot, likely on purpose considering his silent entrance last week. He settles as my mirror, his right side to my left, both of us looking in opposite directions. He leans a little closer, close enough for me to smell mint and leather. It’s surprisingly pleasant.
“The hell are those?”
“Hook swords.”
“What?”
“Swords. But with giant hooks on them.” I hold the journal at an angle so he can see before I return it to my lap.
“Is that even possible?”
“No idea!” I add another detail, then stare at the page judgmentally. Is the second blade on the bottom necessary? What am I saying; the more pointy bits, the better. “I just like coming up with designs. I don’t think any of them are possible.”
He watches in quiet for a little bit, twisted to stare over my shoulder. I don’t know why he won’t just rotate around, but I don’t push it. Both of us have very firmly stayed on our half of the Parapet, a line literally drawn between us.
Eventually, he says, “You’re in a better mood this week.”
My hand falters before I refocus. “Lettie’s friend came by today. Managed to get her to eat. Tomorrow he’s going to try and get her to go back to her studies.”
I keep my voice even, pleased. Violet is eating and that’s the only thing that matters. The fact that Dain Aetos was the one needed to break through to her means nothing. Violet is allowed to have friends, people outside the family. I know she’s half in love with him anyway.
Sunshine hums low, eyes knowing. I’m thankful he doesn’t press.
It becomes our secret routine, purely by accident. Well. For me it’s by accident. I was going to the Parapet several times a week until I realized he only shows up Friday nights. Now there’s a part of me that waits impatiently for Friday to come, for the time I get to spend basking in his presence, like a cat in the sun. Then the night ends and the waiting starts all over again.
By silent agreement, neither of us offers a name. He remains Sunshine, and I remain Vicious. Some nights he simply watches me sketch, and others we talk. Tease, more accurately. There’s nothing that man says that isn’t designed to drive me insane, in one way or another. It lets me collect pieces of him though, so I don’t complain.
Things slip through in our conversations, little secrets I hoard the same way I hoard the words on my skin. He has a sweet-tooth; he likes the color green; he’s from Tyrrendor. The last one isn’t confirmed, but he’s denied being from Deaconshire and that really is the next most likely candidate. He doesn’t sound like he’s from the north so I make a point to start teaching myself Tyrrish. It’s slow, and confusing, but I’m sort of getting it. Dad tried showing me, years ago. I never had the patience for it. I regret that now.
Mostly, I’m hoping his parents didn’t immigrate when he was young and that his first language actually is Tyrrish. Otherwise, this will be very embarrassing.
October 1st falls on a Saturday this year, and I’m a little concerned he won’t appear. I won’t blame him if he chooses sleep over me, but I will be disappointed. Yet when I finally make it to the Parapet, jacket pulled tight in the quickly dropping temperatures, there’s already a figure in our usual spot. I freeze, just for a moment, before carefully joining him.
Sunshine is never here first.
I sit as close to the middle marker as I can without physically crossing over. There’s a coiled tension in him tonight, a muscle ticking in his jaw, pulse visible in his neck. I wish I could ease the stress, the fear, but nothing can do that. Threshing is one of the deadliest events a cadet faces at Basgiath, and nearly a quarter of his year is expected to die.
There’s no patches on his uniform outside his squad—there never is. That’s another thing I know about him; he’s Fourth Wing, Tail Section, First Squad. He wears a long shirt, covering his full arms, and with a high collar. I’ve never seen him in anything else, outside the first night we met.
“How was your time?”
His jaw relaxes, head turning just the barest bit towards me. A ghost of a smirk dances on his face. It’s a full moon tonight, and I can see him more than usual. “Fastest in the quadrant.”
“Well, duh. I meant numbers. I need to know what I need to beat next year.”
“You won’t be able to, Vicious.”
“Watch me.”
Some of the shadows in his eyes fade, tension draining away with every word we trade. I can’t place what, but something in him shifts, softens. I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I’m glad it offers some relief.
“Want to bet?”
“What’s my reward when I win?”
A huff of laughter. “A gift.”
“A gift?” I’m intrigued, but I try not to show it. Has he been thinking about things to get me? “Not very specific, Sunshine. How do I know it’s worth it?”
“Fine. A very nice, very expensive gift. How’s that?”
I hum, faking a deep consideration. “And in the unlikely case you win?”
Something flashes in his dark eyes, quickly tucked away again. “A favor.”
“What, like a free murder card?” I shrug. “Alright. I accept the terms, Sunshine. Better start working on that gift.”
This gets a real laugh from him, one of those short, barked sounds that seem pulled out against his will. “I still haven’t figured out if it’s arrogance or confidence you run on.”
“You’ll never know.” It’s spite, actually, but no one needs to know that. Quiet falls, accompanied by the frigid breeze. It’ll be a cold winter this year. His eyes have drifted, going glazed as he falls into his thoughts. Something in me aches at the sight.
For the first time, I dare to touch the forbidden. He’s close enough that I just have to lean over a little, and I can rest against him. He runs hot, which is nice, and smells good, which is nicer. A ripple of tension makes his muscles flex under me, but then he settles again.
“You have to be alive for me to win, Sunshine.”
“I know.”
I lock my jaw to keep from saying more. He can’t promise me anything, and I’d rather painful reality than gentle fantasy. So I sit, leaning against my soulmate and praying a dragon finds him worthy.
It’s Saturday night and I’m sitting on the Parapet. It’s not our usual night; I don’t expect to see him. But for once I’m the one turned towards the Vale, watching as dragon after dragon comes in to land. I’ve been here for hours already, and the sun has finally begun to set. Obviously I can’t see any of the new riders from here, but I like the thought of watching for him anyway. Even if neither of us know.
Eventually, the world goes dark and cool and there’s a burst of light from the flight field. Then a massive roar shakes the sky before hundreds of dragons launch upward. Threshing has finished.
My breath is a little shaky, a little uneven. I sit and wait to get control of myself before heading back inside. Walking the Parapet while trembling is a death sentence and I can’t afford one of those. Not right now.
I’m still meditating, convincing myself everything is fine. If our bond was complete, I would know instantly when he died. But for now, I settle for knowing that Sunshine is strong, that a man like him must have bonded. Dragons are good judges of character.
There’s a scrape of boot against stone. My eyes shoot open.
Sunshine drops beside me a little heavier than usual, looking exhausted. There’s blood dried on his face, a new scar bisecting his brow. When I reach for him, instinct over riding thought, I find more blood. It’s on his clothes, caked into his knuckles.
But he’s alive.
Sunshine doesn’t complain when I grab his chin, twisting his head to get a better look at the scar. For the first time, in the full moonlight, I see the curve of a tattoo on his neck. A part of his new relic, probably.
“You’re okay.”
It’s question and command and plea, all wrapped in one. My voice is giving away too much, but I can’t seem to stop it. My trembling finally slows.
“I’m okay.” He catches my hand, pulling it away from his face and placing it in his lap. He keeps it there, the contact burning. Fuck, am I really this touch starved? “My dragon insisted on a more visible claim.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Too thin to be a talon or sword so… daggertail?”
He grins. It’s the first time I’ve seen pure happiness on his face, and it cuts me open to make a home inside my ribcage. “Yeah. She’s huge, and she’s not afraid to let people know it.” His head tilts, just a little. His eyes go distant in a way that’s familiar after a lifetime around riders. “Also sassy.”
I laugh, finally extricating my hand. It’s harder than it should be. “Get some sleep, Sunshine. You’ll need it for your sassy daggertail bossing you around.”
He helps me up, waits for my balance to be solid, before retreating. Breathing finally comes easy, and I decide this was the best birthday present I could ask for.
Some of the tension and fear Sunshine always carries seems to fade. Not leave, never that, but at least lighten. As if the simple act of bonding has proven something. It makes it easier to forget my own troubles.
Of course, that’s before I find out about Violet’s new boyfriend.
It’s November, and brutally cold. Only stubbornness and the ache in my chest gets me out of the warm apartment and to the Parapet. It snowed last night, the first dusting of loose white powder clinging to the Parapet. I purse my lips, dust off the start, and then step forward.
“Absolutely the fuck not.”
The command—the low, demanding tone of it, harsh and mean—makes me jump. My heart thrums louder, face heating up. Embarrassment, I tell myself. I’m just embarrassed.
Sunshine reaches my end of the Parapet, scooting me back into the tower proper and dropping us behind the crenelations. It’s like being herded, and for the first time we stand next to each other.
My soulmate is tall. Tall enough to tuck me under his chin, and I’m not short. His winter leathers add a bit of bulk to his already large frame, his scarf tight around his neck. Everything but his face is covered, and the moonlight glinting off snow makes it seem ethereal.
“Are you insane?” he snaps. “It’s below freezing. It’s gusting. There is snow on that Parapet.”
“Yes, thank you, I do have eyes.” I can’t help but roll said eyes, gesturing harshly at the disturbed snow. “Don’t be a hypocrite. You just walked across it.”
“Only because I knew you’d do it if I didn’t stop you.”
Well, he’s not wrong. Still, the double standard chafes, and today is not the day. The wind blows sharply, sending swirls of snow dancing into the air and cutting straight through the argument. I shiver before I can stop myself, drawing attention.
Even in the dim light, I see the way his eyes dart down my body, then back up. They linger on my hair, longer than ever. I keep meaning to cut it, but I’ve been distracted learning Tyrrish.
“You aren’t even dressed properly. What the fuck, Vicious?”
“Oh, shut up.” My hair blows directly into my face, getting tangled around my fingers. I forgot my gloves and scarf in my mood, and I’m regretting it now. “Gods, I need to cut this.”
Sunshine makes a pained sound, not unlike a dog begging. I’ve never heard it before, not from him, and he takes advantage of my surprise to get me into the stairwell and out of the wind.
“You have gorgeous hair.” It’s almost a whisper, his touch achingly gentle as he untangles the auburn curls and settles them around my shoulders.
My face is undoubtedly red. Hopefully he attributes it to the cold. “Well, it’s in the way.”
“So tie it up.”
“Do you have any idea how heavy curls get? It has to be wet to tie it back, and even then, strong chance says it comes loose. At least my brother—” I bite my tongue, closing my eyes at the memory. Brennan and I inherited Dad’s hair, that strange shade between red and brown and tightly curled. Brennan kept them cut close to his head and even I usually keep to a bob.
“Don’t they have a million fancy clips for hair?”
I huff a laugh, drawn out of my spiral. “Sunshine, are we seriously arguing about my hair right now?”
“We can argue about the Parapet instead.”
Groaning, I retreat down several feet, coming to a specific section of wall. I kick a low stone, hard, and watch as it gives in and the secret door I always use swings open. As if I’d do over two hundred steps every time. Sunshine follows me, and a mage light glows above us as the door closes. It’s thin and dusty, barely wide enough for single file.
For the first time, I see my soulmate in real lighting. His features are sharper than I thought, nose a little more crooked. It’s his eyes that really shock me though; so dark they’re black, little gold flecks breaking through. Like sunshine through trees.
“I am fine. I would have been fine meeting you at our usual spot.”
“You aren’t even wearing gloves.”
“I can’t hold charcoal in gloves. And I needed to do calculations.”
“Drawing can—did you say calculations? For what?”
“Poisoning the infantry quadrant.” He freezes, mouth actually dropping. I feel incredibly vindicated; I knew that would distract him.
“What?”
“Well, before you tried lecturing me as if you have any right to what I do, I was going to ask for math help.”
“Vicious. Go back to the part about poisoning a quadrant.”
“Not the full one. Just a squad or two. That’s why I needed help. How much do you think the average squad eats per day?”
He reaches up, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to regret saying this. What is the plan here? And more importantly, why?”
“My sister has a new boyfriend.” The reminder sours my mood even further. “He’s infantry. I can’t poison him directly, that’s too obvious. But a few stores of food going bad, the sort they bring on their camping trips…” I trail off meaningfully.
“Lettie—” He cuts himself off, pinching his nose even harder. “Your sister has a new boyfriend that you disapprove of and your response is murder?”
I don’t know why he’s surprised. I literally threatened murder in the first conversation we ever had. “He’s not smart enough to hold a conversation with me and Lettie is going to be a scribe. She talks circles around scholars before breakfast. And he’s an entitled prick. And he’s going to break her heart. Call it sister’s instinct.”
Halden Tauri is the sort of man that gets what he wants, when he wants, and doesn’t think about consequences. The sort of person that sees people as playthings and honor as optional. Alic was the worst of the brothers, but Cam is the only even semi decent one of the bunch. I don’t know what Violet is thinking.
Sunshine catches my shoulders, grounding me as he bends close. “Vicious. What’s really going on?”
“Murder.”
“No.” His head tilts, eyes so much more expressive in the light. Like this, I can read him like a book. “If you actually wanted him dead, it would be for something he’s done and you would have done it already. You don’t let enemies live, but being a shit boyfriend doesn’t make an enemy.”
It takes me a second to realize what he’s referencing. “How do you even remember that?”
“I remember everything you tell me.” It’s my turn to make a pathetic noise. That was our first conversation; he doesn’t even know we’re soulmates. “Come on. Talk to me.”
“She didn’t tell me,” I blurt. He waits, patient, and then it’s all pouring out. “When did I become someone she doesn’t talk to? I’m already twenty, I enlist in less than a year. I never saw my brother again after his enlistment, and I can’t even tell you what my older sister looks like right now. It’s always been me and Lettie, I’ve always watched her back and now—” I cut myself off with a sharp, jerking motion, as if to indicate the whole situation. I found out from Dain. Dain!
He doesn’t hush me, or tell me it’s going to be okay. Instead, Sunshine pulls me close, tucking me under his chin and wrapping me up in his arms. I melt instantly, another little noise escaping as I burrow closer.
When was the last time I got hugged?
“Murdering Shit Boyfriend isn’t going to make your sister trust you again.”
“I know.” It takes a minute, but I finally admit, “If I die, I don’t want her to regret this last year. Not like I do with my brother.”
His arms tighten. “You won’t die. We have a bet, remember?”
I huff. “How could I forget?”
It doesn’t solve anything, doesn’t make things better, but some part of me feels lighter. Like his arms are safe and I can stop thinking for a while. For several minutes, neither of us move or speak.
Finally, he tucks his face into my hair. “Promise me you won’t go back onto the Parapet until the snow melts.”
“Sunshine…”
“Vicious.” A pause. “Please?”
Sighing, I nod into his chest. I can’t exactly say no, now can I? Even if it means not seeing him until the snow melts.
“Thank you.”
The bridge between quadrants is usually guarded, and the river too dangerous to cross in the winter. The Parapet is really the only choice for us seeing each other, and without it…
Without it, I’ll just have to suck it up.
I hate sucking it up. I hate not seeing my soulmate. I hate winter. I work on Tyrrish and drawings and check the death roll every morning. I don’t know why—it’s not like I know his name—but it makes me feel better. I could try and figure it out. Pull the first year list and compare it to the registered dragons from this year. Cross out everyone but men on daggertails. Figure out which are Tyrs. Who is in his squad.
That feels as much like cheating as asking him does. Like this little bubble we’ve created where names and pasts mean nothing will pop as soon as I know who he is. As soon as he knows who I am.
So I work on Tyrrish. I fantasize about what his mark is, what words I’ve left carved into his skin. I wonder if we’ll be in the same wing, if our dragons will be different colors. I let my hair get long, ignoring my mother’s comments about it.
He likes my hair. It reminds me of him now, and that’s worth something.
Solstice passes with blizzards and Halden proving himself to be a piece of shit. I resist killing him, but only because Violet asks me not to. January and February are brutally cold, the winter holding on to Basgiath with teeth and claws.
It isn’t until April that the last piles of snow have melted off.