Vows of Shadow

The stone walls of the command briefing hall always seemed to leech the warmth from my bones, a constant, dull ache settling deep in my hips. I shifted on the hard bench, trying to find a position that didn't send a protest through my joints. Cadets in their black uniforms filled the tiered rows, a sea of grim faces focused on the dais where the instructors stood. My mother, General Sorrengail, was absent today, a small mercy I wouldn't take for granted.

Instructor Cadwell stepped forward, his self-satisfied smirk already setting my teeth on edge. He was a man who enjoyed the fear he inspired, a sadist hiding behind the thin veil of military authority.

“Listen up, cadets,” he boomed, his voice echoing off the high, vaulted ceiling. “Command has authorized a new training initiative, designed to push you beyond your perceived limits.” A collective groan rippled through the hall, quickly silenced by Cadwell’s sharp glare. “It will be called the Gauntlet of Echoes.”

He paused for dramatic effect, sweeping his gaze across the room. “You will be sent in pairs into the valley beyond the Blackwater Morass. The region is known for its magical instability—illusions, shifting terrain, and atmospheric anomalies that will test your senses and your sanity.”

A nervous murmur broke out. The Blackwater Morass was dangerous enough on its own; venturing into the magically volatile valley beyond it was a death sentence for the unprepared.

He enjoys this, Tairn’s voice rumbled in my mind, a low thrum of ancient annoyance. The small ones always relish the fear of others.

I mentally agreed, my stomach twisting into a knot.

“Pairs will be assigned based on our assessment of your complementary strengths and weaknesses,” Cadwell continued, his eyes landing on me. A cold dread began to seep into my veins. He wouldn’t. Not publicly. “We believe certain pairings will offer… unique synergies.”

My breath caught. I felt a hundred pairs of eyes turn in my direction. I kept my gaze fixed on Cadwell, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

“Our first pair will be selected to test a theory regarding the mating bond between dragons,” he announced, the malicious glee in his voice now unmistakable. My heart hammered against my ribs. I knew what was coming. I felt it like the drop in pressure before a storm. “A bond as powerful as the one between Tairneanach and Sgaeyl should be explored for its tactical advantages.”

He looked directly at me, the smirk widening into a predatory grin. “Cadet Sorrengail.”

The name hung in the air, a verdict. I could feel the heat of a thousand stares.

“You will be paired with Wing Leader Riorson.”

The silence in the hall was absolute, broken only by the frantic pounding of my own blood in my ears. It wasn't a test. It was a punishment. A public declaration that I was being thrown to the son of the man who led the rebellion, the man who hated me simply for being my mother’s daughter. Across the hall, I finally let my eyes find his. Xaden Riorson’s face was a mask of infuriating calm, but I saw it—the flicker of something dark and dangerous in the depths of his onyx eyes. He didn’t look surprised. He looked ready.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Tairn snarled, his rage a roaring inferno in my head. They are tethering me to that brute’s rider. The indignity.

The indignity was the least of my problems. Cadwell had just handed Xaden Riorson a golden opportunity to finish what his father started, and the entire college was going to watch him do it.

The briefing dismissed, but I remained frozen on the bench, the echo of Xaden’s name linked with mine reverberating through me. My anger was a hot, sharp thing, eclipsing the chronic ache in my joints. I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the protest from my hip, and scanned the departing crowd. He was already gone.

Of course he was.

I knew where to find him. The sparring quadrant was his domain, a place where he could assert the dominance that was his birthright and his burden. My boots hit the stone floor with purpose as I marched out of the hall and toward the open-air training grounds. The afternoon sun did nothing to warm the cold fury coiling in my gut.

He planned this, Silver One, Tairn grumbled, his thoughts a dark counterpoint to my own. Sgaeyl is… smug. She enjoys her rider’s manipulations.

“I know,” I muttered under my breath, earning a strange look from a passing first-year.

The quadrant was loud with the clang of steel and the grunts of exertion. And there he was. He was shirtless, his back to me, sweat glistening on the intricate rebellion relic that snaked over his shoulder and down his arm. He moved with a lethal grace, disarming his opponent with an efficient, almost lazy twist of his wrist. He wasn't even trying.

I didn’t wait for him to finish. I strode onto the mat, my short stature no match for his imposing presence, but my anger made me feel ten feet tall. “You,” I said, my voice tight and low.

He turned, his dark eyes landing on me. The cadet he’d been sparring with wisely backed away, melting into the growing crowd of spectators. A hush fell over our corner of the quadrant. Everyone wanted to see the fallout from Cadwell’s announcement.

Xaden raised a single, arrogant eyebrow. He didn't bother to pick up his shirt, standing there in just his leather breeches, a living embodiment of everything I was supposed to fear. “Sorrengail.”

“Don’t you ‘Sorrengail’ me,” I snapped, taking a step closer. I had to crane my neck to look up at him, and I hated it. “You did this. You arranged this. Did you pull strings with Cadwell? Threaten him? How did you convince him to pair us up?”

His face remained an infuriatingly blank canvas. There was no flicker of guilt, no hint of triumph. Just a calm, steady watchfulness that made my skin prickle.

“You give me too much credit,” he said, his voice a low baritone that vibrated through the space between us. “And you give Cadwell too little. He hates you far more than he fears me.”

“He hates you, too. He hates all the marked ones. This is a punishment for both of us, but it’s one you wanted. A chance to get me alone, somewhere out of sight, where no one will see when you—”

“When I what?” he interrupted, his voice dropping even lower. He took a step toward me, erasing the distance I had just created. I held my ground, refusing to be intimidated, even as my heart hammered against my ribs. He was so close now I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “Finish what my father started? Is that what you think this is about?” His eyes bored into mine. “If I wanted you dead, Violet, I would have managed it before now.”

He used my first name, and the sound of it on his lips was a violation. It was too familiar, too intimate. A flush of heat crept up my neck, a mixture of anger and something else I refused to name.

His heart rate is steady, Tairn supplied, an unwelcome observation. He is not lying.

“Then what is this?” I demanded, my voice barely a whisper.

“This,” Xaden said, his gaze unwavering, “is a death trap. Cadwell doesn't care which one of us dies, as long as at least one of us does. He gets to eliminate either a Sorrengail or a Riorson. For him, it’s a win-win.” He paused, letting the grim reality of his words sink in. “We can stand here and argue about how we got here, or we can figure out a way to walk out of that valley alive. Because like it or not, for the next week, my survival depends on you. And yours, even more so, depends on me.”

His logic was a cold splash of water on my fiery anger, extinguishing it and leaving behind a chilling dread. He was right. Every word was the absolute, terrifying truth. He wasn't the immediate threat. The Gauntlet was. And he was, impossibly, my only hope of surviving it. The stares from the other cadets felt heavy, their curiosity a tangible weight. I was standing in the middle of the sparring quadrant, having a life-or-death strategy session with the man I was born to hate, and the whole world was watching.

I swallowed my pride, which tasted remarkably like ash, and gave him a stiff nod. “The library. In an hour.”

He inclined his head, a silent agreement, before turning to retrieve his discarded shirt. I didn't wait to watch him put it on. I turned on my heel and walked away, the weight of a hundred pairs of eyes following me out of the quadrant.

An hour later, I had claimed a secluded table in the farthest corner of the archives, the scent of old paper and dust a familiar comfort. I’d gathered every resource I could find: geological surveys of the valley from before the Unification, scrolls detailing magical atmospheric phenomena, and even a banned text on illusionary magic I’d sweet-talked a Scribe attendant into fetching for me. When Xaden arrived, he moved with a silent confidence that was completely at odds with the library’s hushed reverence. He didn't speak, just pulled out the chair opposite me and waited, his dark eyes watching me expectantly.

“The Gauntlet is designed to disorient and separate,” I began, forcing myself to meet his gaze. I unrolled a large, hand-drawn map of the valley, weighting the corners with thick books. “Cadwell expects us to be picked off by the terrain or by each other. He doesn’t expect a plan.”

I tapped a finger on the map. “The primary threat isn't the shifting ground; it’s the magical illusions. They’re tied to atmospheric pressure changes. According to this text, the whispers and visions are strongest when the air is heavy and damp.” I slid a meteorological chart across the table. “Based on these patterns, we can anticipate the periods of highest risk and find shelter before they hit. We travel when the air is clear.”

I laid out the route, a careful path that followed a ridge of ancient, stable bedrock, avoiding the most volatile zones I’d cross-referenced from the surveys. It was a brilliant plan, born from hours of research, and I knew it. I expected him to be dismissive, to find some fault in my Scribe-based logic.

Instead, he leaned forward, his focus entirely on the map. His proximity sent a jolt of awareness through me, the space between us shrinking until I could smell the clean, sharp scent of soap and leather on his skin. He studied my proposed route for a long, silent minute, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“This is good,” he said finally, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate right through the oak table. He looked up, and for a second, I saw a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes before his mask of indifference slipped back into place. “It’s thorough. You’ve planned for the environment.” He paused, his finger tracing a line on the map, his nail coming to rest perilously close to mine. “But you haven’t planned for the proctors.”

I frowned. “The proctors are just there to observe.”

“Cadwell isn’t a proctor, he’s a predator. He won’t just watch us fail; he’ll help us along.” Xaden’s gaze was intense, holding mine captive. “Your route is the safest. It’s also the most obvious. He’ll expect it. He’ll have traps waiting along that entire ridge.”

My defensiveness flared. “It’s the most logical path—”

“Which is why we can’t take it.” He didn’t raise his voice, but his words were absolute. He moved his finger from the ridge down into a deep ravine I had marked as highly unstable. “We go this way. Through the heart of the instability.”

“That’s suicide,” I said, my voice sharp. “The illusions will be constant. The ground itself is described as ‘ethereally fluid.’”

“Exactly,” he countered, a spark of something sharp and intelligent lighting his eyes. “Cadwell will never expect us to choose the most dangerous path. He’ll have his traps concentrated on the safe route, leaving this one relatively clear. We won’t be avoiding the magic, Violet. We’ll be using it as cover.”

He was right. Annoyingly, infuriatingly, he was right. My plan was academically sound, but it was naïve. It didn't account for the human element—for Cadwell’s malice. Xaden’s plan was bolder, riskier, and strategically superior. He saw the board from a different angle, not just as a scholar, but as a warrior. A leader.

The brute’s rider thinks in a straight line, but it is a brutally effective line, Tairn admitted, his thought a reluctant rumble in my mind.

I stared at the map, at the safe path I had so carefully plotted and the deadly ravine he was proposing. My strategy and his, combined, formed a complete picture. One without the other was a liability. Together… together, they might actually work.

“Fine,” I conceded, the word feeling like a stone in my throat. “We take the ravine. But we do it my way. We still monitor the pressure, we still rest when the illusions are at their peak. We use your route, but my timing.”

A slow, small smile touched the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t a smirk; it was something else. Something that felt dangerously close to approval. “A sound strategy, Sorrengail.”

We spent the next hour hunched over the table, our heads close together as we refined the details. His sharp, practical insights strengthened my research-based theories, and my knowledge of the lore behind the magic gave him tools to anticipate its behavior. The animosity between us didn’t disappear, but it was overshadowed by a grudging, electric synergy. It was intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure. We were a good team. And that, more than anything, felt like the most dangerous trap of all.

We packed up in silence, the fragile truce between us hanging in the dusty air. The map was rolled, the books returned to their shelves. For a single, unsettling hour, we hadn't been a Sorrengail and a Riorson. We had been two strategists, two partners. As we walked out of the archives and into the main hall of the library, the illusion shattered.

Dain was standing there, positioned directly in our path as if he’d been waiting. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his handsome face was tight with a familiar, suffocating concern. His gaze flickered from me to Xaden, his jaw clenched.

“Violet,” he said, his voice sharp, pointedly ignoring the man beside me. “I need to talk to you.”

“We’re finished for the day,” Xaden answered before I could, his tone flat and dismissive. He made a subtle motion for me to walk around Dain, but Dain stepped to the side, blocking us again.

“This is for her own good,” Dain insisted, his eyes finally landing on Xaden with pure contempt. “You can’t trust him, Vi. You know who he is. What his father did.”

A hot flare of irritation went through me. I hated being talked about as if I weren't standing right there, caught between two opposing forces of nature. “Dain, I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” His voice softened, but it was the kind of softness that grated, laced with condescension. “He’s manipulating you. This partnership—it’s a trap. He’ll wait until you’re deep in the valley, where no one can see, and he’ll leave you for dead. Or worse.” His gaze was pleading, but his words felt like chains, trying to lock me into the role of the fragile girl he needed to protect.

I opened my mouth to argue, to tell him that Xaden’s logic, however brutal, made a terrifying amount of sense, but Xaden moved first.

He took a half-step forward, placing himself just slightly in front of me. The move was subtle, but it was a clear claim of territory. “Her survival is my priority,” Xaden said, his voice dangerously quiet. “She’s my partner. It’s my responsibility to get her through the Gauntlet, not yours.” He held Dain’s gaze, and the air between them crackled with unspoken threats. “You should be more concerned with the instructors who sanctioned this, rather than the rider who is going to make sure she walks out of it alive.”

And then he did something that stopped the breath in my lungs.

As he finished speaking, he reached back, his hand landing firmly on the small of my back. His touch was a brand, the heat of his palm seeping through the thin fabric of my tunic, sinking straight into my skin. It wasn't gentle. It was possessive, definitive. A silent declaration. She is with me.

A sharp, unwelcome jolt shot up my spine, a current of pure electricity that made every nerve ending stand at attention. My body went rigid. It was the furthest thing from a comforting gesture. It was a claim, an act of ownership in front of the man who had always tried to own my choices. And the most terrifying part was the flicker of traitorous security I felt under his touch. For a split second, the world narrowed to the solid pressure of his hand against my back, a steady anchor in the storm of Dain’s suffocating worry and my own fear.

“We’re leaving,” Xaden said, the words a low command. He applied the slightest pressure, guiding me forward, and my feet moved before my brain could protest.

I was too stunned to speak, my thoughts scrambled by the potent combination of his proximity and the searing imprint of his hand. We walked past Dain, whose face was a mask of fury and disbelief. I didn't look back. I couldn't. All I could feel was the steady, burning heat of Xaden’s touch, guiding me out of the library and into a future that felt more dangerous than ever. He didn't remove his hand until we were clear of the heavy oak doors, and when he did, the skin on my back felt cold, exposed, and branded all at once.