just us two

The mountain air of Aretia was thin, biting, and smelled perpetually of cedar and dragon fire. For Elea Winslow, it was a drastic change from the humid, suffocating tension of Basgiath, but the politics here were proving to be just as poisonous.

She stood in the center of the training courtyard, her boots crunching on the frost-dusted stone. Across from her, Catriona Cordella was adjusting the leather straps of her flier gear with a deliberate, agonizing slowness. Cat was, by all accounts, breathtaking. Even in the utilitarian tunic of a Poromish flier, she looked like she was posing for a royal portrait. Her black hair was pulled into a perfect, sleek braid that rested over her shoulder, and her large brown eyes held a simmer of aristocratic disdain that Elea found increasingly difficult not to punch.

"You’re staring, Winslow," Cat said, her voice smooth and sharp, like silk over a blade. "I know I’m a far more interesting sight than your little friend Sorrengail, but try to focus. We wouldn’t want you to trip over your own feet."

Elea felt the familiar spark of irritation ignite in her chest. She adjusted her stance, her hazel eyes narrowing. "I’m not staring, Cordella. I’m wondering how long it takes to maintain that level of arrogance when you’re currently a refugee in a city that doesn't want you."

Cat’s lips curled into a cold, beautiful smile. She stepped forward, the air around her beginning to hum. As an emotion projector, Cat didn't just speak; she broadcasted. Elea felt a wave of sudden, irrational insecurity wash over her—a phantom feeling that she didn't belong here, that she was a fraud.

Elea didn't flinch. Instead, she reached inward, tapping into the cold void of her own power. She didn't have to try hard; the nullification came to her like a long-lost breath. The wave of insecurity hit an invisible wall three feet from her body and vanished.

Cat’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, her brow twitching. "Whatever you're doing, it's rude."

"So is trying to manipulate my head," Elea retorted. "Let’s go. I have a shift at the lookout in an hour, and I’d rather spend it with a grumpy dragon than you."

They didn't wait for a signal. Cat moved with the grace of a dancer, spinning to the side and launching a high kick that Elea barely blocked with her forearm. The impact was solid. Cat wasn't just a noblewoman with a crown-shaped hole in her heart; she was trained.

Elea countered with a swift jab to the ribs, which Cat parried with a grunt. They circled each other, a blur of dark hair and flying limbs. The courtyard was full of other mixed squads—riders and fliers trying to find a rhythm—but the space around Elea and Cat had cleared. The sheer vitriol radiating from them was enough to keep even the bravest third-years at bay.

"You know," Cat panted, ducking under Elea’s swing and attempting to sweep her legs, "I find it fascinating how you follow Violet around like a loyal hound. Does Xaden give you treats for guarding his little prize?"

Elea’s blood boiled. She caught Cat’s shoulder, spinning her around and slamming her against a wooden training post. "Violet is worth ten of you. She didn't need a marriage contract to prove her value."

Cat’s eyes flashed with a predatory light. She used the momentum to drive her knee into Elea’s thigh, forcing her to release her grip. "Value? She’s a fragile little thing who stumbled into a revolution she doesn't understand. I was prepared for this life. I was prepared to lead."

"You were prepared to be a trophy," Elea spat, wiping a smear of blood from her lip. "There’s a difference."

Cat screamed in frustration, abandoning form for raw aggression. She lunged, her nails grazing Elea’s cheek, drawing thin lines of red. Elea roared, tackling Cat to the ground. They tumbled across the stones, a chaotic mess of elbows and knees. Cat managed to get on top, her hands flying to Elea’s throat, her face contorted with a rage that was finally, blissfully honest.

"I lost everything!" Cat hissed, her voice trembling. "My future, my throne, my security! And you stand there with your noble 'justice' acting like I'm the villain for wanting what was promised to me!"

Elea gripped Cat’s wrists, her knuckles white. "You think you’re the only one who lost something? We’re all one mistake away from being burned alive, Cat. Get over your crown and start worrying about your life."

Before Cat could respond, a shadow fell over them. A shadow so dark and heavy it felt like the mountain itself had moved.

"Enough!"

The voice was a thunderclap. Xaden Riorson stood at the edge of the mat, his expression unreadable but his aura radiating enough lethal intent to stop a heart. Beside him, Violet looked pale, her eyes darting between her friend and her boyfriend’s ex-fiancée.

Cat didn't move immediately. She stared down at Elea, her chest heaving, a single tear of pure fury shimmering in her eye. Elea stared back, her hazel eyes flat and defiant, her power still humming, keeping Cat’s emotional influence at bay.

"Get up. Both of you," Xaden commanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous low.

Cat climbed off Elea, smoothing her tunic with trembling hands, her regal mask snapping back into place, though it was cracked at the edges. Elea stood more slowly, ignoring the ache in her hip and the sting on her cheek.

"She started it," Cat said, the lie rolling off her tongue with practiced ease.

"I don't care who started it," Xaden said, stepping into the space between them. He looked at Elea, his gaze lingering on the scratches on her face. "Winslow, walk away. Now. If I see you two within ten feet of each other for the rest of the day, you’ll both be pulling double guard duty on the southern peaks. In the snow."

Elea didn't argue. She gave Cat one last, lingering look of disgust and walked toward Violet.

"Are you okay?" Violet whispered, reaching out to touch Elea’s arm.

"I'm fine," Elea said, her voice tight. "She’s just... exhausting."

---

The cruelty of the universe, or perhaps just the cruelty of the assembly, became apparent two hours later.

Elea stood in the hallway of the newly renovated barracks, staring at the heavy wooden door in front of her. Then, she turned slowly to look at the door directly across the narrow hall.

Catriona Cordella was standing there, a key in her hand, looking equally horrified.

"You have got to be joking," Cat whispered, her voice echoing in the stone corridor.

"It appears the gods have a twisted sense of humor," Elea said, leaning her back against her door. "Or Xaden is punishing us."

Cat let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Xaden doesn't have the imagination for this kind of psychological torture. This has the Council’s fingerprints all over it. 'Integration,' they call it. Forcing us to breathe the same air until we either bond or kill each other."

"I'm leaning toward the latter," Elea muttered.

She watched Cat for a moment. Up close, without the heat of battle, the flier looked smaller. Still beautiful, still sharp, but there was a weariness in the slump of her shoulders that she clearly tried to hide. Cat noticed the scrutiny and stiffened, her chin tilting up.

"Don't look at me like I'm a specimen, Winslow."

"I was just wondering," Elea said, her voice dropping its combative edge for the first time, "if you ever get tired of it."

Cat paused, her hand on the iron latch of her door. "Tired of what?"

"Being 'on.' The hair, the attitude, the constant projection of perfection. It seems like a lot of work for a place that’s basically a fortress under siege."

Cat’s eyes darkened. "It’s not work. It’s who I am. Some of us weren't born with the luxury of being 'natural,' Elea. Some of us had to build ourselves stone by stone so the world wouldn't crush us."

She pushed her door open, but before she stepped inside, she looked back. "And for the record, I don't hate you because of Violet. I don't even know you. I hate you because you look at me and see a girl who lost a boy, when I’m a woman who lost a kingdom. You don't know the weight of that."

The door slammed shut, leaving Elea alone in the dim hallway.

Elea stood there for a long time, the silence of the mountain pressing in on her. She thought of Clainei, her massive green dragon, resting in the vale. Clainei often told her that humans spent too much time sharpening their tongues when they should be sharpening their claws.

"She’s not wrong," Elea whispered to the empty hall. "I don't know that weight."

She went into her own room, which was sparse and cold. She didn't light a fire. She just sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the muffled sounds of Cat moving around in the room across the hall.

The next morning was worse.

The mess hall was a sea of tension. The riders sat on one side, the fliers on the other, a visible rift that no amount of shared trauma seemed able to bridge. Elea sat with Rhiannon and Ridoc, trying to ignore the way Cat was holding court at a nearby table, her laughter sounding like breaking glass.

"She’s looking at you," Ridoc whispered, shoving a spoonful of porridge into his mouth.

"I know," Elea said, not looking up.

"No, I mean she’s looking at you. Like she’s trying to set you on fire with her mind."

Elea glanced over. Cat wasn't laughing anymore. She was watching Elea with a strange, calculating expression. When their eyes met, Cat didn't look away. She raised her tin cup in a mock toast, her lips twisting into that infuriating, beautiful smirk.

"We have the dawn patrol together," Elea realized, her heart sinking.

"Good luck with that," Rhiannon said sympathetically. "Try not to throw her off the mountain. We actually need the fliers."

"No promises," Elea grumbled.

The patrol was, predictably, a nightmare. The wind was howling, and the clouds were so thick that Elea could barely see Clainei’s wings through the mist. Cat was flying nearby on her griffon, the creature’s feathers ruffled by the gale.

For two hours, they didn't speak. They circled the jagged peaks of the Cordomet Mountains, eyes peeled for any sign of wyvern or venin. The silence was almost worse than the arguing. It was heavy with everything they weren't saying.

Suddenly, Clainei let out a low, vibrating growl in Elea’s mind. Something is wrong, little one. The air... it tastes of rot.

Elea sat up straighter in her saddle. "Cat! Do you see that?"

She pointed toward a dark cluster in the clouds a mile to the north. Cat steered her griffon closer, her eyes squinting. "It’s too small for a dragon. Too fast."

"Wyvern," Elea breathed.

"Just two of them," Cat noted, her voice surprisingly steady. "Scouts."

"We should head back and report," Elea said, but even as she said it, she knew they wouldn't make it. The wyvern had spotted them. They dived, their leathery wings snapping in the wind, their glowing blue eyes cutting through the gray mist.

"We can't outrun them in this wind," Cat shouted over the roar of the storm. "We have to take them."

Elea felt a surge of adrenaline. "I’ll take the one on the left. You take the right?"

"Don't tell me what to do, Rider," Cat snapped, but she was already drawing her daggers, her griffon shrieking a battle cry.

The fight was a blur of scales and talons. Elea worked in tandem with Clainei, the dragon’s green fire lighting up the sky. But the wyvern were agile, and the wind was working against them. Elea saw Cat’s griffon take a hit to the wing, sending them spiraling toward a narrow ledge.

"Cat!" Elea screamed.

She dove. Clainei protested, the maneuver dangerous in the gusting winds, but Elea pushed her. They reached the ledge just as Cat was scrambling off her downed griffon, her daggers drawn against the wyvern that was landing in front of her.

Elea jumped from the saddle before Clainei had even fully landed. She hit the ground running, her power flared out. She couldn't kill the wyvern with her gift, but she could feel the dark, unnatural energy powering the beast.

As the wyvern lunged for Cat, Elea threw herself forward, slamming her hand against the creature’s cold, scaly leg. She pushed her power to the limit, not just nullifying a gift, but trying to snuff out the magical tether that animated the dead thing.

The wyvern stumbled, its movements suddenly sluggish and jerky. Cat didn't waste the second. She leapt, driving both of her daggers into the soft tissue beneath the creature’s jaw. Blue fire erupted from the wounds, and the beast collapsed, its light fading.

Silence returned to the ledge, save for the heavy breathing of the two women.

Cat stood over the carcass, her face splattered with blue ichor. She looked at Elea, who was still kneeling on the ground, her hands shaking from the effort of the nullification.

"You... you stopped it," Cat whispered.

"I slowed it down," Elea corrected, standing up and brushing the snow from her leathers. "Are you hurt?"

Cat looked at her griffon, which was standing shakily, its wing bleeding but intact. Then she looked at Elea. The aristocratic mask was gone. In its place was something raw and startled.

"Why did you jump?" Cat asked. "You could have stayed in the air. You could have let the mountain have me."

Elea wiped a smudge of blue blood from her forehead. "Because we're in the same squad, you idiot. And because I’d never hear the end of it from Xaden if I let his ex-fiancée get eaten on my watch."

Cat blinked, and then, to Elea’s utter shock, she laughed. It wasn't the sharp, performative laugh from the mess hall. It was a real, tired sound.

"You really are insufferable," Cat said, sheathing her daggers.

"Back at you," Elea replied.

They stood there for a moment, two girls who had lost worlds, standing on a ledge at the end of the world.

"My room is still better than yours," Cat said as they prepared to remount. "The light is better for reading."

Elea rolled her eyes, climbing back onto Clainei. "It’s the exact same layout, Cat."

"Mine has a better soul," Cat insisted, though there was no heat in it.

As they flew back toward Aretia, the sun began to break through the clouds, casting long, golden shadows over the peaks. They weren't friends. They weren't even allies yet. But as Elea looked over at the dark-haired flier soaring beside her, she realized that for the first time, she didn't feel like she was looking at a rival.

She was looking at a survivor. And in Aretia, that was the only currency that mattered.