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Are you going to die a scribe? Or live as a rider?”
“I’m not going to die today.”
What makes you a rider is what you do after people die.
“My name is Tairneanach, son of Murtcuideam and Fiaclanfuil, descended from the cunning Dubhmadinn line.”
“I know exactly who and what you are, Violet Sorrengail.”
“You are the smartest of your year. The most cunning.” I gulp at the compliment, brushing it off. I was trained as a scribe, not a rider. “You defended the smallest with ferocity. And strength of courage is more important than physical strength. Since you apparently need to know before we land.”
“Don’t you get it?” I interrupt. “It doesn’t matter what you think—it only matters what I think. And you were right. But the Riders Quadrant stripped away the fear and even the anger about being thrown into this quadrant, and it revealed who I really am. At my core, Dain, I’m a rider. Tairn knew it. Andarna knew it. It’s why they chose me. And until you can stop looking for ways to keep me in a glass cage, we aren’t going to get past this, no matter how many years of friendship we have between us.”
“Then shield him out the same way you do me—or start talking back,” Tairn grumbles. “You have the power to be a pain in the ass, too. Trust me.”
“Maybe it was when I saw Oren holding a knife to your throat,” he says. “Or maybe it was when I realized the bruises on your neck were fingerprints and wanted to kill them all over again just so I could do it slowly. Maybe it was the first time I recklessly kissed you or when I realized I’m fucked because I can’t stop thinking about doing more than just kissing you.” My breath catches at his admission, but he just sighs, lets his head fall back against the wall. “Does it even matter when, as long as it changed between us?”
I am the sky and the power of every storm that has ever been. I am infinite.
“I’m proud you’re mine.” Andarna’s voice wavers, the blinks of her eyes becoming slower.
There’s nowhere in existence you could go that I wouldn’t find you, Violence.”
“You’re going to be the death of me.”
“You are a good friend, Liam Mairi.” I rest my head on his arm. “You saved my life, Violet. The least I can do is grin and bear it through a fucking party.”
“One generation to change the text. One generation chooses to teach that text. The next grows, and the lie becomes history.”
“We’re riders,” Imogen says as another explosion sounds. “We defend the defenseless. That’s what we do.”
“Thank you, Liam. Thank you for being my shadow. Thank you for being my friend.” He blurs in my vision as the tears come faster. “It’s been. My honor.” Liam’s chest rattles as his lungs struggle.
Liam, who never complained about being my shadow, never hesitated to help, never bragged about being the best of our year. He died protecting me. Oh gods, and I just asked him if we’d ever really been friends an hour ago.
“There is no me without you,” he says against my skin.
