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"Frequently."

I take it. He pulls me up. This time I don't stumble.

Progress. We gather weapons. At the door, I stop.

"One more question."

"No."

"You don't even know what it is."

"That's why."

"Favorite season."

Rhyven looks exhausted by me personally. "Summer."

I blink. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

He opens the door. "Tomorrow."

I stare. "That's cheating."

"Sleep." He walks out. I follow.

At the third-floor corridor, we separate. Room Three-Zero-Four. Three-Zero-Five. He reaches his door. I reach mine. Then remember something.

"Rhyven." He looks back. "Did you eat dinner?" Silence. I narrow my eyes.

He sighs. "Yes."

"Actual food?"

"Yes."

"Not an apple?"

"No."

I smile. "Good." His expression does that strange little thing again. Unsettled. Only for a second.

Then— "Go to bed."

"Yes, Chief."

Inside, Nyra is asleep. Thank gods. No commentary. No questions. I change. Lie down. And for once, I don't think about the almost-kiss. Or his mouth. Or the training mat. Not first. I think about twelve-year-old Rhyven throwing up in front of Vyrael. His mother's terrible venison. A stupid tattoo from a dare with Caelen. The fact that he hates sweet food. The way he said silence would be worse now. Small things. Normal things. Things that make him feel less like Chief Corvell. Less like the impossible man everyone watches. More like Rhyven.

Outside, Varethia remains quiet. Ten days now. Almost the same length as the historical silence. No bells. No missing names. No messages from other kingdoms. Nothing. And maybe tomorrow will make eleven. Maybe twelve. Maybe twenty. For once I let the uncertainty stay outside my room.

Chapter Forty-seven

Eleven. That's the first thing I think when I wake. Not Rhyven. Not training. Not breakfast. Eleven. I lie beneath the blankets and stare at the ceiling. The room is dark except for the faint morning light beginning to crawl beneath the curtains. Nyra is still asleep. The Academy is quiet. Normal quiet. Not four-bell quiet. No footsteps running through the corridor.

No voices outside our door. No alarms. Nothing. Eleven days. The exact length of silence recorded before disappearances began in Elarion more than a century ago. I wait for the number to feel like something. It doesn't. Maybe that's worse.