Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros Free Chapter 24

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
I move to scoot up the bed so I can sit, but the pain in my arm reminds me
that there was a dagger in it a couple of hours ago. Now it’s bandaged.
“How many stitches?”
“Eleven on one side and nineteen on the other.” He arches a dark brow
and leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You turned oranges
into a weapon, Violence?”
I wiggle to a sitting position and shrug. “I worked with what I had.”
“Seeing as it kept you alive—kept us alive—I can’t really argue, and I’m
not going to ask how it is you always know who you’ll end up challenging.”
There’s definite anger in that gaze but a touch of relief, too. “Telling Ridoc
allowed Emetterio to get him here in time. Unfortunately, he’s five beds
down from you, and he’ll live, unlike the second-year a row over. You
could have killed him and saved us all a lot of drama.”
“I didn’t want to kill him.” I roll my shoulder, testing it. Sore, but not
dislocated. My face is tender, too. “I just wanted him to stop killing me.”
“You should have told me.” The accusation rips from his lips in a snarl.
“And you could have done nothing about it besides make me look weak.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “And you haven’t exactly been around to talk
about anything in weeks. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that kiss scared
you.” Shit. I didn’t mean to say that.
“That’s not up for discussion.” Something flashes in his eyes and is
quickly replaced by a cool mask of indifference.
“Seriously?” I should know better, considering he’s avoided it this long.
“It was a mistake. You and I are going to be stationed together for the rest
of our lives, never able to escape the other. Getting involved—even on a
physical level—is a colossal blunder. No point talking about it.”
I barely keep from clutching at my chest to see if all my organs are where
they’re supposed to be, since it feels like he just eviscerated me with four
sentences. But he had been just as into it as I was. I was there, and there
was no mistaking that kind of…enthusiasm. But maybe it was the churam.
“What if I want to talk about it?”
“Then feel free, but it doesn’t mean I have to be a part of the
conversation. We’re both allowed our boundaries, and this is one of mine.”
The finality in his tone makes my stomach curdle. “I’ll agree that keeping
my distance didn’t work out so well, and if today’s little stunt was about
getting my attention, then congratulations. It’s yours.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I swing my feet to the side of
the bed. I need my boots and to get the hell out of here before I make an
even bigger fool of myself.
“Apparently I can’t trust Liam to report deadly situations or Rhiannon to
train you on the mat, seeing how easily Barlowe had you pinned, so as of
this moment, I’m taking over.”
“Taking over what?” My eyes narrow.
“Everything when it comes to you.”
…
The next day, during what should be our flight hours if not for the howling,
subzero winds outside, Xaden has me on the mat. Fortunately, he has his
shirt on, so I’m not distracted by what I know is under it. No, he’s not only
wearing fighting leathers and boots, he’s strapped to the nines with what
looks to be a dozen different daggers in a dozen different sheaths.
Is it absolutely toxic that I’m attracted to this look on him? Probably. But
one look, and my temperature rises.
“Leave your blades off the mat,” he instructs, and nearly a dozen riders
glance our way from other mats.
At least Liam has been given the time to go train himself a couple of mats
over against Dain—a first. Most of the squads are in here, making use of
the unexpected free time, so thankfully everyone is busy training instead of
watching us.
“But you’re armed.” I glance pointedly to his sheaths.
“You either trust me or you don’t.” He tilts his head to the side slightly,
exposing more of the rebellion relic curving up around his neck. The same
relic I caressed with my hand while he had me against the foundation wall
more than a month ago.
Nope. Not thinking about that.
But my body has no problem remembering.
I blow out my breath in a long sigh and step to the edge of the mat,
unsheathing every dagger I own and the ones I’ve won, then laying them on
the floor.
“I’m unarmed. Happy now?” I turn to face him, putting my arms out. My
long sleeve covers the bandage on my arm, but the throb is insistent.
“Though we probably could have waited a couple of days for my arm to
heal up before doing this.” The stitches pull, but I’ve had worse.
“No.” He shakes his head, unsheathing one of his daggers and walking
forward. “The enemy doesn’t give a shit if you’re wounded. They’ll use it
to their advantage. If you don’t know how to fight in pain, then you’ll get us
both killed.”
“Fine.” I shift my body weight in annoyance. Little does he know, I’m
almost always in pain. It’s pretty much my comfort zone. “That’s actually a
good point, so I’ll let you have it.”
“Thank you for being so gracious.” He smirks, and I ignore the
immediate surge of warmth low in my belly. He flips his palm upward,
showing me the dagger with an oddly short blade. “The problem isn’t
necessarily your fighting style. You’re fast, and you’ve become pretty
damned formidable since August. The problem is you’re using daggers that
are too easy to pluck out of your hands. You need weaponry designed for
your body type.”
At least he didn’t say weaknesses.
I study the blade in his hand. It’s beautiful, with a solid black hilt
engraved with Tyrrish knots, old, mythical runes of intricate swirls and ties.
The blade itself is clearly honed to lethal perfection. “It’s spectacular.”
“It’s yours.”
My head snaps up, but there’s no lie in his onyx eyes.
“I had it made for you.” His lips curve slightly.
“What?” My mouth opens, and my chest tightens. He took the time to
have it made? Shit. That gives me feelings I really don’t want to have. Soft,
confusing feelings.
“You heard me. Take it.”
Swallowing the illogical lump in my throat, I take the blade from him. It
feels solid in my palm but is infinitely lighter than my other daggers.
There’s no strain on my wrist, and my fingers comfortably wrap around the
hilt, making it much more secure than the knives I’ve left on the floor.
“Who made it?”
“I know someone.”
“In the quadrant?” My eyebrows shoot up.
“You’d be surprised how resourceful you get after three years here.” A
smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, and I openly stare before
remembering where we are.
“It’s incredible.” I shake my head and hand it back to him. “But you
know I can’t take it. The only weapons we’re allowed to have are the ones
we earn.” Only challenges or weapons qualifications are acceptable. There’s
a crossbow I have my eye on that I’m not quite expert at yet.
“Exactly.” He smiles for a flash of a second before moving with a speed
I’ve never dreamed possible. He’s even faster than Imogen as he sweeps my
feet from under me with one strike, taking me to the mat in a single move.
The ease with which he has me on my back is simultaneously appalling
and…ridiculously hot, especially with the weight of his hips settled
between my thighs. It takes all my willpower not to reach up and brush the
stray lock of hair from his forehead. It was a mistake.
Well, if that memory doesn’t cool me right off.
“And what point are you making with this little move?” I ask, well aware
that he’s done it all without knocking the wind out of me.
“There are a dozen of these daggers strapped to my body, so start
disarming me.” He lifts a sardonic brow. “Unless you don’t know how to
handle an opponent on top of you, and if so, that’s a whole other issue.”
“I know how to handle you on top of me,” I challenge quietly.
He lowers his mouth to my ear. “You won’t like what happens if you push
me.”
“Or maybe I will.” I turn just enough that my lips brush the shell of his
ear.
He jerks up, and the heat in his gaze makes me all too aware of
everywhere our bodies connect. “Disarm me before I test that theory in
front of everyone in this gym.”
“Interesting. I didn’t take you for an exhibitionist.”
“Keep pushing, and I guess you’ll find out.” His gaze drops to my mouth.
“I thought you said kissing me was a mistake.” I don’t care if the entire
quadrant is watching if that means he’ll kiss me again.
“It was.” He smirks. “I’m just teaching you that blades aren’t the only
way to disarm an opponent. Tell me, Violence, are you disarmed?”
Arrogant ass.
I scoff and start plucking knives from their sheaths, flinging them across
the mat while he watches with impatient amusement. Then I lock my legs
around his hips and force a roll to the left, putting Xaden on his back.
Willingly, of course—there’s no way I’m kneeling on top of him if he
doesn’t want it that way—but I throw a forearm against his collarbone with
the pretense of pinning him anyway and proceed to steal the other daggers
he has sheathed along his side.
“And lastly,” I say with a smile, leaning forward, our heated bodies
nearly flush as I snatch the dagger right out of his hand. “Thank you.”
The final blade secure, Xaden throws his palms to the mat and shoves
with unnatural strength, arching us straight back until my spine kisses the
mat again.
“That’s.” I suck in a breath, the move shocking me to my toes and
lodging him firmly between my thighs. It takes everything I have not to
arch up against him and see if he really thinks that kiss was a mistake. “Not
fair to use your powers on the mat.” Magical. Sexual. Whatever. It’s all
unfair.
“That’s the other thing.” He jumps to his feet and offers his hand. I take
it, my head rushing as I stand. Not now. Do not get dizzy now. “Emetterio
doesn’t allow powers in order to level the playing field when it comes to
challenges. But out there? The field is anything but level, and you need to
learn to use whatever you’ve got.”
“I can’t do much beside ground, shield, and move a piece of parchment.”
I sheathe the new dagger, then collect the others and do the same. They
really are lovely, all marked with different runes. It’s a shame there are so
many parts of Tyrrish culture that were lost centuries ago during the
unification, including most runes. I don’t even know what they all mean.
“Well, looks like we’re going to have to work on that, too.” He sighs and
takes up a fighting stance. “Now, earn your nickname and try your best to
kill me.”
…
February flies by in a blur of exhaustion. Xaden takes every unscheduled
moment of my day, and Dain’s gritted his teeth more than once when the
wingleader has pulled me out of squad training because he has something
infinitely more important for me to do.
Which usually ends with me getting my ass handed to me repeatedly on
the mat.
But I have to say, he doesn’t baby me like Dain, and he doesn’t take it
easy on me like Rhiannon does. He pushes me to my physical limit every
session but never further, usually leaving me a boneless, sweaty heap on the
sparring gym floor, gasping for breath.
That’s usually when Imogen reminds me that I’m needed in the weight
room.
I hate them both.
Kind of.
It’s hard to argue with the results when I’m learning to take down the
strongest fighter in the quadrant. I have yet to beat him, but I’m all right
with that. It means he doesn’t let me win.
He also doesn’t kiss me again, even when I push.
March arrives with uncountable feet of snow that have to be shoveled
before morning formation every day. And the moments the relic burns in
my back and I feel like I might crawl out of my own skin if the power
building within me doesn’t release reminds me that I still don’t have a
signet. It’s already almost been three months.
Every morning I wake up wondering if today is the day I’ll spontaneously
combust.
“Sharla Gunter,” Captain Fitzgibbons reads from the death roll, his
gloved hands slipping on the frozen parchment. It’s warmer this week, but
not by much. “And Mushin Vedie. We commend their souls to Malek.”
“Vedie?” I ask Rhiannon, my eyebrows shooting up as formation ends. I
didn’t know him well, since he was in Second Wing, but the name is still a
shock, considering he was rumored to be one of the best among us.
“You didn’t hear?” She pulls her fur-lined cloak closer around her neck.
“His signet manifested in the middle of Carr’s class yesterday, and he burst
into flames.”
“He…burned himself to death?”
She nods. “Tara said Carr thinks he was supposed to be able to wield fire,
but it just overwhelmed him in that first rush and…”
“He went up like a torch,” Ridoc adds. “Kind of makes you glad your
signet’s still hiding, huh?”
“Hiding is one way to put it.” Other than the ability I’m not supposed to
even whisper about, I’m proving to be the one thing my mother hates—
average. And it’s not as though I can go to Tairn or Andarna for help. The
signet is all about me, and I’m apparently not delivering, as the stinging
relic on my back constantly reminds me. There’s a tiny, secret part of me
that hopes my signet hasn’t manifested yet because it’s different than the
others, not only useful but…meaningful, like Brennan’s was.
“Definitely makes me want to skip class today,” Rhiannon mutters,
blowing on her hands to keep them warm.
“No skipping class,” Dain admonishes, pinning us with a stare. “We’re
weeks away from the Squad Battle and we need every single one of you at
your best to win.”
Imogen snorts. “Come on, Aetos, I think we all know Second Wing has
that squad in Tail Section that’s going to smoke the rest of us. Have you
ever seen them sprint up the Gauntlet? Pretty sure they’ve been out there
even though it’s still covered in ice.”
“We’re going to win,” Cianna, our executive officer, proclaims with a
decisive nod. “Sorrengail here might slow us down on the Gauntlet”—she
wrinkles her hawkish nose—“and probably in the wielding department, too,
at the rate she’s advancing—”
“Gee, thanks.” I fold my arms across my chest. Bet I can shield better
than all of them combined.
“But Rhiannon’s skills more than make up for that,” Cianna continues.
“And we all know Liam and Heaton are both going to decimate on the mat
for the challenge competition. That only leaves flight maneuvers and
whatever task the wingleaders come up with to judge this year.”
“Oh, is that all? Man, I thought it was going to be hard.” The sarcasm
rolling off Ridoc is thick enough to earn him a glare from Dain.
“We’re down to ten of you,” Dain says, glancing over our group. “Twelve
of us in total, which puts us at a slight disadvantage against a couple other
squads, but I think we’ll manage.”
We lost two of the new additions last week when the smaller one’s signet
manifested in Battle Brief and they both froze to death in seconds, nearly
taking out Ridoc with the exposure, too. He was treated for frostbite but
didn’t have any permanent damage. Now Nadine and Liam are the only
ones left from the batch we acquired after Threshing.
“But in order to manage, I need you guys to get to class.” He lifts his
brows at me. “Especially you. A signet would be great, you know. If you
can maybe make that happen.” It’s as if he can’t decide how to treat me
lately, as the first-year who’s struggling but still here or the girl he grew up
with.
I hate how unsettled everything feels between us, all wrongly sticky, like
putting on clothes before you can dry after a bath, but it’s still Dain. At least
he’s finally being supportive.
“She’s going to miss Carr’s class today,” Xaden interrupts, appearing
behind Sawyer, who hurries to clear a path.
“No I’m not.” I shake my head and ignore the quick jump of my pulse at
the sight of him.
“She needs to go,” Dain argues, then grits his teeth. “I mean, unless the
wing has more pressing matters for Cadet Sorrengail, her time is best spent
developing her wielding skills.”
“I think we both know she’s not going to manifest a signet in that room.
She would have already if that was the key.” I wouldn’t wish the look
Xaden levels Dain with on my worst enemy. It’s not anger or even
indignation. No, he looks…annoyed, as if Dain’s complaints are entirely
beneath him, which, according to our chain of command, they are. “And
yes, the wing has more pressing matters for her.”
“Sir, I’m just not comfortable with her going a day without at least
practicing her wielding, and as her squad leader—”
He doesn’t know that Xaden’s been giving me extra wielding sessions
while we spar.
“For Dunne’s sake.” Xaden sighs, invoking the goddess of war. He
reaches into the pocket of his cloak and takes out a pocket watch, holding it
in his outstretched palm. “Pick it up, Sorrengail.”
I glance at the two men and wish they’d just sort their shit out between
themselves, but there’s about a zero percent chance of that happening. For
the sake of expediency, I throw my mental feet into the floor of the
Archives. White-hot power flows around me, raising goose bumps on my
arms and lifting the hair at the back of my neck.
Raising my right hand, I envision that power twining between my fingers,
and little shocks blossom along my skin as I give form to the energy,
making it a hand of its own as I ask it to stretch the few feet that separate
me from Xaden.
There’s an abrupt halt, as though my tendrils of raw magic hit a wall, but
then it gives, and I push forward, keeping tight control of the blazing hand.
There’s a crackle in my head, like the dying embers of a fire, as my power
brushes Xaden’s hand, but I close my mental fist around the pocket watch
and then pull.
It’s fucking heavy.
“You got this,” Rhiannon urges.
“Let her concentrate,” Sawyer chides.
The watch plummets for the ground, but I snap my hand back, yanking on
my power as though it’s a rope, and the watch flies toward me. I catch it
with my left hand before it can smack me in the face.
Rhiannon and Ridoc clap.
Xaden walks forward and plucks the watch from my fingers, dropping it
into his cloak. “See? She’s practiced. Now, we have things to do.” He puts
his hand on the small of my back and leads me out of the crowd.
“Where are we going?” I loathe the way my body demands I lean back
into his touch, but I miss it the second it’s gone.
“I’m assuming you’re not wearing flight leathers under that cloak.” He
opens the door to the dormitory for me, and I walk inside. The motion is so
easy that I know it’s not only practiced but second nature, which is at
complete odds with, well…everything I’ve come to know about him.
I pause, looking at him like we’re meeting for the first time.
“What?” he asks, closing the door behind us and shutting out the
blustering cold.
“You opened the door for me.”
“Old habits die hard.” He shrugs. “My father taught me that—” His voice
dies abruptly, and his gaze falls away, every muscle in his body locking as
though he’s preparing for an attack.
My heart aches at the look that crosses his face, recognizing it well.
Grief.
“Don’t you think it’s a little cold for flying?” I ask, changing the subject
in an attempt to help. The pain in his eyes is the kind that never dies, the
kind that rises like an unpredictable tide and floods the shoreline without
mercy.
He blinks, and it’s gone. “I’ll wait here.”
I nod and hurry to change into the fur-lined leathers we’re issued for
winter flight. He has that unreadable mask on when I return, and I know
there won’t be any more doors held on my account today.
We walk out across the emptying courtyard as cadets scurry off to
classes. “You didn’t answer me.”
“About what?” He keeps his eyes on the gate to the flight field path and I
have to damn near scurry to keep up with his strides.
“About it being cold for flight.”
“Third-years have flight field this afternoon. Kaori and the other
professors are just taking it easy on you guys, since the Squad Battle is
coming up and they know you need the practice in wielding.” He pushes
open the gate, and I hurry after him.
“But I don’t need the practice?” My voice echoes in the tunnel.
“Winning the Squad Battle is nothing in the scheme of keeping you alive.
You’ll be on the front lines before the rest of them come next year.” The
mage lights play off the harsh angles of his face, casting sinister shadows as
we pass each one.
“Is that what’s going to happen next year?” I ask as we come out the
other side, the snow whiting out my vision momentarily. It’s piled high on
each side of the path, the result of this heavy winter. “I’m going to the front
lines?”
“Inevitably. There’s no telling how long Sgaeyl and Tairn will tolerate
being separated. My best guess is that we’ll both have to sacrifice to keep
them happy.” He’s clearly not so happy about it himself, but I can’t blame
him. After three years in the quadrant, I’d want to get the hell out, too. My
stomach sinks as I realize I’ll be in his shoes when I graduate as well, with
no real control on how our dragons’ bond dictates my future posts.
I nod, not knowing what else to say, and we walk to the Gauntlet in
companionable silence.
“Second Wing,” I note, watching the squad from Tail Section slip and
slide their way across the Gauntlet. “You sure you don’t want your own
squads out here practicing?”
A corner of his mouth lifts, and that inhuman facade of his cracks. “When
I was a first-year, I thought winning was the pinnacle, too. But once you’re
in your third year, and you see the things that we do…” His jaw flexes.
“Let’s just say that the games are a lot more lethal.”
We head toward the staircase that leads to the flight field, but there’s
already a group coming down, so I move back to let them descend first.
My heart launches into my throat as they come closer, and I snap my
frame to an attention stance, my spine stiffening. It’s Commandant Panchek
and Colonel Aetos.
Reaching the ground first, Dain’s dad offers me a smile. “At ease. You’re
looking well, Violet. Nice flight lines,” he says, gesturing to the ones on his
own cheekbones that come from flight goggles. “You must be getting a lot
of airtime.”
“Thank you, sir, I am.” I relax my posture and can’t help but return the
favor, but my lips are tight. “Dain is doing well, too. He’s my squad leader
this year.”
“He’s told me.” He grins, his brown eyes just as warm as Dain’s. “Mira
asked about you while we were touring the Southern Wing last month.
Don’t worry, you’ll get your letter privileges in second year, and then you
can keep in touch more often. I’m sure you miss her.”
“Every day.” I nod, pushing past the swell of emotion the admission
brings. It’s so much easier to pretend there’s nothing outside the walls than
to wallow in how much I miss my sister.
Xaden stiffens at my side as Mom steps out of the stairwell. Oh shit.
“Mom,” I blurt, and her head turns, her eyes meeting mine. It’s been more
than five months since I’ve seen her, and even though I want to be as
composed as she is, as compartmentalized, I just can’t. I’m not built like she
is, like Mira is. I’m my father’s daughter.
Her assessing gaze sweeps over me with all the familiarity of a
commanding general and a Basgiath cadet, and there’s no warmth in her
expression as she finishes her perusal. “I hear you’re having trouble
wielding.”
I blink and step backward, as though physical distance is going to shelter
me from the icy rebuke. “I have the best shields in my year.” For the first
time, I’m actually glad I haven’t manifested a signet, haven’t given her
something to brag about.
“With a dragon like Tairn, I would certainly hope so.” She cocks an
eyebrow. “If not, all of that incredible, enviable power will have been…”
Her sigh is a puff of steam in the air. “Squandered.”
I try my best to swallow the growing knot in my throat. “Yes, General.”
“You have been the topic of some conversation, though.” Her gaze skims
the top of my head, and I know she’s looking at the silver-tipped braid she
thinks marks me as cursed, the hair she told me I was better off cutting.
“Oh?” She actually talks about me?
“We’re all wondering what powers—if any—you’re wielding from the
golden dragon?” Her lips form a smile I’m sure she thinks is soft, but I
know her too well to fall for it.
“No.” The single word from Tairn rumbles through my entire body. “Do
not speak of it.”
“Nothing yet.” I drag my tongue over my chapped lower lip. Winter is
hell on the skin during flight. “Andarna told me that feathertails are known
for being unable to channel power to their rider.” Only their direct gifts, but
I’m not about to say that. “It’s why they don’t bond often.”
“Or ever,” Dain’s dad chimes in. “We were actually hoping that you
might ask your dragon to allow us to study her. For purely academic
purposes, of course.”
My stomach sours. The group of them would poke and prod Andarna for
gods know how long to appease their academic curiosity, and they might
stumble onto the untapped power of young dragons. No thank you.
“Unfortunately, I don’t see her being comfortable with that. She’s pretty
private, even with me.”
“Pity,” Colonel Aetos says. “We’ve had the scribes on it since Threshing,
and the only reference they can find in the Archives about the power of
feathertails is hundreds of years old, which is funny because I remember
your father doing a bit of research about the second Krovlan uprising, and
he mentioned something about feathertails, but we can’t seem to find that
tome.” He scratches his forehead.
Mom looks at me with expectation, as though to ask me without actually
asking.
“I don’t believe he finished his research on that particular historical event
before he died, Colonel Aetos. I couldn’t even tell you where his notes are.”
The words are as true as I can make them. I know exactly where his notes
are—in the one location he spent the majority of his after-hours time. But
there’s something about Tairn’s warning that makes me simply unable to
tell them.
“Too bad.” Mom forces another smile. “Glad to see you’re alive, Cadet
Sorrengail.” Her gaze flashes sideways and instantly hardens to steel. “Even
if the company you’re forced to keep is more than questionable.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I can’t step in front of Xaden and make him look weak. I can’t even
glance his way without telling my mother where my allegiance lies…
without telling myself.
“I always felt that we resolved any of those questions years ago,” Xaden
says, his voice low, but he’s gone taut as a bowstring next to me.
“Hmm.” Mom turns toward the citadel in clear dismissal. “Do see if you
can master some kind of signet, Cadet Sorrengail. You have a legacy to live
up to.”
“Yes, General.” The informal words cost more than I’m prepared to
admit, ripping into the confidence it’s taken me nearly eight months to build
with talon-sharp precision.
“Good to see you, Violet.” Dain’s dad offers me a sympathetic smile, and
Panchek outright ignores us, running to catch up with Mom.
I don’t say a word to Xaden before I climb the stairs, each step making
me only angrier until I’m a ball of rage by the time I reach the top of the
cliffside.
“You didn’t tell her about how you got out of the attack in your
bedroom,” he says. It’s a statement, not a question. “And I’m not talking
about me showing up.”
I know exactly what he’s talking about.
“I don’t ever see her. And you told me not to tell anyone.”
“Didn’t realize it was quite like that between you,” Xaden says, his tone
surprisingly soft as we start down the box canyon toward the flight field.
“Oh, that’s nothing,” I toss out, intentionally making my tone as flippant
as possible. “She spent almost an entire year ignoring me when Dad died.”
A self-deprecating laugh slips past my lips. “Which was almost as
wholesome as the years she spent barely tolerating my existence because I
wasn’t perfect like Brennan or a warrior like Mira.” I shouldn’t be saying
these things. These are the thoughts families keep behind their doors so they
can wear their polished, perfect reputations like armor when in public.
“She doesn’t know you very well, then,” Xaden remarks, keeping pace
with my furious strides.
I scoff. “Or she sees right through me. Problem is, I’m never quite sure
which it is. I’m too busy trying to live up to whatever impossible standard
she sets to ask myself if they’re even standards I give a shit about.” My
narrowed gaze swings to him. “And what was that about anyway? Saying
that you resolved questions years ago?”
“Just reminding her that I paid the price for my loyalty.” His brow
furrows, but he stares ahead of us.
“Paid what price?” The question slips out before I can stop my foolish
tongue. I can’t help but remember what Dain said, that Xaden has reasons
to never forgive my mother.
“Boundaries, Violence.” His head lowers for the span of a heartbeat, and
when it rises, he’s wearing that polished give-no-fucks mask he’s so good at
donning.
Lucky for us, the strain of the moment is broken as Tairn and Sgaeyl land
across the field ahead, accompanied by a shiny smaller dragon who makes
me instantly smile.
“We’re all flying today?” I ask, following as he walks toward the trio.
“We’re all learning today. You need to learn how to stay on, and I need to
learn why the hell it’s so hard for you,” he answers. “Andarna needs to
learn how to keep up. Tairn needs to learn how to share his space in a
tighter flight formation, and every other dragon but Sgaeyl is too scared to
fly closer.”
Tairn chuffs in agreement as we approach.
“And what is Sgaeyl learning?” I ask, eyeing the giant blue dragon.
Xaden grins. “She’s been leading for almost three years now. She’s going
to have to learn how to follow. Or at least practice.”
Tairn’s chuff sounds suspiciously like a laugh, and she snaps at him,
baring her teeth and coming within inches of his neck.
“Dragon relationships are absolutely incomprehensible,” I murmur.
“Yeah? You should try a human one sometime. Just as vicious, but less
fire.” He mounts with an ease I envy. “Now let’s go.”