Onyx Storm by Rebecca Yarros Free Novel Chapter 21-30

 

We stop at Athebyne the first night, testing the gryphons’ limits with speed and endurance. Then we push them to their max with twenty-four hours in the saddle, pausing only to feed and water the winged ones before reaching Cordyn as dawn breaks.

Everyone thinks the torturous day is to prepare the gryphons for the flight across the sea.

Only Xaden knows the real reason: even though he made it through the night unscathed, I’m terrified to let him touch the unwarded ground more than absolutely necessary.

We fly over swaths of scorched and desiccated land, evading venin with the help of the intel Drake brought. Part of me can’t help but feel like we’re evading the fight, even though I know we’re searching for the way to end it.

“The gryphons cannot keep up,” Tairn warns me as we descend toward Tecarus’s palace. “Especially when carrying the bulk of two humans.”

“Carrying” is a loose term for the baskets Halden and his guard dangle in, held by the gryphons’ claws.

“Are you offering to carry one of them?” I ask, fighting off the sleep that has weighted my eyelids for the past three hours. The drastically warmer climate isn’t helping, either.

“I’m suggesting we continue onward with only riders and fliers.” The beats of his wings are slow, almost lazy in deference to the gryphons and Andarna, who unclasped from her harness an hour ago just in case we were spotted and escorted to the palace.

“As much as I would love that, he speaks for Navarre.” I reach for my flask, only to remember I emptied it a couple of hours ago.

“He will not matter when we find the irids. Only Andarna will.”

“Well, as soon as you make contact with them, I’m happy to ditch the prince. Until then, we’re stuck with the humans for clues.” I look right, catching glimpses of Andarna in the pulses between Tairn’s wingbeats. “You feeling tired?”

“Hungry,” she responds. “Kira says they have a plethora of goats, since the environment is not as suitable for the fleece of sheep. Perhaps they have superior food along with the superior weather.”

“We’re well aware you aren’t a fan of the snow.” I grin into the warm wind as Tairn approaches the expanse of Tecarus’s fighting pit instead of the grassy terrace he chose during our last visit.

“Perhaps you are like Sgaeyl’s kind,” Tairn notes. “They favor the warmer climate.”

That’s right. The hatching grounds of the blues used to be near here before the Great War.

Guards notice our arrival and rush to the highest terrace of the fighting pit as Tairn lands in the center of the field, snapping his wings closed while Andarna touches down less gracefully to his right.

Within moments, our five dragons and two gryphons cover every available foot of the field.

I detach one of my packs but hesitate to leave the second strapped to the back of the saddle.

“It is safer that I carry it,” Tairn reminds me, dipping his shoulder impatiently.

“It means you can’t detach the saddle.” I don’t want him uncomfortable.

“As if I would disparage my family name by being unprepared should the enemy—”

“Got it.” I undo my strap, then beg my body to comply as I climb out of the seat. Muscles, tendons, ligaments—they all creak and pop as I dismount, and my knees nearly buckle when I hit the ground.

I can’t help but shoot a glare at Cat as she springs up the stairs to meet the two waiting flier guards like she hasn’t been airborne twenty-four hours straight.

“Can I take mine off?” Andarna asks, swiveling her head to gnaw on the metal strap across her shoulder.

“No!” Tairn and I shout simultaneously.

“No,” Andarna mocks. “Fine. I seek sustenance.”

“You will wait until our welcome is assured,” Tairn orders, and Andarna huffs a breath of steam in his direction, then sits on her back legs and glowers. “Pick your tail up off the ground right now. Where do you think we are? The Vale?”

I adjust the straps of my pack over my summer-weight flight jacket and bite back a laugh when Andarna blasts a short stream of fire at Tairn’s back leg as she rises to all fours.

“I’m not dignifying that with a response,” he snarls.

Ahead of us, Sgaeyl springs into the air, and my brow furrows as Xaden watches her fly away, his features schooled in that carefully controlled mask he loves so well.

Aotrom, Teine, and Cath all stay put, but Kiralair launches along with Drake’s gryphon, Sovadunn.

“How are you feeling?” I ask once I reach Xaden, noting that Mira is already halfway up the steps of the arena, blade drawn.

“I should be asking you that.” He rolls his neck and drags his gaze from Sgaeyl’s retreating form to sweep over me, lingering on my hips and knees like he can see how sore they are. “Your body can’t be happy after that long in the saddle.”

“I’m…” I pause—we both do—as Halden climbs awkwardly out of the four-foot-tall basket Kira deposited in front of us. “I’m better off than whatever’s happening there.”

The prince curses when his pack catches on the thick weave of the carrier as he exits, the fabric holding him prisoner. Instead of lifting the bag over the barrier, Halden wrenches it free, tearing the strap clean off.

“Clearly it was common sense that attracted you to the heir.” Sarcasm drips from Tairn’s tone.

“I was eighteen and he was handsome. Give me a break.” I wince, noting that Halden doesn’t exactly rush off to help Captain Winshire, the redheaded guard, out of her basket.

“Kingdom seems to be in good hands with that one.” Xaden glances at the drained stones that surround the pit as we walk toward the others waiting ahead. “Think anyone will notice if I sleep out here on these stones until we’re ready to go?”

“Yes.” My voice quiets as we approach Dain and Ridoc, both of whom stare awkwardly as the captain refuses any offers of help and stumbles all five feet ten inches of herself out of her basket to Halden’s left, then strides up the steps after him in speedy annoyance. “But I’ll sleep out here with you if you want. If it’s what you need.” I’ll do whatever it takes to lessen his risk.

“Save that worried look for someone else. As long as there’s no reason to wield, I’ll be fine, just like last night.” Xaden reaches for my hand and squeezes, then lets it go before Halden sees.

Dain and Ridoc both gawk at our surroundings as we climb the stairs out of the pit. It’s slightly cooler than when we were here last, but the humidity has the leather of my flight jacket sticking uncomfortably to my skin.

“Is this where you got the idea for using the sparring pit at Basgiath?” Dain asks over his shoulder when we finally reach the top.

Xaden nods, scanning our perimeter.

The second I spot Tecarus—in what are obviously his bed robes—hugging Cat on the nearby patio, Tairn and Andarna launch from the pit and the others rapidly follow suit. Mira stands to the side and sheathes her blade, offering a narrowed glance of warning to the two flier guards accompanying Tecarus before Drake clasps the tall one on the right in a friendly, back-slapping hug.

“Let me know if he has any venin locked away in a box as a surprise test,” Tairn says, flying in the same direction Sgaeyl took.

We cross the last rows of drained stones imported from the land that borders the Barrens as Halden and Anna reach the patio.

“Will do. Don’t let her eat anything—or anyone—she isn’t supposed to.” A bead of sweat drips down my spine, and I adjust the weight of my pack on my aching shoulders again, cringing at the slight slip I feel in the right joint as my head starts to swim in an annoying wave of dizziness. Exhaustion, dehydration, and heat are never a winning combination for my body.

“You’re such a centenarian. Perhaps my kind will not be such killjoys. Perhaps they will feast as they see fit. Perhaps they will— Ooh! What is that?”

“A Mammoth Red-Horned Tortoise and absolutely not! The shell will embed between your teeth, and I will not carry you and a festering tortoise shell— Get back here!” His voice fades as they fly out of range.

Xaden tenses the second we step off the drained stone and onto the strip of grass that separates the pit from the occupied marble patio leading into the palace’s dining room. “I’m all right,” he assures me as we reach the group.

We fill in the empty places in the small circle, putting me next to Halden, who somehow manages to still look regal…and haughty in a crumpled infantry uniform.

I wince when the rising sun glints off the golden royal insignia beneath his name tags, catching me in the eye, and quickly look down at the austere black of my flight jacket. I’ve never worn one made for actual combat before—only training. There’s no name tag, no patches, nothing beyond my hair to give away who I might be if I fall behind enemy lines, only two four-pointed stars indicating my rank as a second-year cadet.

“There’s the boy!” Tecarus grins at Drake, then glances over the rest of us, his gaze catching on Halden. “Your Royal Highness.” He bows his head. “We were not expecting such an esteemed guest.”

“We appreciate your hospitality, Viscount.” Halden does that condescending head-tilt of a nod that always grated on my nerves. Guess it still does. His hand rises to the small of my back, and I stiffen. “We were hoping to rest for the day, perhaps two depending on the condition of the gryphons, before continuing on to Deverelli.”

Shadows rise up the back of my thigh, curling around my hip, and I sidestep toward Xaden, effectively losing Halden’s hand in the process. “Still all right over there?”

“It would help if your fucking ex kept his hands to himself,” he hisses, the shadow firmly gripping my hip.

“Deverelli?” Tecarus asks, his eyebrows nearly hitting his hairline before his gaze swings my way. “You have the artifact.”

My lips part—

“We do,” Halden answers for me.

Gods, I always hated that about him.

Dain shoots me a look that borders on an eye roll, reminding me that he’d never been Halden’s biggest fan.

“Of course,” Tecarus says slowly, his attention dropping to the shadows lingering at my hip. “Well then, let’s get you comfortable.” He turns toward the palace in a flurry of brocaded fabric, and my shoulders dip with exhaustion as we follow him into the dining room. “Forgive the additional security. We are one of the only major cities left standing in the south,” he tells us as we round the end of the enormous table and through the doors into the airy palace.

I’d almost forgotten just how breathtaking this place is.

It’s built for the movement of air. For beauty, and art, and light. Even the white marble floors shimmer, reflecting the dawn just like the winding pools that flow through the space beyond the wide, central staircase. The palace won’t stand a chance should the venin venture this far south.

Whoever built it had to have known that.

Mira pauses at the base of the white steps, looking down at the black pillar barely visible in the level below us through the open staircase. Like last time, it has quite the crowd milling around it.

“Of course, with the number of fliers in residence, our rooms are limited,” Tecarus says, drawing the belt of his heavily brocaded robe tight as he starts up the steps. “Would you mind doubling up? We have a few rooms available on our top floor.” He looks over his shoulder at the landing. “With the exception of you, Your Highness. Naturally, we can accommodate private quarters for you.”

Shit. There’s no way I’ll make it up two more flights of stairs when this one is already killing me. My knee protests every step, and I curse the humidity and keep climbing even though it feels like the ground rocks beneath my boots.

“Naturally.” Halden’s tone borders on terse. His fatigue is showing, and if he hasn’t changed in the years we’ve been apart, it will only shorten his temper.

“Your room remains empty as well, Riorson. Or should I say Your Grace?” Tecarus adds as we reach the floor we stayed on previously. “I can’t help but notice you’re not wearing the insignia of your rank.” He pauses in the middle of the wide hallway, bringing the entire group to a halt.

I could just about cry as I realize we’re right in front of the room Mira and I occupied during our last visit, and I spot the set of doors beyond that I know are Xaden’s. How am I going to make it to the top floor? “Will you still keep me if I have to crawl up the stairs?” I ask Tairn.

“You’re not crawling,” Xaden answers.

Wrong pathway. Gods, I really am in trouble.

“Shiny things make good targets,” Xaden says to Tecarus from my left as Halden edges in on my right. “And I’ve never been one to confuse a title with power.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Is he really starting shit with Halden right now? I go to roll my eyes, then blink. Is this what Xaden went through when Cat showed up this past fall?

Ridoc snorts behind me, and I hear the distinct sound of a smack against leather—no doubt Dain’s hand against my squadmate’s shoulder. I’m glad I can’t see Mira’s face. Amari knows she’s exasperated as all hell back there.

“But how am I to know on what authority you visit me?” Tecarus turns toward us with a flourish, flashing his impossibly white teeth with a political smile. “As a lieutenant? Merely a rider? A professor? The Duke of Tyrrendor?” He taps his fingers together. “Or perhaps as the beloved of the one rarity I can’t seem to convince to join my court.” His gaze falls to me, as if I need the reminder of his proposal to join his collection as his on-call guard dog in return for the privilege of growing old with Xaden and our dragons in the peace of his estate in the isles. “That offer still stands.”

“As does my answer.” I sway slightly and breathe deeply to beat back the darkening edges of my vision. I need rest and I need it now. This time the shadows at my hips are supportive instead of territorial, and when I glance down, they’re so thin they blend into my leathers, nearly impossible to see. “Thank you.”

“What authority do I hold here? Let’s ask our prince. What do you say, Your Royal Highness?” He levels a look that could wither a fucking tree on Halden.

Apprehension prickles the back of my neck.

“I’m not sure I understand the question.” Halden’s jaw ticks and his fists clench.

“His temper could trigger your power,” I warn Xaden as Tecarus smiles with pure glee at the obvious mayhem he’s created.

“His temper is exactly what I’m counting on.” Xaden drops his focus to the royal insignia. “You understand completely. Am I here as a professor? Or the duke? Or—”

“Obviously you’re a fucking duke,” Halden snaps. “Lewellen made sure of it, didn’t he? The second most powerful title in the godsdamned kingdom goes to a Riorson of all bloodlines.”

“Don’t be an ass—” I start, but the shadows tug gently in a bid for silence, so I give it to him.

“So, I’m not here with the authority of a professor,” Xaden clarifies, masterfully ignoring Halden’s blatant insult.

“You have no authority,” Halden seethes, color infusing his cheeks as he steps toward Xaden, his boots nearly reaching mine in the process. “I am the ranking officer here.”

“Xaden, he’s going to blow. He’ll swing.” Walls. Mirrors. Tables. Breakables. Whatever’s close, really. There was a reason guards never volunteered to be assigned to Halden. The same reason Alic had been such a bully and Cam—Aaric—had avoided them both as much as possible.

“So, not a professor.” Xaden’s eyes narrow, and my whole body tries to sway, held upright by Xaden’s shadows.

“No!” Halden’s shout echoes down the hallway. “Not a fucking professor—”

“Just wanted to clear that up,” Xaden interrupts, then lifts me into his arms. “We’ll see you once we’re rested.” He takes off past Tecarus, striding down the hall.

“What are you doing?” I hiss.

“Doubling up as ordered,” Xaden says, throwing open the doors to his room and then kicking them shut once we’re through.

“I cannot believe you just did that!” I slide down the length of his body and ignore the way mine ignites as he grips my hips and turns, pinning me against the door. It’s blissfully solid behind my back.

“Really?” He lowers his head to mine. “Of all the things I’ve done, that’s the one you can’t believe?” His voice softens, and he lifts his fingers to the side of my neck. “That’s what I thought. Your pulse is racing. I counted at least twice that you almost collapsed out there.” He lowers his head to mine. “Did you really want to crawl up the stairs?”

“No,” I admit.

“Now you don’t have to.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “You just rode for two straight days with only twelve hours of rest. I knew you needed to get off your feet and lie down, and I could have just given you my room, but selfishly…”

I look up at him.

“I’m done sleeping in a bed that doesn’t have you in it.” His thumb strokes along my pulse.

Hope ignites in my chest. If he’s willing to sleep in the same bed again, then maybe there’s a chance he’ll eventually trust himself enough to put his hands on me, and not just because he’s jealous that Halden exists. “I’m good with that.”

I’m rewarded with a hint of a smile, then swept up against his chest, the rhythm of his heart a perfect drum beneath my ear. I feel like shit, Xaden is slowly losing pieces of himself, and we’re a thousand miles from Basgiath, yet that steady beat makes everything somehow tenable.

It feels so right to be in his arms.

“Because it is,” he says, holding me tighter.

I blink and pull back to look at him. “I didn’t say that out loud.”

His brow furrows. “Then you must have thought it down the bond, because I wasn’t pushing into your intentions.”

My heart races for a different reason. No. But…maybe. “Or your signet is growing.”

His eyes flare.

Someone knocks at the door.

“Fuck,” Xaden mutters, and I push against his chest. “Don’t be—”

“Let me down.” I’m facing whoever’s on the other side of that door on my feet.

“—stubborn.” He sets me down, then locks his forearm across my ribs to hold me upright as I face forward. “Ready?”

I nod, and his arm twists along my left side. The gold-handled door opens, revealing Tecarus, his two guards a respectable distance behind him.

The viscount’s knowing gaze jumps between Xaden and me, but he doesn’t bother with pithy commentary.

“Make it quick,” Xaden orders without explanation.

“The prince cannot arrive in a basket,” Tecarus says, folding his hands in front of him and wrinkling his nose in distaste. “It is unseemly for royalty, and in a culture that values rare items, shrewd trades, and luxury, he’ll never be granted an audience if he is seen as the item being delivered.”

“What do you propose?” I ask, ignoring the sinking in my chest and the lightening in my head.

“It’s a two-day journey by my fastest ship,” Tecarus says, his brow furrowing as he studies me. “Which would make it what? A twelve-hour flight due south?”

“We estimate sixteen with the gryphons and what your texts have provided about historical wind patterns,” I answer, blinking back the darkness. It’s been a long time since I pushed myself this hard, and fuck am I paying for it.

“I’ll leave within the hour with the prince,” Tecarus offers. “It appears you may need the rest—”

“She’s fine,” Xaden interrupts. “I’m the one feeling a little clingy.”

I bite back a smile.

“Right.” Tecarus laces his fingers. “I suggest you land at my estate on the northern coast about twelve hours after we’ll arrive. It’s about ten miles east of the capital, though they measure distance in—”

“Leagues,” I interrupt. “I read everything you sent.” And everything my father wrote.

“Excellent. The rest of the shoreline is rather…shall we say…defended, and I’ll need to prepare the king for the arrival of dragons or we’ll return home with fewer of them.”

My stomach pitches.

“Trust me, our riot will return intact.” There’s an edge of warning in Xaden’s tone, and his forearm flexes.

“I’m already worried about one hotheaded aristocrat,” Tecarus chides. “Should I add a second to that list?”

“They come for our dragons, and it’s not the aristocrat they’ll be dealing with.” Xaden’s voice drops to that lethal calm that’s a touch more terrifying than a shout.

“Tell me you’ll help control him.” Tecarus’s gaze lands on mine.

I lift my chin. “What makes you think he’s the one you’d have to worry about?”

Tecarus sighs. “I’ll see that you have a map.” He brings his laced fingers to his chin. “You are prepared to lose your abilities when you cross the ocean?”

“We are,” Xaden replies. “Definitely prepared to get a second of relief.”

“It will be fascinating to see if your powers reemerge once on land. And you’ve brought the requested artifact for the audience?” Tecarus asks.

“Halden’s carrying it. He’ll be taking the audience,” I answer. This one time, Halden’s enormous ego works in our favor. His insistence on being the only Navarrian to meet with the king frees Xaden and gives us time to seek out the merchant my father mentioned.

“Excellent.” Tecarus nods. “A word to the wise…” He glances between us. “I may collect rarities, but King Courtlyn absconds with them. Do not wander off from each other, do not advertise what a rare jewel you are, and at all costs—do not make a deal you cannot keep.”

• • •

Nearly twenty-four hours later, my access to magic fades to all but a trickle at the edge of the coast as we fly over by the colors of dawn, trading power for sunlight. The loss is stunning, immeasurable in a way that, for an instant, makes me pity Jack Barlowe.

For the first time since the night Tairn and Andarna channeled to me, I feel…small, naked even, stripped of the power that’s come to not only embolden me over the last year but define me.

A shivering chill sweeps over my skin with the next gust of wind, and Andarna shrieks high above. My head whips in her direction as the sound echoes from those around us.

Tairn drops unexpectedly, his wingbeats faltering, and I fall forward, fumbling for the saddle’s pommels. My hands make impact, jarring my wrists but catching my body weight just before my stomach makes contact as Tairn levels out over the ocean. “Are you all right?” I scan the sky for Andarna.

“Startled. We draw on magic for strength,” Tairn explains. “I hadn’t realized how dependent we truly are—”

Andarna sinks rapidly on our right, her wings beating a furious but futile pace.

“Hook on,” Tairn orders.

“I’m. Quite. Capable.” She loses altitude with every second, plummeting toward the rippling water beneath us.

“I have no desire to scent salted scales. Once you’re wet you’re on your own,” he warns, then picks up his head, swiveling it back and forth in a reptilian manner.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

He dives toward Andarna without warning, and her sigh of acceptance comes out with a huff of a snarl as his shoulders tighten, and I hear the metallic click of the harness locking into place. Her added weight makes him dip for a breath of a second, and then his massive wings beat harder, lifting us toward the riot.

Andarna is suspiciously quiet.

“Tairn?” I prompt, my stomach souring with unease.

“I can’t speak with Sgaeyl.” He clips out each word. “Or any of the others. Our communications have been severed.”

I reach for the glittering onyx bond, but even though Tairn is still there, Xaden isn’t.

We’re already cut off.

It was whispered in academic circles that Cordyn had supplied troops and weaponry for the second Krovlan uprising, but the research has led me across the Arctile Ocean to Deverelli, known to our kingdom as the treacherous isle of merchants, who to my surprise may not have been the source of the arms, but perhaps the broker.

—Subjugated: The Second Uprising of the Krovlan People by Lieutenant Colonel Asher Sorrengail

 

 

 

 

Holy shit it’s hot here, and by my estimates it must only be around nine o’clock in the morning as we approach an endless line of white beaches preceded by splotches of alternating turquoise and aqua waters.

Soft green hills rise directly behind the beach, dotted with stone structures. The perplexing color reminds me of the last batch of wool when the weaver’s dye has lost its potency: it’s muted, almost faded, and its lack of color is made obvious by the contrast of the water. The closer we fly, the farther forward I lean in my seat, wholly, completely fascinated. The hills aren’t dotted at all.

“That’s the city, isn’t it? Hidden in the trees?” My fingers curl in excitement around the pommels of the saddle. The area is a thriving port, with four central piers and several smaller ones.

“It appears to be.” Before we get close enough to make out the people, Tairn banks left, taking us east.

“Let me out of this thing before anyone sees,” Andarna demands.

“Not until we’re out of range of those cross-bolts.” Tairn looks pointedly toward a long stone wall a quarter of the way up the first hill, armed with a dozen of the largest cross-bolts I’ve ever seen, all loaded with shining, metallic tips.

Dragon killers.

For once, Andarna doesn’t argue.

“Given this is an isle dedicated to peace, they’re certainly prepared for war.” My stomach tenses. It’s been centuries since any Navarrian has stepped foot on this isle, and if we’ve overestimated the viscount’s sway with the king, there’s every chance those cross-bolts will head in our direction.

We fly between the beach and a barrier island, where the water is a breathtaking shade of blue I’ve never seen, and I can’t help but stare, trying to commit it to memory as we slowly descend to a hundred, then fifty feet above the ground. Reading about this place has in no way truly prepared me to see it.

Despite the exhaustion, I don’t want to so much as blink for fear of missing a single thing. Although after flying all night, I’m more than prepared to modify this saddle even more for sleeping when we get back to Basgiath.

“According to the map you were given, the estate ahead belongs to Tecarus,” Tairn says as we pass by a grouping of elegant manors on the mainland, each with its own dock and a ship that announces its owner’s status and wealth. Tairn shifts his shoulders, and the click of the harness sounds a second before Andarna appears off his right wing, hers beating double-time to keep up.

A group of creatures darts beneath us in the water, jumping into the air in a series of graceful leaps that almost make up for the flurry of people yelling and running back into their homes as we fly over.

“I wonder what they taste—” Andarna starts.

“No.” My protest catches me by surprise. “They’re dolphinum, and they’re just too pretty to be your snack.” Even prettier than the drawings I’ve seen.

“You’re going soft.” Andarna snorts.

We touch down in the sand in front of a sprawling two-story manor that reminds me of a smaller version of Tecarus’s palace in Cordyn. Its tall white pillars leave a portion of the structure open to the ocean breeze, but the thick stone walls that surround the rest tell me it’s weathered storms here, too. Palm trees—tall, wispy things with broad leaves of the same muted, pale green adorning their tops—line a path to the house, and I check to make sure that’s indeed the standard of Cordyn flying on a docked ship before I dismount, taking the extra pack we’ve kept with Tairn until now.

The sand is so fine I can’t help but drop down and run my fingers through it with a smile. It’s nothing like the rocky texture along the river at Basgiath or the coarse, grainy beach of Cordyn. This makes me want to strip my boots off and walk barefoot.

Andarna lifts her claw and shakes it beside me, sending grains of sand flying in a cloud as the others land in a flurry of activity around us. “It’s going to get between my scales.”

“And now you understand why I didn’t let you eat that tortoise,” Tairn mutters, his head perpetually swiveling, taking in our surroundings. “We’ll need to hunt before we fly back. And we’re no longer alone.”

A middle-aged man stands in the doorway of Tecarus’s manor, his short-sleeved, belted white tunic and matching pants contrasting his brown skin as his arms tremble, his mouth hanging open while he stares at Tairn and Andarna.

“I’ll figure out where to do that without causing a war.” I stand up as Ridoc stomps forward, then startle when Aotrom roars.

The Deverelli man screams and runs back into the house.

“Great first impression,” I mutter, brushing the sand off my palm.

Andarna snorts, then prances off toward the water, her wings tucked in tight.

“Do not go any deeper than your claws!” Tairn lectures, his tail nearly taking out a tree when he pivots to watch her go. “I swear, if you get in over your head, I’ll let you drown.”

Aotrom roars again, getting everyone’s attention, including Tairn’s.

“I don’t know what you’re saying!” Ridoc turns toward Aotrom.

The Brown Swordtail opens his mouth and roars louder, blowing back Ridoc’s dark-brown hair and covering my friend in a layer of goopy saliva.

Gross.

Ridoc slowly lifts his hands and scrapes the slime off his face. “Yelling at me doesn’t help. It’s like shouting in a language I don’t speak.”

A vise of foreboding clamps down on my chest, and my gaze swings toward Tairn, then past him to where Sgaeyl and Teine survey our surroundings restlessly. Mira walks our way, rubbing the back of her neck, but Xaden stands at the edge of the water, facing away from the estate.

“I think it’s just us,” I say to Tairn, spinning slowly to take it all in.

“Just us how?” he asks.

Kira rakes her claws through the sand, and Cat is on her knees next to her, holding her face in her hands while Drake kneels at her side. Sova, his gryphon, shakes his silver head back and forth like he’s trying to clear it. Cath guards the west point of the property, his tail flicking in agitation, and Dain looks down as he walks our way.

Something’s off with everyone.

“I think we’re the only ones who can speak to one another.” My feet sink into the sand as I trudge my way over to Mira, and I rip open the buttons of my jacket as the heat starts to cook me from inside my leathers. “Can you talk to Teine?”

She shakes her head. “We lost the connection as soon as we left the Continent.”

“I…” I swallow hard, then lower my voice. “I can still speak to Tairn and Andarna.”

She blinks, then looks over the group quickly. “From the state of everyone else, I’d say you’re alone in that department.” Her brow furrows. “Do you think it’s because you’re bonded to two? Or is it Andarna?”

I shake my head, my focus straying to Xaden’s back. “I don’t know.”

“Either way, I’m glad you still have the connection.” She gently squeezes my shoulders. “Being cut off from magic is…”

“Disorienting.” I grimace.

“Yes.” She nods. “But losing the bond?” Her face puckers for a second before she masks the emotion. “Well, I guess you’d know, since they shoved that serum down your throat.”

“Not only is everyone going to be on edge, it’ll make coordinating anything a bitch, considering they’re cut off from each other,” I say, glancing up at Tairn, who’s backed away to take a position that puts him equally between Sgaeyl, Andarna, and me.

“Guess we’ll have ample opportunity to try these out.” Mira swings her pack from her shoulder, then retrieves several leather pouches before picking the one marked with a circular protection rune I don’t recognize and replacing the rest. “Trissa sent these as a test to see if runes will work out here.” She unbuttons the pouch and hands me a palm-size slice of what appears to be lilac-colored quartz, tempered with the same rune that labels the leather. “That one is supposed to shield you from sunlight. Carry it while we’re here for me, would you?” She lifts her brows. “Quietly, of course.”

I nod and slip it into my pocket. Having some—or any—form of power out here would put us on a more familiar footing, but it opens the door to a kind of trade I’m not sure any of us wants to contemplate.

“You made it!” Tecarus shouts with glee from the doorway, his arms outstretched in ostentatious welcome as he walks toward us in a fuchsia tunic embroidered in heavy gold. “Prince Halden hasn’t awakened yet, but I was able to secure an emergency meeting with a chancellor to the king upon our arrival last night, and you’ll be thrilled to know that your creatures may hunt in the valleys three leagues south of here where there is an abundance of wild game. Humans are not to be on the menu.”

“Understood,” I tell him and immediately turn toward Tairn. “I’d rather you go now so you’re at full strength than chance something going wrong—”

“Agreed.” He arches his neck and lets out a short bark of a sound that makes me lift my brows but does the trick of getting everyone’s attention. “Do not die while I am gone.”

“I’ll do my best.”

He bends a little deeper than usual given the sand, then launches skyward, his wings creating a gust of wind that weaponizes the sand around us. I throw my forearm up to protect my face and leave it there for the next few seconds as the others follow Tairn’s lead.

When I open my eyes, it’s just us humans on the beach: riders dressed in black, fliers in brown leathers, gawking Deverelli on either side of what appears to be Tecarus’s property line, and one rather pompous viscount.

“The prince has an audience with His Majesty this afternoon, so I’m assuming you’d all like to rest before you…” Tecarus cocks his head to the side. “I suppose do nothing, since King Courtlyn will only speak to aristocracy.” He crinkles his nose at Ridoc. “You need a bath.”

“We need horses.” Ridoc scoops a fingerful of slime out of his ear and shakes it off his finger.

“I’m sorry?” Tecarus steps out of the slime’s path.

“Violet wants to visit the market. Something about buying books,” Dain answers as he catches up, taking a spot to Ridoc’s right.

Tecarus nods. “Of course. You’ll keep a low profile?”

“As low as possible,” I agree.

He tells us where to find our assigned rooms, and after we thank him, I head toward the water. My boots sink in the sand with every step until I reach the zone where it firms just above the waterline.

Xaden stands with his feet apart, swords strapped to his back, and arms crossed, but when my shoulder brushes his elbow, I look up to find his face completely, totally relaxed.

I close my eyes tight, then reopen them just to be sure I’m not imagining things. Nope, he’s really staring out at the water like we’re in the valley above Riorson House and not in enemy territory, completely cut off from magic. “Hey,” I say gently.

“Hey.” He tilts his head down toward mine and gives me a soft—but real—smile.

I almost ask him how he is, since he can’t talk to Sgaeyl and our own bond is blocked, but it seems like a shitty thing to do after that smile. “Everyone is heading up to take naps before we ride out to find the merchant. Halden is set to meet the king at three, so we can get a good four hours of sleep in if you want.”

“I’m going to stay out here for a little bit. You go.” He turns toward me and cups the back of my neck. “You need the rest and definitely need to get out of the sun for a bit. Your nose is turning pink.”

“Tecarus gave us the same room…”

“Because he values his life.” He tucks the loose strands of my braid behind my ears. “Get some sleep. You need it. I’ll be up in a bit.”

“Do you want me to sit out here with you?”

His grin deepens. “When you clearly need to rest? No, love, though I appreciate the offer. It’s hard to explain, but I’m just going to take a little time to myself to soak in this view.” He grabs my hand and brings it to his chest, where his heart pounds in a steady rhythm that feels slightly more relaxed than it was in Cordyn—than it has been in weeks, really. “Can you feel it?”

“It’s slower,” I whisper.

“There’s no magic here.” He tugs me against him. “No power. No lure. No taunting reminder that I can save everyone if I just reach for it and take what’s offered. It’s only…peace.”

For the first time since fetching the luminary, I seriously debate Tecarus’s offer.

The uprising suddenly failed overnight on December 13, 433 AU, in what has been called the Midnight Massacre. The foreign troops disappeared, and the rebels were killed in their beds by Poromish forces. It is not their disappearance that strikes this scholar as particularly vicious but their obvious betrayal. There is a saying in Deverelli: The word is the blood. When they make a trade, broker a deal, it is considered law. I cannot help but wonder what part of the deal the Krovlan rebels did not uphold.

—Subjugated: The Second Uprising of the Krovlan People by Lieutenant Colonel Asher Sorrengail

 

 

 

“This is a ridiculous way to travel,” Ridoc says for the dozenth time, hauling himself upright in the saddle after slipping yet again as our horses navigate the uneven stone streets of Matyas, Deverelli’s capital city.

I smother a laugh, but Cat doesn’t offer Ridoc the same kindness from two rows back with Mira as we ride the tree-covered fairways. We’re arranged mostly in pairs with the exception of Drake, who is solo ahead of Xaden and me.

The city is even more stunning than I imagined from the air. Built under the canopy of enormous trees, only its tallest structures are visible when flying. The rest feels like a hidden treasure, and we haven’t even journeyed up the hill where the palace—and Halden—is. The roads have been primarily residential until now, with structures far and evenly spaced, growing closer together the nearer we come to the ports and city center, and in the last mile, every single one of them has been built out of stone.

“I’m sorry, but I find it hard to believe that a dragon rider draws the line at a horse,” Cat says with another laugh as we pass what appears to be a tea shop, judging by the painted sign outside the door.

“Hey, horses bite,” Ridoc says over his shoulder, and a woman jumps away at the sight of us, placing a palm over the neckline of her embroidered white tunic.

“And dragons do what, exactly?” Drake calls back.

“You’ll never know, since you’ll never be allowed to ride one,” Mira snaps in a bored tone before returning to her usual side-to-side perimeter sweep. She’s been on alert since we left the manor, even though I’ve assured her Tairn’s within range and he can set this whole place on fire within minutes if I call for him.

What we really need is a freaking communication rune for the others—if such a thing exists.

Drake’s eyes narrow on Mira, then Xaden, whose mouth has curved into a smirk. “I’m surprised you didn’t fight me for the lead position, Riorson.”

Xaden scoffs, and the smirk transforms into a smile as we pass under a patch of dappled sunlight. I stare at him like it’s first year all over again. He’s in a short-sleeved uniform top like the rest of us, baring those gorgeously toned arms, but it’s really the relaxed posture, the ease of his smile that have me utterly transfixed and, I can admit…a little confuddled. Xaden Riorson is a lot of things, but happy isn’t usually one of them. “It’s perfectly fine if you die first, Cordella. I’m exactly where I want to be.” Then the man fucking winks at me, and I almost fall off my damned horse.

I tighten my thighs on instinct to keep from sliding out of the saddle, and the sable mare prances beneath me before I remember to relax. The dizziness has always been worse in the heat, and it’s definitely not doing me any favors today.

“See? Violet prefers dragons, too,” Ridoc says.

“I’m fine.” I roll my shoulders to keep my pack—and its very precious cargo—in place.

“She’s always been a good rider,” Dain argues on my behalf.

“Did you two ride a lot when you were younger?” Xaden asks as we pass by a tavern, and more than one mug of ale spills onto white tunics at the outdoor tables at the sight of us.

My jaw drops and my head whips in his direction.

Leather creaks, and when I glance back, sure enough, Mira is leaning forward in her saddle.

“What?” Xaden looks at me, then lifts his brows and glances back at the others. Cat stares at him like he’s grown another head. Dain’s wearing two lines between his brows like he can’t quite figure out if this is a trick question, and Ridoc grins like he’s got front-row tickets to a play. Xaden’s gaze jumps to mine for a second before returning to the road as we take the fork to the right, leading to the market and port according to the rather remarkable signage jammed between the cobblestone and a large tree. “Am I not allowed to ask about your childhood?”

“No,” I blurt. “Of course you are.”

“It’s just that you usually act like I didn’t grow up with her,” Dain answers casually. “Like we weren’t best friends.”

“I’m so fucking glad I got on this horse,” Ridoc says, gripping his reins tighter.

I send a look his way that I hope tells him I’m reevaluating my decision to put him in this squad in the first place.

“But to answer your question,” Dain continues, just as at ease on his horse as Xaden is, “yes, we rode whenever our parents’ duty stations allowed for it. Not the years they were up in Luceras, of course.”

“Fuck that was cold,” Mira says.

“It was,” I agree, cringing at the memory. “Riding was hard on me when I was out of practice, and falling always sucked, but it gave me a sense of awareness of my body, too. What about you?” I ask Xaden as we curve onto a bustling street.

“I think I rode before I walked.” He flashes me a quick smile. “It’s probably one of the things I missed most once I crossed the parapet, actually. Horses go where you ask them to for the most part. Sgaeyl…” He glances up at the trees as if he can see her in the sky above us, a look of longing on his face. “She doesn’t really give a shit where I want to go. I’m just along for the ride.”

“Man, do I feel that,” Dain mutters, and I laugh.

“Look alive,” Drake calls back, and the mood of the squad instantly shifts as the street grows crowded with horses, wagons, and pedestrians carrying baskets in their arms and strapped to their backs. The only blades I see are the ones we carry.

Stone shops line both sides of the congested double-wide street. Their doors are open to the breeze, their wares and produce displayed on carts in front under vibrant cloth awnings for what looks to be a mile straight ahead, and from what I read, I know this area branches off to the south, into a gold and spice market, and farther up the hill where the financial sector perches like an overlord.

We’re a half mile off the beach, but the scents of salt and fish are thick in the air, and I understand why business is done under the canopy of the trees. I can’t begin to imagine the smell or how quickly things would spoil in the sun in this climate.

Everywhere I look, there’s a purchase being haggled over, a fruit I’ve never tasted, a flower I’ve never smelled, a bird I’ve never heard. It’s a sensory feast, and I consume it like a starved woman.

“Anyone feel like our home is a completely dreary shithole?” Ridoc asks as traffic pauses us outside a cloth merchant, and I find myself staring at a bolt of shimmering black silk so diaphanous it’s almost silver.

It wouldn’t last a day against the dragon-scale armor currently covering my torso.

“Speak for yourself,” Xaden says, swinging his leg over and dismounting next to me. “Aretia is the second most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He hands me his reins, turning those gorgeous, gold-flecked onyx eyes into weapons capable of melting the underwear straight off my body as he looks up at me. “And my home is the first.”

Unh. Yeah, I flat-out liquefy.

“You’re laying it on thick, Riorson.” But I still smile when I take the reins.

“I’m going to ask about our merchant. Don’t leave without me.” He glances back at Dain. “Let’s go, Krovlish.” Offering me another precious grin, he disappears into the store, followed quickly by Dain.

“Is that the same guy?” Drake asks Cat, turning around in the saddle. “That cannot possibly be the same fucking guy.”

I try not to look, but fail, and when I glance over my shoulder, I catch a glimpse of her shrugging and quickly looking away.

“Maybe this is who he could have been if his dad hadn’t led a whole rebellion and fucked him over by getting executed and having him thrown into the quadrant and making him responsible for all the marked ones at the age of what? Seventeen?” Ridoc muses.

“Yeah,” I agree, my eyes on the door. “That.” And yet…if all of it hadn’t happened, would we still be us? Or is the miracle of our relationship the result of a precise combination of tragedies that broke us both so completely that when we collided, we became something entirely new?

“Or it could just be that he loves Violet, so he’s not a dick to her,” Mira says, eyeing a puckered-browed Deverelli man who scurries back into a dressmaker’s shop at the first sight of us, dragging a woman along with him. “Guess we’re more visible than we thought.”

“We’re the only ones in black,” I mutter.

“Fire-bringers!” the man accuses in the common tongue, then slams the door shut, rattling the glass.

“Rude.” Ridoc adjusts in his saddle.

“And wrong,” Cat mutters. “Some of us just want to fuck with your feelings, not burn your house to the ground.”

I huff a laugh, but Ridoc full-on snorts.

Xaden strides through the cloth merchant’s door with Dain, tucking a black velvet pouch into the front left pocket of his uniform as he comes down the three stone steps. “She’s a dealer of rare books, two streets up the hill.”

Stunned, I hand him back his reins, and he mounts quickly. “It can’t be that easy.”

“It can,” he says, tapping his pocket. “We don’t share a currency, but gemstones seem to speak in every language.” He looks over his shoulder. “Good job, Aetos.”

“Was that a compliment? What the fuck is going on?” Dain asks, his gaze flying to mine. “Did you give him something?”

I shake my head, and Drake starts us forward.

“Fire-bringer” is hurled as an insult in our direction more than a few times as we make our way down the rows of shops and up the two streets where Xaden and Dain were directed. The flurry of activity dwindles from the urgency of a daily produce-and-goods mercantile district to more varied and niche shops by the time we reach the second street. When we stop in front of Tomes and Tales, there’s ample room next to the trunk of an enormous tree for the horses to wait.

The shop itself is two stories, built in various shades of gray stone, and unlike the streets below, none of its sides touch the buildings around it. From the outside, it looks to be the same size as the bookstore I visited in Calldyr with Dad, a little larger than the library in the Riders Quadrant, but nowhere even an eighth of the Archives.

“You’re on,” Xaden says from the ground, reaching up for me.

I swing my leg over the sable mare and dismount into his arms, noting how he takes his delicious time sliding me down the length of his body.

He keeps our eyes locked, and the heat I find there, the need that flares as my hands drift down his chest make my breath catch. I reach for our bond out of reflex to tell him how much I want him back in my bed, and my hands fist the fabric of his uniform when I remember it’s blocked here.

“I miss the bond,” I whisper before I can think better of it.

“Me too. But you don’t have to say what you’re thinking for me to know,” he whispers, his hands slipping from my waist to my hips. “I can read it in every line of your body. Your eyes are a dead giveaway, too.” Under my fists, his heartbeat accelerates. “Always have been. You have no idea how many times I almost fucked up on the sparring mat when I caught you watching me.”

He says this now? When I can’t just drag him into the nearest room and lock the door? Suddenly, the last six weeks feel like an eternity.

“I swear to Amari, you two get one inch closer and I’m going to throw a bucket of water on you,” Mira warns, breaking the spell.

I fall forward, leaning my forehead on Xaden’s chest right between my fists, and feel his laughter rumble as he closes his arms around me.

“Do riders get nicknames once they earn their wings?” Drake questions Mira. “Because I’m pretty sure yours would be Killjoy.”

“Are we doing this or not?” Mira asks, clearly ignoring him.

I nod and sigh with resignation as I step out of Xaden’s arms. “Ridoc, Drake, Cat, please stay with the horses and be ready to run if this goes badly. Mira, Dain, and Xaden, you’re with me. Hopefully we’ll be out quickly.”

Ridoc dusts off his summer-weight uniform and gathers the reins. “I’ll be nearby.”

“I know,” I reply. The reassuring way he said it makes my brow furrow.

“What?” Mira asks, spotting my face.

“Just wondering if we did the right thing letting Halden go by himself to see the king.” My stomach sinks as I consider every way it could go wrong.

“Didn’t exactly give us a choice,” Ridoc says. “Courtlyn only allows aristocrats to enter.”

“Even if he did, we can’t be in two places at once.” Mira nods toward the bookshop.

Right.

None of us draws a blade, but our hands remain loose and ready as we walk the short cobblestone path to the staired entrance midway down the south side of the shop. Mira enters first, mainly because no one seems to want to argue with her, and Xaden follows me in last, mainly because I don’t think he’ll ever trust anyone without a rebellion relic to ever truly cover his back.

The scents of dust and parchment fill the thick air as soon as our boots hit the hardwood floor, and I immediately understand why there isn’t another shop on the side. Windows stretch from floor to ceiling, allowing natural light to pour in over the rows of bookshelves taller than I can possibly reach that jut out lengthwise from the wall on my right, matching their three-foot-long counterparts on our left, leaving a lengthy, clear aisle to a single counter. The titles are stacked haphazardly, but none touch the backs of the shelves, allowing for air to circulate. It’s beautiful…but hot as hell.

If I’d thought the heat outside the shop was stifling, then the temperature inside—without the breeze—is truly oppressive. Sweat immediately beads beneath my armor and along the side of my neck.

There are a few customers browsing toward the narrow staircase in the back and a woman who appears to be in her sixties with a pert nose and a slicked-back salt-and-pepper bun behind the counter, licking her umber fingers every few seconds as she flips through the pages of a ledger, but I don’t see anyone in the stacks to the right, so I nod toward the counter when Mira looks back at me.

We make our way down the aisle that opens into a small seating arrangement, and Dain keeps his eye on the customers in the back—a pair of men who have definitely taken notice of us. I glance over my shoulder as we approach the counter, finding Xaden has slipped behind the last shelf on the left and is currently leaned against the wall, wearing his usual expression of apathetic boredom.

Go figure, he’s found what seems to be one of the only patches of shadow in the place to wait while I sort out whatever my father sent me here to find.

Dain moves to the edge of the counter, earning the shopkeeper’s attention and placing himself between Mira and the customers, while Mira backs herself to the far edge of the seating group, setting a perimeter.

In a bookstore.

I manage to keep from rolling my eyes.

The shopkeeper’s gaze darts from Dain to Mira to me before she closes the ledger and places it under the counter.

“Dain, could you ask her—” I set one hand on the counter for balance.

“I speak the common tongue,” the woman says. “We are educated here in Deverelli.”

I blink. “Right. Well, I was just wondering if you happen to know anyone by the name of Narelle.”

Her eyes flare, and my stomach jumps into my throat when she glances over my right shoulder.

Mira.

“Fire-bringers!” someone shouts.

I draw two blades in the breath it takes to whip toward my sister.

Two assailants charge from the back shelves—the ones I’d previously, foolishly thought empty—and Mira sighs when one of them, a woman who looks to be my age, lifts a serrated dagger at her.

“If we have to,” Mira says, drawing her own as the older man, someone closer to Brennan’s build and age with spiky black hair and what seems to be a standard-issue white-and-gold tunic, runs down the aisle. Rage fills his eyes as he rushes toward me, two longer, serrated blades pointed in my direction.

I flip one of my daggers to the tip and prepare to throw, angling my body so the shopkeeper remains within sight.

The guy will be here in four seconds.

Three.

Two.

Xaden takes a single step, then kicks a large armchair straight into the man’s path. It hits him square in the stomach, and his breath gushes out, but he regroups quickly, turning a glare in Xaden’s direction with raised blades.

“You don’t want to do that.” Xaden shakes his head.

The guy shouts a battle cry, then draws back his right arm, and I flick my wrist. The dagger lands in his shoulder, and the man howls as crimson streaks down his white tunic and his blade falls to the floor.

“I warned you,” Xaden says as the man hits his knees. “Your error was changing your assessment to targeting me as the threat and letting your eyes off her.” He takes his time walking over to the man as Mira punches her assailant in the face, knocking the woman unconscious. Then Xaden plucks the blades from the man like they’re toys. “I knew some of you carried blades. There’s no society in the world that doesn’t keep some kind of cutting tool, and eventually…well, we all cut, don’t we?”

Dain clicks his tongue, and I turn in his direction to find both his dagger and sword out, the shorter of the blades pointed at the shopkeeper and the longer at the customers. “I would stay back,” he tells the men, who have drawn their own serrated daggers. “In fact, if there’s a back door, I would find it and I would leave.”

They scurry to do so.

The injured man falls forward, catching himself on his good hand before collapsing on his stomach, and Xaden leans over him.

“This is going to hurt,” Xaden warns before retrieving my dagger from his shoulder. To his credit, the man doesn’t scream or complain when Xaden wipes the blade clean on the back of his white tunic. “You really shouldn’t raise a blade if you’re not prepared to receive one.”

Mira sheathes her daggers and steps over the unconscious woman. “Well, that was annoying. Are you protecting something? Or do you just really hate riders?” she asks the shopkeeper, who has backed herself into the corner as far as she possibly can.

“Only fire-bringers in this store looking for Narelle,” the shopkeeper answers.

Protecting something. Got it.

The stairs creak, and the angle of Dain’s sword changes as our heads swing collectively.

The man groans, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him struggle to get off the floor.

“No, no. Staying down is a safer bet for everyone involved,” Xaden warns him. “She only wounded you, but I’ll kill you if you take another step toward her, and it turns out that’s bad for international relations.” I glance his way as someone descends the steps, and he arches his scarred eyebrow. “I’m giving diplomacy a try. Not sure it’s for me, though.”

The man goes utterly limp.

Dain hesitates as a hunched figure rounds the end of the staircase.

The shopkeeper yells something in Krovlish, and I blink. “Did she just call her—”

“Mom,” Dain confirms with a nod. “She said, ‘No, Mom. Save yourself.’”

“We’re not here to kill anyone,” I tell the shopkeeper as her mother walks into the light, leaning heavily on a walking cane. Her hair is silver, and the lines of her face have deepened with time, but she has the same pert nose as her daughter, the same deep-brown eyes and round face. “You’re Narelle,” I guess.

Dain lowers his sword as she approaches, then sheathes it as she completely skirts around him, taking in the scene of what I assume is her shop.

She studies Xaden through thick glasses, then Dain, Mira, and finally me, her gaze lingering on my hair before she finally nods. “And you must be Asher Sorrengail’s daughter, here to collect the books he wrote for you.”

My heart stops.

She won’t understand why you’ve kept her in the dark. You left too soon, left too many of your plans unfinished. Now we can only hope the bond between our daughters is strong enough to endure the paths they’ve chosen. They’ll need each other to survive.

—Recovered, Unsent Correspondence of General Lilith Sorrengail

 

 

 

 

“Books?” I whisper, my fingers curling around the dagger I realize is still in my left hand.

Narelle tilts her head. “I did not stutter.” She looks pointedly at the armchair. “Put that back in its place.”

Xaden lifts a brow but does as she asks, then crosses the small section of the room and sheathes my dagger at my hip.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He brushes a kiss over my temple, then takes the empty spot at my right side.

“Get off the floor, Urson—you’re bleeding everywhere. Take your sister to the back and wake her up. Did I not say you were ill-prepared to carry a weapon?” Narelle lectures as she avoids the spilled blood. “Please forgive my grandchildren. They took our task of protecting the books from any riders who aren’t…you a little too seriously.” She sinks into the chair. “Thank you, young man,” she says to Xaden, then gives him a second look before glancing at Dain. “My, the Continent does have some fine-looking men.”

A corner of Xaden’s mouth quirks upward, and I can’t help but silently agree with her.

“Mom.” The shopkeeper rushes to her side, no doubt still worried we’ll attack her mother. Urson hurries to do Narelle’s bidding, helping his sister off the floor as she reluctantly comes to from Mira’s last punch. They disappear into the back, and I almost feel bad for them until I remember that they attacked us.

“I’m ninety-three, Leona, I’m not dead.” She waves her daughter off. “Or what is it you Amaralis say? I have not yet met Malek. He’s your god of death, is he not?”

My brow furrows at the unknown term: Amaralis.

“Isn’t he everyone’s god of death?” Mira leans back against the nearest row of bookshelves.

I shake my head. “Deverelli don’t worship gods.”

“It’s why we’re considered the most neutral of the isles. Perfect for trade.” Narelle shrugs. “What you call gods, we call science. What you call fate, we call coincidence. What you call the divine intervention of love, we call…” She flourishes her hand. “Alchemy. Two substances combined to make something entirely new, not unlike what’s between the two of you.” She glances between Xaden and me and sets her hand on her chest.

My heart twists. If she only knew how close she was to my very thoughts earlier today.

She wiggles her finger at Xaden. “I heard you saying you’d kill my grandson if he took another step toward your beloved, young man. How illogically, toxically romantic of you. Have to admit, that kind of confident violence isn’t what I pictured when Asher talked about you, but the brown hair, those…I guess they’re brown eyes, and how utterly smitten he predicted you two would eventually be for each other? Well, he described you almost perfectly, Dain Aetos.”

Oh, fucking kill me now.

My mouth opens, then shuts.

Xaden raises both eyebrows and presses his lips between his teeth.

Dain rubs the back of his neck.

Mira snorts once, covers her mouth with her hand, then doubles over laughing. “I’m sorry,” she forces out and straightens, quickly masking her face and clearing her throat, but she slips again, her shoulders shaking. “I can’t. I just can’t. I need a second.” She walks behind the row of shelves, hopefully to compose herself.

My face feels like it’s been blasted by dragon fire.

“How would you like this to go?” Dain asks me as Narelle glances among the three of us, her silver brows knitting.

“Just like it’s gone for the last eighteen months,” Xaden answers, losing any and all trace of the niceties he showed Dain an hour ago. “Everyone assumes she’ll wind up with you, but it’s my last name she ends up wearing on her flight jacket in formation.”

“Seriously?” Words absolutely fail me that he would go there. It was one time. Fine, twice if I count the return trip from Samara after we got back together.

“Glad to see you’re feeling like yourself again.” Dain leans back against the counter. “But we don’t have last names on our flight jackets.”

“And yet you get the fucking point.” Xaden’s jaw ticks.

Narelle’s gaze narrows on Xaden through her thick lenses. “You aren’t Dain.”

Xaden shakes his head.

“I’m Dain.” Dain raises his hand briefly.

“And he is?” Narelle asks me.

“Xaden Riorson.” I lift my chin as if I’m answering to my father for my choice. “And he’s mine, even when he’s being a possessive ass.”

“Fen Riorson’s son.” Narelle drums her gnarled fingertips on the armrest. “Asher certainly didn’t predict that.”

“He would have if he’d ever met him.” I reach for Xaden’s hand and lace our fingers.

“Our mother knew,” Mira says, taking her place at the end of the bookshelf. “She wasn’t enthusiastic about it or anything, but she knew love when she saw it. But she certainly never told us about our father coming here.”

“She wouldn’t have, would she?” Narelle shifts in her seat. “When did he die?”

“A little less than three years ago,” I answer gently. “His heart failed.”

Narelle’s face crumples for a few sorrowful breaths, but she nods through it as if having a conversation with herself, then lifts her head again. “Your father risked all your lives to hide away his life’s work with the sole purpose that you find it, Violet. He left the last of it with me almost four years ago with explicit instructions that you only be given it if you had attained the intelligence and understanding you would need to comprehend it.”

I stiffen.

“That’s…” Dain shakes his head.

“That’s Dad,” Mira says slowly.

“You’ve got this.” Xaden squeezes my hand.

I fight to swallow the sudden lump in my dry throat. “He told me to bring you the rarest item I possess.” An ironic laugh bubbles up. “And I thought…” I shake my head, realizing the work we’ve gone through to haul the satchel all this way has been for nothing.

“You thought it’s Deverelli, so naturally, we trade in goods, treasures.” Narelle folds her hands in her lap.

“He meant my mind.” I glance at Mira, but her gaze is locked on the floor. “That’s why he said not to send another in my stead.”

“The books are only for you,” Narelle confirms, and Leona perches on the arm of her mother’s chair. “I have three simple questions, and if you’re capable of answering them, the books are yours.”

“Arrogant to think you have any right to keep something our father wrote for Violet based on your judgment.” Mira’s tone could grate stone.

“It’s fine,” I assure her, refusing to waver, even in this heat. “Ask.”

Narelle shoots my sister a withering look and then turns her attention to me. “He left a manuscript for you. What is the title?”

“Subjugated: The Second Uprising of the Krovlan People by Lieutenant Colonel Asher Sorrengail,” I answer. “Which you already know that I know. How else would I be here?”

She taps her forefinger in obvious impatience. “In chapter fourteen, your father alludes to the Krovlan uprising falling apart because of Deverelli but does not go into specifics. Any”—her gaze skims over my black uniform—“scribe worth her wisdom wouldn’t have been satisfied with his speculation. So tell me, what’s your hypothesis?”

Out of everything in the book, that’s what she asks?

“Easy. Krovla didn’t keep their part of whatever deal they made with Deverelli. Rather than lose their reputation, Deverelli withdrew their brokerage, hence the removal of the other isle’s troops, and then told the Poromish king regent where to find the rebels. End of rebellion.” I shrug.

“Not good enough.” She shakes her head, and my stomach sinks. “Why did it fall apart? What was brokered?”

“That’s not fair—” Dain starts.

Narelle lifts a hand, demanding his silence. “She knows the answer.”

I sigh. “I…have an idea. I just don’t like being wrong.” Or, in this case, right.

“You’re among friends.” Her smile implies otherwise.

Fine. Sweat drips down the back of my neck, but I gather up the courage to look like a fool. “I think they promised dragons and couldn’t deliver.”

“They what?” Mira squawks.

Xaden tenses, and Dain pivots fully to face me, his eyes impossibly wide, but Narelle’s slow smile tells me I’m either horrifically wrong—or tragically right.

“Present your proof,” she says in a tone that reminds me eerily of Markham. “Convince that one.” She points to Dain.

I tighten my grip on Xaden’s hand, and his thumb strokes over mine. “Public Notice 433.323 acknowledges a failed border breach attempt by Krovlan forces near the outpost of Athebyne on December eleventh, 433 AU, two days before the Midnight Massacre. The only other record of that event exists in the journal of Colonel Hashbeigh, the commander of the outpost, who oversaw the interrogations.” I look over at Dain. “Dad drilled that into me while he was working on the manuscript, and I didn’t understand why then, but obviously I get it now. I think it was the year you were obsessed with the tactics of defeating Emerald Sea piracy or something.”

Dain stiffens. “It was a really big problem in the fifth century.”

I keep from rolling my eyes. “Stay with me here. We were on the couch. Dad was pacing in front of the fire, and you thought it was ludicrous that the soldiers had crossed into Navarre to acquire tailfeathers, remember?”

He winces. “Right. Yes. And your father told me I was a lost cause if I ever wanted to take the entrance exam for the Scribe Quadrant if I couldn’t remember to apply my superior linguistics skills to all areas of analyzing important historical data. Not that I ever wanted to be a scribe, but still. Good times. Thank you for the reminder.”

“Is this going somewhere, or are we just enjoying a moment of nostalgia?” Xaden asks.

“Apply your superior linguistics skills, Dain,” I prompt him. “The interrogation was recorded in the common tongue—”

Dain’s eyes widen. “But the raiders spoke Krovlish, and descriptors follow nouns in Krovlish. They were hunting feathertails. Dragons.”

I nod. “I think Deverelli brokered a deal with Krovla and an unnamed isle that the isle would provide the army and Krovla would provide dragons. When they were unable to do so, the deal fell apart, the Midnight Massacre happened, and Krovla remained a part of Poromiel.”

Dain folds his arms across his chest. “They were dealing in dragons.” He looks over to Narelle. “I believe her. It’s just going to take me a minute to absorb it. One does not just…deal in dragons, let alone take babies to isles that don’t have magic. Not when you risk the wrath of the Empyrean.”

“Oh, wait until you realize that your dad knows my dad’s book has something to do with feathertails, which means Dad knew to stop trusting him at some point,” I add.

Dain’s face swings my way, and his stricken expression makes me wish I could take the words back.

“Third question,” Narelle announces, and it feels particularly cruel, given what she’s just put me through.

“Ask it.” My tone leaves something to be desired.

“What made you leave the prince?” She tilts her head to the side, and her eyes light up like we’ve gathered for tea and gossip.

“I’m sorry?” I lean forward, like it’s at all possible I could have misheard her.

“The prince?” She clasps her hands together. “Your father knew it wouldn’t last, but I’d like to know the final straw.”

“Any chance you want to swoop down and set this shop on fire?” I ask Tairn.

“As the Dark One said, it doesn’t bode well for international relations,” he answers.

“I would,” Andarna offers. “But then you wouldn’t get your books.”

“I…” The weight of every stare in the room flushes my skin so hot, I feel on the edge of burnout without even a hint of magic. “I left him because I found him in a delicate situation with one of his professors.”

Narelle leans forward and lifts her eyebrows. “He was having sex with a professor?”

“Mom!” Leona chides.

“What a fucking asshole,” Dain mutters. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What were you going to do? Punch out the crown prince of Navarre?” I counter.

Dain’s brow furrows.

“Yes,” Xaden answers. “Still might.”

“So you left him in a jealous rage even with the crown of Navarre in your hands?” Narelle prods. “Did he come begging your forgiveness? Did you take him back?”

I can definitely see why she owns a bookstore, and which genre might just be her favorite. “I’ve never sought a crown, and besides, it’s not in Halden’s nature to beg forgiveness of anyone. I closed the door and didn’t bother speaking to him until a few weeks ago. He didn’t love me, not in the way I deserve to be loved, and no amount of power is worth staying with someone who doesn’t love you.”

“You know your value,” Narelle says softly with a nod. “Your father would be proud. Get her the books.”

Leona stands, then leaves us waiting in the seating area while she disappears into the back, and I deflate with relief, sagging against Xaden’s side.

Mira slips her empty pack off her shoulders, then sets it on the unoccupied chair next to Narelle. “I’ll carry them for Violet, unless of course you think my father would have a problem with that. Promise not to read them or anything.” Her biting tone sends a shiver of guilt straight up my spine. Why was Dad so adamant only I collect them?

Narelle simply smiles and crosses her ankles in front of her. “And that right there is why he didn’t leave them for you, dear. We all have a part to play in what’s coming for us; this one is simply hers. While he was busy raising Violet for this particular mission, your mother was raising you. I wonder what legacy you’ve inherited.”

Mira’s eyes narrow.

We leave the bookstore ten minutes later with six tomes written by my father. And every single one of them is passcode-locked.

• • •

Later that afternoon, I lean my head back against the rim of the carved wooden bathtub in the chamber adjacent to the bedroom Xaden and I have been given and listen to birds I can’t identify chirp outside the window above my feet. I’m too short to see the spectacular view of the water, but the sky isn’t bad, either, softening with the colors of an approaching sunset.

What time is it? I wonder if Halden’s back. If he’s managed to secure permission for us to use Deverelli as a home post to visit the other isles or broached the subject of the seventh breed. I reach for the bond to ask Xaden, only to sigh with frustration at the instant reminder that we don’t work that way here.

The breeze picks up the white curtains and billows them toward me as the water chills to a temperature that might make me reach for hot water at Basgiath but is definitely welcome here in Deverelli.

Though my toes are pruning, telling me it’s time to get out.

“Vi?” Xaden knocks on the door.

“You can come in.” A slow smile spreads across my face.

It slips completely when he opens the door and leans in wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips. Gods, is he perfectly beautiful. Wet hair. Still a little scruffy. Water droplets clinging to the lines of his muscles. Abs for days and days and days.

“Just letting you know I’m back…” The words die as his gaze catches on my bare shoulders, which is all I’m pretty sure he can see given the height of this tub. Well, my shoulders and my very wet, very unbound hair. “Damn. Just…damn.”

“I said you should have stayed and had a bath in our room. Lots of space in here. You didn’t need to go borrow Ridoc’s.” I tap the copper pipe at the foot of the tub with my toe. “They really do have some pretty fabulous plumbing.”

“Yeah.” His eyes darken and his grip on the door handle whitens. “I figured it was polite to give you time to soak your muscles to help recover after all that riding.”

“Polite? How very kind of you.” I gather all my hair in my hand and pull it over my left shoulder so it’s ready to wring out, then hit the lever with my foot to start draining the tub, trying to focus anywhere but on him and that incredible body he insists on walking around in.

“And do you feel recovered?” His voice lowers.

“A little exposed after being interrogated about my intelligence and my love life, but otherwise fine.” Reaching to the right, I grab the soft white towel I left on the little bench as the water empties with a gurgle, then turn my back to Xaden and stand, quickly wrapping the towel around me.

“You’re fine,” he repeats. “Not dizzy. Not sore. Not tired? Because we just flew all last night.”

“I’m not sure I want to go climb the Gauntlet or anything”—I lean left, wringing my hair out over the tub—“but yes, I’m feeling as good as it gets.” Clean, fed, and ready to curl up with the man I love.

“Good,” he says against my ear, and I gasp with surprise as he grabs hold of my waist and turns me to face him. “Because I’m done being polite.”

His mouth crashes into mine.

The most useless word in the language of aristocracy has always been and will forever be: love. Marriage is a necessary evil to secure the line. Nothing more. Save love for your children.

—Confiscated Correspondence of Fen Riorson to Unknown Intended Recipient

 

Iabandon my towel and my common sense, throwing my arms around his neck and pouring my whole heart into the kiss. Who cares if we’re in a house full of servants and a viscount I don’t trust? If Xaden has set sexual limits between us the last six weeks? He’s kissing me like I’m the only air he can breathe, and that’s all that matters—all that I can allow to matter.

My wet feet slip on the tile, and then there’s nothing beneath them as I’m lifted to his chest. The sensation of my bare breasts against his damp skin makes me gasp around his tongue.

He groans, holding me with one hand under my ass as I wrap my legs around his waist. I nudge his towel straight to the floor before locking my ankles, leaving us skin to skin as he kisses me senseless, robbing me of logic and replacing it with pure want.

Our mouths collide again and again without finesse or seduction. There’s no flirtation or coy games here. No, it’s all hunger and blatant, naked demand. It’s fucking perfect, unrestrained, and absolutely greedy.

The room moves, or maybe that’s us. Either way, the lighting changes, and I find myself perched on the edge of the small breakfast table a few feet from the bedroom window. I rip my mouth from his to scan our surroundings, but Xaden cups my chin and pulls me right back.

“No one can see at this angle. I checked,” he promises, then goes right back to kissing me, wiping every protest out of my head with the indulgent stroke of his tongue.

Wait. He checked. He’s thought about this.

Oh gods, this might actually happen.

Heat and need rush through me, bringing every nerve to blaring life. It doesn’t feel like it’s only been six weeks since I’ve had all of him above me, below me, within me—it seems like it’s been years.

He winds my wet hair around his hand, then tugs my head backward gently, breaking the kiss and setting his lips to my throat. Every touch of his lips sends a jolt of yes straight down my spine, and they quickly gather into an aching knot of please right between my thighs.

My nails rake into his hair and I arch for more, whimpering softly when he delivers, toying with me expertly. He uses his firm lips, soft tongue, and rough stubble to their every advantage, until I’m pretty sure he could get me off by just kissing my neck.

“I love your skin,” he says, working his way down to my collarbone. “You’re so damned soft.”

My pulse jumps and my hands drift to the strong line of his shoulders, touching every inch of his warm skin that I can reach. I want to lay him down on that bed and lick every single line that he’s kept hidden away from me for the last six weeks, but there’s no way I’m going to chance him stopping this for a change of position.

He abandons my hair, then brings both hands to cup my breasts. I suck in a swift breath when he lowers his mouth to one peak and then uses his tongue and teeth to worship it. Holy shit does that feel good. My body is positively starved for his touch, and it’s all I can do to stifle a flat-out moan when he moves to the other.

“Shh,” he whispers with a playful smile. “Wouldn’t want anyone to hear.”

It’s the smile that does me in, a fear that borders on frenzy breaking through the haze of pleasure he’s building. “You can’t tease me.” I shake my head.

His hands shift to my hips and he stands to his full height, his brow creasing as confusion fills those gorgeous eyes looking down at me.

“I mean, you can,” I immediately blurt, my hands falling to the table. “It’s just that I want you, need you, and I’m trying really hard to respect the whole no-sex aspect of the rules we laid down, and if you tease me—”

He fucking smirks, and I debate going back to the throwing-daggers-at-his-head stage of our relationship. “There’s no magic here.”

“Yes, I know.” I fold my arms over my breasts and move to close my thighs, but he’s standing between them.

“There’s no magic here,” he says again, lowering his head, ghosting his lips over mine. “I can fuck you as many times as we want, as many times as you can take, and I can’t lose control.”

“Oh.” My whole body draws tighter than a bowstring, and my breath catches.

“Oh.” He runs his thumbs up the insides of my thighs and locks his eyes on mine. “Does that sound like something you’d be interested in?”

I run my tongue over my lower lip, and his hands flex. “Only if you are. I feel like…” I swallow. “I just don’t want to push you for something you don’t feel comfortable doing.”

He takes my hand and wraps it around the length of his hard cock. “Does that feel like I’m not comfortable?”

I squeeze my hand on reflex, and he moans low in his throat, his eyes sliding shut. My core clenches at just how hot, how thick, how perfect he is.

“Fuck, Violet, you do that again, and this will be over in minutes.” There’s an edge of desperation in his eyes when they open, and he hisses through his teeth as he guides my hand away from his body. “Me holding back from you has been purely for your sake, not mine, trust me. I want you from the second I wake until the moment I fall asleep. I dream about you.”

My lips part and warmth spreads throughout my chest. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He cups my knees. “And here, I don’t have my fucking powers. Don’t get me wrong, there’s part of that I am very all right with—”

My stomach drops. The venin part.

“But no shadows,” he continues, “no intention, no lesser magics? I can’t even create a sound shield to keep everyone in this house from hearing what you sound like when you come, and that feels…” His jaw flexes.

“I know,” I whisper, skimming the back of my hand along his stubble. Not having that constant stream of power buzzing beneath my skin makes me feel…less than whole.

“And I can’t talk to Sgaeyl,” he adds. “I can’t even sense you, which is killing me. But in return for all that shit?” His scarred brow rises. “I get to do my favorite thing in the world, which happens to be fucking you. Now, I have about six weeks to make up for, and love, we’re wasting time.”

I brace my hands beside me and smile when his eyes darken at the sight of my body. “Well, if you insist.”

A slow smile curves his mouth, and he pushes my knees farther apart. “I insist.”

My laugh abruptly transforms to a moan when he sinks to his knees and sets his mouth on me.

Oh. Fuck.

He doesn’t tease or toy—no, he immediately swirls his tongue around my clit and sinks two fingers inside me. “Damn, I’ve missed your taste.”

“Xaden!” Pleasure jolts through my system like power, buzzing in my veins and landing low in my stomach. I slam my hand over my mouth to catch my next moan as he starts to move those exceptionally talented fingers, his tongue working in rhythm to play my body like an instrument created just for him.

Tension gathers and coils, and it’s all I can do to stay upright, to keep balanced with one hand and stifle my moans with the other. I waver, my body swaying, and Xaden reaches for my mouth.

I pull his hand to my lips and press a hard kiss to his palm as my hips begin to rock against his face and other hand, chasing the high I can feel approaching with every thrust of his fingers, every flick of his tongue.

But I want more. I want him inside me, his arms around me, his voice in my head… We can have all but the last and it’s more than enough.

It’s good. So fucking good. My breath catches and my thighs stiffen.

He curls his fingers and lashes his tongue against my clit, and I unravel. My climax hits hard and fast, and I shout against his palm as white-hot pleasure pulls me over the edge in bright waves that hit again and again, robbing me of breath as they race through me.

He coaxes the aftershocks from me relentlessly, working my body until the last of them shudder through.

“I have no words for the havoc that mouth can wreak. Get up here.” I kiss his wrist, and he stands, dragging his thumb along his lower lip. My temperature rises another degree and my breath hitches as my gaze rakes over him.

Mine. It’s the only word that comes to mind as I devour the sight of him.

“Keep looking at me like that…” he warns, prowling toward me. He slides his hands beneath my thighs and lifts me farther back on the table.

“And you’ll what?” I lie down, bringing my heels to the surface as he climbs onto me, bracing his weight on his palms.

“Good point.” He lowers his mouth to mine, and his arms tremble slightly. “I need you.”

“I’m right here.” I lift my knees to bracket his hips and reach between our bodies to bring the head of his cock to my entrance. We both inhale at the contact, and his eyes flare.

“Are you sure? You know what I am,” he says slowly, and a flicker of something that looks like fear crosses his face.

“I know who you are.” I cradle his cheeks with my hands. “Now, Xaden. You have six weeks to make up for, remember?”

He nods, keeping his gaze locked with mine, then shifts a hand to my hip and drives into me in one long thrust, taking me inch by inch by inch until he’s all I can feel. The pressure, the stretch, the feel of him is so perfect that my foolish eyes prickle because I’ve missed this connection so damn much.

“Are you all right?” His eyes widen and his hips jerk back.

“I’m fine!” I wrap my legs around him. “I just missed this.”

“Me too.” He drops his forehead to mine and rolls his hips, sinking into me.

We both moan.

“I miss being inside your head.” He withdraws, then snaps forward again, and I see stars. Pleasure shoots through my very bones as he begins that deep, slow rhythm I can never get enough of. “I love having every part of you when we’re like this.”

“Same.” I wind my arms around his neck and hold on, arching to meet every delectable thrust as sweat quickly slicks our bodies. “I love when you talk to me…” My fingers slide over his lips. “Even when your mouth is otherwise occupied.”

He grins, but it slips when I swivel my hips and he groans. “Fuck, you feel so damned good. I’m never giving you up. You know that, right? You had your chance to run. You should have run, Vi.” He punctuates each claim with a harder, deeper thrust that has me straining for breath, for reasonable thought that goes beyond more and yes as wood creaks beneath us.

I pull his mouth down to mine and breathe through the keening pleasure that’s building within me again, deeper and hotter than before. “I’m never running. It’s you and me, no matter what.”

“You and me,” he repeats, sweat beading on his brow as his hips drive me into the table, and it creaks, starting to rock with us.

“Just don’t stop.” I’m pretty sure stopping might kill me. I hold tight with my arms, my legs, clinging to him with everything I have as he lowers his weight to his forearm, cushions the back of my head with his hand, and drives into me, taking me higher and higher.

Wood snaps a second before gravity shifts, and my stomach hollows as we fall.

My skin only touches his on impact.

He has me held against his chest with one arm, while his other and his knees took the brunt of our mishap.

“Are you all right?” I ask, my face buried in his neck.

“I’m fine. We fell three feet, not thirty.” He laughs, rolling us off the destroyed table and onto the hardwood floor, careful not to crush my ankles. Then he picks up right where he left off, except this time I’m close enough to the bedrail to push back against him for leverage.

“Hold on.” He reaches over my head, retrieves a pillow, then slides it under my hips. The next thrust hits such a sweet spot that I can taste it.

He muffles my cry with his mouth as I arch up for him again and again, savoring every breath through his gritted teeth, every strained line of his incredible body, every drugging kiss as the pleasure spins tighter and tighter between us.

And gods help me, I hold on as long as humanly possible. I don’t want it to end, don’t want to go back to the endless wanting. A whimper escapes my lips as I fight the pressure, the oncoming wave I know I can’t avoid, not when every roll of his hips drives me toward it.

“You have to let go for me, love.” Xaden nips my lower lip.

“I’m not…” I gasp, my body twisting beneath his. Fuck, it feels too damned good.

“You are.” His hand drifts down my stomach. “I don’t need to be in your head to know why you’re fighting it. This isn’t the only time, Vi. We have all night. Come for me.”

All night sounds better than any heaven I know of.

I sink my fingers into his hair as he strokes my hypersensitive clit with the precise pressure he knows I like, and I shatter. I fly apart at the seams as the orgasm surges through me in arching pulses. He swallows my moans with a kiss as the waves break again and again, and then he puts me back together with soft strokes of his hands as I come back down.

“So beautiful,” he whispers against my mouth, and only when I fall against the floor, a trembling, happily content mess, does he kiss me like he’s searching for his own soul and finds his own completion with a few final hard thrusts and a low groan.

I hold him tight as he rolls us to the side, his back to the destruction, and he cradles my head on his biceps.

I trace the line of the scar across his brow as my heartbeat settles and commit the contours of his face to memory again while he watches me with a glazed, soft expression. There’s too much of us missing here for this to truly be us, but it’s a version that I want to cling to, where he isn’t plagued by the threat of turning, where he isn’t telling me that I have to learn how to kill him. “We could just stay here,” I whisper.

His brow twitches, and he pushes my hair back from my face. “Here as in this room?”

“Here as in Deverelli.” I run my fingers along his jaw. “I can take Tecarus’s offer…if Tairn and Andarna agree. I’m sure they would if it means you stop all progression until I can find a cure. You and Sgaeyl could stay here while I do the research—”

He slides his thumb over my lips. “She’s in pain.”

I blink.

How could I have missed that? Guilt weighs down my shoulders.

“All the dragons are, I think, not that they’ll admit it, but I don’t think they can survive—or at least thrive the way they do at home—away from magic. I could never cause Sgaeyl pain.” He skims his callused hand down the side of my neck and over my ribs to settle on the slope of my waist. “And I could never let you abandon everyone you love.”

A boulder lodges in the middle of my throat.

Someone knocks.

“Hey…uh…” Ridoc says through the door.

My face flushes, and I cover my mouth with my hand.

“We’re all good,” Xaden calls out with a wicked grin, stroking my hip.

“Yeah, that’s…great,” Ridoc says. “No, I’m not—” His voice muffles.

“Look, we have a problem here,” Cat snaps.

“Shouting it through the door isn’t going to help,” Dain says.

“Get away from there!” Mira lectures, and both Xaden and I scramble to our feet. “Violet, answer the door.”

How many people are crowded into that hallway?

Xaden’s faster to the bathroom than I am, and he throws my towel through the doorway, making sure I catch it before striding out with his own wrapped around his hips.

“You can’t answer the door like that,” I hiss at him, covering myself and bemoaning how long it will take to get my clothes on.

“Neither can you, and I’m sure as fuck not offering the sight of you in a towel up to Aetos after hearing that your father basically planned your wedding to the asshole,” Xaden retorts just as quietly, his hand on the doorknob.

I recognize defeat and step toward the wall, out of sight, as Xaden opens the door.

“To what do we owe the honor of a visit from every single one of you?” he asks. “I thought two of you were flying the southern route to confirm there aren’t any irids hiding out here?”

Silence answers.

I lean left, just enough to see Xaden glance over his shoulder. “Yes, the table is broken. Now, what do you need?”

“You two totally broke it, didn’t you?” Ridoc asks on the edge of laughter. “Like that armoire no one was supposed to notice getting hauled out of her room during first year?”

“The what?” Mira’s voice rises, and I lean against the wall, letting my head fall back in mortification.

“What could be so fucking important that you’re trying to ruin my one evening?” Xaden snaps.

“A messenger came,” Dain says. “King Courtlyn has decided to keep Halden.”

My stomach pitches.

“Too fucking bad for Halden.” Xaden shrugs.

“Xaden!” I lift my brows at him, and his mouth tightens.

“We’re flying out as planned, but Tecarus needs you,” Dain continues. “You’re the only aristocrat they’ll let in.”

“You have to go,” I whisper.

Xaden looks my way, and too many emotions to count cross his beautiful face. Want. Desperation. Pleading. Frustration. Anger. Resignation. “Fuck. Fine.” He slams the door in their faces. “We have to go.”

In the first twenty-four hours of removal from source magic, the subject—an asim—presented as even-tempered. But withdrawal quickly revealed the subject’s true nature, requiring the subject’s immediate transfer to stage two of the study. Her results can be found with group thirty-three B under the category: DEATH BY FIRE, and subsequently group forty-six C under the category: DEATH BY POISON.

—A Study in the Anatomy of the Enemy by Captain Dominic Prishel

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Deverelli is beautiful by sunset, or at least it would be if I could concentrate on taking the time to really appreciate the isle.

Instead, I’m focused on exactly how close Tairn thinks he can fly to the treetops without actually crashing into one as we race along the hillside ahead of Sgaeyl.

To Andarna’s disdain, Tairn ordered her to remain behind for her own safety.

“You’re sure we’re out of range of the cross-bolts?” I ask, hunkered down against the pommels of my saddle, my pack weighing me down, as if my slight stature could possibly affect his aerodynamics.

“They are made not to rotate this way but to defend the shoreline. They woefully underestimate our intelligence.”

Still, the existence of the cross-bolts means this isle wants to do us harm. And it possibly already is.

“Are you in pain? Is Andarna?” I ask as I spot four enormous gray pillars ahead, supporting the remnants of an aqueduct as they curve around the hillside, marking the path to their palace.

“What would make you ask that?” His gruff tone answers for him as he crosses over an open space that looks to be in the arts district from what I remember reading, and a chorus of shouts sounds then vanishes as we pass by.

Sorry, but if you abduct our royalty, we scare the shit out of you with our dragons. Seems pretty fair to me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Guilt for even suggesting to Xaden that we stay, for not realizing it, settles on my shoulders.

“You live in pain. Do you feel as though you need to alert me every time your knee twinges or your joints slip?” Even his wingbeats change, becoming more staccato. “There have been several moments, even here, when your heartbeat has elevated and you have approached unconsciousness, yet you have not made special note.”

I lean with him as he banks left, following the centuries-old aqueduct. “That’s just everyday life for me. This isn’t normal for you.”

“Andarna shows no sign of trouble. I am inconvenienced, annoyed, and cut off from my source of power, strength, and my mate’s thoughts, but I am still Tairneanach, son of Murtcuideam and Fiaclanfuil, descended from—”

“All right, yes, I get it. You are superior in all ways.” I interrupt him before he can get through his whole pompous lineage like I don’t have it memorized by now.

We level out, following the topography, and I take in as much of the layout as I can before we’re too far overhead. Tairn’s size is a distinct advantage in battle, but it’s a pain in the ass when I’m trying to see what’s below me.

The palace is unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed. Not only is the four-story structure carved into the hillside, but so is a hundred-yard meadow ahead of it. It’s truly spectacular, a feat of engineering when it was accomplished a thousand years ago, and testament to their traditions that it’s still their seat of power and hasn’t faded to ruin like so many of the ancient castles of kingdoms past on the Continent.

Soft blue light glows in orbs down a central path of the clearing, lighting our way as the sun sinks behind the hills and we descend toward the muted green grass. The space is wide enough to support the width of two dragons with fully extended wings, but probably four if they held them retracted.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Tairn asks as we approach, his wings flaring to slow our descent.

“The majority of their formal spaces are outside, according to what I’ve read, as are the king’s chambers, just beyond the first row of trees, so in theory…yes.” I position my body for landing as he flies over a platoon of panicked guards bearing what appear to be silver-tipped spears, then sets us down to the left of the row of incandescent blue orbs. “Not that they’re going to let me in.”

Sgaeyl and Xaden land to the right.

Shouting ensues as I unbuckle my belt and move for Tairn’s shoulder. “No changes to the plan?” I ask, steeling my nerves for what’s bound to be a contentious confrontation.

I want my fucking power back, and I want it now.

“None. I will be with you all the way, Silver One.”

His promise reassures me as I dismount, the weight of the pack jarring my spine on impact. I shake it off, then walk toward Xaden, who’s already waiting for me at the center of the path between the rows of blue orbs. His swords are strapped to his back, but his daggers are within easy reach, and he carries the same oversize pack he’s hauled with us from Navarre, which he’d told me was for just in case.

I guess an isle kingdom kidnapping your prince qualifies as just in case.

I can’t help but do a double take at one of the orbs as I walk by, stepping into the path. The blue glow isn’t from a single light source, but dozens of large, bioluminescent insects with translucent wings, all feeding from— A smile breaks across my face. “They’re Fallorinia moths.”

“What?” Xaden’s boots crunch on the rocky path as he walks my way.

“Fallorinia moths.” I touch the cool glass orb. “We don’t have them on the Continent, just their sister species. They light up when they feed from honeycomb. I read about them in Sir Zimly’s Guide to Deverelli Fauna, but I had no idea they harnessed them for light. It’s brilliant. Poisonous but brilliant.”

“Of course you did,” Xaden counters. “But we should probably concentrate on the dozen pissed-off guards headed our way.”

“Fair point.” I throw my braid over my shoulder, cursing that I hadn’t had time to put it up as usual, and turn to face the approaching horde of angry white-clad Deverelli. I’m guessing we have less than ten seconds, and those spear tips look mighty unfriendly. My hands dangle near the sheaths along my sides, but Xaden stands with his feet braced apart, his arms folded across his chest as if he isn’t that concerned.

But his eyes sweep across the group methodically, no doubt putting them all into threat categories. I focus on the fox-like woman on the right who keeps flaring her nose and stepping off the path like I won’t notice, and her male counterpart on the left, doing his best to fade into the shadows, not realizing he’s in the presence of a master.

“Look, more blades,” Xaden says. “And here I thought you were a weaponless society.”

The one in the center with a blue sash steps forward and starts shouting. I can only pick out a few words, two of which are stop and kill.

“We could really use Dain right about now,” I whisper.

“I could live the rest of my life without ever hearing you say that again,” Xaden replies.

We could really use the bond, too.

“Do any of you happen to speak the common tongue?” I ask when the serrated silver blades of their raised spears are about five feet from our chests.

They pause, and I shoot a warning look at the nose-flarer on my right.

“You are forbidden to enter the palace of King Courtlyn the Fourth,” Blue Sash declares, jabbing his blade in our direction but not close enough to merit a reaction, “ruler of Deverelli, master of the trade, keeper of the troths, justice of the tribunal, and heir of the antiquities.”

By the time he finishes, it’s hard to keep my brows level.

“Sounds humble,” Xaden says. “Can’t wait to meet him.”

“You won’t be.” Blue Sash steps forward, blade raised.

My hands flex near my sheaths as the woman on my right swings her blade back and forth between me and Tairn’s slow but steady approach. His head is low, almost even with the ground, and his wings are tucked in tight for protection. If I wasn’t his, I’d probably be shitting my pants.

“We will,” Xaden counters with a bored sigh. “And I’m trying really hard to be diplomatic, since that’s the role I’ve been handed, but let me put this in terms you’ll understand. Your king kidnapped our asshole of a prince, and there’s a large part of me that wouldn’t mind him staying here and annoying the shit out of you for the rest of his miserable life, but that would make things difficult back home for someone I have…complicated loyalty toward, so I’m going to need the prick back.”

Aaric.

Blue Sash’s brow puckers, but his blade doesn’t lower.

“Now,” Xaden orders. “I have much more important things to see to this evening.”

Flare Nose to my right swings her blade fully at Tairn and pulls back her arm, preparing to thrust with a full-on battle cry.

I draw my blade the same second Tairn drops his jaw and roars, the sound shattering every glass orb within a dozen feet of us and leaving my ears ringing.

“Was that really necessary?” My right ear won’t work for a month.

“No, but I found it amusing.”

The guard drops her spear and stands there, shaking like a leaf for several seconds before she slowly turns around to face us, her brown eyes wider than should be physically possible, her bronzed skin suddenly rather wan.

I tilt my head at her. “They don’t like it when you do that.”

Trembling, she drags her gaze to mine, then collapses to sit on the ground.

There’s a definite quiver in Blue Sash’s arms, but I give him credit for still holding his blade. “You. May not. Enter.”

“I’m Xaden Riorson, the Duke of Tyrrendor.” Xaden inclines his head. “He’s probably expecting me.”

Blue Sash blinks, then looks in my direction. “And you are?”

Well, shit. My mouth opens—

“My consort,” Xaden replies casually. “Violet Sorrengail.”

What the actual fuck? My jaw snaps shut so hard my teeth click. I want our bond back and I want it back right now. He can’t just announce things like that without at least a discussion.

“Are congratulations or commiserations in order?” Tairn lifts his head.

“Shut up.” I sheathe my dagger to keep from chucking it at the man I love.

“In that case.” Blue Sash raises his spear fully upright, and the others follow his lead. “If you’ll divest of your weaponry here, we’ll escort you to the table.”

“That’s not happening.” I shake my head. This place took my lightning and my bond. Malek himself would have to pluck my daggers from my sheaths before I give them up.

“What she said,” Xaden agrees.

Blue Sash blusters. “We do not believe in weaponry—”

“Unless you’re…you,” I say slowly. “Have you seen the size of their teeth?” I gesture toward Tairn and Sgaeyl. “Then there’s the fire. Our blades are the least of your worries.”

Tairn huffs a blast of steam scented with sulfur, and Blue Sash lifts his chin, ordering the others to stay where they are, then leads Xaden and me down the path.

Sgaeyl and Tairn follow alongside us until we reach the first barricade of the clearing, two thick rows of palm trees marking the formal entrance to the outdoor palace.

“Your creatures remain here,” Blue Sash demands.

“We’ll pass that request along,” Xaden replies.

“We can see right over these,” Tairn notes.

“Remember, diplomacy is plan A.” I reach for Xaden’s hand and move closer to him as we walk on the orb-lit path, passing what looks to be an open-air receiving room on the left with various seating arrangements, and a music room on the right with instruments waiting for their musicians.

“No walls,” Xaden notes. “No ceilings. What do they do when it rains?”

“Awnings.” I point to the long wooden rails that run the length of the room, ready to shelter its occupants with fabric. “And consort?” I whisper. “We aren’t married.”

He fucking smirks. “I’ve noticed. But ‘girlfriend’ is missing that permanent tone. If it makes you more comfortable, consort is used pretty loosely in Navarrian aristocratic circles. Pretty sure the Duke of Calldyr has had four different consorts in as many years. The designation just gets you the invitation into this place, plus gives you the protection and privileges of my title—”

“I don’t need the protection and privileges—” I shake my head as we pass another row of palms.

“Ouch.” He lifts his hand to his chest. “Never thought you’d reject me.”

I roll my eyes. “It is not the time for this.” Jokes have to wait.

“When would be?” The next look he gives me is a hundred percent serious.

My feet nearly stumble along with my heartbeat. Just the idea of really having forever with him makes my chest ache with a longing that doesn’t belong on a possible battlefield. “When we’re not risking death—”

“We’re always risking death.” He strokes his thumb over mine.

“True,” I admit as we walk onto a flagstone floor, entering the palace’s dining hall.

The room is laid out in two rows of eight circular tables, each seating ten finely dressed Deverelli on backless chairs, all outfitted in a riot of pastel colors and lightweight tunics and gowns. The table linens are embroidered, the place settings extravagant with golden cups and crystal chalices, and jewels glitter in the soft blue light that emanates from the center of every table and the posted orbs that run the length of the room, illuminating the rows of guards—and their blades.

At the end of the open-air chamber, there’s a raised dais with a U-shaped table for five. A man I can only assume is the King of Deverelli sits at its center, twirling a bejeweled dagger in his hands and staring at Halden on the right end of the table like he hasn’t decided if he’s going to use that dagger on him or not.

There’s no sign of Captain Winshire, but Tecarus looks like he’d rather be anywhere than between Courtlyn and Halden.

“Fuck,” Xaden mutters.

“He’s…younger than I thought,” I say about the king. By about four decades or so. Courtlyn only looks to be a few years older than Xaden and me. He’s handsome, with deep golden-brown skin stretched over high cheekbones and a strong jaw, cunning brown eyes, and shoulder-length black hair, but the speed with which he locates Xaden and me and quickly appraises us leaves me a little queasy.

Xaden’s hand tightens around mine, and he leans down to brush his lips against my ear. “The shadows here are not mine. I know your skill with a dagger. I’m not discounting your ability to protect yourself, but for the good of my sanity while I try to get Halden out of whatever mess he’s created, will you please stay by my side?”

I nod. How can I not? He’s not asking me to hide behind him, nor did he leave me with Tairn to keep me safe. He’s just asking me to stay close.

And honestly, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

He squeezes my hand once, then lets go, freeing us both in case we need to fight, and we move forward as Blue Sash beckons, clearly exasperated with the time we’re taking.

King Courtlyn waves off the couple on the left as we approach, listening to whatever Tecarus whispers in his ear, and servants scurry to replace the plates and cups as the couple departs.

“They don’t shake hands,” I tell Xaden quietly as we walk down the aisle. “They don’t mince or waste words. They speak in double meanings only when it’s convenient to them. They value status, wealth, knowledge, and secrets—anything that can be traded. If you break your word once, you’re never trusted again.”

“Say what I mean. Don’t lie. Act like a rich, entitled dick. Got it.” He nods.

Rage shines in Halden’s gaze as it meets mine when we reach the last set of tables, and his fist closes around his gold fork.

I send him a silent, subtle plea to keep his shit together, and he places the fork on the table and clenches his jaw.

“The Duke of Tyrrendor,” Blue Sash announces loudly, gesturing to the four steps that lead up the dais on the left, “and his consort, Violet Sorrensail.”

Close enough.

Xaden walks up the steps first, his gaze sweeping the floor, the chairs, the table, and even the place settings before he reaches back with a hand. It’s unnecessary but sweet, so I take it and walk up after him. “It’s Sorrengail,” he corrects Blue Sash.

I take the seat on the end, and Xaden takes the one closest to Courtlyn’s right.

“What did you do?” I ask Halden across the divide.

“Straight to the point,” Courtlyn says, rolling the jeweled dagger. “I enjoy this.”

“What makes you think I did anything?” Halden challenges, leaning over his plate.

“Previous history.”

Servants step up behind the other three occupants and remove the dishes.

“I’m sorry to say that you missed the dinner portion of the evening,” Courtlyn announces, “but dessert will soon arrive.”

“What did you do, Halden?” Xaden repeats for me.

“Exactly what I was sent here for.” Color flushes Halden’s cheeks and he slams his palms down on the table. “I reestablished diplomatic connections with Deverelli and asked for their permission to use Tecarus’s manor to launch a search mission with a riot of dragons in return for the artifact he requested, and when that was not enough, I offered—”

“What was not yours to give!” Courtlyn lunges across Tecarus and plunges the dagger into Halden’s hand.

Holy. Fucking. Shit. My stomach churns.

“Your Majesty!” Tecarus balks, the blood draining from his face.

I drop my hand to Xaden’s knee and squeeze to keep from screaming the way Halden does as he stares down in shock.

Xaden tenses but wears his mask of bored indifference like a professional.

“Stop wailing like a child.” Courtlyn sits back in his chair, then takes a drink of red wine from his crystal goblet.

Halden sucks in breath after breath, staring at his hand, but the screaming ceases.

“Pull it out, wrap your hand, get it stitched by a healer, and you’ll be fine in a fortnight,” Courtlyn lectures. “The cut is between your bones, in the fleshy part. No tendons. My aim is very good.” He lifts his goblet at Halden. “You’re lucky I respect Tecarus, because what you’ve done is unforgivable.”

“The dagger was mine to give,” Halden bites out, staring at the jeweled blade. It looks to be antique, with a silver handle and emeralds the size of my fingernails adorning the hilt.

“No, it wasn’t.” Courtlyn shakes his head.

“It’s mine,” Xaden says, and it takes everything I have to keep my features schooled. “Or rather, it should have been. It’s the Blade of Aretia, appropriated for the royal vault by Reginald during the Unification.”

“Yes!” Courtlyn’s goblet swings Xaden’s way as three servants climb the steps around us, one on each side. “Fascinating how he chose this particular…gift, knowing it might provoke your emotions. Normally when it comes to such heirlooms, we’d consider possession ownership, but in this case, His Highness’s word was already broken, hence why I could not make his deal. I’m fascinated to learn how much he is worth on the ransom market, or perhaps I’ll entertain classic blackmail. Surely King Tauri will be amenable to quite a few things should his son remain in residence.”

“You can’t just keep him,” Tecarus argues.

“Why not? Weren’t you telling me you wanted to keep that one?” Courtlyn points at me.

“I did not break my word!” Halden growls and grabs hold of the dagger’s hilt as the servants put down a covered dish in the center of each side of the table. Looks like we’re sharing dessert.

“I hope you don’t mind waiting a moment,” Courtlyn says, and the servants wait, their hands poised on rounded copper covers. “My little ones have arrived.” He gestures down the aisle, and I inhale a sharp breath.

Tairn growls and Andarna perks up, taking notice along the bond, her golden energy intensifying as three pure-white panthers stalk toward us. I’ve only ever seen their kind illustrated in books, and never in white. They’re graceful and elegant and so very beautiful, and the closer they get…the more I’d like them to stay in the books. Their paws are huge.

Wind rustles the trees at my back, and a chill runs the length of my spine.

This entire palace is outdoors, and they have the run of it.

I have no desire to be their dinner.

“Aren’t they magnificent?” Courtlyn asks, his tone marveling like a proud father. “Shira, Shena, and Shora. I’ve raised them from cubs myself. All hunters. All vicious. All adept at sniffing out a thief.” He turns a pointed look Halden’s way.

My stomach sinks, and my heart begins to pound.

“Pull it out and bandage that hand now,” I tell him.

Xaden moves to push back from the table—

Courtlyn raises his hand. “Do it for him, and any chance of us striking a deal is off.” He sets his goblet down. “I need to know you can uphold your end of a bargain even when it’s unpleasant to do so, just as your father did.”

Xaden nods once, his face an unreadable mask, but his leg tenses under my hand.

Guess my father wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

“Now, Halden!” I have no problem yelling at the heir. The panthers are halfway here.

Halden yanks the dagger free with a hiss, then sheathes it like it’s his and quickly binds the wound with his napkin, field-dressing it as best he can.

“Now that that’s done.” Courtlyn turns to Xaden. “I assume you would like the same deal he asked for?”

My hand tightens on Xaden’s knee.

“I can’t agree, seeing as I have no idea what Halden requested,” Xaden says. “But we’d like to reopen diplomatic channels and secure permission to use Viscount Tecarus’s manor as a stopping point for a riot of no more than eight dragons and an equal number of gryphons for the purposes of a search party, which would entail securing hunting rights of wild game for said creatures and a promise of safety for all parties.”

Courtlyn rolls the stem of his goblet between his thumb and forefinger. “To whom do you owe your loyalty, Your Grace? Your father was a rebel. From what I hear, you are cut from the same cloth, and yet you’ve been restored to your title, so to whom do you swear your fealty?”

I reach into the right side pocket of my pack for the conduit out of sheer habit as the panthers approach the dais, splitting to surround us. The familiar weight of the orb is comforting in my hand, and I swear I can feel a hum, a swift rise in heat that I know is only in my head, but it’s soothing all the same.

“Navarre,” Courtlyn continues, “or Tyrrendor? Lie, and this discussion is over. We’ve fared quite well without the Continent.”

Xaden tilts his head, studying the king. “Violet.”

My heart skips into double time.

“My loyalty is to Violet first above everything, everyone else,” Xaden says. “Then Tyrrendor. Then Navarre in the moments it’s worthy—usually when Violet is in residence.”

It’s a reckless answer given what hangs in the balance, and now is absolutely not the time, but damn if it doesn’t make me love him even more.

“Interesting.” The king stops twirling his glass.

“I’m assuming with our deal, trade would begin again,” Xaden says, “which would be mutually beneficial, since I’m sure you’ve heard we’re in a war with the venin. Should you decide to become our ally—”

“Oh, we’ve never involved ourselves with venin.” Courtlyn shakes his head. “War destroys isles, blocks economies. Supplying those at war, however…that’s where the money is. We remain neutral in all things and always have. It’s how we’ve maintained trade, commerce, growth, and knowledge for the world no matter what god you worship or magic you can access.”

“But they’ve been here, right?” I narrow my eyes slightly, noting that there’s now a panther perched directly behind me. I lean forward to look around the servant who is still holding our dish shut. “Did you defeat them?” Or cure them?

Courtlyn glares. “To imply that our isle is weak, conquerable, is a line you do not want to cross. Such an assumption is disastrous to an economy that is built on safe, stable trade. People do not invest in unstable isles.” He snaps his fingers.

The panthers leap onto the dais with an ease that speaks to nightly routine.

“I will not stand for you being devoured by a house cat,” Tairn growls.

“Stay put and keep Sgaeyl with you,” I shout down the bond, and my knuckles whiten around the conduit as the panther pushes between Xaden and me, its soft coat brushing against my arm.

“Shora’s lovely, don’t you think?” Courtlyn says to Xaden, an indulgent smile curving his mouth, then continues toward Halden without waiting for an answer. “I hope you don’t mind, but they’re used to eating with me. Your Highness, do remember that Shira earned every bit of her special dinner today.” He lifts his hands, palms up, and crooks his fingers.

The servants remove the copper covers, then duck off the dais.

Oh gods, it’s a giant slab of red meat that has to have been carved off the largest cow to have walked this isle.

The panther—Shira—chuffs low in her throat, flicking her tail, and I can’t help but wonder if this is how the infantry cadets felt that day on the field when Baide found us.

Xaden’s hand covers mine and squeezes, and I look over to find him staring, stone-faced across the table, then track his gaze—

Captain Anna Winshire’s head lies on the plate between Halden and Tecarus, her short, strawberry-blond curls unmistakable.

My jaw slackens. Oh, Malek, Courtlyn has killed Halden’s personal guard…and is serving her to his cat.

I’m going to be sick.

Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow quickly, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, but all I smell is meat and blood.

“Don’t watch,” Xaden whispers, and I wrench my gaze away.

“Eat,” Courtlyn orders, and the panthers pounce.

Paws land on the table between us, and a massive maw opens, snatching the meat off the plate and dragging it, leaving a bloody trail on the white linen as she hauls her meal to the dais, then to the floor.

The others follow suit.

When I look across at Halden, he stares at his empty plate, completely stricken.

“Aren’t they beautiful creatures?” Courtlyn asks.

I blink away the shock and set the conduit on the table. Death and I are old friends, and it’s not like I really knew Anna. But the audacity is truly unparalleled.

“You murdered my guard,” Halden says slowly.

“Your thief was found in my treasury,” Courtlyn counters, “with six stolen treasures on her person and a list of five more she had yet to attain written in your handwriting.”

My stomach lurches, and my gaze jumps to Halden’s. “You didn’t.”

“They are all items that belong to us!” He pounds his chest and stands, his chair falling back against the dais. “It is not stealing to take back what is rightfully ours!” A vein in his neck bulges.

Guards move in toward the edge of the dais, forming a perimeter around the panthers, and I slip my hand from beneath Xaden’s and reach for the sheaths at my lower thighs, beneath the tablecloth.

“It’s about to turn to shit,” I warn Tairn. “Communicate that to Sgaeyl however you can.”

He rumbles in acknowledgment, and palm trees sway in the distance.

“Rightfully yours?” Courtlyn challenges, his voice rising in a sinister melody.

“What’s the penalty for thievery here?” Xaden whispers.

“From a royal house?” I focus inward. “Decree twenty-two…” I wince. “No, twenty-three, is death.” I’ve studied, but I’m nowhere near a legal expert.

“Is Halden complicit under their laws?”

“Their system isn’t like ours. Their decrees can contradict each other, and Courtlyn sits on their tribunal, so…” My words trip over themselves. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

I might want to strangle Halden myself, but I can’t let him be executed here for stealing.

“Those items are mine, received as goods bartered for services rendered over the last century, as you well know!” Courtlyn shouts, and the diners fall silent at their tables, leaving only the sound of the panthers devouring their dinners.

Wait. The last century? My shoulders fall and my mind whirls, recalling Aaric’s words from last year when I asked what Halden was going to do about what was happening beyond our borders. I’m here, aren’t I? Aaric had implied that Halden wasn’t going to act.

But this is so much worse.

Halden didn’t just know; he’s been playing a starring role.

“You took advantage of our desperation,” Halden accuses. “Accepted priceless magical artifacts under unfair terms, and now you execute my personal guard when we seek to rectify your outright theft with a genuine agreement? Fuck you! We want no part of you, your deception, or this godsforsaken isle!” Halden surges forward, shoving his section of the table over, and it topples into the void of the center.

Oh. Shit.

Courtlyn’s gaze turns to ice, and my ribs feel like they’re twisting inward as I watch everything we’ve worked for fall apart in a matter of seconds. Tecarus jumps backward, then quickly scrambles down the steps, and I don’t blame him in the least.

Halden has fucked us over. The sour taste of betrayal fills my mouth, but a bitter flood of metallic anger carries it away with the next heartbeat.

“Enough, Halden!” Xaden stands and I slowly do the same, monitoring the guards around us, the panthers behind us, and those in the crowd reaching beneath the linens for what could be hidden weapons.

“He is a thief, and he impugns my honor in front of my entire court!” Courtlyn shouts at Xaden, but he points his finger toward Halden.

“He no longer speaks for us.” Xaden swings the pack from his shoulder, setting it atop the table with a clang. “If you will not accept the deal with Navarre, then accept it with Tyrrendor, and I’ll assure you the only riots on your shore will have Aretian riders and their flier counterparts, who will abide by your laws and respect your customs, and in return, with my utmost gratitude for your trust—” He unbuttons the top flap of his rucksack and pulls it back slowly, revealing an inch of an emerald-studded hilt that steals my breath. It looks too much like the dagger to be a coincidence.

My heart stutters. That can’t be. He can’t. I won’t let him.

“No.” I grab hold of Xaden’s hand, preventing him from showing the rest of it. “If that’s what I think it is, then absolutely not.”

“Vi…” He shakes his head, searching my eyes, and I know I’m not the only one longing for the bond that usually makes these moments easy for us. “It might be the only way to forge an alliance and save the prick.”

“You’ve sacrificed enough. I’ve got this.” I slip my heavy pack from my shoulders and set it beside his.

“Absolutely not!” Halden shouts.

Xaden gives him a look that clearly says he’s had enough of his shit.

“I alone have the authority to speak for Navarre!” Halden rages, taking two threatening steps toward the king. “You do not make deals with provinces, let alone the son of a traitor who blackmailed his way into a title. I am the only voice of our kingdom!” His hands curl into fists, and the binding around his right floods crimson.

Courtlyn sighs, then reaches for his goblet and takes a drink. “I’ve heard enough, and this grows tedious. Tecarus may live. Kill the rest.”

Sometimes diplomacy is best served at swordpoint.

—Journal of Captain Lilith Sorrengail

 

 

 

 

Guards move in and everything goes to complete, immediate shit.

Xaden draws both his swords, then surprises the hell out of me by tossing one across the gap to Halden, who catches it with his left hand in the same breath that I palm two of my daggers.

We are not dying tonight.

“Try not to kill anyone,” Xaden says, even as the first of the guards charges up the steps between the panthers. “International relations and all.”

“Tell her that.” I glance down at the panther, thankful she’s still occupied. “Do not overreact,” I warn Tairn, hoping it’s not my final request. “We still need this deal.”

“I resent the implication that I am given to melodramatics,” he replies, but there’s a distinct, plate-rattling roar to my left that causes more than a few guests to shriek as Xaden clashes blades with the guard, then kicks him clean off the stairs with a boot to the center of his chest.

I whirl to the left as a guard climbs the end of the dais without stairs and pull a move from Courtlyn’s own book, thrusting my dagger through her hand and yanking it out. She shouts, falling backward, and when I rise, I find two more guards have managed the same maneuver behind us, filling the space between Xaden and me.

Bone crunches and a body flies around the guards, but there’s easily a half dozen more waiting beyond the panthers.

The closest guard has at least a foot on me and fifty pounds, and if the scars on his forearms are any measure, he’s no stranger to fighting. But he’s no Xaden.

I charge before he can take a fighting stance and let muscle memory take over, my first cut landing deep in the outside of his thigh before I duck close, avoiding the swing of his long spear. They aren’t made for close combat, and I am.

He misses, thrusting the spear into the table, shattering glass, and giving me the time to regretfully slice the tendons behind his knee. It’s a long-lasting injury for a warrior, but at least it won’t kill him.

He bellows, toppling sideways and falling from the dais, but before I can get up, pain explodes at the back of my head, and I’m yanked upward…by my godsdamned braid.

A battering ram of an arm shoves my chest onto the bloodied plate between our packs, and my face narrowly misses a sharp shard of glass. The spear shattered my conduit. “Do your dragons scream before they die, fire-bringer?” the guard hisses in my ear as she leans over my back. “Does it take them minutes to perish after you do? Or is it instant?”

Anger storms through my veins, heating my skin from the scalp down in a flood of smelted rage. “Your ignorance is staggering.”

Gods bless my flexibility, I swing my left arm behind my back and stab deep into her arm.

She shouts, jerking upright, and I shove the heel of my hand against the table and throw every ounce of my energy into jolting backward, slamming my head into her face. Bone crunches, and her weight disappears.

I turn, only to meet the stunning blow of an elbow against my cheekbone. Skin splits, my ears ring, and I fall back against the table, blinking the stars out of my eyes as a hand grabs hold of my throat and squeezes.

“Violet!” Xaden yells, and I slash my blade across the offending arm and thrust my knee in a move even Mira would be proud of. The man falls and I cough for my first breath as the dais shudders.

I lift my blade toward the giant on my right, but the pommel of a sword reaches his temple first. The man collapses, and Xaden shoves him off the platform with his foot.

“That is enough,” Tairn declares.

“She holds her own,” Andarna argues. “Oh. Perhaps there are now too many.”

“Stop playing and end this! It’s the only way to kill their mounts!” Courtlyn shouts from behind us.

Xaden reaches for my face with his empty hand, cupping my chin and turning my cheek toward the blue light as a dozen more guards pour in from behind Courtlyn. I take a precious second to make sure Halden’s still alive. He’s on the ground, chest moving, eyes closed—I think he might be unconscious, but I don’t see any blood.

“Xaden, behind us,” I warn as he studies the wound that has begun to throb. When he doesn’t answer, my gaze jumps to his, and my breath falters.

I’ve seen him in battle before, seen the icy rage that comes over him, even the killing calm. I’ve witnessed the transformation from man to weapon, watched strategy overtake compassion—just like we’re trained for.

But this…whatever’s swirling in those onyx eyes is a tempest I’ve never beheld. It’s one step past fury, as though Dunne herself has stepped into his eyes and now peers back at me. He’s Xaden, but he’s…not.

“Xaden?” I whisper. “It’s nothing. Really. I’ve had worse on a sparring mat.”

“They’re all fucking dead.” His vow lifts the hair at the back of my neck, and the guards rush the table simultaneously with their weapons drawn, obviously having learned from the last failed assault.

Two on…twelve. Shit.

I startle and pull back to fight, but Xaden whips his arm around my waist and yanks me against his chest. His sword hits the table, and to my complete and utter surprise, he presses a soft kiss to the top of my forehead as an axe—

Metal hits the ground.

Screams sound around us, and I jerk my head left, finding Xaden’s outstretched hand mid-twist. The unmistakable sound of cracking bone follows, and every guard surrounding us drops to the floor, their heads twisted at unnatural angles.

Wisps of barely there shadow dissipate, and the band around my waist falls away with a familiar caress.

No, no, no.

Silence falls, thicker than the cloying, humid air, and my heart cries, demanding some other answer than the one my brain already knows because there’s only one logical explanation for what just happened—but even that can’t be possible because there’s no magic here.

Tairn bristles along the bond, and Andarna shudders. I can feel them both, closer than they should be, but there’s still no bond to Xaden.

“Y-y-you…” Courtlyn stammers. “What have you done?”

I drag my gaze along the wall of rustling palms to the left, over the scattered dead Deverelli guards and the panthers that happily investigate them, and across Xaden’s chest, finding nothing but the same on the other side of the table.

He’s killed all dozen of them.

It’s only muscle memory that sheathes my daggers.

Something falls from his hand, hitting his abandoned sword with a metallic clink. I grab the small object on impulse and close my fingers around the pebble-size piece of alloy from my conduit. Agony cracks my soul clean open, as if I can give Xaden some of what he’s just lost as I register the alloy’s chill, its complete and total lack of energy before shoving it in my front pocket.

“They hurt you,” he whispers without apology. “They were going to kill you.”

The why of it doesn’t matter. Not right now. Not when we’re surrounded on an enemy isle, escorted by riders who don’t know what Xaden’s become, and facing down Navarrian royalty who would gladly see him dead.

Why is a matter for later.

“Violet.” The plea in his whisper pulls me together faster than anything else could, and I jerk my head up. His eyes are tightly closed as he rubs the bridge of his nose.

“Come here,” I say quietly, rising on my toes and cupping the side of his face, lifting my hands to his temples to shield him from view. Courtlyn’s chair squeaks on the dais. “Look at me.”

Xaden’s eyes flash open. Red rims his irises and consumes the gold flecks I adore so very much, but he’s still him behind these eyes. I force my body not to react, then pull his forehead to mine. “I love you and we need to get you out of here, so you have to trust me. Do not move until I tell you.”

He nods.

“Sit down. Put your head in your hands and stay there.” I let him go, and he does exactly as I ask, keeping his head low as if he’s ashamed of what he’s done.

“I need help,” I tell Tairn and Andarna.

“We’re ready,” Tairn replies. Thank gods they’re always in my head.

“Andarna, when it’s time, be gentle.” For once, I don’t even want to lecture her about not staying home when she’s told, though she’d better have her harness on if this doesn’t go as planned.

“Is your lightning gentle? Do I critique your work?” She huffs.

Courtlyn still stands behind the table, one of the panthers at his side, panic etched in every line of his face as the court mutters in muted tones of hysteria behind us.

“I need you to get Sgaeyl as close as possible,” I tell Tairn, then offer what I hope is a contrite smile Courtlyn’s way. “Our most sincere apology, but in Navarre, riders are trained to kill when you attack us, and our restraint can only be pushed so far. As you can see, the duke feels some remorse, but you did just try to murder two of our kingdom’s nobles.” I cringe. “Not a good look for negotiations. Shall we begin round two? I’ll lead this time.”

“We have no magic.” Courtlyn’s eyes widen, and his gaze darts over the room, as if he’s deciding whether or not to call for more guards.

“Watch your words,” Tairn warns. “Sgaeyl is here. It’s getting cramped behind these trees.”

“And yet here we are. Did you know that I’m a lightning wielder?” I cock my head to the side.

Courtlyn swallows. “Tecarus mentioned something along those lines.”

“What happened?” Halden sits up with perfect timing, rubbing a growing lump on his head.

Courtlyn’s chest rises and falls more rapidly with every second, and I watch the panic build within him like a breaking dam ready to burst. I drop my right hand to my sheaths and wait for him to explode. “Shira!” he bellows, snapping faster than I expected.

“Violet!” Halden shouts, and Xaden’s back turns to stone beneath my hand, but true to his word, he doesn’t move a muscle.

Neither do I.

“No!” Courtlyn shrieks, his eyes locking behind me in horror. His mouth falls agape, and the group of Deverelli erupts into full-blown multitoned cries of distress.

“You stay put and she lives,” I warn him as people run for their lives, emptying out the hall.

“Well, holy shit,” Halden says with lifted eyebrows, wobbling as he stands.

I look over my shoulder, and a slow, proud smile spreads across my face. Andarna stands with her front claws atop the bodies of the guards, her wings tucked in tight, her black tail flicking back and forth as she holds Shira delicately between her front four teeth, the snarling cat’s claws safely tucked outside so she can’t cause any damage. Andarna even has her lips puckered so the little cat doesn’t get drenched in dragon saliva. How thoughtful.

“Shira…” Courtlyn cries.

“You see, that’s my little one.” I pivot toward Courtlyn with a grin, wrinkling my nose. “Raised her from a juvenile—well, Tairn and Sgaeyl have, really, but you get the point. Now, Andarna doesn’t eat our allies—it’s a whole thing her elders are trying to teach her—but you know how adolescents are. Never really know if they feel like listening on any given day.” I shrug. “So we can negotiate, and I will give you the rarest treasure found anywhere on this world and Shira will walk away in need of a good bath, or I can call Tairn and Sgaeyl in here, and they can all have little panther snacks before we fly back to the Continent. Your choice. But either way, you should know that dragons outlive their riders, so had you succeeded in killing us, all you would have done was really piss them off before they scorched everything in their paths and flew back to tell the rest of the Empyrean what you’d done. I’m willing to let the Duke of Tyrrendor depart in good faith that you won’t try to attack us again if you’re ready to begin.”

Courtlyn’s face falls, and for the first time since we walked in, he actually looks his age as he glances at Xaden. “Agreed.”

“My king!” someone yells from behind me.

“It’s fine, Burcet!” Courtlyn calls back. “My trade minister will stay for negotiations, along with finance and”—he looks their way—“foreign.”

“As it should be.” I nod, then hold out my hand to Halden. “Bring me both of his weapons.”

Halden’s head draws back in offense.

“Now,” I add, just in case he thinks I’m kidding.

“Way to fuck up the negotiations, Riorson.” He glares and tosses them over.

The steel lands on the table with a clatter, and I make quick work of sheathing Xaden’s swords at his back and packaging the dagger in his bag with the Sword of Tyrrendor.

“All ready.” I tap Xaden’s back and he stands, turning away from Courtlyn and Halden before swinging his pack over his shoulder.

He keeps his head low but opens his eyes to look at me. “I’m not sorry, but I am.”

“I love you.” I cup the sides of his face and choose my words carefully. “Sgaeyl is just behind the trees. Take the heirlooms back to Aretia and handle whatever business you might have there for the province.” My throat tightens as I hold his gaze, beating back the physical instinct to fight or flee at the glimpse of red. I rise up quickly and press a hard, quick kiss to his mouth. “I’ll see you at Basgiath in a week.”

“A week,” he promises, and then he goes, hanging his head as he descends the dais, then lifting it when he passes Andarna and striding through the trees like the arrogant ass he is.

I pivot back to Courtlyn, noting that his three ministers are picking their way toward us.

The king’s gaze narrows on me in a glare that’s equal parts hatred and appreciation. “Are you nervous now that your reckless one has departed?”

I clear my throat, and the ground shakes as Tairn steps over the trees, lowering his head so that the table linen moves with his breath. “No, not particularly. Dragons are known to have short tempers, and Andarna’s jaw is probably getting a little tired, so we should speed this along, don’t you think?”

Courtlyn nods.

“Same terms as the duke stated while I sat beside him earlier this evening, and I will add that Xaden Riorson is to be pardoned of any crime you would accuse him of regarding tonight’s activities, considering he was provoked and attacked by your guards, and he is to be allowed to return to Deverelli as a member of our riot at any time.” I flash a smile.

Courtlyn blusters, and his ministers call out protests as they make their way toward the dais.

“Or we can go home, and I can ask King Tauri how he feels about tonight’s actions and go from there.” I shrug.

“Accepted,” Courtlyn bites out.

“Excellent. Now, I expect you will accept the citrine as payment for the alliance but agree you should be compensated for the prince’s crimes.” I unclasp the top of my pack and remove the hard metallic shards of shell I’ve carried all the way from the Continent. The smallest pieces cover my palm, and the largest section would easily fit a medium-size dog. I set the base on the table and its pieces inside, marveling at how the shades of color graduate from the darkest onyx on bottom to the brightest silvers on top, each ring of hardened scales nestled within the next yet never separate, creating a smooth outer layer with no ridges that only cracks when the hatchling is ready.

“A dragon egg shell.” Courtlyn drags out the words, less than impressed. “As amazing as your beasts are, once you’ve seen one shell, you’ve seen them all.”

“Not this one.” A corner of my mouth lifts, and I run my finger along the inner edge, picturing her biding her time for hundreds of years, listening, waiting. A charge of energy runs up my arm, and I lift my brows at the sensation. “This is the only shell of its kind. It belongs to the one and only irid we have on the Continent. The seventh breed of dragon. It is Andarna’s kind we’re searching for.”

“You expect me to believe—” Courtlyn starts, then stands completely awestruck, staring at Andarna.

I glance back and see she’s chosen to blend with the vegetation so it appears Shira is hanging in midair, suspended by an unknown pointed vise. “Yes.”

“And this is her shell.” Courtlyn leans closer.

“It is. She gave me permission to gift it to you.” I push the heavy structure toward him.

“I’m starting to drool,” she warns me.

“Just a little longer. You’re doing great.”

Courtlyn nods, inspecting the shell. “Yes, yes.” His head pops up. “One condition. He”—his finger swings toward Halden—“never steps foot on my isle again or his life is forfeit.”

“Done.”

“Violet!” Halden argues.

“Done,” I repeat to Courtlyn.

“Then the deal is struck.” Courtlyn bows his head.

“The deal is struck.” I bow mine, and Andarna spits Shira out. The panther bolts past us, taking her sisters with her.

“You will begin at Unnbriel, will you not? It is the closest main isle, after all.” Courtlyn waits for me to nod, then eyes Andarna’s shell before stepping around the table toward me. “If you are amenable, there is another trade I might be able to broker for you.”

“I’m listening.”

There are times I look at Parapet, at the very act of Threshing and marvel that dragons have not been to Unnbriel. What we call treacherous is their idea of primary school.

—Unnbriel: Isle of Dunne by Second Lieutenant Asher Daxton

 

“You can’t be serious,” Rhi whispers next to me three days later in Battle Brief as Professor Devera questions first-years about the fall of Vallia, a midsize city two hundred miles west of the Bay of Malek.

Not only are the venin moving in Krovla again, but in the eight days we were gone, Cygnisen’s flier cadets arrived. Battle Brief is now beyond standing-room-only capacity. Even the steps serve as seating.

“She’s absolutely serious,” Ridoc responds from Rhi’s other side, cracking a giant yawn that I immediately catch and repeat, fighting and failing to stifle it with my hand.

Godsdamn am I tired. Every muscle aches, my stomach can’t decide if it wants to eat everything or expel it all, and I’m starting to see double when I try to focus on the map. We flew in this morning from Athebyne and were rewarded for pushing our limits by being sent straight into Battle Brief on General Aetos’s order. At least I managed to secure my father’s books in my room and heard from Imogen that she’d kept my prisoner alive first.

“He wanted you to trade your and Xaden’s…services…for weaponry?” Sawyer asks, leaning forward from Ridoc’s right and adjusting the top of his prosthesis. “I thought Deverelli was neutral. They don’t even have an army.”

Xaden. My hand clenches around my pen as I scribble the nearly mid-February date on my notes. How many more times can he slip before the rings around his irises become permanent and the veins at his temples turn red? For a second in that bedroom, I thought I’d found a temporary answer to stay his progression, but even on an isle without magic, he hadn’t been safe.

“Or perhaps the isle hadn’t been safe from him,” Tairn interjects.

I ignore the jab.

“Could you keep it down?” A brown-haired flier with a Cygnisen shoulder patch and third-year rank turns around and glares at Sawyer, and though I hate his scowl, I have to admit, the glasses really work for him.

“Turn it back around—” Ridoc starts, then pauses to appreciate the flier. “Well, hello Cygnisen. Have you been properly welcomed to Basgiath yet?” He cranks up a smile I’ve seen enough times to know he’ll be coming out of someone else’s bedroom tomorrow morning.

The flier scoffs. “I don’t do second-years.”

“Good thing I fuck like a third.” Ridoc grins. “Plus, I’m on quest squad, which gives me an additional boost of desirability.”

That earns him a second glance and a flash of interest before the flier turns around in his seat.

“Where do you get the confidence, Gamlyn?” Maren asks from my left.

Ridoc snorts. “Survive the Gauntlet. After that, you’re well aware one rejection isn’t going to kill you.” He leans toward the flier. “By the way, third-years usually sit up top, but if you want to be close to me, that’s all right, too.”

The flier tilts his head and drums his pen on the desk.

I smother a laugh, and Sawyer shakes his head.

“Tell Sawyer about the Deverelli Army,” Ridoc reminds me, settling back in his seat as a first-year fumbles an easy question about high-ground strategy.

“Oh, right.” I yawn again and open the Archives door to a crackle of power in hopes it will keep me from falling asleep. Have to admit, it’s nice to be me again. “They have one. They just call them guards. So yes, they have weaponry to trade, they just don’t advertise it.”

“Wanting you as a weapon is weird. They don’t have magic,” Cat says from Maren’s left. “You’re scary with lightning, Sorrengail, but without it…” We all look her way, but she just shrugs. “What? You were all thinking it. I just said it.”

“Is there something more important than enemy troop movements going on up there, Iron Squad second-years?” Devera asks, and the lecture hall quiets.

Heat creeps up my neck, and I sink in my seat.

“I mean…” Ridoc scratches the side of his head. “Sorrengail’s kind of responsible for saving the entire Continent right now, so maybe—”

Rhi’s hand slams over his mouth. “Absolutely not. You have our apology, Major.”

Devera arches a sardonic brow and leans back against the desk. “And how was your trip to Deverelli, cadet? Have you saved us all?”

Leather jackets creak in every direction as heads turn my way.

I clear my throat. “I believe the prince is debriefing leadership, but we’ve brokered a deal that will allow us diplomatic access to the isle as a launching ground for further searches.” And I personally secured Courtlyn’s silence on what Xaden did by promising my own like a sacrifice, adding a gentle reminder that I wouldn’t want our new ally to appear weak.

“Is that all we should discuss?” she asks, her expression uncomfortably close to my mother’s, and I nod.

“Of all the shops in the merchant isle, she made us visit the bookstore,” Cat adds with an exasperated sigh, tapping her pen on her notebook, and I breathe a little easier with the transfer of attention.

“That sounds like our Violet.” Devera flashes a smile. “Since you’re so talkative today, Sorrengail, why don’t you tell us what about the offensive in Vallia is so concerning.” She gestures behind her at the map.

Shit, I really should have been paying attention. I scan the map for the length of two heartbeats, noting that some flags that had once been red are now gray, and the red has retreated from the north of Braevick and on the whole is moving nauseatingly southwest.

“It shows southward movement,” I answer. “Once we raised the wards in Aretia, the venin changed course, leaving conquered territory like Pavis to concentrate on Poromiel’s border with Navarre in what we now know was an offensive meant to strike the Basgiath hatching grounds. Moving southwest shows a change in strategy.” They’re less than a day’s flight from Cordyn by wyvern, but there’s a lot of undrained ground to cover if feeding is their only goal. But if that were the case, the map wouldn’t look quite so premeditated.

“Your best guess on that strategy?”

My stomach turns. “They somehow know about the Aretian wards and they’re moving into position for the inevitability of them falling.”

A murmur ripples through the room.

Devera nods. “That’s what I think, too.”

My blood runs cold. But how?

• • •

The next week passes in a blur. I’ve never had to work harder…or worried about Xaden quite so much.

He should be back by now. The Senarium expects us to leave in a week for Unnbriel, and I’m getting nervous. Eight days should be enough for the circles around his eyes to fade, right?

Unless he’s progressed to asim. I shove that thought as far away as possible.

When I’m not learning in class, pushing burnout in the range, freezing my ass off in flight maneuvers, practicing with the mini crossbow Maren gifted me, working every muscle to its breaking point with Imogen, or listening to Andarna go into exhaustive detail on why Tairn is the worst—period—mentor—period—ever—period, I’m reading my dad’s books with whichever members of my squad can spare their time. It takes Dain and me two evenings to decode the clues Dad left to open the passcode-locked books, and once we do, I can’t even tell my sister, since she’s taken personal leave for the first time in her entire career.

And whenever I’m not doing any of that? I’m in the fighting pit with my squad, either for our own instruction or joining the rest of the quadrant in what’s quickly become our favorite activity—watching the shit get kicked out of one another in hopes of learning something.

This afternoon, every second- and third-year in our squad is seated on the bottom left rows of the amphitheater with a book from Jesinia in their lap while two other squads from Second and Fourth Wing practice in front of us under the guidance of Professor Carr, who’s rotated in to teach today. Garrick and Bodhi look on from just beneath us, leaning against the wall, both shaking their heads every now and then when they, too, look up from their books.

A second-year goes flying in a blast of fire, and every single one of us looks up as the guy lands on his ass, flames still rising from his hair.

“You’re up.” Bodhi jabs Garrick, and he takes off at a sprint onto the mat. A flick of his wrist and the flames snuff out, deprived of oxygen.

“Letting them get a little close, don’t you think?” Garrick asks Professor Carr.

“Oh, this is going to get good.” Ridoc sets the Continent’s most redacted volume on Unnbriel’s warlike customs in his lap, and Sawyer follows suit beside him. Sawyer hasn’t joined us in flight maneuvers, but I’m glad he’s feeling up to sitting in on classes. It bodes well for his return, if and when he’s ready, or even just ready to talk about it.

“Ballsy,” Rhi agrees from my other side, using her thumb to mark her place in a book about weather patterns throughout the isles.

Professor Carr narrows his eyes on Garrick and folds his arms. “A scar would remind him to wield a little faster next time. It’s not like he’s dead.”

“Flame never should have touched him,” Garrick argues.

“Clearly you haven’t taught enough to know the best methodology,” Carr snipes. “Having powerful friends doesn’t make you a good instructor.”

Garrick’s jaw ticks as he steps off the mat with the smoking second-year, and the guy goes back to his squad.

“He’s an asshole,” Bodhi notes, then leans back against the wall and returns to reading his assigned collection of early fables from Braevick. He’s looking for tales of dark wielders cured by love, or good deeds, or dancing naked under a full moon after drinking the venom of a rare snake only found on the farthest isle during a lunar eclipse, or…something.

Anything.

I adjust the blank leather cover disguising Dad’s book and reread the passage on trial by combat for different levels of entrance to Unnbriel’s court, then roll my left shoulder with a wince. Pushing into my stiff trapezius muscle doesn’t help soothe the protesting joint, either.

“You were too hard on her last night,” Garrick grumbles at Imogen, grabbing his book from Bodhi.

For all that we’re reading, I can’t begin to contemplate what’s on Jesinia’s desk.

“Fuck off,” Imogen mutters behind me, flipping a page aggressively.

“I’m fine.” I spare a glance at both of them, then continue down the page. My father’s observations on the combative isle are sharp, almost clinical, but lack his usual insight. There’s a marked difference between this book, written when he was twenty-three and straight out of the Scribe Quadrant, and the manuscript he left for me in his office.

But when did he visit the isles? Or have the time to transcribe the rudimentary dictionaries that have quickly become the bane of Dain’s existence?

“She’s rotated every single one of her joints at least three times in the last hour.” Garrick’s tone sharpens. “I’d say that means you need to lighten up—”

“Nope.” Imogen flips another page. “You’re not taking your frustrations with Carr out on me. If Violet thinks we’re doing too much, she’ll tell me.”

I glance over my shoulder to see her twirling her forefinger, suggesting Garrick turn back around, while Quinn leans over her shoulder, reading a volume Queen Maraya sent on venin and their medicinal uses.

Given how difficult it was to get our hands on these books, it’s wild to think that Garrick could probably walk straight from here to wherever her library is.

I blink, then lean forward, bracing my elbows on the wall right above Bodhi’s head. “Hey, Bodhi?” I whisper so only the two of us can hear.

“Hey, Violet?” he answers, looking up.

“What’s your second signet?” I lower my voice even more.

He lifts his brows, then glances in Garrick’s direction. “Don’t have one.”

“As in you don’t have one that I get to know about but will eventually see you wield, or don’t have one have one?”

A corner of his mouth lifts into a wry smile that reminds me of his cousin’s. “Don’t have one. Just like Xaden. Why?”

“Curious,” I admit. “And selfishly hoping you’d be able to do something cool like keep Halden from speaking.” Gods only know what he’ll do at the other isles after his performance on Deverelli.

“If I could, would that mean I get to go on the next expedition?” His eyes light up.

“Heads up,” Garrick says, and we both look forward as a first-year with a rebellion relic steps into the pit with Timin Kagiso—the newly promoted wingleader for Second Wing. “Let’s try to keep anyone else from burning.”

Go figure another fire wielder was Second Wing’s executive officer when Aura died.

“On it.” Bodhi sets his book on the wall and takes a step closer to the mat near the end of the squad.

“Still can’t believe they made Stirling the senior wingleader,” Sawyer mutters, glancing up the rows to where Panchek watches with other members of leadership.

“Better than Iris Drue,” Cat notes as she works out a knot in Trager’s shoulders. “Pretty sure she’d murder every flier in their bed if she could.”

“True,” Sawyer agrees, his attention shifting up the steps. “I thought you all had physics right now.”

Rhi and I both follow his line of sight as Lynx, Baylor, Avalynn, Sloane, Aaric, and Kai descend the steps on our right. The first-years are here.

“Got out ten minutes ago,” Sloane replies, her gaze darting over us—or rather, our books. “We came to help.”

“Excellent.” Rhi jabs her thumb over her shoulders. “Empty row behind the third-years. Take a seat and watch.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Sloane crosses her arms and lifts her chin in a way that reminds me of her older brother. “You’re in charge of your mission now, right?”

“Yes.” My stomach sinks.

“We want to help.” She gestures to the books.

Ridoc shakes his head. “First year is hard enough without adding all this into it.”

I’m with him.

“You’re one dragon short of even pairs,” Avalynn says, completely ignoring Ridoc. “You know, in case you need to split up for some reason.”

Rhi cocks her head to the side.

“Odd numbers don’t bother me—” I start.

“What Sorrengail is too nice to say is first-years aren’t going,” Imogen says.

“Or helping,” Garrick adds over his shoulder.

“Didn’t ask you,” Baylor challenges, glaring in Garrick’s direction. “Last time I checked, we’re the actual Iron Squad and you’re a substitute teacher.”

“That’s not a fight I’d pick.” I lift my brows at Baylor.

“Unless you’d like your ass kicked,” Garrick offers with a flash of a smile.

“Sit or move,” Dain orders, walking down the stairs. The circles under his eyes have my brows knitting. Between decoding my dad’s clues, studying for his own classes, and his duties as wingleader, he’s taking on too much, and I’m a major reason for it.

“We’re trying to help,” Sloane argues, her cheeks flushing a second before her narrowed gaze drops away from Dain.

“You can help by staying alive,” Dain counters, sliding in to sit on the edge next to Rhi and taking out Dad’s separately bound dictionary for Unnbriel from his pack. “Carr tells me you’re refusing to train your signet.”

“You what?” I shut my book.

“You really going to mourn the loss of another Mairi?” Sloane fires back at Dain.

“His death will always be on my head. Yours will not.” Dain’s tone sharpens. “I don’t coddle first-years anymore, so train. Your. Signet.”

“Asshole,” she whispers, and the flush in her cheeks deepens.

I lift my brows at the look she shoots him, mostly because I can’t tell if she wants to stab him in his seat or—

“Fuck,” Garrick mutters, and all our heads turn toward the pit as fire erupts from Wingleader Kagiso, streaming toward the first-year.

Bodhi takes three quick steps onto the mat, then turns his hand, and the fire dies. An argument immediately ensues with Carr, but I ignore it and pivot my focus to Sloane.

“Why won’t you train?” I ask her.

“Would you train if all you did was destroy things?” She drags her gaze from the pit. “Kill people?”

Power hums along my bones, hot and insistent. “I don’t know,” I say quietly. “Would I?”

She glances at Rhi.

“Don’t look at me. I agree with her.” Rhi shakes her head and flips to the map section of her book.

Sloane’s shoulders fall. “I just want to help in a way that doesn’t suck the magic out of something. And I highly doubt you lot would have been content to sit aside last year while your second-years went off and saved the Continent.”

My words fail, and Aaric lifts a single brow behind her, taking note of my speechlessness.

“Solid point,” Sawyer says slowly as another first-year enters the pit against Kagiso.

“Liam—” I start.

“Made his choice,” Sloane reminds me. “We’re making ours.” She folds her arms. “And he would want me to make sure you’re as prepared as you can be, even if that means none of us go with you.”

Rhi and I exchange a look, and she nods.

“Fine.” I pivot in my seat and grab the heavy pack at Imogen’s feet, then rifle through for the most innocuous-looking texts. “Here you go.” I hand the stack to Sloane. “Read these and write up a one-page report on each—”

“Oh for fuck—” Kai groans from two steps back.

“No whining. You said you wanted to help,” Rhi interrupts as Bodhi returns to the wall.

“And get them back to me as soon as you can,” I finish.

“Thank you.” Sloane gives them to the others, then glances at me, Rhi, and Dain before following the rest of her squad up the steps.

Aaric waits, holding a tome on mythology. “Scribes haven’t released your mission report yet. How badly did it go?”

Ridoc scoffs. “Your arrogant brother—”

“Give us a second,” I cut him off quickly, then set my book on my seat and scoot past Rhi and Dain to get to the steps.

“Halden was Halden,” I tell Aaric, lowering my voice. “He did Halden things and caused Halden-style ramifications, none of which are your fault.”

A muscle flexes in Aaric’s jaw, and his grip tightens on the book. “He get anyone killed?”

I nod. “His guard, Captain Winshire.”

He looks toward the pit. “Did he jeopardize your mission?”

“No. Halden got himself banned from Deverelli, but I was able to accomplish what I needed to.” It just cost Xaden… Gods, I don’t even know how much it cost him this time.

Aaric nods, then looks back at me with eyes that are identical to his brother’s and a gaze that couldn’t be any more different. “Are you in over your head, Violet?” he asks quietly.

“No.” I swallow.

He narrows his eyes, then nods before following his year-mates up the steps.

I turn to find the second- and third-years engaged in a heated debate, all gathered so tightly around Rhi that I can barely see her in the center.

“I think you fly from Deverelli to Unnbriel, then—” Trager starts.

“Back to Deverelli, then Athebyne, then here?” Cat interrupts. “You have no idea how fucking long that flight is. Then you double that journey for Hedotis, then Zehyllna, Loysam, and the minor isles? No.” She shakes her head. “No. Even using Deverelli as a base, it’s a waste of flight time.”

I lean over Dain’s shoulder.

“I fucking hate when you’re right,” Dain mutters.

Rhi drags her finger across the map. “You have predominantly westerly winds until you hit this latitude.” She points to the northern coast of Deverelli. “At which point, they shift, so every time you’re coming back to report, you’re facing a headwind.”

“Dragons can take it,” Maren notes quietly.

“Gryphons can’t,” Bodhi finishes, looking over the wall alongside Garrick.

“So basically, we’re fucked,” Ridoc notes. “It will take us way longer than five months to search all the isles.”

Numbers fly through my head. The major isles aren’t the issue. It’s the dozen minor isles that border the Cerlian Sea that pose the conundrum. This last trip took eight days, and that was just to Deverelli.

“Interesting read?”

I spin toward that voice. My heart jolts at the sight of Xaden on the lowest step, then settles as I take my first deep breath since he walked away more than a week ago. “Hi,” I whisper, taking in every single detail of his face before locking my gaze with his. The whites of his eyes are clear, but something about the color…

“Hi,” he replies, looking me over the same way I just did to him.

“You look good.” I reach for the bond and nearly melt with relief when I feel his shields give way for me. Glittering onyx wraps around my mind in a familiar wave, and I drop my barriers. “You feel good, too.”

“I slept,” he answers. “And I feel oddly…well.” He clears his throat. “Funny thing about that bedroom.”

“In Aretia?” I brace my hand on the rough edge of the wall to keep from tugging on the edges of his flight jacket and yanking him against me.

His gaze drops to my mouth and heats. “I used to love it, and now I can’t fucking stand it when you’re not there.”

“I missed this.” I lean into the bond, like I can somehow burrow into it if I try hard enough, bury myself in us. In terms of intimacy, this is even better—

“Than sex,” Xaden finishes, and I find myself nodding instead of lecturing him about reading my intentions, but that wasn’t…

My eyes widen. Has he been honing his signet like Ridoc?

“News from home?” Bodhi asks behind us, and I startle.

“Not unless you want to hear about how Riorson House needs roof repairs or how the oldest Sorrengail sent the largest med bag I’ve ever seen for the next expedition.” Xaden looks past his cousin to Garrick. “I just need Professor Tavis.” I step forward, but he retreats out of my reach, shaking his head. “We’re at Basgiath.”

Right. Back to the rules.

“Later?” I move out of the way so Garrick can slide by on the steps, and the sun catches on the amber flecks in Xaden’s eyes as he nods before walking away.

Amber.

It’s only sheer force of will that keeps me from chasing him down. Instead, I turn back toward the argument that’s continued around Rhi.

“Then skip Deverelli and just fly straight there!” Bodhi points to the isle of Unnbriel.

“The gryphons won’t make it!” Cat shouts.

My focus darts island to island. Ten days here. Twenty days there. A month round trip once we’re toward the outer reaches of Loysa and the minor isles. A sour feeling takes hold of my stomach, and it begins to slowly churn. The problem is reporting back to the Senarium between trips. Xaden doesn’t have enough time, and neither do the Aretian wards.

“The Empyrean will side with whatever choice you make,” Andarna promises, but Tairn is quiet, no doubt occupied with finally being able to talk with Sgaeyl after their period of forced silence.

We have to go, and we have to go now.

“So we fuck the rules.” I raise my voice, and everyone quiets.

Cat throws a practice disk onto the map, and I recognize the sound-shield rune she’s tempered into it.

I glance her way thankfully, then look to the others. “We supply and we go. We leave for Unnbriel as planned, but then we…disobey direct orders. We don’t fly back between isles. We don’t report or return until we find her kind.”

Rhi’s brows rise to impossible heights. “That could take a month.”

“Or longer depending on weather,” Maren guesses.

“They’ll court-martial you,” Sawyer reminds us. “It’s probably the right plan, but you go against direct orders…” He cocks his head to the side. “Then again, it’s hard to court-martial the squad that comes back with the seventh breed.”

“Excellent point.” Ridoc nods. “Do we still have to take Prince Pompous?”

“Yes.” Dain leans forward and braces his forearms on his knees. “Some of the isles won’t talk to us without him. Hedotis immediately comes to mind.”

“This is…” Bodhi’s eyes narrow on me. “Come down here.” Magic ripples as I cross the sound shield and step down onto the outer cobblestone rings of the pit. “What’s going on, Sorrengail? Because I’m all for fucking rules, ignoring orders, and bucking protocol, but this rush—”

“His eyes.” I clench my fists and lower my voice to softer than a whisper. “From the alloy in Deverelli…the flecks in Xaden’s eyes didn’t go back to gold. They’re still amber.” We have to find a cure before people start noticing or he worsens.

Bodhi’s features slacken. “Shit,” he says quietly. Hope fades from his expression, but I refuse to let it steal mine. “Well, I have what you asked for.” He reaches into his pocket and hands over two vials that have been marked S and A. “I can get more if you want it.”

Serum and Antidote.

“Thanks.” I quickly pocket them before anyone can see. “I’m not planning on using them on—”

“I’m just glad you recognize you might have to,” he interrupts.

“We’ll find a cure,” I promise with far more certainty than I feel.

Bodhi’s mouth tightens. “I’d kill to go, but you need to take Garrick with you.”

Neither of us say what he means.

Take Garrick in case you don’t.

Someone shouts on the mat, and both our heads jerk in that direction.

Kagiso shoots another blast of fire, sending a shrieking second-year scrambling backward, but Carr doesn’t intervene as the flames creep closer and closer to the terrified brunette.

“Help her,” I whisper.

“I’ve been ordered to stand down.” Bodhi tenses as her screams intensify and she drops to her hands and knees.

The next blast of flames comes within inches of her.

“Wield!” Carr shouts. “Defend yourself!”

The second-year out of Claw Section splays her hand wide on the mat and screams. Color drains in a circle around her hand, leaving the mat gray.

Oh shit. My stomach clenches and I stare, stunned.

She’s turning right in front of us. Or has she been one of them all along? Xaden would have sensed her, right? He was just here. Or would she have sensed him? I palm my dagger.

Gasps and shrieks sound in the stands behind us.

“Carr!” Panchek orders.

The professor moves faster than I’ve ever seen him, brandishing an alloy-hilted dagger and driving it straight through the cadet’s back, into her heart.

Just like that. She’s dead. Executed. No questions, no chance to cure her, nothing.

Bodhi shudders. “Take. Garrick.”

In a culture that worships the goddess of war exclusively, blood is the preferred sacrifice and cowardice is the ultimate sin.

—Unnbriel: Isle of Dunne by Second Lieutenant Asher Daxton

It takes ten days to put plans in motion and get everything together, and the time wears on me like the steady drip of water in the interrogation chamber, grating on my very last nerve. I sit through every class as instructed and practice wielding until my arms drop from exhaustion, but I can’t quit watching Xaden’s eyes in case their flecks change back to gold whenever I see him during Signet Sparring.

They never do.

By the time most of us have gathered on the flight field in the foggy predawn hours of the first Saturday of March, my anxiety to get moving feels like insects under my skin. I hate that we’ve lied to Halden that this is only the Unnbriel trip, but there’s a growing part of me that just doesn’t care.

He’s a fucking liability.

After a surprisingly easy discussion with Cat, our squad has grown to include Trager and Maren—partially because of Trager’s healing training, but more so we can split if we need to. Given the look on Mira’s face as those in our squad approach the lines of waiting gryphons and dragons, she’s not too pleased about the development. Guess I forgot to mention that part in my missive.

“Where have you been?” I ask, breaking away from the group in hopes of getting any form of privacy. They quickly disappear into the thick fog.

“On leave,” she answers. “While you’ve been back here making plans to disobey direct orders from the Senarium, which of course is your prerogative as mission commander.” She glances at the oversize pack currently murdering my spine, then the one sitting at her feet. “The missives were clever. Subtle, even. The packs? Not so much.”

“The fact that you were on leave was all Panchek would tell me when I asked how to get a letter to you. You disappeared.” My eyes narrow and I exhale a puff of steam into the freezing air. “And we can’t help the size of our packs when we have to carry—”

“Are you worried about not getting enough supplies in Deverelli?” Halden asks from behind me.

Mira quirks an eyebrow upward, managing to say I told you so without moving her mouth.

“More worried you’re going to fuck something up again,” Xaden remarks, and I pivot to see him walking toward us with Garrick out of the mist.

Halden’s spine stiffens. “You don’t get to talk to me like that, Riorson.”

“Oh, good. I was wondering when you two would start arguing.” Mira folds her arms in front of her chest.

“Or you’ll what? Get yourself banned from another isle? Sit off the coast on Tecarus’s ship? You’re already dead weight, Your Highness. Are you really going to be a detriment, too?” Xaden stops at my side but keeps his hands to himself, just like he’s done since he returned. “Everyone here?”

“Dain is on his way.”

“I’m not going to apologize for conducting Navarrian business while in Deverelli—” Halden starts.

“How about apologizing for keeping mission-essential information from those of us responsible for the fucking mission?” Xaden counters, stepping into Halden’s space, shadows swelling around his feet. “If it wasn’t for us, you’d be dead.”

Shit.

I glance over at Garrick, who looks back at me like I’m the one supposed to do something.

“Let him kill the prince,” Andarna suggests, and I hear her halter jingle about twenty feet behind me. “He does not represent us well.”

“He will not be a problem,” Tairn assures us.

If only I felt half as certain.

“Well, we’re off to a great start,” Drake notes, sauntering by on his way to the line of gryphons, where the other fliers wait in the heavy fog. I can barely see their shapes from here.

“Get out of my face,” Halden orders.

“Must kill you that you can’t make me.” A corner of Xaden’s mouth rises. “Why don’t you scurry into your little basket?”

“Fuck off.” Halden’s cheeks redden, but he retreats a single step.

“I honestly don’t care if you kill him,” I say to Xaden down the bond, “but you will. Wasn’t that your line when I nearly took off Cat’s head in Aretia?”

“He’s going to get you killed,” Xaden retorts. “This isn’t going to work.”

“I’m not dying on Halden’s account.”

Ridoc walks out of the fog from my left, takes one look at Halden and Xaden, and makes a beeline for my side. “Kind of feels like Threshing, doesn’t it? Exciting. Terrifying. We know we have to go, but there’s every chance we’re about to have our asses handed to us.”

“I did not enjoy flying straight through to Athebyne,” Halden announces into the fog. “We’ll only fly halfway today—”

Fog swirls with the beat of another pair of wings, and the ground shudders as a dragon lands to the left, just behind Ridoc.

Halden gawks and stumbles backward.

The fog obscures all but the outline of claws until the dragon lowers his blue snout to ground level and chuffs a deep breath in Halden’s direction.

What the fuck is Molvic…

My stomach lurches.

“I told you the firstborn would not be an issue,” Tairn reminds me.

“Molvic?” Ridoc leans forward slightly, like there’s any mistaking the scar that runs across the Blue Clubtail’s snout.

“No!” I roll my shoulders, drop my pack, and run past Xaden and Halden, straight into the fog. “Don’t do this!” I make it less than thirty feet before I find him walking toward us at Dain’s side.

“I’m not going to sit aside and watch while Halden gets you all killed,” Aaric says, tugging the strap of his rucksack to tighten it. For Dunne’s sake, he doesn’t even have a battle-ready flight jacket.

“This isn’t what you want,” I remind him. “Don’t let your brother’s actions force your hand”—I swing a pointing finger at Dain—“and don’t you let him do it!”

Dain puts both hands up, palms outward at his chest. “How in all that’s holy am I to blame for this?”

I fumble for an answer. “He’s a first-year and you’re the wingleader!”

Dain rubs the bridge of his nose and pushes his fingers outward, over the heavy, dark circles under his eyes. “Vi, I think he outranks me in this department.”

“You sure you want to do this?” Xaden asks, so close I can suddenly feel the warmth of him at my back.

“Want? No.” Aaric shakes his head. “But I need to. And as much as I don’t mind Halden making your life fucking miserable, I do mind him condemning the Continent to death by dark wielder because he can’t take a deep breath and count to three when he gets mad.”

“Sounds great to me.” Xaden’s hand brushes the small of my back. “You good with this?” He glances my way.

I study the set of Aaric’s chin and the determination in his green eyes, then nod in defeat. “We’re all allowed to make our own choices, and if this is yours, I’ll support it.”

Aaric nods, and Xaden and I fall into step with him and Dain, heading for our dragons…and Halden.

“Looks like you won’t be needing that basket after all,” Xaden says as we make it back to where Mira waits with Ridoc, Garrick, and Halden. “We found ourselves another prince.”

Halden’s jaw hits the ground as his widened gaze locks on his little brother.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Aaric says in greeting.

“Don’t look…” Halden shakes his head slowly. “You’ve let us run all over this kingdom searching brothels and gaming houses for you, and all the while, you’ve been here?”

“The fact that you went searching your favorite haunts for me is just the start of where you went wrong,” Aaric replies.

“You’re a rider?” Halden shouts.

“As the dragon would imply.” Ridoc points to Molvic.

“He could have let you think he was dead,” Mira mutters.

“He’s going to be when our father hears—” Halden starts.

“Fuck off and tell him.” Aaric shrugs. “Or don’t. I really don’t care. I crossed the parapet because I was sick of sitting by knowing you and Dad weren’t going to do shit about the dark wielders, and I’m not going to sit by now and watch you run our only hope into the ground. I’ll be going as the royal representative.”

Halden stiffens. “Absolutely not, Cam.”

“He goes by Aaric, and he absolutely will,” I counter, earning myself a menacing glare from my ex that doesn’t even faze me. “You’re banned from Deverelli and have the temper of a two-year-old on a good day, Halden. Aaric is a rider. He’ll keep up with us in the air and on the ground, and having been in his squad for the last eight months, I can promise you that he knows how to keep his shit together when things go badly.”

Halden’s glare shifts to Aaric. “It was you who breached the royal vault.”

“Yes.” Aaric nods.

“Father blamed me.” Halden takes a step forward, and a tiny twinge of guilt nips the back of my neck, since our past is most likely the reason he took the heat. “Did you stay in Basgiath? Or fly with the rebels?”

“You already know the answer,” Aaric replies.

Halden turns as red as Sliseag. “Go back to the quadrant. I’ll be the only royal—”

“Good luck getting a gryphon to carry your basket again,” Aaric says, then walks toward Molvic without another word.

“Well, as awkward as this has been…” Ridoc lifts his brows.

“I’m sure you know your way off the flight field,” Xaden says to Halden, but the prince’s gaze is locked on the claws of the blue dragon.

“Violet.” Halden lowers his voice and slowly looks my way. The plea in his eyes hits me straight in the chest.

“I won’t let anything happen to him,” I promise.

Halden nods once. “I’ll hold you to it.” He looks at each of us in turn, and the promise morphs into a threat. “All of you.”

• • •

We spend a day at Athebyne and another at Cordyn, resting the gryphons between legs of the journey. They’re far less winded without the baskets to carry, but without magic to bolster their strength, we need to take two days to rest in Deverelli before continuing onward.

That second day convinces Mira of what she’d already guessed on our first trip: some runes work off the Continent. Now to narrow down which ones and figure out why. We’re each supplied with a handful of multicolored quartz disks to test. I’m grateful not to be sunburned—though I can’t tell if it’s the amethyst disk or the same rune on one of the daggers Xaden gave me last year—but annoyed to all shit that runes are the only thing Mira is willing to talk to me about.

The southwestern Deverelli coastline falls away in the early hours of the eighth day of the trip, and the color shifts from aqua to midnight blue as we head over the open sea.

And that’s all I see on the horizon—water.

If it weren’t for ships beneath us making their own journeys, I’d be more than a little apprehensive about flying into nothingness.

“Save your nerves for when we reach Unnbriel in nine hours,” Tairn tells me. “And save yours for when the winds shift,” he instructs Andarna, who’s clipped in below.

Gods, I hope the maps my father included are accurate. Dragons aren’t exactly boats. They can’t just float if they get tired, and nine hours from now will put our total flight time at twelve.

Gryphons aren’t fond of anything over eight.

The air current shifts sometime around noon, giving us a tailwind as the clouds clear, and Andarna relishes in her freedom unclipped from Tairn, off to his side. Her wingbeats are strong, but the difference in her left wing is far more visible without magic for strength. Each beat strains the tendons to gain full extension, and it isn’t long before she’s dipping slightly.

Worry wraps her prickly fingers around my throat when Andarna pitches in a gust, but I keep my mouth shut as she climbs back into formation.

“Do not lose altitude,” Tairn warns her. “There is no telling what weaponry arms the merchant vessels beneath us.”

“Do you ever tire of your own voice?” she questions, soaring a little closer to Sgaeyl.

“Never,” he assures her.

With nothing to do for the next eight hours but hold on, I listen as Tairn recites the lore of his breed from the first of his line up to Thareux, the first black dragon to ever successfully bond, back during the Great War, then stops.

Apparently the story is no longer worth telling once humans are involved.

The sun has slid into the angles of afternoon by the time Tairn catches sight of land.

“Thirty minutes!” he announces to Andarna and me, then lets loose a roar that vibrates my teeth to alert the others.

I pivot in the saddle to check our formation. Everyone is where they should be, with the exception of Kiralair, who is drifting back from her guarded position in the center, toward Aotrom’s snout. “Just in time, too. Kiralair is fading.”

“Had to bring the gryphons,” Tairn mutters as I turn forward again and the hilly coastline comes into view.

The sea transitions from dark blue to white-capped teal crashing on cream-colored beaches along what appears to be a port city a few miles in front of us.

“That must be Soneram.” We’ve definitely found the isle of Dunne. I can make out the tiered walls of defenses—including cross-bolts—from here, and they haven’t changed much from what my father detailed in his drawings. “Let’s avoid being skewered, shall we?” I ask Tairn.

Tairn huffs and surges ahead of the others, then banks right and leads our formation along the northeastern shoreline, giving the port city a wide berth.

I block the afternoon sun with a hand on my forehead and scan the coast, noting the end of the city walls. “There’s another town in two or three miles, then nothing for at least forty.”

As long as they haven’t expanded in the thirty-plus years since my father wrote his book.

We pass the town and its substantial fortifications, and after we travel another ten minutes without sight of habitation, Tairn turns inland, breaking formation and flying ahead of the others.

“Stay with Sgaeyl,” he orders Andarna.

Andarna huffs in annoyance.

“Stick to the plan,” I remind her.

“I loathe the plan,” she replies.

The beaches are rockier here, the narrow strip of sand strewn with boulders before it gives way to hills of thick vegetation that roll as far as I can see.

All of it is the same muted green as Deverelli.

“That one,” Tairn says, locating a suitably large clearing about halfway up a hillside a few miles inland from the coast, and after a perimeter sweep, we finally land in the dead center of the meadow.

Birds launch from the trees in a riot of color, quickly fleeing.

A low rumble resonates through Tairn, not quite powerful enough to be a growl but definitely loud enough to warn anything that might consider making us dinner as he slowly rotates, scanning the edges of the trees and sweeping his tail through the waist-high grass.

“This will do,” he says once he’s completed a turn.

Moments later, the rest appear overhead, Sgaeyl leading formation. Their wings cast shade over the clearing momentarily, flaring to slow their descent before they land around us.

The ground shudders as they make impact, Andarna to the right and Sgaeyl to our left. Teine, Aotrom, Cath, Chradh, and Molvic touch down behind us, and the gryphons fill in the spaces as we form a large circle.

Every set of teeth and talons faces the trees.

“Hear that?” Tairn lowers his head and stalks forward.

The jungle around us is unnaturally silent. “The animals here recognize you as predators, that’s for sure.”

“Good.” He dips his shoulder and I start the process of dismounting, leaving all but the essentials strapped behind the seat of my saddle.

Everyone strips down to our undershirts—or in my case, my armor—to accommodate the suffocating heat and humidity that rivals Deverelli, and then we make quick work of securing the site and locating a nearby stream for fresh water. Then Cat and Trager take off into the woods to hunt while half the riot launches to do the same.

“We’re alone for now, but we won’t be for long,” Mira says as Teine follows Tairn and Aotrom into the sky. “Someone will see them.”

“Good. Once Aaric meets with their queen, we can move on.” I skim my hand over the pale green meadow grass and pick up a sizable rock to line the firepit with. “Chances of an alliance here are slim. Given how painful it is for the riot to be separated from magic, I doubt Andarna’s kind settled here.”

“What if they learned to live without magic?” Mira asks, rotating a beaded bracelet of what looks like black tourmaline on her wrist and watching Ridoc and Garrick build a fire as Dain constructs a cooking spit with Maren and Aaric.

“I don’t know if they can,” I admit softly, my eye catching on the bracelet. Something about the knotwork holding the metallic beads tickles the back of my brain, and I swear I can smell parchment for the smallest of seconds before I look away. “Tairn isn’t exactly offering up details on how it affects their lifespan.”

“Are he and Sgaeyl having some kind of mate drama?” Mira picks up a rock of her own.

“Not that I know of. Why?” I ask, and we start back toward the center of the clearing.

“They haven’t hunted together the entire trip.” She tucks her stone under her arm and picks up another.

I glance across the field, where Xaden walks patrol with Drake near Sgaeyl and Andarna. “They think one of them should always be with the group.” It’s as close to the truth as I’m going to get with her.

She glances at me like she can see right through the half truth.

Cue change of subject.

“Where did you go on leave?” I ask her.

Her mouth purses, like she’s deciding. “I went to see Grandmother.”

“You flew to Deaconshire?” I mean, that’s a choice, I guess.

“You think I took personal leave to visit a burial ground?” She side-eyes me.

My eyebrows try their damnedest to reach my hairline. “You went to see Grandma Niara?” I end on a whisper.

Mira rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to whisper. Our parents can’t hear you.”

I’m tempted to check our surroundings just to be sure. “She stopped talking to Mom and Dad…” I shake my head. “It must have been before I was born because I don’t even remember her. Something to do with Dad marrying Mom, right?”

Mira shakes her head. “You were a toddler,” she says. “Right around the age where your hair was coming in thick enough to pull into a little ponytail.” She smiles at the memory, but it slips. “And it wasn’t Grandma Niara who ended communication. Turns out it was the other way around.”

“You know what happened, don’t you?” Envy stabs quick and deep. Mom and Dad almost never spoke of his family. Is that where the bracelet came from?

“You should go up to Luceras.” She looks at me with the oddest combination of worry and dread, her mouth tightening. “Talk to her yourself.”

“With all the leave I get before graduation?”

“Excellent point.” She scours the field for another rock.

Just not excellent enough for her to tell me. Fine. If the last year has taught me anything, it’s that we’re all entitled to our secrets. But it’s my family, too.

“I brought Dad’s books in case you want to read them.” I offer another subject change and start looking for firepit rocks again. The ground is firm below our feet, so at least we won’t be sleeping in mud.

Mira’s brow knits.

“They mostly cover customs,” I blurt. “But he devotes an entire chapter in every book to the unique flora and fauna of every isle. Very thorough.” My own forehead puckers. I’m babbling, but I can’t help trying to find something that bridges the space I can feel expanding between us. “Did Grandma Niara say how he found time to study things like the migratory patterns of terns and errisbirds? Or Fallorinia moths? He spends three pages talking about companion planting breeson root and kellenweed, then goes off about zakia berries and how if the birds migrate to Hedotis too late, they’re overripe and the flock drops dead, their little yellow beaks stained blue.”

“Thank you, but no. That sounds awful.” She stiffens and shifts so both rocks are in her arms.

I clutch my rock. “Did Grandma Niara know he studied the isles?”

Her lips part, but then she looks away. “She knew. And he left the books for you alone, remember? I certainly don’t need to know about bird migration or moths.”

“Mira—” Fuck.

She quickens her pace, leaving me behind, and I blow out a slow sigh.

“That was embarrassing to listen to. Could you make it any more awkward?” Andarna chides.

“Go hunt something.”

We set up camp with one eye on the forest at all times, cooking the rabbits Trager and Cat bring back, laying out bedrolls around the fire, and assigning watches before getting to sleep, encircled by two dragons and a matching number of gryphons at all times while the others accompany their riders and fliers on watch.

I take first with Maren and Drake, who I learn has a sarcastic sense of humor to rival Ridoc’s.

Xaden takes second with Mira and Garrick.

The stars shine bright when Xaden finally slides under the blankets, fully clothed all the way to his boots just like I am. He wraps his arm around my waist, then tugs my back against his chest. I smile, half asleep, then burrow closer. Wood crashes, and I blink my eyes open as Dain throws another piece of timber onto the dying blaze, stoking the fire.

“Anything?” I whisper.

“Not yet,” Xaden says against my ear, curling his body around mine, and any chill he’s picked up on patrol is quickly warmed away. “They have to go.”

I nod and fight the dread taking root in my stomach. Being bait settles like curdled milk.

He presses a kiss behind my ear, and his breathing evens out behind me.

“Wait for sunrise to disappear,” I tell Tairn, already sinking into sleep. “He needs as much rest as we can give him.” Unnbriel is all about trial by combat, and he’s the best among us.

Tairn grumbles his assent.

“Rise!” Tairn shouts what feels like an instant later, and my eyes spring open to see a line of pink and orange gracing the horizon.

I suck in a startled breath, and Xaden’s hand splays over my hip, holding me in place. Grass rustles rhythmically behind us, and my heart starts to pound. This would be a great time to access that bond we share. My right hand fists the blankets that cover us, and Xaden’s hand slips to my upper thigh sheath.

“It was a mistake to come,” a man says in the common language, his voice low as he leans over us. “Your magic won’t help you here, fire-bringer.”

I rip back the blankets and Xaden draws my dagger, bringing it to the edge of the man’s throat in a single smooth motion.

The soldier’s brown eyes widen as I palm my next dagger and glance over his leather armor, spotting the weak joints at his elbows and beneath his arms. It’s been dyed the same pale green as the leaves on the trees, and an emblem of two crossed swords over a horseshoe is stamped across his chest plate.

“That’s fine.” Xaden sits up slowly, keeping the dagger’s edge at the base of the soldier’s throat as he retreats. “We brought blades.”

It is unwise to favor one god above another. Better to shun them all than show favoritism amongst a jealous, prodigious pantheon.

—Major Rorilee’s Guide to Appeasing the Gods, Second Edition

 

Holding two daggers, I stand beside Xaden as the soldier backs away, joining what looks to be at least a couple dozen of his colleagues on horseback, all carrying swords at their left hips and daggers sheathed along their right arms.

Five others retreat from our squadmates’ beds in the same manner, and everyone who isn’t posted on third watch rises, weapons in hand. Looks like they sent an entire platoon to greet us, and they’re all wearing varying degrees of the same bloodthirsty smile.

“Two full companies of cavalry lurk in the hills,” Tairn tells me, and I chance a quick look around the field, spotting several pairs of golden eyes low among the tall trees.

“I would like to try an Unnbrish horse,” Andarna muses.

“No,” Tairn and I answer simultaneously.

Andarna sighs down the bond. “One day I’m going to stop asking nicely.”

“You should take your fire-breathers and depart our isle,” the soldier warns as the others fall into line ahead of the mounted cavalry.

“Two companies in the hills,” I whisper to Xaden, careful to move my mouth as little as possible.

“Soon,” Xaden tells the soldier and brushes the back of his hand against mine.

They’re all so…similar. Every soldier in front of us, regardless of sex, stands roughly the same height—within a few inches of six feet tall, with the same muscular build and closely cropped hair. And all wear the same emblem on their leathers, though I’m guessing the different insignia at the bases of their necks denote rank.

“You speak the common language?” Dain reaches my right with Mira, and our squad faces down their platoon, keeping a civil ten feet of distance between our forces.

“My knowledge of your tongue is why I was selected to command this mission,” their leader replies without taking his eyes off Xaden.

“Love wasting my time,” Dain mutters, then shoves the small booklet I recognize as the language compendium for Unnbriel into the chest pocket of his flight jacket.

The blond, sharp-jawed soldier directly ahead of me gives me a once-over, his gaze catching on the daggers in my hands and the others at my thighs.

“We officially request an audience with your queen.” Xaden steps forward, his hand still wrapped around my dagger.

“Denied,” the captain answers. “She does not meet with those unworthy of her presence, and given how easy it was to walk up to your encampment, the chances of your worth”—his gaze skims over the line of us, and he scoffs after a quick appraisal of my stature—“are minimal.”

Fuck him.

Branches sway as the dragons and gryphons walk out of the trees around us, loosely surrounding the platoon.

“We made it easy, Captain.” I cock my head to the side and flip my dagger to pinch its tip as Tairn growls at my back, low and mean. Just the way I like him. “Rest assured, we can make it difficult, too.”

To their credit, the platoon doesn’t sprint away screaming, but a dark stain spreads down the green leather pants of the blond soldier who stares past me with wide eyes. He definitely would have been a runner after Parapet.

“Don’t worry,” I say with a quick smile. “It’s not an uncommon reaction.” But it does cause my heart to sink slightly. “They’ve never seen dragons.”

“My family isn’t on this isle,” Andarna notes, frustration surging down the bond and pouring over me like a thousand pinpricks.

I roll my shoulders, trying to shake it off. The last thing we need is a dead soldier and a blown alliance. “And please be careful with your feelings. I can’t shield here.”

The soldier drags his gaze back to mine and narrows his eyes, saying something I don’t fully understand, but I definitely pick up weak and smallest. I flip my dagger again and catch it by the hilt.

“He doesn’t think you’re…” Dain shakes his head. “You know what? Never mind.” He lifts his middle finger to the soldier.

“Burning us will not grant you an audience with our queen.” The captain raises his chin.

“No, but defeating your best in combat earns us entrance to court at the defeated opponent’s rank,” Xaden says, cocking his head as a smirk plays across his mouth.

The smile fades from the captain’s face. “You know our laws.”

“She does.” Xaden gestures toward me. “And I’m with her. Seeing as I’ve already had my blade at your throat, I guess that means we should move up to someone with a higher skill set.”

The captain slowly turns, his gaze sweeping high above our heads, and Tairn snarls. “The fire-breathers stay.”

Sgaeyl lunges from the left and snaps her teeth close enough to a soldier that the woman’s hair blows sideways as she gasps.

“She said to get fucked,” Xaden replies to their captain.

The captain glances toward Sgaeyl without making eye contact. “Only half may come. Choose wisely. Final and only offer.”

Xaden nods, then turns toward us and hands Garrick his sword. “Who do you want to take?” he asks me.

“Me?” I blink.

“Your mission,” he replies.

Fuck. I draw a deep breath and look past Dain to Mira. “Xaden to challenge. Aaric to speak for Navarre. Cat for Poromiel…” My throat constricts, realizing I’m down to two.

Mira nods. “Solid choices. Stop stalling.”

“Dain and me.” Which leaves our second-strongest fighter behind as well as my sister.

“Aetos?” Garrick asks.

“Do not question command,” Xaden warns in a tone that stiffens Garrick’s back.

“Captain said he was selected for the mission because he speaks our language, so we can’t assume it’s common,” I explain. “I can pick up a few words here and there, but I spent my time learning Hedotic and Dain took the rest.”

Garrick’s jaw ticks, but he nods once.

“Let me guess. I’m to stay here,” Andarna snipes.

“You’re learning,” Tairn replies.

I lift my gaze to Mira’s and find no judgment waiting there. “If we’re not back by nightfall, burn the place to the ground.”

• • •

Eistol, the capital of Unnbriel, is less than a twenty-minute flight inland, but it takes two hours for the cavalry to wind their way through the steep terrain and over the ridgeline to the heavily fortified city.

The city itself makes me second-guess bringing Tairn. Eistol dominates the countryside, consuming the tallest hill for miles. It’s built in a series of terraced circles in various shades of stone, but the roofs of its structures are a uniform pale blue color. Each terrace is surrounded by a wall thick enough to sustain Tairn’s weight, and the bottom one supports a dozen manned cross-bolts. The eight above hold decreasing but proportionate numbers, and unlike Deverelli, these swing in multiple directions.

This place is constructed to fight dragons, whether or not they’ve actually been here.

“I don’t like you being this close to those bolts,” I say along the bond, noting the platoon of cavalry as they ride single file through raised metal gates inside each ring. One order, and the city would be impossible to breach on foot…or escape.

“I don’t like your selection in mates, yet here we are,” Tairn responds as we approach the city from hundreds of feet above, leading the formation as a storm rolls in from the west.

“Third ring,” I remind him as we soar over the fifth.

“I was there. I remember,” he replies, tucking his wings and diving toward the third-highest ring in the city.

The belt of my saddle presses into my thighs as we dive, and I wait for the snap of wings I know is coming…but it doesn’t.

“Tairn?” People run in the streets, ducking into the structures that line the rapidly approaching walls. If he doesn’t slow soon, we’ll take out the masonry. “Tairn!”

He sighs, then flares his wings and pumps once, jarring me in a bone-rattling shift of momentum before landing lengthwise on the wall of the third ring. Rock crumbles beneath his talons, and he lowers his head at the cross-bolt stationed less than a dozen feet away.

Two of the soldiers manning the station back up, but the third bravely stands partially hidden within the wooden base of the launching unit, one hand poised on the lever mechanism while the other slowly cranks the wooden wheel that pivots the weapon at us.

I undo the belt of my saddle and quickly rise for a better vantage point, dagger already in hand.

Shadow falls over us a second before Sgaeyl lands on the opposite side of the cross-bolt, and the soldier’s head jerks in her direction as she growls low in her throat, her nostrils flaring.

The soldier lifts both hands from the weapon.

I leave everything strapped to Tairn’s saddle except the weapons I carry, then move toward his shoulder, only pausing to be sure Cath, Kira, and Molvic have landed behind me.

“Watch where you dismount or you’ll embarrass us both,” Tairn warns, and my stomach lurches as I glance down. If I nudge even a few feet to the right, I’ll fall off the edge of the fifty-foot wall.

“Noted.” I aim inward and slide, landing on the wall between his first and second talon.

By the time Xaden and I reach them, all three soldiers have backed themselves into the cross-bolt turret. I open my mouth to assure them we only mean harm if they do, but a wooden door in the stone ground is pushed open on Xaden’s left, and the cavalry captain’s head pops through.

He lectures the soldiers, but the only word I pick out is audience. Then he beckons us toward the darkness with a motion of his hand. “Follow me.”

Xaden walks in first, and I follow down the stone staircase. Natural light illuminates our path through small slits in the stonework, and we pass two doorways as we wind our way to the ground floor.

“They’re inside the walls, too,” I tell Tairn. Dad either left that part out or never saw the inner workings of the defenses. My bet is on the second.

“Smart,” Tairn acknowledges.

The officer pushes open the door at the base of the steps, and Xaden and I walk into a shaded alleyway between stone buildings maybe a foot wider than Xaden’s shoulders. The pommels of his swords come within inches of scraping rock. “We could learn a few things from this construction. One soldier could hold off dozens.”

We reach the end of the alley and walk into the open cobblestone street. It looks to be thirty feet wide and, if Dad’s records are correct, is part of the residential district, but there’s nothing homey about the leather-clad soldiers lining the street, only a few of whom wear the muted green leathers. Soldiers in pale blue wear metal greaves along their legs. But the ones in silver stand in front of the next gate, swords drawn, the metal of their armored chest plates catching the morning light.

At least the portcullis hasn’t been lowered.

“Wait here.” The captain walks us into the middle, then leaves when one of the soldiers in blue shouts something from the left.

Xaden and I move to stand back to back.

“There’re two dozen of them and only the both of us,” I whisper, my gaze jumping from soldier to soldier, noting they have two stationed in front of every door.

Sgaeyl growls from above.

“Four,” Xaden reminds me quietly, brushing his pinkie against mine. “And I’m really missing that bond right now.”

“Me too.” I keep my hands close to my blades without giving the guards reason to strike, fighting the fear that threatens to slow my judgment as the sky darkens with heavy clouds.

The guards at my right split, and the captain walks through, followed by Aaric, Dain, and Cat.

“Welcoming bunch,” Cat notes when they reach us.

“This way,” the captain orders, then strides toward the silver-wearing soldiers blocking the next gate.

“Stay close and don’t get yourself killed,” Xaden says to Aaric as we follow the cavalry officer. The soldiers walking on both sides of us alternate between watching us and glancing upward, as though Tairn and Sgaeyl might decide they’ve had enough of the wall.

The soldiers begin to argue as we approach the gate, but I only pick out danger and holy.

“They want the challenge held in this…station,” Dain interprets from behind me as Sgaeyl and Tairn walk the wall above us, keeping pace. “They don’t want us any closer to their primary temple.”

“It’s not their temple we’re interested in,” Cat mutters beside him.

The captain must win the argument because the guards part to allow us through. I glance at their chest plates and find the etched symbol of two crossed swords gripped in the center by a claw—the emblem of Dunne.

“It’s similar to ours,” I tell Tairn as we cross under the thick gate. “They have a claw in her symbol, suggesting a common origin.”

“Focus now, analyze later,” he demands as we enter the next section.

There are no residences here, only two sectors of terraced seating built into the walls on both sides, leaving an open plaza in front of the largest temple I’ve ever seen. It’s easily the height of Tairn. The long, gabled roof is tiled in the same pale blue as the rest of the city, and the six wide pillars holding the front are all gray granite. The polished stones shimmer in the light, making them appear almost silver, and each has been carved with a different symbol. Sword. Shield. Fire. Water. Claw. My eyebrows rise when my gaze reaches the final pillar on the right. Book.

All tools of warfare.

Beside that pillar is a sculpted tribute to the goddess, a sparkling gray effigy of her likeness that reaches the lowest line of the roof. She holds a sword pointed in our direction in her left hand and a shield protecting the right edge of her temple in the other. Her long hair is braided down one side of her torso, and she’s dressed in long, belted robes with an armored chest plate.

“Wow,” Cat whispers as the uniformed guards filter in behind us, taking positions along the sides of the plaza as we move toward the darker stones between the terraced seats.

Blue-robed attendants rise on the temple steps, and my footsteps falter.

Every single one of them has silver hair.

Not gray.

Not white.

Silver.

Guardians are no longer permitted to dedicate children in service to their favored deity. The decision to serve the gods for life must be made after the age of majority and of one’s free will.

—Public Notice 200.417 Transcribed by Racel Lightstone