Chapter Text
It takes Violet three days to figure out how to get into the staff lounges. She has to surreptitiously observe the entrance to each lounge between classes and combat training in order to determine their busiest times, which takes some legwork regarding suitable excuses to prevent Rhiannon and Ridoc from being too nosy, but somehow she manages. She’s delighted to discover that her initial fear that the lounges are locked magically is unfounded; she finds that they have mechanical locks so as not to discriminate against any staff who are not riders. But the next part of her plan is much trickier than simple observation and deduction.
She has to visit the armory and either request or steal a lockpicking set.
Violet checks through the Codex for what feels like the hundredth time since the General signed her death warrant seven months ago, and there’s nothing in it that explicitly forbids lockpicks from being part of a rider’s rucksack kit. However, given the fact that fifty percent of cadets do not survive their first year, and are most often killed by their peers in secret, she worries that requesting such a thing will flag her as a person of interest to leadership, which is the absolute last thing she wants. Riorson cannot see her as a threat in any capacity, or he could do something drastic in the name of vengeance, all the while claiming he’s simply disciplining her as her wingleader.
She doesn’t even want to think about what Dain would say if he finds out she’s contemplating petty theft. He’s always been a stickler for the rules, which comes with the territory when Colonel Aetos is one’s father. Countless times when they were kids, he didn’t hesitate to rat Violet out whenever they got into mischief together and were inevitably caught. It wasn’t a big deal when they were younger, since most of said mischief was harmless in the long run, but now that they’re both in the Rider Quadrant and he’s proven to not have Violet’s best interests at heart, things have become more complicated.
But Violet has gotten much better at outsmarting others, and she’s fairly confident she can spin the narrative in her favor with the head blacksmith. Mira had already told Violet to seek him out if she needed help with her braces, and that’s exactly what Violet plans to do.
On Fridays Violet has a couple hours of free time between lunch and group sparring, so she takes the opportunity to visit the Citadel’s armory. Similar to the gymnasium, the armory is located underneath the Citadel, only it’s to the north instead of the west. Violet takes another staircase leading below the courtyard and follows a large, well-lit tunnel that brings her directly to the armory and connected forge. Quite a few locked storerooms line the other side of the tunnel, all most likely holding weapons, rider leathers, and supplies for the forge.
Violet heads into the armory without hesitation, mentally constructing the story she’ll present to the head blacksmith.
“Afternoon, cadet,” comes a gruff voice as soon as she walks through the heavy metal doors. A burly, barrel-chested man wearing an apron smudged with oil and ashes nods at her from behind a large table covered in weapons schematics. “Not many first-years find me ‘til the challenges start and they need their weapons sharpened. What can I do for you today?”
“Hello,” Violet smiles, glancing around at the impressive space. Racks of weapons and armor surround the room, and several other worktables are positioned throughout the area, topped with display cases or tools. “My name is Violet Sorrengail. I’m here to see Aengus?”
“You’ve found him,” the man chortles. He steps around his table, revealing a metal prosthetic replacement where his right leg should be. The metal thunks against the stone floor as he snags a spare cloth to wipe his hands before approaching Violet and offering one to shake. She obliges, and while his skin is noticeably rough from all the calluses on his palms, his grip is gentle over her hand braces. “Sorrengail, eh? Your sister sent me a letter not too long ago. That why you’re here?”
“Partially, yes,” Violet answers. “But the more pressing issue is that I need some tools.”
Aengus raises an eyebrow at her. “What kind of tools?”
“Specifically, a lockpicking kit.” She looks up at him warily.
Aengus’ bushy mustache twitches in disbelief. “And what would you need one of those for?”
Violet shifts her balance and pulls several of her metal salt tubes out of her pockets. She opens her palm to show them to Aengus and silently prays that he believes the lie she’s about to feed him.
“I need to keep salt handy to regulate my blood pressure, but sometimes it’s hard for me to get the tubes open without something to use as leverage. I don’t want to use a knife in case it slips and cuts open my finger, so I thought the lockpicking tools would be a good alternative.” She grins a bit more confidently at him. “Plus, a rider can never be too prepared.”
Fortunately, this prompts a laugh out of the towering blacksmith. “Right you are, cadet! Always better to have more weapons than you need.” He takes a closer look at the small salt tubes and then turns toward a cabinet against the wall opposite them. “And should I ask how a Sorrengail learned to use a lockpicking set?”
Violet’s grin widens. “I read a lot.”
Aengus snorts. “A rider who reads, who would’ve expected that? You hoping to outsmart one of those dragons?”
“No, sir, just the people who ride them.”
The blacksmith cackles merrily, “Well, I look forward to hearing about it! And lucky for you, I should have a kit lying around here somewhere.”
After a minute or so of rifling through the inside, Aengus pulls out a small, leatherbound lockpicking kit. He crosses the armory again to hand it over to Violet.
“Go on and give one of those a try.”
Violet pulls out one of the flatter picks and inserts it under the seam of one of the tube lids. Carefully, she lifts the pick and pops the lid off.
“It’s perfect, thank you,” she says as she replaces the pick and the lid to their proper places.
“You’re welcome.” Aengus jots something down in a large logbook and waves her over. “Now just sign here for me, would you? So I can keep track of my inventory.”
She does as requested, her eyes quickly catching on the many signatures on the lines above hers.
Seems like the armory keeps a record of every item request, just like Ba Sgiath’s Library does. Good to know.
“Your sister mentioned you might be needing repairs on those braces of yours.” Aengus notes as he closes the logbook. “You mind if I take a look at the ones you’ve got on? Just to get an idea of the structure, you see.”
“Oh, no, not at all,” she shakes her head. “Do you have a chair I could sit on?”
Aengus pulls over a chair for her and Violet sits down so she can remove her knee braces and hand them over. Aengus clears off the closest worktable so he can examine the braces closely, measuring and weighing each of them, as well as using a magnifying glass to get a better look at the hinges and screws. He marks down some notes on a piece of parchment, mumbling to himself.
As he works, Violet unfastens her dragon scale vest and removes her back brace, leaving her in only her long-sleeved shirt.
“Alright,” he finally says a few minutes later. “Thank you kindly, cadet. Your sister told me as much as she could about the braces in her letter, but I find it’s always better to take a look at things in person.”
“I understand,” Violet nods in acknowledgement. He gives the knee braces back and she hands him her back brace so he can examine that one too. Once her knee braces are back on, she stands, using the back of the chair to keep her balance, and then places her hand braces on the table where Aengus is measuring her back brace.
As much as she wants to look around at all the weapons and armor while Aengus works, her lack of braces and protective vest mean she’s entirely too vulnerable at the moment, so she resolves to stay seated, keeping the doors in her line of sight and her hand close to the knife sheathed on her thigh. She maintains one eye on Aengus and one eye on the doors until he finally finishes.
“All set,” Aengus tells her as he cradles her hand braces in his much larger palms. She thanks him once he returns them and slips the braces back on her fingers before repositioning her back brace in alignment with her spine. Once her vest is back on and securely fastened, her nerves settle.
“I have other braces that are more restrictive,” Violet explains. “But I only wear those when I sleep.”
“I’ll make a note of that.” Aengus jots something down on his parchment. “And now that I have a better idea of how your braces work, I’ll be able to fix them should they get damaged. I don’t think this is something any of the apprentices could handle yet though, so if they do need fixing, don’t give them to anyone but me.”
“Understood. Thank you, Aengus.”
“Just doing my job, cadet. Now you run along and get to outfoxing those lizard lovers upstairs!”
Violet laughs and waves goodbye before heading out so she can get ready for group sparring. She actually runs into Ridoc as she’s passing by the entrance to the Rotunda.
“Violet!” Her squadmate calls out to grab her attention. He throws his arm around her when he gets close enough, but unlike when Rhiannon does it he bears all his body weight down onto her in a mock chokehold while she’s unprepared, and it sends them both tumbling down onto the cobblestones.
“Oh shit—”
“Ow, Ridoc!”
He bursts into laughter and rolls off of her, so the both of them are sprawled out in the middle of the courtyard. Other riders and cadets pass them by, hardly giving them a second glance.
“Sorry, sorry,” Ridoc gasps out, but he’s still laughing too hard to even look remotely contrite.
Violet punches whichever of his body parts is closest to her. Her right leg and hip sting with pain from taking the brunt of the impact against the stones. She’s going to have some hellish bruises from this.
“Fuck you,” Violet groans, shifting onto her back and squinting into the afternoon sun. The abrupt change in gravity makes her dizzy.
“My fault,” Ridoc clutches his abdomen as he recovers his composure. “I’m sorry. Didn’t realize you had such weak knees, you’re like a baby deer—”
She punches him again, which prompts another round of laughter. It’s contagious though, because Violet has to fight back a smile.
“Don’t do that again,” she warns him. “…Bastard.”
“Aw, don’t be like that,” Ridoc simpers. “It was an accident!”
“If we get paired up during group sparring, I’m putting my foot up your ass.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Violet opens her mouth to fire off another snappy retort, but before she can say anything, a shadow falls over her as something blocks out the beaming afternoon sun. She squints, blinking at the sudden shade, and tilts her head back slightly, very careful not to overextend her neck.
Only to find Riorson looming over her, a distinctly unimpressed look on his face.
Wow, perfect, Violet thinks sarcastically. Just who I want to see. Gods, why does he always find me in awful situations?
Her mind jumps back to the last time she interacted with her wingleader, which was when she and Dain were fighting in the Rotunda. Embarrassment prickles along her skin, both at the memory of their last encounter and the fact that he’s currently witnessing her sprawled on the ground like some weak, clumsy child.
“Cadets,” Riorson says flatly. “Explain why you’re lying on the ground.”
“Oh, didn’t you know?” Ridoc says, lacing his hands behind his head and crossing his ankles so it looks like he’s lounging on a bed. “Reports say cobblestones are even more comfortable than standard issue bedrolls. We were just fact-checking. Never hurts to do your own research.”
Violet presses her lips together to prevent herself from bursting into hysterical giggles.
“And what did this research reveal?” Riorson asks, tone still deceptively cool.
“That those were some shitty reports,” Ridoc answers brightly. “But don’t take my word for it—you should try it out for yourself. Maybe you’d like it.”
“Pass.” Riorson inclines his head. “Both of you, on your feet.”
Ridoc and Violet sit up and push themselves back to standing positions, waiting to see if their wingleader is going to reprimand them. Technically, they haven’t broken any rules, but Violet has no idea how strict Riorson is. Will he bend a rule to get revenge?
Riorson eyes them both for a few moments. Then, he just says, “Don’t be late to group sparring.”
“Yes, sir,” they both respond.
As soon as he’s gone, Ridoc exhales dramatically. “Maybe sleeping on the cobblestones will dislodge that stick up his ass.” He mutters to Violet, who clamps a hand over her mouth to hide her snort of amusement.
“Just go,” she pushes his shoulder, shaking her head, and Ridoc grins widely but follows her nudge toward their dormitory so they can both get ready for sparring.
The first time Violet breaks into the staff lounges is Saturday evening. While most people are partying or otherwise occupied during their down time, Violet leaves her things at her preferred library table, making it look like she just stepped away briefly. She’s careful to leave trivial parchments behind—notes about classes she’s taking, a half-finished draft of an assignment for Rider Doctrine and Decision Making, a list of history topics to go over with Sawyer and Rhiannon—just in case anyone decides to go through her things.
Meanwhile, she slips into the academic building, her lockpicking set clipped to her belt.
She wasn’t lying when she told Aengus she learned how to lockpick from books. She’s learned quite a few things from reading about them and then practicing by herself in her room or in hidden nooks she found throughout Ba Sgiath. After her father’s death, she needed distractions, and a lot of them. So she’s picked up some skills that will no doubt aid her in her quest to survive the Rider Quadrant. Lockpicking is just one of them.
It doesn’t take her long to break into the first lounge. She assumed there wouldn’t be any magical anti-theft wards in place due to non-rider staff also using the lounges, and her assumption is once again correct. She doesn’t light any of the oil lamps, choosing to move throughout the space in darkness in case anyone happens to be passing by. She doesn’t want them to catch light under the door.
The lounge holds nothing out of the ordinary upon first glance, so Violet rounds the area carefully, straining her eyes to see anything that could aid her in the challenges. A selection of small tables fill most of the lounge, alongside a carpeted seating area with two couches and a low table between them against the far wall. Several tea service carts are situated around the room, and small bowls of fruit are placed on some of the tables. A large notice board on one of the walls has parchments and brochures tacked onto it, and maps of Ba Sgiath and Navarre hang beside it.
Two storage bureaus are placed against the wall behind one of the couches. Violet goes through both bureaus, searching for some sort of weapon, but only finds tableware and utensils, as well as spare parchment, quills, and inkpots.
Violet huffs out an exasperated breath. What in the five hells am I looking for? What is it about the lounges that’s so important?
She bites her lip as she considers her next step.
Maybe it’s not in this particular lounge. Maybe it’s in the other one…But then why would Mira mark out the path to both? It has to be something that can be found in both. Or is it something that changes locations between the two?
A few more seconds of deliberation, and Violet nods to herself. Her gaze traverses the lounge one final time, and then she eases the door open, checking the hallway before exiting and locking the door behind her. She heads for the stairs that will take her to the second lounge.
She repeats the same process she just went through, and finds the same results. The second staff lounge has the same setup as the first, and the contents of the bureaus and the maps are the same. Even the parchments tacked to the notice board are the same.
Wait— Violet’s eyes widen. I’m an idiot! The notice boards!
She darts over to the board and frantically scans everything, eyes searching for any notices regarding the challenges. Due to her training as a scribe, she finds what she needs in seconds.
REMINDER
Weekly challenges begin third Monday of August.
Matchups to be posted in advance every Sunday and will take place every Friday during Group Sparring.
Speak with Emetterio about cadet matchup information if relevant. Office hours MWF 15:00-16:00.
Violet’s breath flees from her lungs at the blessing her older sister dropped in her lap. The significance of this information has her swaying in front of the notice board, and Violet readjusts her balance and centers herself, inhaling deeply. She reads the notice again, committing it to memory as a plan begins to percolate in the back of her mind.
Mira wasn’t trying to tell her about a weapon. She was guiding her to something better: information.
Violet knows how she can survive the challenges.
Just to be safe, she skims over the other notices, searching for anything else that would be helpful. Nothing else jumps out at her, so she grabs an apple from one of the fruit bowls before sneaking out. If anyone sees her returning to the library, they’ll think she made a trip to the kitchens to nick something to eat after hours—which is a much smaller infraction compared to breaking into the staff lounges.
But Violet doesn’t encounter anyone on her way back, and Professor Calderwood isn’t even at the front desk of the library. Not a soul is present to witness Violet leaving or returning.
She collapses into her seat, her belongings exactly as she left them, and takes a few moments to calm her racing heart. The apple gets absentmindedly dropped into her rucksack as she focuses on what she needs to do next.
This is definitely something she’s going to be honest with Rhiannon about. Knowing their matchups in advance will be a huge benefit to them both, even with Rhiannon having years of training. Sawyer already has a year in the quadrant under his belt, including his own previous matchups, so she’s not going to worry about helping him with the challenges. And Violet is still not completely sure she can trust Ridoc—not to mention, she doesn’t have any kind of leverage over him like she does with Sawyer—so she’ll refrain from telling her newly acquired knowledge to anyone besides her roommate. Honestly, she’s more concerned with herself and Rhiannon surviving the challenges.
If she can’t decide whether to tell Rhiannon the truth about her apprenticeship, she’ll be honest about other things. And it’s not like it’ll be too difficult to check Rhiannon’s matchup in addition to her own.
Every obstacle within the Citadel is meant to weed out the weak and determine who has the capability of becoming a rider. With this information, Violet can do something to help both Rhiannon and herself not only survive the challenges, but win them.
She starts writing out a new list of ways she can tilt the scales of chance in her favor.
Violet winds up staying in the library later than she originally wanted, getting too caught up in potential plans for the challenges, so it’s quite late by the time she goes back to her dormitory.
Upon entering their shared room, Violet is greeted by the sight of Rhiannon draped across her bed, clad in pajamas and a satin head wrapping, flipping lazily through her Leadership and Ethics textbook. Her friend perks up when she enters.
“Hey! You’re back late.” Rhiannon smiles.
The wariness in Violet’s expression that comes with moving through the Citadel alone melts into excitement as she steps into the safety of their room and drops her things at her desk, the apple rolling out of her bag on impact. Violet turns to face her roommate, and the intense glee in her eyes immediately snags Rhiannon’s full attention.
“What is it?” Rhiannon asks, sitting up in bed. “What happened?”
“I know how we’re going to survive the challenges.”
Rhiannon drops her textbook, her eyes widening. “What? How?”
“It’s all planned! Emetterio plans all the matchups in advance—I think the professors even report to him about potential conflicts between cadets. And then the matchups are posted in the staff lounges every Sunday, with the challenge happening on Friday.” Violet had crossed their room as she spoke rapidly, and now she stands in front of Rhiannon’s lifted bed, her hands gripping the blankets to contain her own sense of triumph. “Just think—if we know who we’re fighting in advance, we can watch them beforehand and figure out how to beat them!”
Her friend gapes at her as she processes the rush of words. “Wait—oh my gods, Violet,” Rhiannon grasps Violet’s hands and leans forward. “Are you serious? How did you even—how do you know this?”
“I broke into the staff lounges and looked at their notice boards!”
“You did what?”
“Mira—my sister, you remember her—she sent me a map to them. Said it would help with the challenges. That’s why I’ve been disappearing this week, I was scouting the lounges to see when they were busiest. And then I had to get a lockpicking kit.” At this point Violet is beginning to ramble, but she can’t help it. This is such an incredible advantage for the both of them, and she’s eager to share it.
This could mark the difference between life and death, because challenges are fought with weapons.
“I was finally able to get in a couple hours ago and that’s when I found the notice about the challenges starting soon. I can break in on Sunday or Monday evenings starting next week, and find out who we’re fighting in advance!”
“Cu Chulainn, Violet,” Rhiannon blinks a few times in shock, but she recovers quickly. A wide grin stretches across her face. “You’re a genius!”
She slides off her bed to properly hug Violet, bouncing on her toes and squeezing her friend tightly. “Gods, I can’t believe you’ve been breaking rules and shit without me!” The two finally separate and Rhiannon places her hands on Violet’s shoulders so they can make direct eye contact. “From now on, I want in on any and all schemes you come up with!”
This declaration startles a laugh from Violet. “What makes you think this is going to be a constant thing?”
Rhiannon quirks an eyebrow at her. “We’ve only been here two weeks and yet you’re already running circles around our professors and busting into locked rooms. You just said you’ll break into the lounges repeatedly! This is absolutely going to be a constant thing, and you’re going to include me!”
Rhiannon shakes Violet just a little and the taller woman raises her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay!” She laughs again. “I’ll include you, promise.”
“Good. So what are your plans for your first matchup? I’d bet money you already have some ideas.”
Violet blanches. “Am I that easy to read?”
Rhiannon winks at her and snags the apple from Violet’s desk, grabbing one of her knives and starting to peel away the skin. “Only to people who are close to you. And considering we are both friends and roommates, that means I’m getting pretty good at it.”
Worry spears through Violet’s gut. In the Rider Quadrant, being too easy to read could get her killed. She trusts Rhiannon over anyone else here—even Dain, which is saying something—but if Rhiannon can see right through her then she needs to work on masking her emotions more.
“Don’t worry,” Rhiannon reassures her, bringing Violet back to the present. “I just have a knack for reading people. I get it from my mother.” Rhiannon drops the spiraling apple peel in the waste bin and cuts the fruit into slices. “You saved my life on the Parapet, you’re helping me with history, and now you’re offering to help with the challenges. I owe you, Violet.”
She holds out a handful of apple slices, and Violet’s heart squeezes.
“I didn’t do any of that so you would feel obligated to me.” She says quietly.
Her heart rate kicks up, and anxiety fizzes through her nerves. Being emotionally vulnerable is hard, and she hasn’t been open with anyone outside of Mira or Director Markham since her father’s death three and a half years ago. But she wants to trust Rhiannon. She wants them to be close. Rhiannon has already shown she doesn’t give a damn about Violet’s illness or her status as General Sorrengail’s daughter. She’s mouthed off to not only their squad leader but also their wingleader in Violet’s defense. She stayed with Violet after she had to be mended in Ba Sgiath’s hospital.
They’ve only known each other for a short time, but being in the Rider Quadrant truly nails home how equally short life can be, and Violet doesn’t have any more time to waste being afraid. Her sole mission now is to survive the Rider Quadrant. Allies are necessary, but friends are even better. It might be terrifying, but that’s no longer a valid justification to let herself sit idle and complacent.
Do it afraid.
Violet places a hand on her desk to steady herself and meets Rhiannon’s gaze, eyes of slate gray meeting ones of umber brown. “I did all of that because you’re my friend.”
Rhiannon smiles in understanding, her eyes soft and warm and honest. She steps forward to press the apple slices into Violet’s hand. “And as your friend, I’m telling you: I’ve got your back.”
Affection clogs Violet’s throat, but she swallows it down so she doesn’t embarrass herself by tearing up. Instead, she sinks to the floor, the cycle of strong emotions she’d undergone within the last few hours finally taking their toll on her knees and ankles, and pats the spot next to her in silent invitation. Without hesitation, Rhiannon follows her lead.
And the two women find themselves on the floor of their shared room, leaning their backs against Violet’s bed frame as they instinctively yet unconsciously perform one of the oldest, most mundane rituals of trust and kinship—sitting side by side and sharing an apple.