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"What."

His eyes move briefly toward my right side. "Vayne."

I roll mine. "Yes, Dad."

Rhyven's face does something extraordinary. Pure offense. "Never say that again."

I laugh. Actually laugh. Loud enough that I have to cover my mouth. Rhyven shakes his head. Opens his door. I whisper: "Goodnight, Father."

He turns. "Eirea."

I slip inside and close the door before he can answer.

I lean against it. Still smiling. Then the smile fades slightly. Because underneath everything... The training. The teasing. His hand at my waist. His eyes on my mouth. The fact that I apparently possess the ability to make Rhyven Corvell forget what he's doing— there is something else. Tomorrow's schedule. Suppression. Weapons. Ward failure. Dragons. Casualty extraction. Again. Again. Again. Rhyven isn't trying to keep me away from danger. He's doing something much worse. He's making sure I can survive it. And tonight, for the first time, I managed to surprise him. Maybe that's why he asked me to do it again. Maybe it wasn't. I'm absolutely not examining the second possibility. I push away from the door. Go to bed. And somewhere across the hall, Rhyven is awake too. I don't need the connection to know it.

Chapter Forty-three

Friday morning begins with dragons. Not bells. Not blood. Not a missing name. Dragons. For once, I am grateful.

The western training field is full before sunrise. Students. Riders. Professors. Wardkeepers. And dragons. More than usual. Since Theryn disappeared, nobody takes their presence for granted anymore.

Every dragon entering the field is logged. Every Rider confirms bond responsiveness. Every movement that deviates from normal behavior is recorded. If a dragon lifts its head too quickly, someone notices. If one refuses a Rider's direction, someone notices.

If one looks toward the trees— everyone notices.

Theryn's absence lives here. Not visibly. The damaged wardstone has been replaced. The grey grass removed. The claw marks filled. There is no physical evidence left that a dragon disappeared from this field four nights ago. Except everyone remembers exactly where she stood. And nobody steps there.

Not intentionally.

Rhyven stands at the center of the field. Black training uniform. Arms crossed. Dark hair pushed away from his face. Expression unreadable. Vyrael is behind him. Massive. Still. Ancient. His head is lowered just enough that the students closest to him keep checking his posture like their lives depend on it. Good. They should. "Today..." Rhyven says. "You stop guessing." A few students glance at each other. He notices. "You think you understand dragon behavior because you've memorized diagrams." His gaze moves across the field. "You don't." Silence. "Diagrams don't move." Vyrael's tail slides once across the ground. Several students immediately step farther away. Rhyven looks toward them. "Better."

Professor Kaelis stands several feet behind him. He says nothing. Apparently this morning belongs to Rhyven. And Rhyven looks like he hasn't slept enough to tolerate stupidity. Wonderful. "Every dragon here gives you information before it acts."

He turns slightly. "Wings. Tail. Eyes. Jaw. Weight. Breathing. Distance. Rider position." He looks back at us. "You miss one..." A pause. "You may miss the only warning you get." No one moves.

A first-year raises her hand. "What if the Rider tells us what the dragon wants?"

Rhyven's expression doesn't change. "What if the Rider can't?" The girl's hand lowers. There it is. Theryn. No one says her name. We don't need to.

Professor Kaelis steps forward. "Groups of six." Quiet groans. "Four stations." He points toward the eastern end of the field. "Approach." Then south. "Retreat."

West. "Movement under dragon pressure." Finally— Vyrael. "Unfamiliar behavior identification."

Cassian stands beside me. He stares at the enormous ancient dragon.

"No." Nyra doesn't even look at him.

"Yes."

"I wasn't asking."

"Neither was I."

I rub my forehead. It's barely six.

Our group starts with approach. A bronze female lies across the grass. Not sleeping. Not particularly interested. Probably. That's the problem. We're supposed to know.

The first student stops nearly thirty feet away. Professor Kaelis shakes his head. "Why?"