Onyx Storm by Rebecca Yarros Free Novel Chapter 41-50

What in the actual fuck. I draw back and stare at the irid, the knife loose in my grip.

Dragons don’t speak to humans they’re not bonded to, yet that deep, gruff voice definitely does not belong to Tairn.

“What is going—” Ridoc starts, coming up behind me. “Oh shit.”

Half the dragon heads swing his way as he runs toward me, while the other half keep their eyes and enormous jaws pointed in my direction.

“Are we happy?” he asks as he reaches my side in his bare feet. “Are we scared?”

I nod.

“Why do you not answer me?” the dragon asks.

“Perhaps the human female lacks intelligence,” a high voice chimes in, and the dragon on the right lifts her head.

My jaw drops. Guess arrogance is a universal dragon trait.

“She’s just surprised.” Andarna rises, but she leaves her head level with the others. “And you’re in her face.”

To my complete and utter shock, all six dragons take a step back.

“Thank you,” Andarna says.

“You speak our language?” I ask the irids.

“We are magic,” the male replies like it’s the most obvious reason in the world.

“Did they just respect your personal space?” Ridoc whispers, then yanks his hands over his ears and flinches. “What was that?”

“It is rude to speak as though we cannot hear you,” the female says from the right.

Ridoc’s eyes widen.

“It is more offensive to lift a blade at us.” The snappy schoolteacher voice comes from the left, I think.

“I don’t know you, and I’m not going to let you hurt her.” I glare at the one whose scales flicker to green.

“And you feel a dagger is sufficient.” Her nostrils flare. “I believe you are right, Dasyn. The human female lacks intelligence.”

Rude. But she’s right about the first part. I sheathe the dagger.

“You are irid.” The male in front of us changes the subject, his giant head tilting as he studies Andarna.

Her scales change from black to the green of the jungle, then ripple to blue, mirroring the sky just like the male. “I am irid.”

“Holy shit,” Ridoc says. “Was that Andarna?”

“I think when they make that whistle sound, it connects you to the irids,” I mutter.

“Yet you choose black as your resting color?” the female asks Andarna from the right.

“It is acceptable in my ho—” She breathes out in a huff. “In Navarre.”

The one diagonally to my left lifts their head. “She is the criterion.”

The other five flinch and draw back.

“Is that a good thing?” Ridoc signs.

“I don’t know,” I sign back, my heartbeat easing slightly as they give us a little more space.

Wingbeats fill the air and the irids’ heads lift skyward as darkness falls on top of us. Tairn lands hard, shaking the ground like thunder, his back claws digging into the sand to the left of Ridoc and the right of Andarna.

My heart stutters, and I can’t decide if I’m more relieved that he’s arrived or increasingly terrified at the thought of losing them both should the irids attack.

Dragons aren’t exactly predictable, and I know nothing about the ones in front of us.

“My human,” Tairn warns, swinging his tail. Trees crackle and crash behind us as he snaps his teeth at the irids. At least, I think that’s what’s happening, but all I can see is his underbelly and the legs of the irids.

“No!” Andarna scrambles out from beneath him and pivots as though staring him down. “They won’t hurt her. They’re my family.” She turns in a circle. “She’s my human, too.”

My stomach twists. They might be her family, but she doesn’t know them, and there’s every chance they’ll kill us all. We’ve been so busy trying to find them that we haven’t given much thought to what would happen when we did.

“Are humans so rare in Navarre that you must share?” the female on the left snaps.

“Do you not have another one under there?” a different voice asks.

Something drips to the left, and my gaze jumps past a smiling Ridoc.

Aotrom slithers forward at Tairn’s side, saliva dripping from his exposed fangs as he emerges from the trees. He growls low in his throat, giving a warning I don’t need translated.

Mine.

“We have no interest in the humans,” the male declares. “And no quarrel with either of you. We’ve come only to speak to the irid.”

“Andarna,” Tairn corrects him.

“Andarna,” the female to the right says gently.

Tairn retreats step by careful step until Ridoc and I stand between his front claws, his back ones filling the space his tail just cleared.

“At least now we can see something before we die,” Ridoc signs, then shrugs.

“We’re not going to die,” I sign back. My longing for Rhi and Sawyer to be here to see this equals my gratitude that they’re not in danger.

Tairn’s head hovers just above us, level with Aotrom’s. Clearly, he’s with Ridoc on this one.

Andarna swings to face us, her eyes dancing with palpable excitement. “See? They won’t hurt you.”

“I see.” I nod, not wanting to kill the moment for her.

“Oh my.” The female on the right gasps.

“What have you done to your tail?” The one on the left reels back.

Andarna cranes her neck to check her scorpiontail. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

My gaze jumps from irid to irid, my stomach sinking lower as I count from one to six.

They’re all feathertails.

“Tell us what they’ve done to you,” the male in front of us demands.

“Done to me? I chose my tail.” Andarna’s tone shifts defensively. “As is my right upon transition from juvenile to adolescent.”

The irids fall silent, and not in a good way.

The male in the center lies down and wraps his tail around his torso. “Tell us how you came to choose it.”

Andarna lifts her head to her full height as the irids lie down one by one.

“Is this really about to be story time?” Ridoc signs.

“You know as much as I do,” I sign back.

A corner of his mouth quirks as his hands fly. “First time for everything.”

Wood crunches as Tairn and Aotrom take the same position, leaving us standing between Tairn’s outstretched claws.

Andarna sits just ahead of us to the right, her tail swishing across the sand. “I blinked in and out of consciousness in my shell years—”

“We’re going to be here awhile,” Ridoc signs, then plops his ass down in the sand.

I slowly lower myself to do the same as she tells her story to a captive audience.

It’s only when she describes Presentation that the irids begin to throw questions at her.

“Why would you present yourself to a human?”

“No, they present themselves to us.” Andarna’s tail flicks. “So we can decide if we should allow them to continue on to Threshing or turn them into char marks.”

The irids all gasp, and Ridoc and I share a confused look. I’m guessing they don’t bond to humans.

“Seeing as I’m the eldest of my den in Navarre, there was no other to object to my Right of Benefaction,” she continues with excitement and more than a little pride, which makes me smile. “And so Threshing began.”

It’s fascinating to hear it from her point of view.

“Why would you participate in harvest?” the female on the left asks.

“It’s just what we call it when we select our humans for bonding,” Andarna explains. “So I went into the woods—”

“You bonded as a juvenile?” the male to the right shouts.

Tairn cranes his neck forward and growls. “You will not raise your voice to her.”

Andarna turns her head and narrows her eyes at Tairn. “Do not ruin this for me.”

Hurt stabs through the bond and Tairn recoils, his head drawing back to cover Ridoc and me.

Ouch. My chest tightens, but there’s nothing I can say to him and no way to say it without chancing the rest of them hearing me.

Andarna continues with our story. She tells them about Jack and Oren, about how I defended her, about Xaden and the rebellion.

“So naturally, I slowed time,” she tells them when recounting the attack in my bedchamber.

“You used your juvenile gift for a human?” the female on the left questions.

“I don’t like her,” Ridoc signs.

“Me either,” I respond in kind.

“For my human.” Andarna tilts her head. “She is part of me, as I am of her. You undervalue our connection.” That last bit reeks of adolescent snark.

“My apologies,” the female says.

“Damn, this breed apologizes,” Ridoc signs, lifting his brows. “Maybe we should have held out.”

I roll my eyes.

“Do you not bond humans?” Andarna asks, and I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees.

“We do not live with humans,” she answers.

“Is it just the six of you?” Andarna’s head swivels to look at them.

“There are hundreds of us,” the male to the left replies, speaking for the first time. “Please continue.”

The swirl pattern in his horns reminds me of Andarna’s. Maybe they’re from the same den.

More than an hour passes as she conveys every detail, as if forgetting one facet might alter whatever is about to happen.

When she starts to tell them about War Games, then Resson, my muscles tense, and I fight my own memories from interceding, fight the inevitable wave of grief that rises when she speaks of Liam and Deigh.

“And so I flew into the battle!” She pounces up on all fours.

There’s more than one set of narrowed golden eyes.

“And Violet channeled my power—”

Two of them inhale sharply, and my stomach full-on knots.

“I don’t think this is going as well as she thinks it is,” I sign to Ridoc.

“Why? She’s incredible,” he signs back. “Brave. Fierce. Vicious. Everything the Empyrean respects.”

But the way the irids look at her says otherwise.

“And we slowed time so that she could strike!” Andarna tells the story with an enthusiasm that belongs onstage. “But it was too much magic to channel, and I was still small. My body demanded the Dreamless Sleep…”

By the time she brings the irids to the present day without mentioning how we’re trying to cure Xaden, several hours later, they’ve all stopped asking questions. In fact, they lie in eerie silence as she finishes.

“That’s why we’re here,” she says. “To ask if you’ll come home to fight with us. To see if the knowledge was passed down of how the venin were defeated during the Great War, or if you know how to cure them.” Her tail flicks with expectation. “And I’d like to know about my family.”

The male in the center narrows his eyes on me. “And you allowed her to channel as a juvenile? You took her into a war?”

My mouth opens, then shuts as guilt settles on my shoulders. He’s not saying anything I haven’t questioned of myself.

“It was my choice!” Andarna shouts.

The female to the right sighs, blowing sand down the beach. “Show us your wing.”

Andarna tenses for a moment, as if deciding, then flares her wings. The left one buckles, and she forces it to extend, but the gossamer webbing trembles under the effort. “It doesn’t usually shake. I’m just tired from flying.”

The female glances away, the sun catching on her curved horns. “We’ve seen enough.”

“I can fly!” Andarna snaps her wings shut. “I’m just missing a second set of muscles and can’t carry Violet. The elders said it has something to do with the delicate balance of wind resistance and tension on my wing, and her weight on the spinal discs that run under my seat. But that’s all right because we have Tairn and he works with me every day—and the elders, too. And when I get tired, he carries me, but only on long journeys.” She glances down at her harness and shifts her weight nervously.

“Please permit the effrontery of our need for a moment of privacy,” the male in the center says.

They’re so rudely…polite.

Andarna sits, the irids’ voices slipping out of my head.

The six of them walk into the water, their scales changing to colors only a shade darker than the ocean.

“I think we’re blocked,” Ridoc signs.

“I think so, too,” I reply.

Andarna’s head angles toward us, and I offer what I really hope is a reassuring smile.

A moment later, three of the irids launch straight from the water, then disappear into the sky.

“That’s not good,” I sign.

“Maybe they’re just going to get the others,” Ridoc signs slowly.

The three left are the quiet male with the horns similar to Andarna’s, the one from the center, and the female from the right. They walk toward us, their scales changing back to shades of pale blue as they emerge from the water.

My chest constricts. They could have the answer to everything…or they could be as clueless about our history as we are.

“Did I pass the test?” Andarna asks.

The slide-whistle sound plays again, and I wince as it screeches so high I’m sure my ear is going to bleed.

“Test?” the male in the center asks, peering down at Andarna.

“You were just testing me, right? To make sure I’m fit to visit our den? Where is it, anyway?” The hope in her voice would cut my knees out if I were standing.

“You were never the one being tested.” The female sighs and looks over at me. The hair rises on the back of my neck. “You were.”

My head rears back and my stomach drops clean out of my body. “I’m sorry?”

“You should be.” The female flexes her claws in the sand. “You failed.”

Tairn growls, and this time Andarna doesn’t stop him.

“Violet has never failed me,” Andarna argues, thumping her tail against the ground.

I slowly rise to my feet. “I don’t understand.”

The trio blatantly ignores me. “The fact that you defend her actions is a testament to their failure as a society,” the male says to Andarna.

Ridoc stands and folds his arms beside me.

“Violet loves me!” Andarna shouts, her head swiveling between the three of them.

“She uses you.” The female’s eyes fill with sadness, and the scales of her brow scrunch. “She took advantage of a vulnerable child. She used your power as an instrument of warfare, forced your premature growth—and look what you have become.”

I fight to swallow past the rock that suddenly fills my throat.

“You think I’m broken,” Andarna hisses.

“We think you’re a weapon,” the male responds.

My lips part, and a rumble works its way through Tairn’s chest.

“Thank you.” Andarna’s scales flicker to mirror theirs.

“It wasn’t a compliment.” His words sharpen. “Our breed is born for peace, not violence like others.” He spares Tairn a single glance before returning to Andarna. “You were left behind as the criterion. The measurement of their growth, their ability to choose tranquility and harmony with all living things. We’d hoped you would return to tell us the humans had evolved, that they had blossomed under the wardstones and no longer used magic as a weapon, but instead you have shown us the opposite.”

I wrap my arms around my waist as he slices her—us—to the quick.

“And dragonkind has not learned their lesson, either. While you”—the male in the center’s gaze jumps to Aotrom—“gifted your human with ice”—he dares to shift his focus to Tairn—“you armed yours with lightning.”

“That’s not how signets work,” Ridoc argues.

“And you”—the male lowers his gaze to Andarna—“our very hope, have handed this human something far more dangerous to wield, haven’t you?”

While the enemy’s advance throughout Krovla makes it impossible to station a full riot at Suniva, we offer you four dragons and their riders. In the spirit of our alliance, you may expect a shipment of our most valuable resource—weaponry—to be used at your discretion.

—Official Correspondence of General Augustine Melgren to Queen Maraya

 

Handed me what? I blink in confusion.

Ridoc glances my way, and I shake my head with a shrug. I haven’t manifested a second signet from Andarna.

“You have weaponized your magic, even your tail,” the tallest irid continues. “You’ve become the very thing we abhor, the horror we fled from.”

He did not. Rage brings my power buzzing to the surface.

“She is not a horror!” I march forward as Andarna’s scales turn black, unable to listen to one more second of this bullshit.

“No, you are.” The male cranes his head in my direction. “She is but what you made her.”

My nails bite into the palms of my hands and my chest tightens.

“I do not understand…” Andarna’s tail flicks over the sand in front of me, and I step back, respecting the boundary. “You will not return with us?” she asks. “You will not help us achieve the peace you worship?”

“We will not.” The male lifts his head, and I follow his line of sight. Chradh and Sgaeyl are back, just in time to witness our complete and total failure. “We have watched some of your journey and feel it is not peace you seek, but victory.”

The male with the spiral horns stares at Andarna but remains quiet.

My heart starts to race. Oh gods, this is really happening. Our last hope is dwindling right before my eyes. We’ve risked everything, and they won’t help.

“Peace requires the Aretian wardstone, which we cannot fire without you!” Andarna snarls.

“I fail to see how that is a mutual problem,” the female replies.

“Do you not care that people will die?” Andarna curls her tail high above her back.

“Perhaps they should.” The tallest male blinks. “Perhaps the corrupted ones should devour the land in its entirety. Only when they’re faced with starvation will they confront the evil they’ve become. Either they’ll die off and the land will regenerate, or they’ll confront the abominations they’ve become and change.”

Change. My heart launches into my throat.

“How do they do that?” Andarna asks, and apprehension trickles down the bond from Tairn as wingbeats fill the air. Xaden and Garrick are almost here.

“Their offspring could evolve, perhaps,” the female muses, watching Sgaeyl and Chradh land near the stream twenty yards away. “Others arrive. We should depart.”

No, no. Panic climbs my spine. We can’t fail. This can’t be it.

Xaden and Garrick dismount on the black sand beach, high above the tide line, and Tairn snaps his head toward Sgaeyl. Whatever he communicates keeps the two dragons from coming our way, but not their riders.

“Is that the dark wielder’s cure?” Andarna asks, her head moving in a serpentine motion. “To evolve?”

My breath freezes in my chest.

The female’s golden eyes narrow to slits. “There is no cure.”

No cure? Her words hit like a physical blow, and my knees threaten to buckle.

“If they trade their soul, surely they can get it back,” Andarna retorts.

“It is not a trade,” the female lectures. “The soul is not kept by the earth as dark wielders steal its magic. The power exchange kills the soul one piece at a time, and death has no cure.”

Xaden and Garrick keep their eyes on the irids as they stride our way without their flight jackets, swords strapped to their backs, the perfect example of warfare.

His soul isn’t dead.

“Will you not at least tell us how the dark wielders were defeated in the Great War?” Andarna asks, her words flowing faster, like she knows her time is short.

“Apparently they weren’t if you’re here asking,” the female replies.

The male with the spiral horns watches Xaden and Garrick as they carefully cross behind Ridoc and me, moving to my right side.

“Our kind must have helped,” Andarna tries again. “I can burn dark wielders. Are we the key to defeating them?”

“Hopeless.” The tallest male backs into the water. “Leothan, I have heard enough.”

The other male flares his nostrils. “I have not.”

“They can hear us through the bond,” I quickly sign to Xaden. “It’s not going well.”

He nods.

“Want to catch us up?” Garrick signs, studying the massive heads lowered in our direction.

“They think Andarna is a weapon, which is somehow a bad thing,” Ridoc signs. “They won’t come back to help us and pretty much think we all deserve to die because we can’t solve mankind’s oldest problem of how to stop killing each other.”

“Got it,” Xaden signs.

“And there’s no cure for venin,” Ridoc quickly continues, and it’s all I can do not to grab his hands to stop him from saying more. “Their souls die, so there goes our save-them-to-defeat-them idea.”

Fuck.

Xaden’s head snaps forward as Andarna’s talons flex in the sand.

“You are magic,” the female says, a note of sadness in her tone. “And yet all you seek to use it for is violence.”

“You preach peace while only having known its privilege,” Andarna hisses in retort. “You are all a disappointment to me.”

“In that, we find common ground,” the tallest male says.

What an ass.

Tairn growls, rumbling the sand and vibrating the trees, and Andarna’s scales ripple to the darkest black as she retreats to his right foreleg.

“We have a long flight ahead, and there is nothing to be gained here,” the male continues, retreating another step into the water. “The world was not ready for you, and though it is no fault of your own, we cannot accept you.”

I gasp and clutch Xaden’s hand.

“What’s happening?” Garrick signs.

Maybe it’s best they not hear this.

“Leothan may feel differently”—the tallest male glances at the other one—“but our majority has determined you are irid in scale and name only, Andarna. You will not be allowed entrance to our isle nor instruction in our ways. We part here and wish you peace.”

Peace? My grip tightens on Xaden’s hand.

“I wish I’d never met you,” Andarna growls.

The tallest male crouches in the water before launching into the air, his scales shimmering for a heartbeat before he becomes the sky itself.

“What just happened?” Xaden asks.

“I think we lost,” Ridoc whispers.

Andarna’s snout dips, and bone-splitting agony courses down the bond, but it’s the shame that hits in the second wave that pricks my eyes.

“Andarna, no,” I whisper. “You are fierce, and smart, and brave, and loyal. None of this is your fault. You’re perfect.”

“I am…not,” she snarls, whipping her head toward me.

“You did not know she was a juvenile when you bonded her?” Leothan asks, his golden gaze studying the four of us humans.

“I didn’t,” I answer out loud. “I should have, but the hatchlings and juveniles are kept hidden and safe within the Vale until after the Dreamless Sleep. Nobody had seen one for centuries, so we didn’t realize that they’re all golden feathertails until adolescence.”

“What is going—” Garrick twitches. “Fuck, that hurts!”

Xaden grimaces, lowering his head and squeezing his eyes shut.

I’m guessing they just got the slide-whistle treatment.

“The uniformity assures all hatchlings are cared for without deference to breed or den—” Leothan startles as Xaden looks up.

The female recoils, baring her dripping teeth. “How could you align yourselves with this?”

Weird way to say “bond,” but whatever.

“Again, I didn’t know she was a juvenile,” I argue. “Blame me, not her!”

“Abomination.” The female hurls the insult, her eyes narrowing.

On Xaden.

My head snaps in Xaden’s direction, and I gasp. The rims of his irises shine bright red.

“Your kind is beyond redemption.” The female glares at Sgaeyl, then disappears.

Leothan studies Xaden for a heartbeat longer, then fades, and waves rush in where they’d been standing. Wind from invisible wingbeats gusts against my face, and I squeeze my eyes shut as sand blows all over us, their presence slipping from my mind just like before. When I open them, Xaden’s eyes have returned to normal.

Or rather, his new normal. There are still spots of amber within their onyx depths.

“Fuck.” His tone could cut scale as his fingers slip out of mine.

“You’re not an abom—”

He slams his shields down, blocking me out.

Something heartbreakingly close to a whimper sounds to our right, and I look past Garrick to find Andarna retreating into the jungle, her scales shifting to gold.

“Andarna.” I start toward her, but she blocks me out, too.

“I’ve got her.” Tairn rises over us, and his tail takes out a tree to the left as he stalks into the jungle after her. “Teine and Molvic approach.”

“I can—”

“Only one of us is fireproof,” he reminds me, disappearing in the vegetation.

My fingernails dig into my palms. I’ve never felt so helpless.

“I’m guessing he’s why you’ve been so hung up on finding a cure.” Ridoc’s accusation hits me like a bucket of ice water, and I snap my gaze to his.

Oh. Fuck.

“Yeah.” He nods at me. “I saw his eyes turn red.”

“Ridoc—” Xaden starts.

“Not a single word from you, dark wielder,” Ridoc grits out, his eyes locked on mine. “Vi, you’ve got one chance to come clean and tell me what the actual fuck is going on.”

If possible, hunt the enemy during the day. Their markings are so easily hidden by the shadows of night that it would not surprise me to find they walk among us.

—Venin, A Compendium by Captain Drake Cordella, the Nightwing Drift

 

 

 

 

Ridoc listens to the shortest possible version of the story before the others land, and I promise to tell him everything if he can just wait until we get some privacy as Mira dismounts. “We have to tell them about the irids first,” I finish in a hurried plea.

His mouth tenses and his brown eyes narrow on Xaden.

“Are the other four back yet?” Mira asks as she walks into camp with Aaric, her pack slung over one shoulder.

“Not yet,” Garrick answers from behind me. “But we still have a couple of hours until it’s fully dark.”

“Please,” I whisper to Ridoc as Mira drops her things near her bedroll.

“Everything all right?” Mira’s brow furrows when no one answers, and her gaze flickers between the four of us before settling on me with an intense once-over that ends with her studying my eyes. “Violet?”

My throat constricts. I don’t know what she’ll do if she learns the truth.

“The irids are a bunch of assholes who rejected Andarna,” Ridoc says. “So, it’s been a rather shit day.” He launches into the story, and my pulse slowly steadies.

“How’s Andarna?” Mira asks.

“Devastated.” I glance down the beach, but she and Tairn haven’t returned yet. “I know we came in hopes the irids would help, or at least fire the wardstone, but she really just wanted to know her family.”

Garrick’s jaw ticks, and Xaden folds his arms.

“The others should be back soon,” Ridoc says. “What do we do? Fly for Loysam tomorrow?”

“There’s no point.” I look to Xaden, but he keeps quiet. “Loysam has guards but no army. We can establish a diplomatic tie, but they won’t help us win a war.”

“So what do you want to do?” Xaden asks, the ocean breeze ruffling his hair as he looks over at me.

Gods, he really is beautiful, and not just on the outside. Everything about him—his loyalty, his intelligence, the softer edges no one else but me gets to see…even his casual ruthlessness holds me in thrall. And whatever parts are missing? Dead, according to the irids? We’ll live without them.

He’s still whole to me. As long as we can keep him from channeling from the earth, find a way for him to control that craving, we’ll be all right. We have to be.

“We should go home.” Saying the words brings a sense of finality, of failure that stabs hard and cuts deep. “Who knows what’s happened in our absence.” For all we know, the lines could have fallen and Theophanie herself could be waiting in my room.

“Court-martials for all,” Mira quips sarcastically.

Garrick nods and stares out over the water. “Technically, on the map, if you were to fly northeast for two days, you’d hit the Cliffs of Dralor.”

“The gryphons would absolutely love that.” Ridoc scoffs. “Can’t you see Kiralair snuggled up in Molvic’s claw?”

“Only the larger dragons can fly two straight days,” Xaden says. “Tairn. Sgaeyl. Molvic, maybe.”

“We go through the isles,” I decide. “It’s the safest route to get everyone home…as long as we camp on a deserted coast when it comes to Hedotis. Pretty sure I’m banned there.”

After the others arrive and our situation has been explained, Ridoc shoots me a look that says he’s done waiting to chat.

Xaden and Garrick are less than thrilled when I take off with Ridoc into the woods under the guise of hunting for dinner. Taking the agate sound-shield rune Ridoc carries, we hike about five minutes uphill into the jungle, staying close enough to find our way back but far enough to assure privacy thanks to Aotrom’s escort.

The Brown Swordtail isn’t just nosey; he’s pissed.

I’m nauseous telling Ridoc the full story about Xaden, remembering the entire time that Ridoc was the slowest to forgive when I kept my secrets at the beginning of the year. By the time I’m finished, the light has faded into dappled patches of color and he’s pacing in front of me, looking anywhere but in my direction.

“I thought we agreed to tell each other the truth.” His hands curl.

“It wasn’t my secret to tell.” I lean against a tree and watch Ridoc’s short treks back and forth in front of me. “I know that’s a shitty apology, but I’m not sorry for keeping Xaden safe.”

“That’s not an apology, Vi.” He pauses in front of me, a million emotions crossing over his face too quickly to name.

He’s right.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you, but if anyone finds out, they’ll lock him up like Barlowe, or worse—kill him.” I fold my arms.

He lifts his eyebrows and cranes his neck forward. “And there’s not a single, tiny speck of you that thinks maybe they should?”

“No. He’s not evil.” I lift my chin.

“He’s not him, either,” he counters. “That’s why you stepped between us in Hedotis. He’s not fully in control and you know it.”

“Are any of us ever in full control—” I start.

“Don’t do that.” He points his finger at me. “Not with me.”

“He’s not Barlowe. Not even remotely close. He’s never hurt me. He’s only ever channeled to save other people, first at Basgiath, then at a battle across the border, and then when Courtlyn tried to kill us in Deverelli.” I leave out the slight discoloration on my headboard. That’s a line I’m not crossing with Ridoc.

“Holy fuck, he’s channeled three times?” Ridoc’s eyebrows fly upward. “And managed to do it on an isle without magic?”

“I had a piece of alloy in my conduit.”

“Oh, well, good to know you can keep him fed like Barlowe if you need—” He scoffs. “That’s why you’ve been keeping Barlowe alive. Holy shit, Violet, do you have any respect for your own life? Or is it just Riorson we’re concerned with now?”

“He’s never hurt me,” I repeat. “And he’s still an initiate. He doesn’t need to be fed.” The word tastes like ash in my mouth. “As long as he doesn’t do it again, he’ll stay exactly how he is now.”

“A dark wielder, just like the silver-haired one stalking you.” Ridoc starts pacing again.

My head draws back. “He is nothing like her.”

“Bonded to one of the most vicious dragons on the Continent,” he continues, ignoring my defense. “That’s…awesome.”

“He doesn’t control Sgaeyl.” I watch as Ridoc pivots and starts the trek all over again. “In fact, she barely speaks to him right now.”

“I don’t blame her, either,” Ridoc says after a pause, agreeing with Aotrom. “And she’s kept this from the Empyrean—” He stops to my right, then slowly turns to face me. “Who else knows?”

“Other than Xaden and me? Garrick, Bodhi, and Imogen.”

Ridoc blinks. “That’s it? Just the five of you?”

“And now you.”

“Well, at least the club is exclusive,” he says sarcastically, then shoves his hands into his hair. “And they’re all loyal to him.”

“Well…yes.” I shift my weight. “He’s the one we’re trying to save.”

He rolls his eyes at the canopy. “Fuck me. How did we get here with the secrets again?” His finger shoots up. “Never mind, I already know—Riorson. Again. I sense a theme.”

“Basgiath would have fallen if he hadn’t killed the dark wielders’ Sage,” I remind him. “What he did give us—give my mother—was time to imbue the wardstone. We’d all be dead if he hadn’t channeled for more power. The Continent would have fallen if not for him.”

“Only to become the very thing we’re fighting.” He shakes his head. “The irony of it exists on so many levels, especially when you consider that he’s the fucking Duke of Tyrrendor now.” His arms fall to his sides. “He could tear our kingdom—our province—apart from within. He could deliver us to the venin on a silver platter. Barlowe was nothing. We have a dark wielder sitting in the Senarium.”

Is that all he sees him as? Just another dark wielder?

“He’s on our side. Fighting our battles.” I push off the tree. “He killed more venin after the battle than any other rider, remember?”

“How can you be sure he’s not playing you?” His brow furrows.

“Because I know him!” My voice rises.

“All right.” Ridoc nods excessively. “I’ll play along. Let’s say he’s still eighty percent Xaden.”

“Ninety,” I counter.

“Ehh.” He shrugs. “There are four ranks to dark wielders, and your man’s already channeled three times. I think eighty percent is mathematically generous, but sure, we’ll live in your delusion for the purpose of the hypothetical. How long do we have until he’s an asim? Until he’s physically unable to deny the call of a Sage?”

“If he doesn’t channel—”

“They always channel!” Ice forms at his fingertips. “Just because I like to crack jokes doesn’t mean I’m not serious about reading the same shit you do. There are no accounts of initiates just walking away from the power.”

“That’s why I have to find a cure.” My voice breaks.

“They just told us there isn’t one.” His arm swings toward the beach.

“And I’ve had about five minutes to process that information.” Anger and fear war for control of my emotions, and both bring my power to the surface, sizzling my skin. “Everything I’ve done over the last few months, from securing the deal with Tecarus for books to searching for Andarna’s kind, has been in service to the Continent, but also to find a cure for him, and hearing from the most likely source that there isn’t one?” I shake my head as the heat rises within me, growing exponentially with my panic. “I don’t know what to do with that yet. I don’t have all the answers, Ridoc. I just know that I have to find them whether they’re in a forgotten book or some dark wielder’s head, because I’ve lost Liam and now Trager and my mother to this war, and I’m not giving up on the man I love!”

Power snaps within me and flares outward. Lightning slams into the tree behind Ridoc, and thunder booms instantly, shaking my bones.

“Fuck!” Ridoc shouts, covering his ears and whirling to face the tree.

My heart stutters as the trunk splits down the middle, and the halves waver…then fall. I lift my fingers, summoning lesser magic to soften the crash, but the heavy pieces are no match for my skills in this area. The halves smack into the ground in a line before us, then erupt into flame.

“Damn it.” Ridoc flings his hands outward, and a thin sheet of ice races along the halves in both directions. The flames sizzle and die. “Now Riorson is really going to kill me,” Ridoc mutters, but the joke falls flat. He turns my way.

“Thank you.” I gesture to the embers, then sigh. “And I’m sorry.”

“For which part?”

“All of it.” The admission is a little stronger than a whisper.

He nods.

“I will save him.” My throat tightens. “And not just because I can’t fathom living without him. I’m selfish when it comes to loving him, and maybe a little self-destructive lately—”

“You think?” He gestures to the tree.

“—but if I don’t save him…” My voice drops. “If I don’t cure him, and he…” I can’t say it. “I keep serum in case of emergency, but Ridoc, we have to keep him on our side, or this war is already lost. There isn’t a rider alive capable of stopping him at full power now, let alone what he could become if he truly turns. And don’t say that I can, because the truth is that I won’t. Even if I hone my signet to his level, which would take the years he’s had, I could no more hurt him than he could hurt me. He is…everything to me.”

Ridoc’s shoulders dip. “So where’s the line? At what point is he too far gone for you to defend him?”

My mouth opens then shuts. “There isn’t one. Not one he’d actually cross.”

“Really?” He lifts his brows. “What if he hurts someone you love? Will that change your mind?”

“He wouldn’t.” I shake my head. “He hasn’t in all these months. He won’t.”

He clasps my shoulders. “Not good enough. Give me a real, logical line he has to cross for you to walk away, and I’ll keep the secret. I’ll help you scour every fucking book you can find. I’m here for the I’m-going-to-save-my-man-at-all-costs mantra and will be on your side in this horrifically dangerous situation if you can just acknowledge there’s a breaking point. You can put all your faith in him as long as you leave a little logic for yourself.”

“I…I can’t imagine not loving him.” I bring my hands up to rest on his forearms.

“Never said you couldn’t love him.” He squeezes my shoulders gently. “You can still love someone after you let them go. But you have to tell me there’s a line where you will let him go. Because if there isn’t one, it’s not just him we’re going to lose, Vi.”

My chest tightens. “I would never—”

“Would you channel to save him? Or is that the line?”

I swallow hard, remembering that breath of a second in the wardstone chamber where my power hadn’t been enough to imbue the stone.

“If it makes it easier, then pick a line where I can turn him in,” Ridoc whispers. “Tell me now, when you think there’s no chance it will ever happen, so if he ever gets there, the decision isn’t on your shoulders.”

Every muscle in my body tenses.

“How about if he hurts Tairn or Andarna?” Ridoc suggests. “You have to help me here, Vi, or I’m walking straight to the only person I know will put your life above everyone else’s on that beach.”

Mira.

I try to look at the situation from Ridoc’s perspective, and it’s anything but pretty. “Fine. Hypothetically, he’d have to kill another rider without cause or hurt civilians. Hurt my friends, my dragons. Hurt…me,” I end in a whisper. “If he hurts me, then he’s not him anymore.”

Ridoc nods, then touches his forehead to mine. “All right. Then there it is.”

“There it is,” I repeat.

His hands fall away, and we start back toward camp. “Stop keeping shit to yourself,” he demands. “I don’t want to have this fight again. The four of us are stronger together than we are apart. Don’t fuck with that, even for Riorson. If you’re too afraid to tell Rhi, Sawyer, or me about something you’re doing because you know we’re going to lose our shit, then either you shouldn’t be doing it or you deserve to have shit lost on you.”

“Noted.” I sigh. “I miss them.”

“Me too.” He slings his arm around my shoulders. “Rhi gives better lectures.”

“You did pretty well.” A smile tugs at my mouth as we veer left around a giant tree the diameter of Tairn’s leg.

And find Xaden on the other side, standing with one ankle crossed over the other, his arms folded as he leans his shoulder against the trunk.

Ridoc’s hand flexes on my shoulder, but he doesn’t let go as we abruptly stop.

Xaden arches his scarred brow, taking note.

“Quite the conundrum,” Ridoc says. “You see, if I drop my hand, it looks like we’ve been caught doing something we shouldn’t. Which we haven’t. But if I leave it here, I’m not sure you won’t go all blank-face on me in a fit of rage and—” He drags his left hand across his neck.

“Not helping,” I tell him.

“I also don’t want you to think that just because you’re scary, I’m scared of you,” Ridoc adds. “Which I’m not.”

“You are. What did you decide?” Xaden asks, his face a perfect mask of boredom.

“You’re not going to threaten to kill me?” Ridoc counters.

“I don’t make empty threats.”

I reach out mentally, but Xaden’s shields are still locked tight.

Ridoc tilts his head. “Meaning you wouldn’t threaten before you killed me? Or you wouldn’t actually kill me?”

Xaden half shrugs. “You pick.”

“Stop it.” I look straight at Xaden and his gaze flickers to mine, warming slightly.

“She tells Rhiannon and Sawyer,” Ridoc demands, then pauses, considering. “And Jesinia.”

My heart practically stops. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Is that all?” Xaden asks, and I can’t tell if he’s being a sarcastic ass or a serious one.

“I’d prefer Mira and Brennan, too, but we can start with the first three,” Ridoc states, looking at Xaden. “Everyone you’ve told values your life over hers—”

“That’s not true,” I argue.

“Everyone who knows has told Violet to run as far and as fast as she can,” Xaden says. “Myself included.”

“Good to know.” Ridoc shrugs. “Rhi. Sawyer. Jesinia. That’s my only condition for keeping your secret.”

“That is not what we discussed,” I hiss up at him.

“We discussed our terms,” Ridoc says, then looks back at Xaden. “This is between us. Jesinia needs to know what she’s actually researching in case there’s a way to slow your progression. Sawyer, Rhi, and I are the only ones who can be with Violet during every class, and our dorm rooms are right next to hers. She’s more than capable of protecting herself, but extra eyes don’t hurt, considering what will come for her.”

Xaden tenses.

“Yeah, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” Ridoc nods.

My forehead crinkles. “Well, I don’t.”

“If he progresses and turns fully—” Ridoc starts.

“When,” Xaden corrects him. “Denial and I don’t keep company.”

Ridoc’s eyebrows rise. “All right then. When he turns fully, or when someone with the wrong rank realizes what he’s become, they’ll have to kill him for the very reasons you’ve already mentioned, Vi.”

“What does that…” My stomach hollows as I follow his train of thought to its logical conclusion, then refills immediately with scalding anger. I drag my gaze to Xaden’s. “Killing me is the easiest way to kill you.” Just like my first year.

“I won’t let that happen.” Xaden’s jaw clenches.

“We won’t let that happen,” Ridoc corrects. “You’ll be off doing evil shit wherever evil shit gets done.”

My lips part.

“Rhi. Sawyer. Jesinia,” Ridoc repeats.

“Not Aetos?” Xaden questions. “Dain specifically.”

“Absolutely not,” I interject. “He’ll kill you.”

“He could try,” Xaden replies. “The attempt would certainly make things awkward.”

“I’m with Violet on this one,” Ridoc chimes in. “While I’m proud of how far Aetos has come in the rule-bending department, he’s not ready to graduate to this particular level. Rhi. Sawyer. Jesinia.”

“Done,” Xaden answers. “But let’s be clear. I don’t care who she tells when it comes to her safety.”

“Good.” Ridoc nods, then rocks back on his heels and takes a deep breath. “Oh, and just so we’re clear, that strike up there wasn’t”—he gestures between us—“you know. Us.” He flinches. “I mean, it was us because I pissed her off, but it wasn’t us…us, if you know what I’m saying.”

I fight to keep from rolling my eyes.

“Well aware,” Xaden replies. “First because I trust Violet, and second”—he glances at Ridoc in a dismissive once-over—“it wasn’t a big enough strike.”

Seriously? I scoff.

“Huh.” Ridoc tilts his head as if deciding something, then shakes it. “Nope. You and I are not back to dick jokes yet. Not that we were ever there. I’m still pissed.”

“You should be.” Xaden pushes off the tree and walks toward us. “And I’m making sure Violet’s capable of killing me when the time comes. If it’s between her and me, I choose her. Kill the other guy I become.”

My eyes narrow on the beautiful asshole I’ve foolishly given my heart to. “It’s not going to come to that.”

“Holy shit. Is that noble? Is that twisted? I can’t decide.” Ridoc pats me on the shoulder, then starts back toward camp. “I’ve never been happier to be single. You two have some serious issues.”

“Garrick handled the hunting that you were supposed to be doing,” Xaden calls out as we leave the trees.

Ridoc throws a thumbs-up as he walks down the hill.

Xaden studies my face, looking at me like he has to memorize every detail in this exact moment.

I step toward him and he retreats, shaking his head once.

My heart sinks. “You’re going to put some space between us over the abomination comment, aren’t you?”

He flinches, which is as good as confirmation for me.

“You’re not—” I start.

“The other two irids stayed like they hadn’t made up their minds yet,” he interrupts. “And I think you had them because you didn’t know how young Andarna was at Threshing.” His jaw pops and he slides right back into that bored, unbothered mask he loves so well. “Then they saw me. I’m pretty fucking sure that this entire mission we’ve risked everything for just failed because of what I am. Because I’m here with you.”

“That’s not fair,” I whisper.

“But it’s true.” Shadows scatter around the edges of his boots, and he looks down toward the beach. “I’ve barely made it a month without channeling beyond Sgaeyl.” He shakes his head. “Had it just been you and Ridoc, or you and Dain, or you and…anyone else besides me on that beach, there’s every chance you’d be on your way to whatever isle they’ve claimed, that Andarna would have a chance to know her kind, that they’d agree to come back and fire the Aretian wardstone and save my city, save my entire province.” He drags his gaze back to mine. “So yeah, I think the abomination comment—and what it represents—requires taking a moment of space for us both to consider the undeniable fact that I am the worst possible thing for this mission, for my province, and for you.”

My heart hurts for him, for how guilty he feels over something he can’t control.

“All right.” I fold my arms across my chest and debate whether to fight or comfort him, then decide to go a different route. “Facts are considered. I don’t need the moment. You would have been on this mission regardless of our status because of Tairn and Sgaeyl. It’s ridiculous that they passed judgment on you without even hearing you speak, but that’s a statement on their character, not yours. And if you need some space to sort that out in your mind, fine.” I tilt my head at him. “But it doesn’t change a single thing about the way I love you.”

His hands flex.

I turn away from him and start back toward camp. “Let me know when you’re done brooding and we’ll see how big my next strike is. Until then, we’re flying home tomorrow.”

• • •

The gryphons are exhausted, and it takes us ten days to reach Deverelli, where we spend an extra day fixing Andarna’s harness when a piece of metal snaps.

Xaden keeps his distance the whole damned time.

Andarna is barely speaking.

Cat is heartbreakingly silent to the point that I wish she’d take a verbal jab or two.

And I’m about to break under the weight of failure.

We use the day to chart our path over Poromiel, choosing a route that brings us ashore between Cordyn and Draithus in order to minimize our chances of encountering dark wielders. By the time we launch for the Continent, Mira’s asked me at least a dozen times if I’m all right, and though Dain has the annoying habit of continuously measuring how far Xaden and I sit apart with his eyes before meeting my gaze, he smartly keeps his mouth shut.

I scan our surroundings for venin constantly during the flight, too scared to sleep in the saddle. Every glint of sun off a lake makes my stomach lurch, and every distant thunderstorm has me gripping the pommels. Logically, I know there’s no chance Theophanie is aware we’re beyond the wards, available for her to pick off at will, but she shouldn’t have known I’d be in Anca, either. Either our flight plan pays off or Theophanie chooses not to attack, and though we fly over patches of drained land, we make it to the wards without so much as a patrol of wyvern intercepting us.

The ease of it only serves to make me more anxious.

We spend a night under the stars just within the wards to evade the arrest for court-martial we all know is coming, and fly into Basgiath three and a half weeks from the day we left.

There’s no sense of victory as I unload Tairn’s saddlebags on the flight field, not even with having secured an army to come to our aid. The overwhelming failure of losing the irids feels like mold growing on my tongue, souring everything I drink and eat, infecting my words and the very breath in my lungs. The disappointment festers and spreads until I feel wholly, completely rancid as I dismount onto the muddy field.

Andarna flew straight to the Vale. She didn’t even speak as she disappeared over the ridge. Her sorrow hurts most of all.

“Violet!”

I turn and am immediately devoured by Rhiannon’s hug. Her arms close tight around me, and I drop the pack to return the squeeze. Maybe it’s the sound of Kaori yelling at cadets across the field, or the scent of Rhi’s hair, or the simple fact that we’re back, yet not home, but the enormity of what we’ve lost immediately pricks my eyes and clogs my throat. “I really missed you. How did you know we were here?”

“Feirge told me you were headed in, so we ran out of dinner. I’m so glad to see you.” Rhi pulls back with a watery smile. “Are you all right?”

I open and shut my mouth, unsure of how to answer the question.

“Rhi!” Ridoc slams into us from the side, wrapping us both in his arms, two weeks of beard growth scratching the side of my face. “Fuck, did we need you on that trip. Violet was out of control. She kicked a queen’s ass and poisoned Xaden’s mom and all three Hedotic heads of state, but secured us an army.”

Rhi huffs a laugh as he sways us back and forth. “And what did you do?”

“Not much. Put out a couple of fires, punched a cook.” He lets me go, then yanks Sawyer into the embrace when he walks over, leaning slightly on a cane. “This is good. This is right.”

“Glad you’re home, guys,” Sawyer says, his face squished down next to mine thanks to Ridoc.

“Me too.” I relax into the hug.

“There they are! Get over here!” Ridoc shouts, still in the embrace.

Maren laughs and runs to my other side, working her way in, but Cat just sighs as she walks over.

“No exceptions,” Ridoc declares, then tugs Cat into the circle between him and Sawyer. “Sweet second-years, together again.” He lets us go, but we stay circled up.

Rhi’s gaze jumps from person to person like she’s counting, and her smile falters.

“We lost Trager,” I tell her softly.

“What?” Rhi recoils, her face stricken.

“How?” Sawyer’s shoulders fall.

“Zehyllna,” Cat answers, then clears her throat. “Arrow to the heart. But we got an army out of it, so—” Her voice breaks and she clears her throat again.

“I’m so sorry,” Rhi says, her gaze swinging from Maren to Cat.

“We are, too,” Maren whispers.

“And we failed.” I say it out loud for the first time, looking Sawyer, then Rhi straight in the eyes. “We found the irids, and they won’t come. We failed.”

“Shit.” Rhi’s face falls entirely.

“That’s disappointing to hear, given the current political climate.”

We break apart and turn toward General Aetos, who stands a respectable distance from Tairn, glowering at us. He doesn’t even glance at Dain as the others make their way over.

Xaden pauses between Garrick and Drake, and our gazes collide for a heartbeat before we both focus on General Aetos. Court-martial coming in three…two…

“We will discuss your punishment for disobeying direct orders later.” General Aetos glances at Drake. “It’s too bad you were born on the wrong side of the family.” His gaze snaps to Cat. “The good news is that you’re one step closer to your throne.”

Cat blanches. “Syrena?”

My stomach plummets, and I spot Mira white-knuckling the strap of her rucksack.

“Is that your sister?” Aetos asks, reaching into the pocket of his uniform and walking toward us.

“Yes,” Maren answers so Cat doesn’t have to.

“Ah. Right. The infamous flier.” Aetos retrieves a missive and hands it to me without really answering Cat or Maren. “This perplexing read came for you about an hour ago. Looking forward to discussing it during your debrief.”

I clasp the parchment, noting the broken seal. “Is Syrena Cordella alive?” He’s cruel to drag it out like this.

“Last I heard, she’s fine.” Aetos glances meaningfully at the paper.

Thank you, Amari.

Cat sways, taking in a deep breath, and I unfold the already opened missive. “What happened?” she asks.

My skin chills as the blood runs from my face at the sight of her handwriting.

Violet—

I do hope you had a marvelous time on your journey, though your riot looked a little haggard when you flew over Pavis. I do wonder why you went to so much effort when I have the one thing you seek above all else. Do enjoy the time you have with your friends until our next rendezvous. Don’t worry, I’m making all the arrangements.

—T

I crumple the parchment on reflex, and my gaze jumps to Xaden.

“What is it?” He tilts his head.

“Theophanie.” It’s a struggle to draw a full breath. “She knew we were gone. She saw us fly over Pavis and somehow delivered this here before we arrived.”

His mouth tightens. “She can’t get to you here.”

“And yet she did.” I shove the paper into my pocket and notice General Aetos watching me like a hawk.

“Is my uncle all right?” Cat’s voice rises. “Just tell us already.”

Tecarus. Oh shit.

“While you were out doing gods know what on the isles for three weeks,” Aetos says, his eyes hardening, “Suniva fell to dark wielders.”

Maren gasps, and dread hangs on the momentary silence.

“Queen Maraya is dead.”

Your Majesty, unfortunately I can find no law that supersedes the Unification Scrolls. The Provincial Commitment under Queen Alondra the Bold (207.1)—consolidating the provinces’ armies under the queen’s standard for the Poromish conflict—expired with the Second Aretia Accord, and control of all forces should must return to the provinces from which they hail. I recommend demanding asking for a new Provincial Commitment covering our current conflict. The provinces will never agree after the rise in conscription rates. My advice: do not anger Tyrrendor’s duke, who now commands the largest portion of our army. Screw this. I hate my job.

—Unsent, Drafted Correspondence of Colonel Agatha Mayfair, Royal Archivist

 

 

 

 

Leadership separates us completely after we put our things in our rooms, then questions us for twelve hours each with scribes. When Aetos accidentally lets slip his annoyance that King Tauri is so grateful to have Aaric back that he’s forbidden any form of punishment, the emotional relief results in an immediate sense of overwhelming exhaustion, but I don’t ask for a reprieve from the endless debrief. I made the decisions, and if this prolonged interrogation is my only collegiate repercussion, I’ll take it without complaint, especially knowing the other members of the squad are safe, too.

They go over the trip’s details so many times, for so many hours, that I start to worry if they’re looking for holes in our stories or if they suspect we had more than rare texts to guide us. It’s tedious and exhausting, but at least I get to see Markham’s face twist with jealousy from across the room on the few occasions he sits in on my sessions.

I’ve seen things he never will, touched pieces of history he didn’t know existed.

Just like my father.

Mira and Garrick are released back to the front on March twenty-eighth, the last day of our inquisition. Drake departs for Cordyn. Brennan arrives from Aretia to mend my ribs. Xaden is hauled into Senarium meetings while being returned to his position as a professor.

And the rest of us go back to class.

For having missed more than three weeks, I’m only completely lost in physics and mildly confused in history, since all my studying prior to the trip had nothing to do with Braevick absorbing Cygnisen under Porom the First. If not for Rhi’s notes, the three of us would drown academically, and I’m sure Aaric feels the same about Sloane.

But it’s Battle Brief on our first day back that shows just how much damage can be done in three weeks. Suniva is far from the only city to have fallen. In fact, geographically speaking, it’s an outlier.

“That’s not possible,” I whisper, staring at the map from my seat. How many dark wielders would it take to cover that much territory this quickly? Rhi and I spent the early morning hours debriefing, but this hadn’t come up.

“It’s happening fast.” Rhiannon takes out her pen and paper.

“If by fast, you mean that half of Krovla has been painted red while we were away, then yes, I’d say fast is a good term,” Ridoc notes from Rhi’s right.

“You guys didn’t see any of it on your flight in?” Sawyer asks.

“No.” My grip tightens on my pen. “We flew over the ruins of Pavis.” There are so many patches of red that they blend into one. Only the southern tip and west of Krovla have been spared. Cordyn still stands, but for how long? “Civilian casualties?”

Rhi’s mouth tightens. “Unknown, and the borders are a mess. People are fleeing in every direction. Draithus is facing major supply shortages. Too many people too fast.”

My stomach knots. Mira and Garrick were both sent to Draithus.

“Because your king won’t let anyone in.” Cat seethes.

A few heads turn in her direction before quickly looking away. It’s been like that all day, cadets whispering and staring at us.

“What?” I lean forward to look past Maren as the stragglers take their seats. “We’re still not taking civilians?”

“Guessing they skipped that part of your debrief,” she replies.

Or I’d only been interviewed by Navarrians.

“Welcome back to our travelers,” Professor Devera says as she takes her position at the front, alongside Professor Kiandra. “From my understanding, they have secured us an army of forty thousand soldiers from an alliance with Zehyllna.” She gives me a subtle nod, and I force a smile. “Which may help turn the tide of this war.”

But we failed to secure our primary objective. And lost a squadmate. I’m going to need to get back into the gym with Imogen to carry all this fucking guilt.

“I’d settle for a stalemate,” Maren says from my left.

“Also, welcome to our new guests.” Devera’s gaze flicks to the two captains in rider black standing watch at the end of Aaric’s row. “Please make yourselves as uncomfortable as possible.”

Aaric glares past Sloane and Baylor, then faces forward.

“On to battle strategy,” Devera announces. “Where should we put our forty thousand troops?” she asks the room, then calls on a first-year from Second Wing.

“They should be stationed here to protect the wardstone,” the curly-haired guy replies.

“Yes, because that is where venin seem to be headed,” Imogen quips from above us.

“Next,” Devera orders.

“They should be sent to the south to hold the line so Cordyn doesn’t fall,” Cat says without being called on.

“That would be one excellent usage of them,” Devera agrees, “though I wonder if your bias comes into play with that kind of decision, seeing as it’s now the seat of power for your uncle.”

King Tecarus.

“What do our other travelers think?” Devera inquires, her gaze skimming over us.

I stare at the western line that’s creeping closer to Tyrrendor and keep my mouth closed so the same point can’t be made to me regarding bias.

“They should be split,” Dain answers from above us. “Half to the south to defend the new king and what’s left of the territory, and half to the western line.”

“You would deploy all the troops within Poromiel?” she questions, sitting back on her favorite spot on the table.

“It’s where they’re needed,” he answers with a certainty I envy. “And before the riders in here get defensive, remember that protecting Krovla’s western line keeps the dark wielders off Tyrrendor and Elsum, and we’re bound by our alliance to defend King Tecarus.”

“And it was a flier who paid the cost of that army,” Cat adds.

“Solid points,” Devera admits. “Personally, I’d divvy the troops into thirds, putting most along the lines Aetos suggested and the rest at our outposts.” My brow furrows. Why would the outposts need more troops within the wards? “If we start losing wards, there will be no safe harbor on the Continent.”

“Safe for who, exactly?” Maren mutters.

“Hard for outposts to fall or lose wards when they’re already protected,” Sawyer muses.

Unless they think the arsenals are at risk. All it takes is a disruption in the power supply and the wards will fail.

“We’ll see what leadership decides.” Devera pauses, and her hands trip on the edge of the desk. “It is not lost on me that today’s subject will be a sensitive one—I know many of you had family there—but it is critical that we discuss Suniva’s fall now that the intel reports are in.”

There’s an immediate hum of tension within the room, as if half its occupants can’t help but channel.

“How many of you know how it happened?” Devera’s gaze sweeps over us.

A second-year flier from Third Wing raises her hand, and Devera nods at her. “I don’t think any of us have all the details, but we know they were taken by surprise. I heard twenty venin—”

“I heard it was more like thirty,” someone counters from the right.

“Which is why we have this briefing.” Devera lifts her brows. “It does us no good to train with misinformation and rumors.” She looks back at the flier.

“They dropped out of the sky, which made Suniva’s fifty-foot walls obsolete,” the flier continues, “then started a…fire. Is it true most everyone burned to death?”

My stomach pitches. I can’t think of a more horrible way to die.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Devera nods. “The fire started in the famous textile district and, with the help of what we think were wind-wielding venin, quickly devoured most of the city, despite the efforts of the four drifts in permanent residence, all of whom perished. We had a riot of four stationed there to protect the queen. One rider and two dragons made it out alive, which is the only reason we have facts instead of rumors to build on. Estimated casualties are somewhere around twenty-five thousand lives.”

Holy shit.

A flier two rows down hangs her head, and her shoulders shake.

“The fire did most of the work for them,” Devera continues, “allowing their horde of approximately twelve wyvern to split into three coordinated units.”

“There’s no way twelve wyvern took out Suniva!” a flier to the right yells.

“Twelve wyvern. Twelve venin,” Devera answers without batting an eye. “Four to hold the perimeter, four to fly directly to the palace, and four to concentrate on the barracks and armory. Twelve of them took out twenty-five thousand people. Putting your feelings aside,” Devera instructs, raising her chin, “ask the questions that will allow you to hypothetically change the outcome of this loss.”

The room falls quiet, and not a single hand rises.

Twenty-five thousand people. We’ve never studied a modern battle with so many casualties before. How in Amari’s name are we supposed to dissect one that not only killed some of our classmates’ families but took the life of their queen? It hasn’t even been a week.

Devera looks to her right, and Professor Kiandra moves from the edge of the room to the desk in the center of the stage.

“If we do not rip apart this tactic,” Kiandra lectures, “they will use it again, and the next town they come for will be yours. Suniva was our kingdom’s capital but our fourth-largest city. You honor the dead by making sure no others fall in the same manner. We have to learn from this. I know it’s hard, but in a matter of months, you third-years will be on the front lines. That will mean you defending Diasyn.” She points to someone above us. “Or you”—her finger swings left—“defending Cordyn.”

“Start asking,” Devera orders. “Start thinking, or we’re all dead.”

“What was in the armory?” Xaden’s voice carries over the hall.

I look back and find him standing in the doorway next to Bodhi, his arms folded and jaw locked. My heart leaps. It’s been three days since I’ve seen him. The beard he grew on the journey home has been shaved, and the name tag is back on his uniform. Instinctively, I reach for the bond, but his shields are up.

His gaze darts to mine and warms for the millisecond he holds contact before we both turn our attention to the front of the room.

“They have to think for themselves, Professor Riorson.” Devera arches a brow.

“What was in the armory?” he repeats.

Kiandra nods. “Six crates of freshly delivered alloy-hilted daggers, and yes, the venin took them all.”

Everyone’s interest shifts forward, and it takes conscious effort to pick my jaw up. There are maybe two crates kept at each outpost.

“Why didn’t Poromish forces use the damned daggers?” Ridoc asks.

“Because the damned daggers had only arrived a few hours earlier,” Devera answers. “And the armory was the first target hit. Our best guess is that there was simply no time to distribute them.”

“Why would six crates be sent there?” Caroline Ashton asks.

“Suniva was only supposed to be a distribution site. Drifts were set to take the crates to other cities in the morning,” Kiandra answers.

Shit. The venin knew about the shipment. That’s the only logical explanation.

“How many people knew the distribution schedule?” I ask.

“Right there.” Devera points at me. “The answer is too many. We have traitors in our ranks.”

My pulse launches. How many Barlowes are out there, hiding among us? Just waiting for their opportunity? The cadet turning in the Signet Sparring pit proved some of us are willing to turn under the right circumstances. Maybe even in this room.

“How did they get to Suniva without being detected?” Rhiannon asks. “The area surrounding the city was clear for hundreds of miles. Fliers and our riot had to be on patrol.”

“What’s common in Suniva in March?” Kiandra asks in answer.

Fuck if I know. That hasn’t exactly been a part of our education to this point.

“Thunderstorms,” Kai answers from Aaric’s right. “From March until about June, they roll in around five and are gone by midnight.”

Kiandra nods. “They flew in with the storm.”

“You mean above it?” a first-year asks.

“No, dumbass,” another first-year from First Wing counters. “They can’t survive at that altitude.”

“Some storms are low enough to fly over,” Devera corrects, “which is why you should pay more attention in class, Payson. In this case, they flew within the cloud.”

Within the cloud? That would require… No way. It’s impossible.

Not with enough years of training.

“That doesn’t make sense,” a third-year calls out from above us. “It’s an unacceptable risk to fly in those conditions unless absolutely necessary due to the prevalence of lightning. We’re taught that in the first month of flight maneuvers.”

Most of the room mutters in agreement.

“Which is why the patrols were grounded.” Devera stares at me like she knows what I’m thinking.

“Maybe they don’t give a shit how many wyvern die,” Imogen counters.

My heart races, and I shift my weight in my seat.

“What’s wrong?” Rhiannon whispers.

“I know how they did it,” I reply just as quietly, my grip tightening on my pen.

“Then say something,” Rhi prods like it’s first year all over again.

“I don’t want to be right,” I reply just as quietly.

“That’s a first,” Cat mutters.

Devera cocks her head to the side, calling me out without saying a word.

My stomach hollows. Gods, I’m really going to have to say it.

“They’d give a shit about wyverns if they’re riding them,” the other third-year retorts at Imogen. “They might not have souls, but they value their lives, and no reasonable rider flies within a thunderstorm.”

“I do.” Fuck, I actually said it.

Every head turns my way, and Devera nods.

“I can direct my strikes within a cloud just like I did during the battle here in December,” I continue. “Which means I could theoretically control the natural strikes and move a riot within a thunderstorm with relative safety…after about twenty years of practice.” I abandon my pen on my notebook. Theophanie. “She was with them—their lightning wielder. I’d guess that’s how the textile fire started, and probably what took out the other dragons.”

“That’s what the report suggests,” Devera answers.

Shit. Shit. Shit. “To do all that after moving a horde through a storm…” I shake my head. “She has to be a Maven.” And I’m a fucking second-year who just spent three weeks chasing a mirage of hope on isles without magic when I should have been training.

“Most likely,” Devera agrees, giving me the same look Mira had on Zehyllna: expectation. Then she glances away. “So now let’s discuss how we defeat this particular assault. What signets could have made the difference? Nothing’s off the table. Who do you send to guard your most valuable targets with this kind of threat?”

“Water wielders could have helped the fire,” someone suggests.

“You send Riorson,” Caroline Ashton says. “He’s the most powerful rider we have, and he’s held back more than just a dozen wyvern. If Riorson’s there, this doesn’t happen.”

True, but at what cost? Would he have channeled from the earth to keep it from happening? I glance over my shoulder, but Xaden is already gone.

“Don’t we have a fire wielder powerful enough to have controlled the flames?” Baylor asks. “He’s a major stationed with the Southern Wing.”

“Major Edorta is stationed at Athebyne,” Devera confirms.

Rhiannon glances sideways at me, then looks away.

“Your turn to say something,” I whisper. “Don’t hesitate.”

“No way. Not even in hypotheticals.” Sawyer shakes his head at Rhi as people call out different signets around us. “You don’t send a cadet against—”

“You send Sorrengail,” Rhiannon announces.

“—a Maven,” Sawyer finishes in a whisper. “And yet you just did. Godsdamn.”

Cat and Maren both gawk at Rhi, and Sawyer sinks lower in his seat.

“You said nothing was off the table,” Rhi adds, keeping her eyes forward. “Sorrengail could have taken out a chunk of the wyvern on approach by striking into that same cloud, including their lightning wielder, as long as they don’t know Violet’s there.”

“And if they do?” Devera questions. “Remember that someone told them about the daggers being moved.”

Rhi swallows, and her breaths speed up.

“Do your job.” I whisper the reminder. “It’s just a hypothetical.”

She straightens her spine. “Then Sorrengail needs to be the better of the two.”

And I’m not. I’m distracted the rest of the hour, thinking of different tactics I could use to even the playing field between Theophanie and me and coming up empty-handed, with the exception of one fact. She wants me alive.

Battle Brief ends, and we have two precious hours before our next class, which Ridoc uses to cajole Sawyer, Rhi, and me into going down to the Archives.

Not that Sawyer needs much of a push.

“We really couldn’t have waited another couple of days?” I whisper at Ridoc as we walk through the tunnel, passing the stairwell to the interrogation chamber.

Rhi and Sawyer are far too into arguing about her decision to send me off to the front to pay attention.

“No,” Ridoc says. “We couldn’t. One day, Battle Brief is going to cover how a shadow wielder took out Cordyn, but you won’t be sitting in your seat because they will have already killed you to stop him.”

“Not much of a Battle Brief if you already have the answer.” I flash a fake smile.

“Basgiath was a unique case,” Sawyer argues with Rhi at my left. “We were defending the school, and we kept the first-years out of it for the very reason you can’t just order Violet into battle. They weren’t prepared.”

“Stop,” I tell him. “It’s her job as a squad leader to see me as an asset and not just her friend.”

“I still think it’s bullshit,” Sawyer mutters as we walk past the scribe on duty at the Archives door.

“It’s war,” Rhiannon reminds him as we reach the table at the front. “And I think it’s bullshit you haven’t even thought about flying yet.”

Ridoc and I exchange a look of oh shit.

“I can’t,” he fires back in a whisper, tapping his cane against his prosthesis. “Not with this thing. It’s not ready yet.”

There’s no need to ask for Jesinia. The class of scribes sitting at their perfectly lined-up desks sends someone running to the back the second they see us.

“You could ask Sliseag to—” Rhiannon starts.

“Sliseag isn’t Tairn,” Sawyer hisses. “I’m not about to ask him to make exceptions for me—not when he risked bonding a repeat in the first place.”

A few scribes pick their heads up, then quickly look away.

“You’d rather spend your time consulting with the retirees?” Rhi counters. “You’re still a rider, Sawyer.”

“Maybe we should ease up,” Ridoc suggests.

Sawyer’s face flushes. “All respect, but you have no idea what this is like, Rhi.”

I lean into Rhi just enough to get her attention, then shake my head subtly. “Subject change,” I suggest in a whisper.

Her mouth purses, and she sighs. “What’s going on with you and Riorson?” she asks, keeping her voice just as low as mine. “You didn’t so much as smile when you saw him during Battle Brief.”

“He’s brooding.” I shrug.

“That’s a word for it,” Ridoc says, pressing down a corner of his ice-wielding patch that’s come unsewn.

Jesinia emerges from the back of the Archives, holding a small paper bundle tied with twine. She quickly makes her way toward us, immediately gifting Sawyer with a smile as she sets the book-size package on the table and pushes it toward me.

“Hi,” he signs, and damn if his grin doesn’t tug at the corners of my mouth.

“Hi,” she signs, then turns toward us. “Your reports have been fun to read, but it’s good to have you back so you can tell me about the trip in person.” Her gaze meets mine. “That was delivered for you by courier this morning—I intercepted it before Aetos could open it like he does all of your mail.”

“Thank you,” I sign, then pick up the package. It’s far too soft, too malleable to be a book, and the tag labeled with my name and quadrant is from a seamstress in Chantara.

Weird.

“We need somewhere private,” Ridoc signs.

Rhi’s brow furrows. “What’s going on?” she signs.

“Please,” Ridoc signs to Jesinia.

She nods, then leads us to one of the private, windowless study rooms that line the front wall of the Archives and motions us inside.

I head in first with Sawyer, and the others follow. “I know Sliseag isn’t Tairn,” I whisper as we make our way around to the back of the table. “And I also know it can be hard to do things differently, especially in an environment that demands perfection and uniformity.”

“An environment that produces perfection and uniformity.” Sawyer stiffens, glancing across the table at Rhi and Ridoc as she quizzes him again as to why we’re here.

Oh. I get it now. “For me, flying…differently is worth it,” I say under my breath as we sit. “But whether you feel the same about asking Sliseag for help is a question only you can answer.”

“I think I could keep my seat,” he admits quietly. “Most of that is thigh work. It’s mounting that intimidates me.”

“Anything I can do to help?” I ask him.

Jesinia peeks through the doorway as if checking to see that we weren’t followed, then closes the door.

Sawyer shakes his head. “I’ve been working toward the run and making adjustments to the prosthesis for the climb. I just need to get it right, make sure it works before I let myself hope.” His gaze flickers to Rhi.

“You could never disappoint her,” I rush as Jesinia turns toward us.

“Our friend? Never. Our squad leader?” He grimaces.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” Jesinia signs, “so make it quick before they come kick you out.”

Ridoc leans all the way back in his chair and stares at me.

“What is happening?” Rhi signs, looking between the two of us.

“Tell them,” Ridoc signs. “Or I will.”

I sigh. There’s no point being nervous. Either I trust my friends, or I don’t.

“Xaden is slowly turning venin,” I say and sign.

Rhi’s eyes widen, and she leans forward. “Talk.”

 

 

I think I started falling for you that night in the tree when I watched you with the marked ones, but I began tumbling the day you gave me Tairn’s saddle. You’ll give some self-serving excuse, but the truth is you’re kinder than you want people to know. Maybe kinder than you know.

—Recovered Correspondence of Cadet Violet Sorrengail to His Grace, Lieutenant Xaden Riorson, Sixteenth Duke of Tyrrendor

 

 

 

Ihang in the air, suspended by an invisible hand around my throat as lightning strikes in the distance. Fear pumps through my veins, but the harder I fight, the narrower my windpipe becomes, the harder it is to draw breath.

“Quit fighting it,” the Sage orders. “Quit fighting me.”

You’re dead. This isn’t real. I repeat the phrases mentally when my lips refuse to form the words. This is only a nightmare.

A very visceral, terrifying nightmare.

The fight drains out of me, and I fall to the ground before him, hitting my knees and gasping for charred air.

Andarna screams, bellowing with rage and pain, and my head snaps toward the ridgeline…toward the storm. Blue fire licks up the hillside, reaching for the city walls of Draithus, devouring the fleeing civilians in its path.

“Such emotion.” The Sage tsks, crouching down in front of me. “Don’t worry. It will fade in time.”

“Fuck you.” I lunge forward, only to be shoved back to my knees by an invisible force.

“I’ll allow you to help her this time,” the Sage promises, pushing his robes up the length of his tanned arms. “Just submit. Come to me. Accept where you belong, and you’ll find a freedom like no other.”

“And if I don’t?” I ask, playing into the dream.

“Then you’ll find I have ways to bring you to heel.” The Sage draws a sword from his robes, and the next flash of lightning reflects in the emeralds adorning the top of the hilt.

Whisps of silver hair blow in the breeze at the edge of my vision, and the sword of Tyrrendor rushes toward my chest.

WAKE! I scream, but my mouth won’t work—

My eyes flash open and my hands jolt upward, my sweaty limbs tangling in the blankets as lightning crashes outside my window.

Heart racing, I shove away the covers and run my fingers over my sternum. “Of course there’s no cut, you fool,” I mutter. It was just a damned dream. A very visceral one, but a dream nonetheless.

I swing my feet to the floor, then wrap my arms around my middle as I rise and walk toward the window. Rain assaults the glass in sheets that obscure the view over the ravine toward the main campus.

Tairn and Andarna are asleep, but there’s a stirring along the bond I share with Xaden. His shields are down, but the foggy barrier of sleep stands between us.

I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, counting to twenty as my heart slowly calms. The Sage is dead, but she isn’t.

Theophanie is very real, and if she can get to me here at Basgiath, she can get to my friends, too…the ones who are justifiably disappointed that I kept yet another secret from them. Thank gods they understand that Xaden’s not the enemy, that he’s still fighting on our side.

How long will it be until Theophanie goes after Xaden?

My throat tightens, but this time it’s my own fear clogging my windpipe. How the hell am I supposed to fight a dark wielder who’s had decades to perfect a signet I still need a conduit to control?

It’s the end of March. I’ve barely had my powers for a year.

The last day of March.

I glance down at the package Jesinia handed me the day before yesterday. It’s right where I left it on the sill, one end undone. At the opening of the paper, the edges of a delicate Deverelli silk nightgown and robe spill out with a handwritten note.

For the nights I can’t sleep next to you. — X

My chest clenches just like it did when I opened it. He’d somehow seen me eyeing the fabric in Deverelli, bought it, then placed the order to have it made before we left to search the other isles.

“I love you,” I whisper down the bond, then lean forward and rest my forehead against the cold glass, using the sensation to solidify my certainty that the nightmare has ended. “I need you. Quit brooding.”

Maybe it’s time I try one of his own techniques.

I reach for pen and paper.

• • •

“The purpose of this maneuver, as you remember, is to spend as little time on the ground as possible,” Kaori lectures that morning as he stands beside Xaden, amplifying his voice across the flight field as the riders of our entire section sit mounted like we’re in formation…mostly.

Sawyer stands between Sliseag’s claws two rows back, and Tairn waits next to Feirge, both their wings tucked for proximity’s sake, instead of standing behind her where we belong.

“I am precisely where I belong,” he counters.

“Kind of wish you were a gryphon so we could have sat this one out.”

“Kind of wish I’d sat out Threshing two years ago,” he counters.

The corner of my mouth rises. “You sure you don’t want to join us?” I ask Andarna.

“No point when I can’t carry you.” She shuts the bond.

Awesome. My heart sinks to a new low. I pushed too hard again. Or maybe too little.

Tairn sighs like he’s in his elder years.

“In this new type of warfare,” Kaori continues, “it’s more important than ever that we spend less time on the ground, but there will be moments when you cannot accomplish your mission while mounted. You must be prepared to dismount in a running landing, wield to defeat your opponent, then be ready to take to the sky in what we’re calling a ‘battle-mount’ if you are unsuccessful…or outnumbered. Every second you remain on the ground endangers not only your life, but your dragon’s, should they remain on the field.” Kaori lifts a hand and conjures a projection of a robed figure at the far right end of the field. “Professor Riorson?”

Shit. I haven’t mastered a run-on landing like the rest of my year-mates, let alone whatever a “battle-mount” will entail.

“For the sake of the first exercise,” Xaden says, his voice booming across the field, “your opponent’s signet is unknown, and you are alone. Once you’ve shown you can complete the maneuver, we’ll work in teams. First-years, we just want you to get the tactic down so you can practice while on your upcoming Aretia rotation. Don’t worry about wielding; I know not all of you can.” Xaden surveys our line, and I can’t help but notice the dark circles under his eyes. He might be sleeping at night, but it’s not well, and I hate that I can’t do anything about it. “This is your fighting pit today.” His gaze finds mine. “Try not to incinerate it.”

“Ha. Very funny.”

“Never know with you,” he surprises me by replying.

Bodhi goes first, nailing the running landing like it’s part of his everyday workout, then uses the momentum to continue into the projection, twisting his left hand and swinging the sword with the other, decapitating the fake model.

Cuir banks hard to pivot back to Bodhi, but it’s too steep, and his green swordtail takes out a small section of boulders halfway up the hill as he pulls the turn.

Bodhi breaks into a run from the projection, and Cuir returns, extending his left foreleg as he slows his speed. The two are parallel just long enough for Bodhi to leap onto Cuir’s claw, and the dragon is already accelerating, gaining altitude as Bodhi climbs up to the seat.

Oh…we’re fucked.

“I can’t do that.” It’s not self-doubt talking. It’s just fact.

“You will,” Tairn decrees. “It just won’t look like that.”

Right. Because I’ll be dead, lying face down on the muddy flight field from the impact.

“Sometimes I forget just how nearly perfect Bodhi is at everything,” I say to Xaden. No one thought of him during Battle Brief yesterday, and he should have been the first name that came to mind. Countering signets might not be the best offensive tool, but damn if it isn’t a hell of a defense.

“He’s my cousin,” Xaden replies, locking eyes with me. “Of course he’s exceptional.”

“Hmmm. Just like you, but without the arrogance.” I cock my head to the side. “Maybe I fell for the wrong—”

“It would be a shame to kill my last living relative.” Xaden tilts his head to mirror mine, then straightens, and on today of all days, I choose not to remind him that he has two half brothers. “And that is how it’s done,” he calls out. “In this scenario, the smaller dragons have the advantage. Maneuverability is key, so do yourselves a favor and talk out your approach before the attempt. We only have one mender on campus.”

And I’d rather fly to Aretia than let Nolon touch me.

“Maybe we should wait a month and try when we’re on the Aretia rotation,” I suggest to Tairn.

“Or you could simply not break anything,” he suggests oh-so-helpfully.

First Squad begins. The initial two maneuvers are successful. The next cadet breaks her leg on impact.

“Ouch,” Rhi hisses through her teeth and glances my way. “You all right to do this?” she asks as the first-year stumbles off, cradling the appendage.

“I’m never all right to do this,” I reply. “I just do it anyway.”

“Sounds about right.” She nods, then her eyes narrow at something across the field.

I track her line of sight to Xaden and shake my head. “Don’t.” I can’t say more out in the open, but it’s not like she doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

“It’s hard not to,” she admits without apology. “But I’m trying.”

“I know. Thank you.” I adjust my new saddle strap and pray the stitches I finished this morning will hold. Instead of keeping my thighs at the seat like the original one I’ve left fastened in front of me, this one wraps around my waist like a belt and buckles in front with three different notches I can tighten or loosen depending on how much maneuverability I need.

A second-year nails the running landing but misses the leap for his Red Morningstartail’s claw and slams into the mud.

I wince. Movement catches my eye, and my gaze runs up the hill behind Xaden, finding Andarna perched on an outcropping fifty feet overhead, her scales the same color as Tairn’s. “Change your mind?” I ask with what I hope is the right amount of encouragement.

“No.” Her tail flicks a second before she launches, leaping from the outcropping with sure beats of her wings, climbing up and over the ridge of the box canyon.

Fuck. I blow out a frustrated sigh. I can’t say or do anything right to help her.

“She’s adjusting,” Tairn says.

I glance across the field and find Xaden watching me. “It’s going around.”

First Squad ends with five successful maneuvers, four failed attempts at landing, and two failed launches, resulting in a total of three broken bones and one bloody nose.

“This does not bode well for us in battle,” Rhi says.

“Let’s hope we have time to get it right.” It’s the most supportive comment I can come up with. “You’re the squad leader, so you’d better go set the example. Good luck. Don’t die.” I flash a smile her way.

“Thanks.” She fights the smile she returns, then pretends to puff out her chest. “I will bring honor to the patch.”

“See that you do.” I watch as Feirge steps forward and launches once she’s clear of Tairn.

Xaden looks my way, and for a second, the mask falls, giving me a glimpse of longing that tightens my chest.

“You getting any sleep?” I ask.

“I sleep better when I’m next to you,” he admits.

“You know where to find my bed. Professor or not, I’m pretty sure you know how to sneak in.” I run my hand over my flight jacket pocket, making sure my little parcel is secured. “Unless you’re still brooding.”

“It’s a full-time occupation at the moment.”

“Does that schedule allow for giving me a moment after class?”

He nods.

Feirge approaches, and Rhiannon moves to her foreclaw as she descends, then executes a perfect running landing. She lifts her hand, and a blade appears. The projection wavers as she slices through it, then races back as Feirge returns.

I can’t help but grin. Rhi doesn’t miss the jump. Damn, she’s good.

Tairn waits for Imogen and Quinn to take their turns, then fires off a series of orders to me as Ridoc lands with a particularly showy somersault. Ice flies from his hands through the projection, and he turns to the squads with a bow befitting any stage performance before racing for Aotrom. There’s a heartbeat where I think he won’t make it, but he swings his body onto Aotrom’s claw and the two take off.

“You really think that’s going to work?” I ask Tairn, pulling down my flight goggles as he crouches.

“I think it’s the only way to accomplish the mission without breaking your neck.” He launches with powerful wingbeats, and the ground falls away. “Wait for the last second so you don’t embarrass us.”

“So encouraging,” I tease. Tairn climbs, then I adjust my weight as he banks hard left at the top of the canyon. My heart begins to pound when we dive toward the target, and I grip the conduit in one hand and reach for the buckle of my saddle with the other.

“Not yet!” he snaps.

“Just preparing.” I throw open the Archives door and let his power flood me, focusing on concentrating the energy at the center of my chest as the walls of the canyon rise quickly around us.

“Unbuckle,” Tairn orders as colors blur on either side of me, but I keep my gaze homed in on the target and undo the leather that keeps me in the seat. “Move.”

Holding the belt of the saddle in my right hand, I stand, nearly stumbling at the wind resistance as he descends directly at the target, not leveling out like the others.

“What are you doing?” Xaden growls.

“Busy right now, love.” I slam my shields down and my heart threatens to leap through my throat as the ground approaches at terrifying speed.

“Now!” Tairn shouts.

I release the belt and run for his shoulder, then leap.

For a dizzying heartbeat, I’m airborne, the sounds of the world completely drowned out by the rush of air, the drumbeat in my chest, and the snap of wings. I plummet toward the field, my stomach rising to the roof of my mouth as I fall. The power gathering within me is useless to slow my descent, but I throw out my arms to the side like they have a chance and lock every muscle in my body.

Talons clamp over my shoulders and tighten, locking me in place.

Wind gusts, and momentum shifts as Tairn stops my fall a few feet from the ground, then releases me. His wings beat once, and I barely have time to bend my knees before my feet hit the field. A ripple of painful protest shoots from my toes, up my spine, and bursts in my head like a rung bell as I land six feet in front of the target.

Holy shit, I’m not dead.

“Faster!” Tairn snaps with another beat of his wings.

I focus on the projection, lift my right hand, and release a crack of power, then draw my fingers downward, dragging the energy from the sky. Lightning strikes, so bright it robs me of vision, and thunder sounds immediately, echoing off the walls of the box canyon.

When the light recedes, a scorch mark flares outward from the base of the projection.

Yes!

I throw up my arms, and talons wrap around my midsection. Tairn secures me in his back right claw and continues to climb.

My stomach lurches as I get an up-close view of the hillside, and a few seconds later, we’re clear, nothing but air around us. He ascends another hundred feet to give us room, and I welcome the adrenaline flooding my system because we’re not done yet.

“Now.”

He swings his body to a vertical position and throws me.

It’s just like first year, except we mean to do it. I rise as he falls, and it’s all I can do to not look down. That way lies death. This is all about trust.

I rise over his shoulder, and he pumps his wings.

My feet meet scale, and I grab on to the base of his nearest spike, careful to steer clear of its sharp point as he surges forward.

“I trust you can find your seat,” he says with a note of pride, leveling out as we fly above the field.

“I’ve got it.” I navigate my way back to the saddle, then grab hold of both flapping ends of the belt and buckle myself in. We did it.

My heart is still galloping when we land, then take our spot in formation.

“That was…unorthodox,” Kaori says.

Tairn rumbles low in his chest.

“And it worked,” I counter, shouting across the field.

“It did,” Xaden replies, a corner of his mouth rising. “I fucking love you.”

“How could you not?” I don’t bother fighting my smile.

He scoffs.

Kaori looks like he wants to protest, but then he motions the rest of the group forward.

Baylor skins his knee on landing.

Avalynn fractures her collarbone.

Sloane completes the entire exercise with a grace that reminds me of Liam but doesn’t even pretend to wield.

Lynx comes up with a face full of mud and a broken nose.

Aaric lands twenty feet from the projection without breaking a sweat, but instead of rushing the target, he whirls toward Xaden and Kaori and hurls a palm-size axe.

My heart trips as it flies end over end, but Xaden doesn’t even flinch as it lands a foot in front of Kaori, the blade embedded in the mud. The projection disappears.

“I think he won,” Rhi says.

Xaden nods once before Aaric backs away, then breaks into a run to mount Molvic.

“I’d definitely say so,” I agree.

After maneuvers are done for the day, the dragons launch, and I hang back to catch Xaden alone, even after a few reproachful looks from my year-mates.

Kaori walks up, looking like he wants to say something, but a Red Swordtail lands farther down the field, catching his attention. He simply tips his chin and walks toward the dragon, leaving me alone with Xaden on the far end of the field.

“That was fucking terrifying to watch.” Xaden’s gaze bores into mine. “And magnificent.”

“I feel that way about you every day.” I smile, then dig my hand into the pocket of my flight jacket and remove a parchment-wrapped parcel and a letter. “I got you something. Present is for now, letter is for later.”

“You didn’t have to.” His brow furrows, but he takes them both and pockets the letter.

“Open it.” My heart flutters. I hope I made the right choice, since it’s definitely too soon to bring out anything that resembles a cake.

He untucks the folded parchment, then stares at the black metal wrist cuff.

“It’s onyx,” I tell him as he studies the clasp and flat, rectangular stone mounted within the band. “And that’s a piece of the turret on top of Riorson House.”

His gaze jumps to mine, and his fist closes around the cuff.

“You mentioned it needed repairs, and I asked Brennan to have that made for you from one of the broken pieces. When things get…shitty, I hope you can look down at it and imagine us sitting there together when this is all over. That’s the vision I’m going to cling to: you and me, holding hands, looking over the city.” I close the distance between us, take the cuff from his hand, and secure it around his wrist, then flick the metal closure. “Thank gods it fits. I had to guess—”

He takes my face in his hands and kisses me. It’s soft. Tender. Perfect. “Thank you,” he says.

“Happy birthday,” I whisper against his lips.

“I love you.” He lifts his head, and his hands slip from my cheeks like a caress. “But I’m only going to get worse. You really should run.”

Not done brooding. Message received.

“Come find me when you’re ready to accept the fact that I won’t.” I back away slowly. “That I never will.”

“Forty-seven days.” He searches my eyes and lets his breath go. “That’s how long it’s been since I channeled from the alloy in Deverelli.”

“That’s longer than the month you lamented about before we came home.”

“Not long enough.” His eyes spark with determination, and hope flares brightly within my chest.

“You have a number in mind before you feel…in control?”

His jaw flexes. “Control is probably just prolonging the inevitable, but I’ve got one that might indicate…stability.”

“Feel like sharing?”

He shakes his head.

“As much as I hate to break up whatever’s happening over here—” A voice booms across the area, and we both turn, finding Felix walking toward us with a full pack strapped to his back as Kaori leaves the field.

I blink three times to make sure I’m not seeing things. “I thought you said you wouldn’t leave Aretia?”

“I do hate Basgiath.” He scratches the silver cloud of his beard. “But not as much as I hate dying.” He pulls a tied bundle of missives from the pocket of his flight jacket and hands them to Xaden. “Those are yours, Your Grace.”

“News from Aretia?” Xaden takes them.

“Provincial affairs.” Felix nods. “And two wyvern came through the wards yesterday.”

My stomach pitches.

“How far did they get now?” Xaden asks, and my head swings in his direction.

This isn’t the first time.

“About an hour before they skidded into the side of a mountain.” Felix lifts his silver brows. “That’s about ten minutes farther—”

“Than last week,” Xaden finishes, and I start to understand the circles beneath his eyes.

“The wards are weakening.” I state the obvious.

“They’re failing,” Felix corrects, turning to me with a look that already makes my arms ache. “And since I’ve been informed that you won’t let Carr instruct you, I suppose we’d better get back to work.”

“I’ll be in Aretia in about a month for rotation. You didn’t have to come all the way up here.” Guilt gnaws at me.

“And if I was sure we’d have a month, I would have waited.” He narrows his eyes.

Oh.

 

 

When this is over, we should take as much leave as they’ll give us and spend it all in Aretia. We can figure out what life is supposed to look like without the daily threat of death. You can govern the province you love during the day, then slide into bed with me at night. Or I can always join you in the Assembly chamber. You do some of your best work on that throne.

—Recovered Correspondence of Cadet Violet Sorrengail to His Grace, Lieutenant Xaden Riorson, Sixteenth Duke of Tyrrendor

 

 

 

Three weeks later, I can barely lift my arms as our squad walks back from Signet Sparring. Gods, I hate when Carr rotates in to teach. Countless muscles in my body ache, and there’s a permanent knot between my shoulder blades thanks to the work Felix has me doing. Every single second that I’m not in class, eating, or working out with Imogen, Felix has me on the mountaintop, wielding. But as my aim improves and my strikes increase, the rest of the world seems to go to shit.

Xaden and I talk most nights through the bond, but he still broodily refuses to spend physical time alone with me.

The western line falls back, and dark wielders surge toward Draithus at a daily pace that has me holding my breath during every death roll. At this rate, they’ll reach the city walls in a matter of weeks. Or they could change tactics and simply fly directly for the city.

The entire quadrant is well aware that we’re in trouble when Xaden is called to Tyrrendor, and that pit of worry only grows with every day he’s gone. Now that it’s been more than ten days, I have a stack of letters for him to read, and Tairn is impossible to be around.

And Andarna simply…isn’t around.

Exactly how long am I supposed to give her before I march into the Vale itself and demand she at least talk about what happened?

“You did well today,” Imogen says, breaking through my spiraling thoughts as Aaric and Lynx enter the main campus from the Infantry Quadrant just ahead of us. Aaric’s obnoxious guards stalk behind us as usual. “Though I wondered if Ridoc was going to take you down during that last match.”

“Finally, I rise to Imogen’s standard!” Ridoc says, falling behind so we can fit through the door.

Quinn laughs.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Imogen lectures over her shoulder.

“Oh, he will,” Rhi replies from my right with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It seems to be her permanent expression, since none of us—including Jesinia—have found anything to help Xaden. I hate that they’re burdened with the truth.

Between Xaden’s status, the western line retreating toward Draithus, and growing resentment between the Aretian riders and Navarrians over the debate of whether or not to open our borders, this whole place feels like a bow with its string pulled tight, just waiting for the order to be fired. And we’re the arrows.

“Too bad Carr had to teach today,” Sawyer says, walking behind us with Ridoc. He hasn’t used the cane in a couple of weeks now, but no one is pushing him to wield.

“You keeping Tavis locked up in your bedroom or something, Cardulo?” Ridoc teases.

Imogen tenses, and her eyes calculate the cost of murder.

“Not worth it.” I shake my head, then glance over my shoulder at Ridoc. “He’s still in Draithus.”

“Oh.” His tone completely shifts. “When do you and Quinn head back out?” Third-years filling midland posts is becoming so common, it’s practically a class.

Voices rise as we walk closer to the great hall.

“We’re with you through the Aretian rotation,” Quinn answers. “You’re stuck with us for weeks,” she teases.

Imogen’s gaze slides my way. “No slacking on your training. Gym tonight.”

“Oh, good, I was wondering when I’d get sore again,” I retort. “We still leaving for Aretia the day after tomorrow?” I ask Rhi.

“Movement is at five a.m.” She nods, then glances over to Sawyer. “Make a decision yet?”

“Working on it,” he replies and flexes his jaw.

“All right.” Rhi looks my way. “And I think Kaori, Felix, and Panchek are coming with as our leadership,” she adds gently.

“Those three?” Not Xaden? My brows jump. Felix is understandable, and Kaori’s one of my favorite professors, but I suspect he’s chosen to escort our group in hopes of seeing Andarna. And she’s not in the mood to be seen. Maybe Xaden will already be there? At least for Sgaeyl and Tairn’s sake.

“I’m sorry, I know you were hoping it would be—” Rhi starts.

“You will abide by the decision set forth!” a man shouts from the great hall.

Aaric tilts his head, then pauses just before the door, bringing the squad to an awkward stop.

“What are you do—” Lynx starts.

Aaric throws his arm across Lynx’s chest and drags him back, bumping into Sawyer just before the door bursts open and the Duke of Calldyr flies through.

He lands on his ass in the middle of the carpet, tangled in his bejeweled overcoat.

Holy shit. My eyes widen.

“Say it again,” Lewellen demands, marching through the doorway.

What is he doing here?

Every infantry guard steps off the wall, but Calldyr waves them away and climbs to his feet, raking a hand over his face and blond beard. “The desire of one province may never outweigh the good of the kingdom!”

Ah, Lewellen must be serving as proxy for Xaden’s Senarium seat…but they usually meet in Calldyr. Are they here for a war council?

“I don’t want to serve a kingdom that leaves civilians to die!” Lewellen snarls.

“You let them in, and there will be no kingdom to serve.” Calldyr lifts his nose. “We have already weakened the outposts by stripping them of all but the necessary alloy, and look what that got us in Suniva. We have sent riders. Lost riders. What more would you have us do? Starve when we cannot feed double our current population?”

“You are a pretentious, spoiled child who has never known suffering a day in your—”

“Enough.” Xaden walks through the door, and my heart stops. His gaze jumps to mine like a compass pulled north.

He’s here. I drink in the sight of him, then swallow. Hard. The amber in his eyes seems brighter, but not lighter. A new, sharp ache spreads in my chest. Has he channeled from the earth again? Or are we on day sixty-six?

“The discussion is over,” Xaden says, ripping his eyes from mine before passing by Lewellen on his way toward Calldyr. “You were informed as a courtesy. Tell the Senarium, don’t tell them. I don’t particularly care.”

“You cannot.” Calldyr retreats until his back rattles a shield display on the wall.

“And yet, I’m going to.” Xaden stops a full two feet from Calldyr, but shadows curl at his feet and spread down the hall.

Calldyr notices, then glances at one of the shields like it might actually help him.

“Do we worry?” Rhi asks under her breath.

I catalog the anger in Xaden’s eyes and shake my head. He’s pissed, but he’s him. Still, just in case, I watch the shadows, spotting the darkest one.

“I forbid it.” Halden strides into the hallway, followed by two guards.

He’s here, too? Oh, this is bad.

“I don’t give a fuck.” Xaden pivots so he can see both men.

“And boom, it’s a show,” Ridoc whispers.

“My money’s on Riorson,” Sawyer chimes in.

Halden glances our way, his gaze jumping from me to Aaric, then stiffens when he sees the rest of the squad. “This discussion is better had in private.”

“This discussion is over,” Xaden counters.

“Ooh, he used the wingleader voice,” Ridoc says under his breath.

“You will not open your borders!” Halden’s face blotches.

Tyrrendor is going to take in civilians? My chest constricts and warms all in the same second. “I love you.”

“I will do as I damn well please with my province.” Xaden’s eyes narrow dangerously on Halden. “Even if I’m about to start another revolution?”

“Especially then.”

“Your province?” Halden squares his shoulders. “It’s my kingdom!”

“Yes, you’re first in line to rule a large amount of territory,” Xaden agrees. “But I rule mine now. Draithus has weeks before they attack, and Tyrrendor will open her borders. We will take any and all Poromish civilians willing to climb the Medaro Pass. Would you truly condemn thirty thousand people to die?”

Draithus has weeks? What new intel has come in?

Mira. I sway, and Rhiannon grabs hold of my elbow, steadying me.

“You’re choosing their people over ours?” Halden’s fists curl.

“They are not endangering our people,” Lewellen argues. “This is not a them or us situation. They are not risking our wards, nor are they raiding—”

“You don’t have to defend my decision,” Xaden interrupts, turning his full focus to Halden. “We’re opening our borders.”

“Will you be quite so sure of yourself when I bring my troops into Tyrrendor?” Halden threatens.

He wouldn’t fucking dare.

Every cadet around me straightens, even Aaric.

The shadows darken and emotion drains from Xaden’s eyes, leaving only cold, cruel calculation as he takes a single step toward Halden. “You are a prince, not the prince. Bring your troops into Tyrrendor, and Aaric will suddenly find himself first in line for the throne.”

Fuck.

Guards draw their swords.

“Get off the ice,” I shout down the bond, and scalding power surges within me.

“Not smart to threaten a prince. And Cam?” Halden’s gaze swings our way. “What does my little brother have to say about this?”

“Aaric,” Aaric corrects him. “And I’m on his side.” He gestures to Xaden. “Aretian, remember? And unless Riorson here is going to sign another provincial commitment, I believe I’m under his chain of command now, as are probably a third of your troops.”

Halden’s jaw flexes once. Twice. Then he glares at Xaden. “You’ve been warned.”

“And you’ve been informed,” Xaden replies in a tone that makes me fear for Halden’s existence.

Halden pivots on his heel and storms past us, his guards and Calldyr on his heels.

“Proud of you.” Lewellen thumps his fist against Xaden’s shoulder and heads toward the hall. “I’m going to tell the others.”

“We’re taking civilians?” I slip past Lynx to get to Xaden. “Come back to me.”

His cold eyes glance my way, chilling my blood, and then he does a double take.

“We are.” He nods, his voice softening. He blinks hard twice, like he’s at war with himself, and then the shadows dissipate and the ice in his gaze thaws. He’s back. “Not that it will do them much good. A wyvern made it halfway to Aretia yesterday before falling out of the sky. A dozen more tried—” He pauses. “Your rotation should be fine, but we don’t have long. A month at most.”

That’s horrifically sooner than Mira estimated.

“The riot can stay in Aretia—” I start.

“We’ll all stay,” Rhi agrees.

“No.” Xaden shakes his head. “It was one thing to take cadets to Aretia when we were a relatively safe distance from combat, but it’s another to keep them there if we become the front lines.”

“But—” I pause as whisps of shadow spread from behind me in an unfamiliar pattern.

Maren gasps.

“What the fuck?” Ridoc whispers.

Xaden glances behind me, and his eyes flare.

“That’s not possible,” Imogen says.

I turn around, reaching for a dagger, and freeze completely.

Lynx stands in the middle of the hallway, shaking from head to foot, staring at the darkness that envelops his hands.

“It’s all right.” Rhiannon rushes to Lynx’s side. “Breathe. You’re just…”

“Manifesting,” Xaden says, putting himself in front of Lynx. “Don’t be scared. They’re defending you. Fear. Anger. Whatever it is, level out your emotions, and they’ll recede.”

Manifesting? Shadows?

“I can’t—” Lynx shakes his head, and the shadows creep up his arms.

“You can,” Xaden assures him. “Close your eyes and think of the place you feel safest. Go ahead.”

Lynx slams his eyes shut.

“Good job. Now breathe deeply and picture yourself there. Calm. Happy. Safe.” Xaden watches as the shadows recede.

Lynx’s breaths even out, and his hands reappear.

“Get him to Carr now,” Xaden orders Rhiannon, and she nods.

The squad ushers Lynx down the hall, but I stay behind, shock gluing my feet to the carpet. “I don’t understand. You’re our generation’s shadow wielder.”

“Not anymore. Magic knows.” Xaden’s shoulders dip as he turns slowly to face me, his brow scrunching in apology before he schools his features. “He’s the balance.”

A chill runs down my spine.

“I should…go.” His voice comes out like it’s been scraped over hot coals. “Aetos asked me to resign my professorship due to my extended absence on provincial matters, and for once, I agree with him, especially after seeing that. I shouldn’t be here.”

He doesn’t mean to his room. He means leaving.

Panic seizes my heartbeat. “Stay.” I reach for him, but he shakes his head and retreats a step. “Please,” I whisper, more than aware of the guards stationed down the hallway. “Please stay with me. Fight for the future that’s beyond all this. Sixty-six days, right?”

He can’t leave, not now. Not like this. Not when the hope has drained from his eyes.

“I’m needed in Lewellen. Melgren’s demanded we double our Talladium output for alloy, which is straining the miners, and there’s unrest after that conscription announcement. There’s more to Tyrrendor than just Aretia.” He glances left, toward the nearest window. “I told you—control is just prolonging the inevitable. Maybe stability is a fool’s hope.”

Lewellen is beyond the wards, unless we’ve moved two cases of daggers there I don’t know about. If he leaves the wards in this state of mind…

“You have an entire assembly to help with that.” I move, putting myself in his line of sight. “You can’t give up. I don’t care if Lynx manifested shadows. You have to fight. If you won’t do it for yourself, then you do it for me.”

His gaze snaps to mine.

“What happens to me if you turn?” My hands curl at my sides. “What happens to Tairn and Sgaeyl if you give in?”

Xaden’s jaw flexes.

“Do venin get once-a-week visits?” I take a step closer and lift my chin. “Does their bond survive you turning? Does ours? You and I are tethered for life, Xaden Riorson. Am I expected to turn with you? Is that the only way to keep our dragons alive if you give up?”

A thousand emotions flit across his face…and then they’re gone.

He’s on the ice.

My stomach flips.

“Stay,” I demand. “Or meet me in Aretia. The man I love stays. He fights.”

“Riorson?” Lewellen asks from the doorway of the great hall. “Luceras wants a word regarding mining production.”

“You have to accept what I already have,” Xaden says to me. “The man you love no longer fully belongs to himself.” He walks past Lewellen into the great hall, taking my heart with him.

I just fought with every weapon in my arsenal, and it wasn’t enough.

My shoulders slump in defeat as I lean against the wall.

“I’m not entirely sure what that was about, but I’ve seen how hard it can be to love someone in power.” Lewellen grimaces sympathetically. “Wearing a title like his can sometimes feel like you’re a fraying rope, being continuously ripped apart between what you personally want and what your people need.”

“What about what he needs?” I ask.

Lewellen pauses, as though choosing his words carefully. “He needs you to keep him from fraying, which can sometimes mean putting what you want—or need—aside for the good of the province. It’s horribly unfair to ask that of anyone, let alone the first lightning wielder in a century.” Lewellen’s voice softens. “I have the utmost respect for you, Cadet Sorrengail, but this is a crucial time that will determine the path of the province for the next millennium. Your purpose is as great as his in a wholly separate arena, and if that purpose makes it impossible for you to be what Tyrrendor needs—”

“Tyrrendor, not Xaden?” I’m fighting for both, but he doesn’t know that. To his ears, he stumbled into an argument where I just asked Xaden to stay with me instead of tending to Tyrrish business.

A guard shifts, reminding us both that we’re not alone.

“They are now one and the same.” He says it with such kindness it’s hard to be angry. “You are both so young, with such formidable signets. And if you choose not to adapt to the changes his title brings—” He stops himself, then sighs. “I just hope you two will figure out the balance between it all.”

Like hell am I giving him up, even though nothing about what he laid out sounds equal or balanced.

“By balance, you mean Tyrrendor comes first, Xaden second, our relationship fights for third, and my personal needs are a matter of convenience.” Saying it aloud puts it all in harsh perspective.

“Something like that.” Sadness pulls at the corners of his mouth.

“Xaden comes first for me.” It comes out so self-sacrificial that I half expect my mother to appear and smack me upside the back of my head. “Just so we’re clear. But I will never stop being the woman he fell in love with in order to morph into whatever doormat you think he requires. We’re already balanced because we’re both strong for ourselves and each other. He needs me to be me, and I’m telling you I promised to help keep Tyrrendor safe, but not at his expense.”

“He’ll say the same about you. It’s what makes your relationship so dangerous.” He sighs. “Like I said, it’s hard to love someone in power, and that goes both ways.” He slips back into the hall and shuts the door.

But Xaden isn’t in power. He is power.

And he’s slipping.

“Let me know if he leaves,” I tell Tairn, and then I head to class.

Xaden flies out two hours later.

 

 

A dragon determines its last flight, and its rider’s.

—Article One, Section Two The Dragon Rider’s Codex

 

 

“You’re sure you only want me here the first time you try this?” I ask Sawyer two days later as we stand in the middle of the flight field with Tairn, Andarna, and Sliseag at four thirty a.m. “I’m not exactly the best one to catch you if this goes poorly.”

He tightens the straps on his pack. “No, but you’re the only one I want seeing if I fall on my ass.”

“Or going for help if you break your leg?”

A small smile plays across his mouth. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”

“Do you want to talk about this?” I gesture to Sliseag.

“Thanks, but I’ve been talking to Jesinia. I’m ready. I need you for the more practical side of…this.” He nods toward Sliseag, then crouches down, then pulls a lever on the inside of his prosthesis. A flat, two-inch-wide piece of metal with a curved end pops out of the toe of his boot. “And it’s not my first time. I need a second opinion because it didn’t go so well for me yesterday.”

“You made that?” It’s pretty damned cool.

“Yeah.” He stands, then stares at Sliseag’s left front leg. The Red Swordtail is smaller than Sgaeyl, but his talons are still enormous given what Sawyer’s about to try. “His scale pattern in this one row doesn’t overlap.” He points upward. “And in theory, the hook should just catch the top of each scale as I climb, but I can’t get there without fall—”

Sliseag lifts his head over us and breathes out a huff of steam that I’m going to have to wipe off my goggles.

Ugh. It’s too early to be sticky.

“I wasn’t talking about you,” Sawyer argues. “It’s not like we haven’t discussed the scale pattern, and you don’t have to—”

Sliseag steams us again, the heat stinging my face. If he gets it any hotter, he’s going to blister my skin.

Tairn stalks forward and tilts his head at Sliseag in a way I never want to see aimed at me, and Andarna is quick to follow.

“Because I don’t want you to have to!” Sawyer shouts up at Sliseag, who narrows his eyes.

This would be a really ridiculous way to die.

“He wouldn’t dare,” Tairn warns.

“Just let me try it,” Sawyer argues.

Sliseag bares his teeth.

Sawyer bares his right back.

“I will never understand the relationships other riders have with their dragons,” I say down the bond. I barely understand my own, but giving Andarna a wide berth seems to be working, since she’s here. Not that she could stay behind for the length of our rotation, but I’m declaring it a victory.

“You’re not supposed to,” Tairn remarks.

“Here we go.” Sawyer rolls his shoulders, then runs toward Sliseag’s claw.

He makes it two steps before the tip of his boot catches in the mud and he falls forward.

Shit. I lunge for his pack and grab hold with both hands, yanking Sawyer upright before he yucks a set of flight leathers. My shoulders both pop, but the joints have the decency not to subluxate on me.

“Thanks,” Sawyer mutters, staring at the boot. “See?”

“I do.” I crouch to peer at the device. “Can you kick the lever open?”

“In theory,” he answers. “But it’s probably a little small for that, and I don’t have time to make changes before movement today.”

“Well, let’s try it as it is. You can modify in Aretia. None of us want you to stay behind.” Mud squishes under my boots as I stand. “You can run, right?”

Sawyer nods. “I wouldn’t try this if I couldn’t. My gait is off because I can’t quite get the flex right, and I’m just not nimble enough to run the full length of his leg like I used to.”

“We can work with that.” I nod. “How about you run just like you’d mount before, and right when you feel your momentum shift, like you’re about to fall back, kick the lever open. It should catch your foot just like you designed it to, and you climb the rest of the way.”

Sawyer looks down at me. “That’s how you did the Gauntlet, isn’t it?”

“Kind of. I waited until I felt my weight shift backward, then stabbed a dagger into the wood and pulled myself up. But I somehow doubt Sliseag would be appreciative of that approach.” A corner of my mouth lifts.

Sliseag huffs another breath—this time without steam—as if in agreement.

“I’ll give it a shot.” Sawyer pops the lever closed, then nods to himself. “Here we go.” He takes off running, and Sliseag flexes his talons, flattening his claw. Sawyer’s long legs eat up the first half dozen feet of the climb, and I hold my breath when his progress stalls.

He kicks the lever, then clings to Sliseag’s leg about halfway up, his foot scraping the scales for a place to grip for a heart-stopping second before it catches.

“You’ve got it!” I shout. “Climb!”

His left boot holds steady, working as he’d designed, but his right slips, leaving a streak of mud down Sliseag’s red scales.

My chest clenches as he tries again, then again, with the same result.

“Fuck!” he yells, then lays his forehead against Sliseag’s leg.

“I can flatten the tip of my tail and boost him,” Andarna offers, having crept closer.

Now my ribs tighten for a whole different reason. It’s the first positive thing she’s said since our return.

“That’s an honorable offer,” I tell her, then repeat it to Sawyer.

“No!” he shouts. “Thank you, but no.”

Sliseag rumbles low in his chest, and I stand there helplessly, knowing there’s nothing I can do.

“Because it’s not the same,” Sawyer argues, frustration rumbling through his tone and I know he isn’t talking to me. “You’re the one who took a risk on me, and I won’t ask you to dishonor…” He falls quiet.

“Is that how you feel when you dip your shoulder for me?” I ask Tairn. “Dishonored?”

“I am the second-largest dragon on the Continent and a revered warrior. My tales are legendary. My mate unparalleled. My feats unmatched—”

“Doesn’t change my question.” I cut him off before he starts to list his accolades.

“It would take a great deal more than a change of posture to dishonor me,” he replies.

“But you never had to lower yourself before me, did you? Not for Naolin, or—”

“We do not speak of the one who came before.” Agonizing pain floods the bond, and I immediately regret my choice of words.

Andarna lifts her head and narrows her accusing golden eyes at me.

“I know.” I put my hands up in the universal sign of surrender.

“You know that’s not how I feel about it,” Sawyer says as his arms start to tremble. “We’ve been over this! Any rider would have done the same in my position.” He shakes his head and reaches for the next scale, then pulls himself upward, gaining a foot of hard-fought distance. “Of course I don’t blame you! That’s not—” His head whips sideways, toward Sliseag’s. “No, I’m not punishing— For Amari’s sake, will you just let me get a word in?”

From the silence that follows, Sliseag does not comply.

I shift my weight as my pack grows heavier by the minute, and my lower spine stops whining and starts shouting.

“Because my leg was and still is worth your life!” Sawyer snaps when he can’t reach the joint of the next scale. “Of course you’re allowed to feel the same—” His hand slides back to its previous hold. “Oh.”

Sliseag huffs, then extends his left leg, sliding his claw through the mud. Slowly, it lowers to a walkable degree of incline.

My throat tightens as Sawyer lets go and slowly rises. He extends his arms outward, like a cadet on Parapet, then trudges upward step by step as I catch movement in my peripheral vision.

“Your year-mates arrive,” Tairn says.

I keep my eyes locked on Sawyer as he reaches the top of Sliseag’s shoulder and lowers his arms. His next movements look like a routine he’s performed thousands of times, and with a few quick steps, he finds the seat.

Sliseag rises to his full height as Sawyer settles in, and I back away for a better view.

“Looks like you’ve been up there a time or two,” I call to him as he relaxes in the seat.

“Feels like I never left,” he shouts down with a grin. “I can ride.”

“You can ride,” I agree, my smile instant and wide. “Now, does it matter how you got there, or only that he chose you?”

“You know the answer to that already.” His smile softens.

“I do.” I nod, then turn to Andarna, narrowing the pathway to just her. “Look at me.”

She spares me a glance.

“You can grieve.” If my words don’t work, maybe hers will.

Golden eyes lock on mine.

“You can grieve,” I repeat. “And when and if you’re ready to talk about it, I’ll be here.”

“You do not talk about your grief,” she counters. “Neither does he.” Her tail flicks in Tairn’s direction.

She has a point. “I’m getting there,” I say slowly. “And he’s not perfect, either.”

Her nostrils flare and her scales shimmer to the purple-toned black she usually prefers.

I nod and let the subject drop, but it definitely feels like progress.

“Thank Amari,” Rhi whispers as she comes up on my left side, grinning up at Sawyer.

“Sawyer! Look at you!” Ridoc runs forward, his arms up in victory.

Sliseag swings his head and snaps his teeth shut a few feet in front of Ridoc.

“Look at you from a distance!” Ridoc retreats, his arms still held high. When he bumps into Maren, he turns and sweeps her into a hug as she laughs.

“I couldn’t help,” Rhi says quietly as Sawyer focuses on reacquainting himself with the seat. “Did I fail him?”

“No. You were exactly who he needed you to be.” I slip my arm through hers. Fuck, this pack is heavy. “You’re our friend, but you’re also our squad leader. He doesn’t want to fall in front of you; none of us do. We want to make you proud. And I know you’re used to being responsible for us, and you’re truly exceptional at your job…”

Ridoc puts Maren down, then reaches for Cat, who accepts his hug with straight arms and an annoyed eye roll.

“But?” Rhi glances at me sideways.

“But you couldn’t have made this happen any faster.” We walk toward the others. “Not you, or me, or Ridoc, or Jesinia. It was always down to the two of them. It was only ever going to be on their timeline.”

Ridoc spins toward Neve, and the third-year flier looks at him like he’s grown another set of eyeballs as she dodges his embrace and bumps into Bragen. He whirls toward Imogen, who puts up her hand as she walks by with Quinn.

“Don’t even think about it, Gamlyn,” she warns.

“You’re so warm and fuzzy!” Quinn says, slinging her arm around Imogen’s shoulders.

“Only to you.” She looks up at Sawyer. “Nice to see you where you belong, Henrick!”

Ridoc spins and throws his arms around Dain, who lifts his brows, then slowly brings his hand up and pats Ridoc’s back twice in an awkward exchange. “Looking good, Sawyer!” Dain calls up, then continues on toward Cath.

“Good job, Matthias,” Bodhi says to Rhi as he walks by. “Got your cadet back in the seat.”

“I didn’t—” she starts, and I squeeze her arm with mine. “He did it himself, but we’re proud of him. Thank you, section leader.”

Bodhi nods with a smile that looks so close to Xaden’s my whole rib cage draws tight. Neither Bodhi nor Dain had a chance to take the rune course because of their duty schedules and our failed mission, so we get them both on our rotation.

“Look at him!” Ridoc races our way and smooshes us in a hug. “All is right with the world!” His arms slacken and he draws back, his gaze soaked in apology. “I mean, other than what’s going on with Riorson.”

“I know what you meant.” I shift my pack and force a smile. “And hopefully, I’ll see him there.”

Hope stows away like a little windproof passenger as we launch for Aretia, and somehow lives through the night when we make camp just inside the Tyrrish border. Have to admit, it’s freeing to fly without worry that we’re about to be spotted by a wyvern patrol or found by Theophanie. Only once we’re sure the gryphons can still handle the altitude after being gone for months do we start the final leg of the trip, entering the lone protection of the Aretian wards.

Landing in the valley above Aretia that evening feels like coming home, but Xaden isn’t here. Or Sgaeyl isn’t, which means the same thing.

“This sucks,” I tell Tairn with a heavy sigh.

He growls in agreement.

Andarna snaps at Kaori when he walks a little too close over Panchek’s blustering protest, then takes off after a herd of sheep as I dismount from Tairn.

“I’m sorry,” the professor says, knitting his dark, slashing brows. “I didn’t mean—”

“You did,” I interrupt. “And I sympathize with why you’ve come, but she’s not going to let you study her. Not even here.”

“I understand.” Kaori nods, then looks around the high hanging valley with its lush green foliage and snow-tipped peaks. “Selfishly, I also wanted to see how this Empyrean functions. I suspect it’s why Panchek has tagged along as well.”

A smile tugs at my mouth. “Good luck asking them.”

“You ready?” Rhiannon asks as she approaches with footsteps that border on bouncing.

“Yeah.” I flat-out grin at my friend’s happiness. “Let’s get down there so you can see your family.”

“I’d prefer we hold formation—” Dain starts as he comes up on my right.

Rhiannon and I both level a look on him.

“—tomorrow morning,” he quickly corrects course. “Family first, and all.”

“Family first,” Rhiannon agrees with a quick smile, and he passes by, heading toward the rocky path down to the house. “I get that he has to come for rune training, too, but why our squad?” Rhi whispers.

“Same reason I’m here.” Bodhi pops up on our left and lifts his face to the sun like he’s greeting an old friend. “This is the best squad.”

“I forgot how fucking hot this place is,” Ridoc says, unbuttoning his flight jacket.

“It’s a hatching ground,” Rhiannon reminds him with a wide grin. “I bet it’s almost the same temperature as the Vale with how many dragons are here now.”

“We beat the storm, but I bet it lowers the temperature tomorrow.” I flick the buttons open on my jacket, well aware I’ll be freezing the second we cross the magical barrier that defines this territory as the hatching grounds.

Sure enough, it’s glacial by the time we make it down to Riorson House.

Gods, just the sight of it makes me miss him.

The squad files past the guards and through the front doors, into the massive entryway that looks up five full stories set into the mountain like giant steps. It’s quiet for this time of day. Or maybe it just seems empty because the halls are no longer bustling with cadets.

Kaori turns around with a stunned look of disbelief.

Felix pats him on the back, then says something to Rhiannon before leading Kaori away.

“Eyes on me!” Rhiannon’s voice echoes, earning everyone’s attention. “Find your bunks as previously assigned. The night is yours to do what you want, but formation is at seven tomorrow, so I’d think twice about finding a tavern.”

We break and climb the first flight of stairs.

“Let’s get out of here as quickly as possible,” Rhi tells Maren just ahead of me.

“I can’t wait to see my brothers.” Maren claps excitedly, light catching on the long silver scar on the back of her hand. Pretty sure there’s not a single one of us who has come through the last few years unmarked in some way. “Cat, are you coming?”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing the little terrors,” she says with a nod as we reach the landing.

“Vi?” Rhi asks over her shoulder.

“Sure,” I answer with a quick nod. “I love your family.”

“Sawyer and I are going, too.” Ridoc heads up to the third floor.

“All right,” Rhi calls up the stairs as she climbs. “Whoever wants to go to my house, we meet in the foyer in forty minutes, which should give you a chance to bathe and change. My mother will boot you out of her house if you walk in smelling like sulfur, and I’m not even kidding.”

I pause on the landing, my gaze flickering from the steps ahead to the hallway on my left.

“Please don’t tell me you’re lost,” Bodhi says, coming up the steps last.

“Of course not.” I shake my head slowly. “It’s just that I don’t have a room here, and I’m not sure where I should sleep.”

He scoffs and gestures down the hall. “You have a room. It hasn’t moved.”

“It’s his room,” I correct him quietly. “And he’s all broody.”

“We’re home, Vi. Act like it.” He grins, then turns around me, walking backward down the hallway on the right. “Sleep in your bed. He’ll just brood harder if you don’t.”

I sigh when he disappears into his room, and then turn left and head to mine—ours.

The handle won’t turn, so I flick my wrist and picture the mechanism opening, using lesser magic to unlock it.

Walking in is surreal. Magic tingles across my skin when I step through the wards. It looks just like we left it in December, except most of our things are now at Basgiath. After shutting the door, I swing my pack from my shoulders and set it on the chair Xaden waited in for all those days while I slept after being stabbed over Resson.

The bedding is the same dark blue, the curtains beside the massive windows are open to the evening light, and every book in his collection is exactly where it belongs on the built-in shelves to my right.

There are a few pitiful attempts at tempered runes on the desk, left from my last lesson, along with a forgotten notebook in the top drawer. I check the armoire and find one of my sweaters, a uniform for each of us, and the blanket his mother made him tucked up in the right-hand corner.

And gods, does it smell like him. My chest threatens to split straight open at the sudden, acute stab of pure longing. I’ve left my mark here, too. The bathing chamber still smells like the soap I use on my hair, and I find the bar right where I left it. I take a few minutes to clean up, then dress in a fresh uniform, half expecting Xaden to walk in at any second and ask me about my day.

It’s almost like this room is removed from time itself, a tiny corner of the world where we simultaneously live together yet don’t. The only indication months have passed is the glass box from Zehyllna on his nightstand, and the emerald-hilted Blade of Aretia resting within. It’s missing a single stone near the top, but looks no worse for wear after having been in Navarrian possession for six hundred years.

Someone knocks on the door, and I glance at the clock. Has it already been forty minutes?

I swing open the door and find Brennan on the other side. His eyes are tired, but his smile is bright as he gives me the standard sibling once-over.

Can’t help it—I do it, too, coming away satisfied that he’s not wearing any new scars.

“Pull me in.” He holds out his hand. “He fucked with the wards the last time he was here.”

“Of course he did.” I grab my brother’s hand and pull him through. He immediately yanks me into a hug.

I soak up the rare moment of peace until he steps back, having lost his smile some time in the last ten seconds. “Do you need anything mended?”

“No.” I shake my head.

“Are you sure? Because every time you show up here you’re an inch from death.” He studies me like I might be lying.

“I’m sure.”

“Good.” He kicks the door closed. “Sound shield only works with the door shut, right?”

“Right.” I retreat a few steps in apprehension. “What’s wrong?”

Brennan’s face falls, and he stares at the ground. “I can’t mend him.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.” I lift my brows in utter confusion. “We’re all healthy. No one was hurt on the way here.”

He looks up, and the sorrow in his eyes sends me staggering backward. “Xaden. I can’t mend him, Vi. I tried every day that he was here last week.”

I struggle to draw adequate breath. “You know.”

“I know.” He nods once. “He must be further along than Jack had been when Nolon started working with him. I’m so sorry.”

That unit of measurement is unfathomable. “Me too.”

“We tried silent offerings in every local temple, pushing magic back into the earth, even sitting with the eggs in the hatching grounds. We’ve tried everything either of us could think of, though the letter he sent from Lewellen yesterday had a weird—” He looks at me like I’ve grown horns. “Are you…smiling?”

“Yesterday?” I don’t even try to fight the hopeful little curve.

Brennan nods. “He wants to try mending the spot at Basgiath.”

“Good idea.” There’s nothing small about my grin now.

He might be broody, but he hasn’t given up.

 

472 AU, Willhaven, Braevick: With the exception of one house, the village was desiccated overnight by a single venin estimated to be a Sage. The only adult amongst the three survivors described her as, “Astonishingly ageless. Hair as black as the day we married, but in place of the age lines I’d expected were bulging scarlet veins branching outward from her red-ringed eyes.”

—The Resurgence of Evil, a timeline, by Pierson Haliwell

Thunder rattles my bedroom windows the next night as I pore over the pages of the latest book Tecarus sent, letting my hair dry.

He hasn’t forgotten our deal even now that he’s king, and I’m not giving up on Xaden, especially when it’s clear he hasn’t given up on himself. The answer is out there somewhere, and we’ll find it. Having Brennan in the know only bolsters that hope. Maybe he can’t mend Xaden, but there’s never been a problem my brother couldn’t solve.

I glance over at the mess of practice runes on my desk and momentarily debate working on the delayed-activation rune Trissa spent most of the afternoon drilling into us. Its purpose is to take an existing, dormant rune and turn it “on” by tempering more magic into it. Its actual use? Nothing, since I can’t make the damned thing work.

Cat got it right on the first try.

Imogen followed quickly after.

Kai singed the ends of his spiky black hair.

Dain, Bodhi, Rhi, Ridoc…everyone eventually mastered one except me. Even Aaric, who has yet to manifest a signet, managed the intricacy of the lesser magic.

Whatever. We’re here for two weeks. Eventually I’ll get it right, and if I don’t, then that’s why we work in squads. I don’t have to be good at everything.

I tug the perpetually slipping strap of my Deverelli silk nightdress back up my shoulder and flip the page in Tecarus’s book. My brows rise at the next passage I read, and I go over it once more to be sure I’ve caught on to a pattern. That makes three.

Thunder sounds again, and power rises within me like it’s been called by a friend to come play. I watch the rain that seems to be coming in sideways from the east, then grab the conduit off my nightstand and let it flow.

Felix graduated the alloy in the center to the same size as those that power the daggers, and I may as well multitask and get his homework done while I read. Dunne knows he’s going to expect at least three of them to be imbued before hauling me up the mountains tomorrow for yet more practice. He’s training me like I’m the only thing standing between the venin and Aretia, and with the wards declining every day, I can’t fault him. With Xaden handling province matters in Lewellen, I’m the best we’ve got against Theophanie…at least offensively.

Someone knocks at my bedroom door.

I close the book and stash it on my nightstand with the conduit, then climb off my bed to answer the door. It’s after ten, which means it’s either Rhi wanting to chat like last night or Brennan looking for a partner to raid the kitchens. Either way, this gown is practically see-through, so I grab a robe from the armoire on my way.

Glittering onyx taps against my shields a breath away from the threshold, and I abandon the robe’s tie to yank open the door. My heartbeat stutters, then flies.

Xaden stands in the doorway in flight leathers, soaked to the bone, rain dripping from his hair. War rages in his eyes, like this is both the last and only place he wants to be.

“Hi.” My hand flexes on the door handle. “Why didn’t you tell me he was here?” I ask Tairn.

“You didn’t ask to be made aware of his arrival, only his departure.”

Fucking semantics.

“Tell me to go, and I will,” Xaden says, his voice coming out like it’s been scraped over coals. “It’s only been seventy-three days.”

“Come here.” I let the handle go and step back to make space. “You must be freez—”

One second he’s standing in the hallway, and the next, his hands are in my hair and his mouth is on mine.

Gods, yes. His lips are cold, but his tongue is deliciously warm as it strokes into my mouth. The kiss wakes up every nerve ending in my body and reminds me just how long it’s been since Deverelli. Between traveling, our close confines with other riders, and his fear of losing control, it’s been too many weeks since I’ve felt his skin against mine.

One kiss from him is all it takes for power to hum along my skin, for need to override any and all thoughts besides closer and more. It’s always closer and more when it comes to him.

The door shuts somewhere in the background and I hear the click of a lock, the thud of his pack hitting the floor, the drag of wet leather as he undoes the clasp of his back scabbard, then slides it over his shoulders, never once breaking the kiss. He takes my mouth just like he did the first time, wholly, completely, like he’s given himself permission to be reckless and he’s going to make the most of it.

He sucks my tongue into his mouth, and I whimper at the frenzy whipping through me, at how much I’ve missed the physical contact between us. My hands rise to his chest, and the chill of his jacket sends a shiver down my back. How long was he flying in that storm? I push gently. “Wait.”

He immediately pauses, lifting his head just enough to look in my eyes. “I shouldn’t be here, I know. Not yet, at least.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” I slip my fingers between the buttons of his flight jacket and hold on to the fabric like we can solve every problem in the world if he just stays in this room with me. “Of course you should be here. I just thought you were in Lewellen.”

“I was.” His focus drops to my lips and heats so quickly that I almost regret stopping him. “Then I launched for Tirvainne and ended up in our home.” The words come slowly, like they’re being ripped from him. “Or at least it will be after you graduate and we’re both assigned here.”

“It’s already home.” My pulse jumps. I can’t remember the last time he talked about the future with anything but dread. “You flew nine hours in the wrong direction,” I tease, undoing the top button of his flight jacket, then the next.

“Well-the-fuck-aware,” he whispers with a hint of a smirk. “I’d been pissed and skating that mental ice in Lewellen—but I held my shit together instead of punching the two men who raised me after Dad died.” He searches my eyes like I might condemn him for the admission, but I simply work my way down his buttons and listen. “We were beyond the wards, but I didn’t reach for any form of power because even in that state, I knew it could take me back to day zero, and day zero doesn’t give me you. I clawed my way back to myself and left.”

“You kept your control.” Pride has a smile tugging at my mouth as I free his last button.

He nods. “I’m not ignoring my fate. I know there will come a point in time where I’ll become more it than me.” He swallows. “But as dangerous as hope is, you’re right—I have to fight for this. I think I’m stable for now, and I know it’s only day seventy—”

“What is this magical number you have?” Gods help me if we’re looking at triple digits.

He tucks my hair behind my ears. “Seventy-six. It’s twice Barlowe’s longest stretch without draining after his first significant channeling—the cliff incident. I didn’t want to get your hopes up, but I figure that making it seventy-six days will indicate that I can stall the progression.”

I blink. “Three days?” My hopes don’t just rise; they soar.

“I told myself I’d wait until day seventy-six to show up at your door, but Sgaeyl changed course once I realized if I could keep control beyond the wards…” He leans in, hovering inches above my mouth.

“Then you can keep control with me?” I shamelessly finish the sentence the way I want it to end. My breath catches when icy-cold water drips onto my collarbone, doing nothing to dispel the rising temperature of my body this close to his.

“Under the right circumstances.” He nods, then retreats a step, stripping off his soaked flight jacket, and I follow suit, shrugging out of my robe so the garments hit the floor at the same time. “This might be as good as it gets, and I want every single second we—” He stops mid-sentence as his gaze rakes over the full length of me with blatant, palpable hunger, warming every inch of my skin that it touches. “Oh fuck,” he groans.

“What would those circumstances be?” My heart starts to race. Whatever he wants, whatever he needs, it’s his. I’m his.

“Are you wearing…” He lifts a hand toward me, then pulls it back, clenching his fist.

“The nightdress you had made for me? Yes. Don’t get distracted. What circumstances?” I repeat, then drag my tongue over my swollen lower lip. That kiss wasn’t nearly enough. I’m starved for him, and if he’s ready, I’m happily willing to feast.

“Not distracted. Obsessed. You look…” His eyes darken as he studies my curves like he’s never seen them. “Maybe we should wait until day seventy-six.” He retreats and reaches for the door handle.

Absolutely not.

“Open that door, and I’ll pin the edge of your pants to the wood and leave you there for the next three days.” I glance meaningfully at my daggers on the dresser. “We can curl up in our bed and just sleep if that’s what you want, but please stop running from me.”

“I definitely don’t want to sleep.” He pushes off the door, and my pulse thrums as he consumes the distance between us. “And I’m entirely incapable of running from you.” His fingers spear through the hair at the nape of my neck and he tugs, tilting my face toward his. “Even when I’m not entirely…me, whatever I am still craves you, needs you, only wants you.”

That’s a feeling I’m more than familiar with.

“I love you, too.” I brace my hands on his chest, my fingertips grazing the patches of soaked fabric near his collar as I surge up onto my toes and kiss him. The need that had simmered comes back in a rush twice as strong, and what starts as soft and sweet turns mind-blowingly hot in a matter of seconds. Our tongues twine, our hands roam, and everything outside this room slips away, overpowered by what really matters: us.

He hooks a hand around the back of my thigh, then lifts. The world spins, and I find the wall at my back as he raises his head. “If I loved you in the way you deserve to be loved, I’d ignore that you’re the only form of peace I’ve ever known and put a thousand miles between us because stable still isn’t whole.” His gaze drops to my mouth. “Instead, I’m here plotting, thinking of every possible way to mitigate the threat I pose so I can tear this very translucent silk from your incredible body and bury myself inside you.”

“Yes, please.” I push the thought down the bond and wrap my legs around his waist, gasping at the chill that meets my thighs.

“Violet.” His moan fills my mind as he stares at me, flexing his jaw.

“I decide what I deserve.” Right now, my body definitely knows it deserves him. I lock my ankles and accept the cold with a small shiver. I’ll have him warm in no time. “What risks I’m willing to take. Now, what circumstances, Xaden?”

“I’m making you cold.” His brow furrows a second before he reaches behind his head and tugs his shirt off.

Mine. All mine.

“And yet you somehow think you could possibly hurt me.” My arms wind around his neck as the shirt hits the floor, my entire body drawing tight at his bare chest and that scar above his heart. I want to lick every line of his torso. “Tell me what you need so I can have you.”

He palms my waist, then dips his head and sets his mouth to my neck. “Fuck, you smell good.”

“It’s just soap.” Then my mind turns to mush and my head falls back against the stone. Each press of his mouth is a shot of electricity that floods my bloodstream, mixing with my power and pooling between my thighs.

“It’s just you.” He kisses up the side of my throat, then down my jawline until his lips hover over mine. “I need you to give me the one thing you love breaking.”

I force my brain to work through the haze of lust he’s creating. “Control.”

“Control.” He nods.

“Done.” I suck on his lower lip and then graze my teeth across it as I let go. “You have it already anyway.” I’m as malleable as putty the second he puts his hands on me.

“If you only knew.” He shakes his head and slides his fingers up over my ribs to cup my breast. My breath stutters as he drags the silk of my nightdress over my sensitive nipple again and again. “My control when it comes to you is an illusion. You are the temple where I worship. I live for the clench of your thighs, your breathy little cries, the feel of you coming around my cock, and above all else, the sound of my favorite three words from this mouth.” His thumb skims my lips before he cradles the back of my head and looks into my eyes. “Keeping my hands off you has been the feat of my life, and you have the power to shred my discipline with a single fucking touch.”

I melt and arch into his hand. It’s a good thing he has me pinned against the wall, because I know my knees would have given out halfway through that confession, let alone what he’s doing with his fingers. “Don’t touch you. Got it.”

“Do you?” Bands of shadow stream over his shoulders to wrap around my wrists, and a heartbeat later, my hands are anchored to the wall above my head. “Is this something you can take if I need it?”

The shadows flow over my palms and through my fingers in a continuous caress that steals my breath.

“Yes.” I swallow hard. “It’s disturbingly hot, actually.”

A corner of his mouth rises into a slow smile, and bands of shadow stroke over my legs like hands, pushing my hemline up my thighs. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

My back bows as those shadows firm along my inner thigh. He hasn’t so much as lifted a finger to wield. He’s doing all of this with his mind. The casual display of power is even hotter. “What else? Because if you don’t actually start touching me soon, I’m going to do it myself and make you watch.”

“We should have done that months ago.” His eyes flare, and he rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“That feels so damned good.” My hips rock against him. He’s hard and right fucking there, just a few layers of fabric away from where I desperately need him.

He covers the peak of my breast with his mouth, using the wisp of silk and his teeth to make me whimper.

“Xaden,” I blatantly beg, my thighs tightening around his waist.

All traces of teasing leave his eyes as he lifts his head. “Do you have serum?”

“In my pack. Do you want it?” Now we’re making progress.

He shakes his head. “Sgaeyl would eviscerate me. But I want you to shove it down my throat if you—” He winces. “Fuck that. How many daggers do you have in here?”

“Two.” No need to ask which daggers he’s asking about.

“Make that four.” He unsheathes one at his thigh and sets it on the bookcase to my right, then uses lesser magic to float his other one to my nightstand. “Scared yet?”

My lips curve at the reminder of his words from months ago.

“Nope.” I brush a kiss across his lips, knowing I won’t need to use the weapons. “It wouldn’t be the first time I raised a blade to you.”

He stares, utterly bewildered, then flashes a grin. “I’m not sure what that says about us.”

Is it toxic? Maybe. Is it us? Absolutely.

“That we’ve debated killing each other multiple times and have always abstained?” I kiss him, flicking my tongue over the seam of his lips because he’s mine and I can. “I’d say that bodes well for our future. If we’d actually tried to draw blood, I’d be worried.”

“You threw daggers at my head.” His hands clasp my hips, and his mouth slides down my throat, lingering to suck on the juncture between my neck and shoulder.

Gods, that’s nice.

I draw in a breath as my temperature rises at least a degree. He’s going to have me molten before he even starts. “I threw daggers next to your head. Big difference.” Rolling my hips earns me his low groan. “If it makes you feel better, if at any time I think you’re actually going to kill me, I’ll stab you, all right? Just put my conduit in my hand and fucking touch me already.” Holy shit, I just said that.

And I’m not even fazed.

“No conduit.” His hands flex, pulling me against the hard length of him, and he kisses every inch of bare skin he can get his mouth on.

I’m going to combust right here, dangerously close to these books, but at least rain still pelts the glass. “I mean, it’s your house. If you want to set it on—” My heart clenches. “You want me at full power.”

“I’m not taking chances with you.” He loosens the shadows at my wrists, and my hands fall to his shoulders as his mouth whispers along my collarbone in a sweep that sends tingles of pleasure straight down my spine. “Would you like to hold the dagger, too? Or is within reach acceptable?”

“Don’t need it. I am the weapon.” I use his very words from the sparring pit and plunge my fingers into his hair, trying desperately to hold one of the most important conversations of my life while he systematically unravels me.

“I know.” He ghosts his lips over mine and draws back when I lean in for more. “It’s the only reason I let myself knock on your door. Want to change your mind?” He studies my eyes like there’s any chance I’m going to deny what we both desperately need—each other.

“Our door,” I correct him. “I choose you. I choose whatever risk this brings. I see every part of you, Xaden: The good. The bad. The unforgivable. That’s what you promised, and that’s what I want—all of you. I can handle myself, even against you if I have to.”

His gaze darkens. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t.” I skim my fingertips down over his relic, relishing in the feel of him while he’ll let me have it.

“If I slip…” He shakes his head. “Fuck, Violet.”

The way he says my name—part moan, part prayer—wrecks me. “You won’t. Day seventy-three, remember?” I run my thumb down his jawline. “But we can wait to seventy-six if it makes you feel better.”

His jaw ticks against my fingers. “No more waiting.”

While most deities allow temple attendants to choose their timeline of service, only two require a lifetime of dedication: Dunne and Loial. For both war and love change souls irrevocably.

—Major Rorilee’s Guide to Appeasing the Gods, Second Edition

 

 

 

 

Our mouths collide and we ignite. There’s no more teasing. No more doubt. His tongue sweeps past my lips with arrogant ownership and I moan, sliding my fingers into his hair to hold him to me. He takes my mouth over and over in deep, drugging kisses that have me arching for more and nipping at his lower lip when he doesn’t give it fast enough.

Stone grates against my back as he rolls his hips, but all I feel is searing pleasure as he hits the perfect spot. “Again,” I demand, then whimper into his mouth when he delivers.

The fever he’s worked me into threatens to devour me, and there are still so many clothes between us.

His hand glides under my thigh and the rumpled hem of my gown, and he runs the backs of two fingers between my thighs, right over the fabric of my underwear. “You’re fucking soaked for me,” he growls.

The tantalizingly light touch rouses a surge of power that only adds to the crackling heat gathering low in my belly.

“Well-the-fuck-aware.” I smirk, rocking against those fingers, and kiss him like I might lose him if I surrender his tongue. “Have you seen you?”

He huffs a laugh against my lips, and then we’re moving. I expect to feel the bed against my back at any second, but he surprises me by unhooking my ankles and setting my feet on the floor in between the high-backed armchair and our bed.

Then his mouth is on mine again, stoking the fire that already rages too hot to survive much longer. Clothes fly.

I reach for the button at his waistband.

He breaks the kiss only long enough to tug my nightdress over my head.

I shove at the water-logged leather of his pants.

He strips me out of my underwear.

If undressing is a race, I definitely win, but he’s startlingly quick with his boots. All it takes is one look to remind me just how much I’ve won.

“Mine,” I whisper, tracing the carved edges of his abdominals with my fingers. “I keep waiting for it to wear off,” I mutter as he palms my lower back and tugs me toward him.

“What?” he asks, sitting in the armchair and lifting me into his lap.

My knees bracket his muscled hips, and my heart flutters impossibly fast. “The complete awe I feel when I remember that you’re mine.” I stroke my hands over his shoulders and down his chest. “That by some miracle, I’m the one who gets to touch you.”

“Hasn’t worn off for me yet, either. Don’t think it will.” His gaze drifts over my unbound hair and body with a hunger so sharp it could slice through dragon scale. “This is all I thought about last time I was here without you.”

Oh, yes. I start to lower myself, more than ready to feel every inch of him inside me.

He hisses through his teeth when the head of his cock slides between my thighs, and I do the same when he rubs against my clit, sending sparks skittering along every cell in my body. “Not yet,” he says through gritted teeth.

My fingers dig into his shoulders. “I might actually die if you make me wait—”

“Never said you’d be waiting.” He lifts one of my knees to the top of a padded chair arm, then the other, and stares up at me with a wicked smirk as his hands slide to my ass.

“Grab hold, love.”

Before I can ask where, shadows tug my hands to the top of the upholstered chairback and hold them there. “What are you—”

“Worshipping.” He lifts my ass and brings my hips straight to his mouth.

I cry out at the first sweep of his perfect tongue, and it’s only his hands and shadows that keep me from collapsing. White-hot need streaks through me like lightning, and power rises to a frequency that vibrates along my skin when he does it again. And again. And again.

“I’ll never get enough of you.” Xaden licks and lashes and sucks like he has no other plans for the night, driving me absolutely mindless, holding me in place as my hips rock for more.

“Xaden,” I moan. Pleasure and power spiral, hot and urgent, winding within me so tightly that my muscles lock and my thighs start to shake. “Don’t stop.”

He sends me right over the edge.

Lightning crashes, illuminating the room, and thunder immediately follows as I break into uncountable fragments, shattered by the waves of bliss that come, and come, and come. Instead of letting up, Xaden slides two fingers inside me and moves in time with his tongue, and the orgasm that should wane kicks into a second that’s just as bright, if not slightly sharper.

“You’re so slick, I’ll be inside you in one thrust,” he says as I start to descend, falling limply against the back of the chair, my arms trembling in the aftermath. “Stay right there.” He kisses my stomach, then slips out from underneath me.

I tug at the shadow bonds, but they hold fast. Fuck, I want to touch him, kiss him, devote myself to his body the way he just did mine. But if this is what he needs—

“You are every fantasy I’ll ever have.” His lips brush the shell of my ear, and I shiver. He draws my right knee down to the seat, and the chair creaks as he sets his left behind me. “Give me your mouth.”

I look back over my shoulder and he curls over me, kissing me hard and deep.

He slides the head of his cock into position, then lifts his mouth from mine. “Last chance to change your mind.”

“Never going to happen.” I look into his eyes. “Fuck me. Make love to me. Take me. I don’t care what you call it as long as you get inside me right now.” “Need” isn’t a strong enough word for the way I’m feeling, how desperate I am to hold all of him.

“You can reach the dagger on the dresser if you—” he starts, and I silence him with a kiss. He groans, then takes my hips in his hands and pulls me downward, into the long, rolling thrust that takes me inch by magnificent inch. “Fuck, you feel like home.”

We both cry out when he pushes all the way in. The pressure, the stretch, the depth he’s hitting at this angle are all sublimely perfect. I stop tugging at the shadows at my wrists and grip the back of the chair so I can rock into his next thrust.

He starts a deep, pounding rhythm that’s as merciless as it is exquisite, and every time he returns is better than the last. Thank gods there’s a sound shield on this room, or they’d hear us all the way in the Assembly chamber. We can’t kiss deeply enough, can’t get close enough, and our efforts only serve to bead sweat on our skin. I descend into keening cries as he drives us onward, his breath panting against my lips, one of his hands tangling in my hair while the other pulls me into every snap of his hips.

That spiraling tension is deeper this time, tugging at my power, intertwining pleasure and electricity until the air charges around us. “Xaden,” I whisper. “I need…I need…”

Gods, I don’t even know.

“I’ve got you,” he promises, his voice hoarse. “My power, my body, my soul—it’s all yours.” He slips a hand down my stomach and lightly strokes my hypersensitive clit. “Take whatever you need.”

Just him. That’s all I need, and I have every possible part of him.

I shatter, my hips bucking as the release takes me, hurling me from my body into whatever realm exists beyond, then drowning me in cascading avalanches of pleasure. Lightning strikes again and again, and I catch the scent of smoke before Xaden mutters a curse and shadows fly.

Oh shit.

“Just the desk. It’s fine,” he swears, and I’m absolutely boneless as he plucks me from the chair and flips me so I’m straddling his lap again.

I sink down onto him, watching his eyes slide shut, and I wrap my arms around his neck. “My hands—”

“Not your hands I’m worried about now.” He grits his teeth and reaches to grab hold of the edge of the dresser. That explains the shift in positions. The furniture isn’t the only thing he’s holding on to, either. Sweat coats his brow, his pulse thrums in his throat, and his abs are so rigid against my stomach that he might as well be stone.

“Let go,” I order, rising up on my knees and sinking again, riding him at a faster pace that I know makes him feral.

“Fuck.” He throws his head back, and the muscles of his neck strain. “Violet. Love. I can’t—”

“You can.” My hands move to the sides of his neck, and I drop my forehead to his. “My body. My soul. My power is all right here. You love me. You will never hurt me. Let go, Xaden.” I call on just enough power to hum along my skin, enough to tell him I’m not defenseless in this moment, and then I shamelessly take every ounce of how good this feels and shove it down the bond.

“Oh shit.” His arms tense, and his hips snap once, twice, and on the third, shadow fills the room, plunging us into darkness and sending metal clanging to the ground. He drops his head to my shoulder and groans into my neck as he finds his release. “I love you.”

I sag against his chest, happily limp with exhaustion, and the darkness fades, revealing the room—and the storm raging outside—once more.

“The wood—” he starts, lifting his hands.

I begrudgingly raise my head just so he doesn’t worry us into an early grave and peek over the back of the chair. “Not a mark in sight.” My heart swells.

“Not even a fingerprint?” He tenses beneath me.

“Not one.” I look into his eyes and smile. “You’re stable.”

“For now,” he whispers, but his eyes light up. “And I’ll take it.” He wraps his arms around me and surges to his feet, carrying me along our bed.

“Are we going somewhere?” I hold on even though I know he’s more than capable of carrying me.

“Bathtub,” he says with a devious grin. “Then the dresser. Then the bed.”

I completely ignore the homework I have yet to finish. “Excellent plan.”

Spring-green meadow grass bends under my boots as the first drops of rain fall. I shouldn’t be here. I know what happens here. And yet, this is where I’m called time and again.

This is the price of saving her life.

Lightning splinters the sky, illuminating the high walls of Draithus and its spiraling tower in the distance and outlining dozens of wings in the sky. If I move fast enough, I’ll get there this time.

But my legs won’t obey, and I stumble, just like I always do.

He steps out of nothingness, straight into my path, and my heart pounds, as though increasing the speed of its beats will cease it from sinking through my chest.

“I grow weary of waiting.” The Sage pulls back the hood of his robe, revealing red-rimmed eyes and scarlet veins branching at his temples like roots.

“I am not yours.” I flip my palms, summoning the power that’s come to define me, but nothing rises except my own panic. Before I can reach for my blades, I’m yanked into the air. Icy fingers wrap around my neck, too vaporous to fight yet substantial enough to nearly cut the flow of air. Pain sears my throat.

Asshole.

My magic never works here, but his always does.

“You are ours.” The Sage’s eyes narrow with malice. “You will bring what I want”—his grip tightens with every word, allowing only a trickle of air into my lungs—“or she dies. I’m through waiting, and I will not allow her to win such a prize.”

I sweep the sky for a familiar set of wings as I hear her scream but find none as the rain begins in earnest.

He’s bluffing.

“You.” I force the word out. “Do. Not. Have. Her.”

He drops his arms, and I fall to my knees on the grass, pulling breath after breath to replace what he’d denied me.

“But I will,” he vows. “Because you’ll bring her to me.”

The fuck I will. Anger cuts through the fear, and I slam my left hand to the ground. Rain runs off my flight jacket and courses over the edge of my relic in rivulets as I flex my fingers in the wet grass, splaying my fingers wide.

My hand…it doesn’t look like mine—

There it is. Power courses through the earth beneath me, ready and willing to annihilate their forces if I have the courage to let go of the impossible dreams I’ve clung to and accept the fate Zihnal has dealt me.

I only have to reach, and they’ll be safe. She’ll be safe.

No. This is wrong.

This is a dream. Only a dream. And yet he holds me here night after night. Fighting through the weight of the nightmare, I wrench my hand from the ground.

“Wake!” I scream, but no sound emerges.

“This city will fall. Yours will be next,” the Sage promises.

“Wake!”

I jerk my head up, only to find the Sword of Tyrrendor at my throat. The Sage draws his arm back—

My body jolts and my eyes fly open. There is no field. No Sage. No sword. Just gentle raindrops hitting our window, the warmth of the blankets tangled at my legs, and the weight of Xaden’s arm draped over my waist. The worst of the storm has passed.

Filling my lungs to capacity persuades the pounding in my chest to ease, but the breaths against my ear only come faster, growing more ragged with every second.

“Xaden?” I twist toward him and lift my hand to his face. His skin is damp with sweat, his brow furrowed, and his jaw clenches so hard I hear his teeth grind. I’m not the only one having nightmares tonight.

“Xaden.” I sit up and slide my hand to his bare shoulder, then tap gently. “Wake up.”

He flings himself onto his back, and his head begins to thrash.

“Xaden.” My chest tightens at the visible pain on his face, and I throw myself down the bond. “Xaden!”

His eyes open and he surges upright with a full-bodied gasp, then plants his hands beside his hips on the mattress.

“You’re all right,” I say gently, and his gaze snaps toward mine, wild and haunted. “You were having a nightmare.”

He blinks the sleep out of his eyes, then swings his head in a quick sweep of the space. “We’re in our room.”

“We’re in our room.” I draw my fingers across his shoulders, and the muscles soften.

“And you’re here.” His shoulders dip as he looks my way.

“I’m here.” I pick up his left hand and press it against my cheek.

“You’re clammy.” His brow knits. “Everything all right?”

Go figure he immediately asks about me.

“I had a bad dream, too.” I shrug. “Must be the storm.”

“Must be.” His gaze flickers past me toward the window. “Come here.” He pulls me closer, then lays us down to face each other. A second later, he draws the sheet—but not the blanket—over us and settles his hand on my hip. “Tell me about yours.”

I tuck the sheet under my arm and slide my other hand under my pillow. “It’s the same one I’ve had since Resson.”

“Same one?” He brushes my hair back over my shoulder. “You told me you had bad dreams but never said they repeated.”

“I have a recurring nightmare. It’s nothing.” Thunder booms in the distance, and he stays quiet, waiting for me to continue. “It’s usually in a field, and there’s a battle in the distance. I can hear Andarna scream but I can’t get to her.” My throat tightens, and I lift my hand to his chest. “The Sage is there, and he always levitates me like I’m nothing heavier than a pocket watch. And I can’t kick, or scream, or move. I’m just stuck there as he threatens me.”

He tenses. “You’re sure it’s the Sage?”

I nod. “He held the Sword of Tyrrendor to my throat after demanding I bring him something. It’s like my subconscious is trying to warn me that they’re going to use you against me.”

“What else?” His heart starts to pound beneath my fingers.

I blink, trying to remember. “I can’t explain how I know, since I’ve only ever seen it from a distance, but the last couple of times, we’ve been near Draithus.”

“Are you sure?” His eyes widen. “What did it look like?”

“It’s usually pretty dark, but I could make out tall city walls on a raised plateau, and a central, spiraling tower.”

“That’s Draithus.” His breathing picks up again.

“What’s wrong?” I slide my hand to the side of his neck.

“What else?” He palms my hip.

He’s oddly intense about this, but if it helps him talk through whatever plagued him while he slept, then I’ll play along. “Tonight was…weird. Different.”

“How?”

“When he dropped me, I had this second where I thought about channeling from the earth, and when I looked down…” My gaze slides to his relic. “I had a relic on my left wrist, right where yours all start. And my hand didn’t look like mine. Now that I’m thinking about it, it looked like…yours. Who knows. What was yours about?”

He stares at me silently, and worry creeps up my spine.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because it’s my hand.”

My fingers slip off his neck. “I just said that.”

He sits up and I mirror the motion, holding the sheet to my chest. “It’s my hand,” he repeats. “You were in my dream.”

• • •

It’s not possible, is it?

Two hours later, I’ve told him about every dream I can remember with the Sage, and Xaden’s had every single one.

There has to be a reasonable explanation.

“You think we’re sharing the same dream?” I ask slowly, sitting in the middle of our bed with a blanket wrapped over my shoulders, watching him pace the short length of our bedroom in his sleeping pants.

The move reminds me of Sgaeyl on Hedotis.

Is sharing dreams even possible? Some effect of our bond?

“No. They’re my dreams.” He rubs the skin beneath his lower lip. “I’ve had them at least once a week since Resson, and more frequently since Basgiath, but I almost never realize they’re nightmares when I’m in them. When I do, I wake up feeling like someone was there with me, watching.” He looks over at me and pauses his steps. “Like tonight.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” I tug the blanket closer. “I’ve had the dream on nights you aren’t with me. Nights you were hours away.”

“Maybe it’s the bond.” He leans back against our dresser. “But they’re definitely my dreams. You’ve never been to Draithus, and that scenario…it’s exactly what happened on the edge of the river when I fought him at Basgiath.”

I blink. He never talks about that.

“The dark wielder Andarna scorched behind the school pulled the same move.” I tilt my head. “But that dark wielder wasn’t him. Do you know what the dream’s about? What he wants you to bring to him? Because it’s all vague to me, like I’m walking in mid-conversation…” My words die as my mind flies through the possibility that he’s right, no matter how impossible it is.

“Because you are.” Xaden lifts his brows. “And he wants me to deliver you.”

“They have their own lightning wielder,” I argue like I can reason with Xaden’s subconscious.

“But it’s my nightmare, and I only have one you,” he says. “It’s getting harder and harder not to go to Draithus just to prove to myself that it’s all in my head.” His eyes flare, then narrow. “But it shouldn’t be in yours. Has it ever happened with anyone else?”

“How would I know?” I shake my head. “I don’t think so, but I don’t remember all my dreams.” Still…there’s the nightmare I had in Samara—that one still sticks with me. It’s as visceral as a memory. As visceral as these nightmares. “How much do you know about the fall of Cliffsbane?”

He grips the edge of the dresser. “You dreamed about Cliffsbane?”

“When I was in Samara.” I nod. “In the dream, I was in my room—at least I think it was mine—and the fire was coming, but I wouldn’t leave without the portrait of my family, and…”

The family in the portrait. The honey-brown eyes. The burn on my hand.

“And what?” He walks toward me slowly, studying me like he doesn’t already intimately know every inch of my body.

“I…” My heart rate picks up, and nausea racks my stomach. “I told Cat she had to live because she’s the future queen of Tyrrendor, and the way Cat looked at me…” I swallow the bile that rides the fear rising in my throat. “It was like I was precious to her. What if”—I fight the urge to be sick—“what if I was Maren?”

Xaden sits at the foot of the bed, and the muscles of his back ripple as he tenses. “You were in Maren’s dream.” He turns to face me, and something that looks eerily like terror widens his eyes before he can mask it.

“That’s not possible.” I wrap my arms around my stomach. “Maybe with you because of the bond, but there’s no way to trip into someone else’s dream.”

“There is if you’re a dream-walker.” He nods thoughtfully, and my heart pounds as I guess what he’s about to say. “It must be your second signet—the one being bonded to Andarna gives you. It would make sense. Her kind are peaceful, and the ability itself would be passive, even a gift in a culture like that.”

A what? My back stiffens. “There’s no such thing as dream-walking, and the irids told her that she gave me something more dangerous than lightning. It was one of the reasons they were so angry with her.”

“There is such a thing.” Xaden’s voice drops. “It’s absolutely more dangerous than lightning. It’s a form of inntinnsic,” he ends on a whisper.

“I don’t read minds. That can’t be right.” I shake my head.

“You don’t read them. You walk straight into them when unconscious.”

My jaw slackens, and I reach for Andarna. “Is it true?”

Tairn rustles but stays silent.

“I did not choose it any more than Tairn chose lightning,” she says defensively. “But you have been known to wander while dreaming. It’s harmless. You’re mostly drawn to him.”

The blanket falls from my fingers.

“And you said nothing?” Tairn growls.

“You did not inform her the first time she wielded lightning!” Andarna argues. “She needed to discover it herself.”

“Oh gods.” I start to shake.

“Shit.” Xaden tucks the blanket around me, then pulls me into his lap. “It’s going to be all right.”

“It doesn’t make sense. Signets are based on our unique bond and the power of the dragon.” My thoughts tumble over themselves as I babble. “And what we need most, so it’s logical that you needed to know everyone’s intentions when you manifested. You had to keep the marked ones safe. But there’s no part of me who wants or needs to know what anyone else is dreaming—” The trembling stops as it clicks and I understand. “Except when I did. I was cut off from her while she slept all those months.”

“Andarna.” He nods. “That makes sense. My signet doesn’t work on dragons, and I’m guessing yours doesn’t, either, so you unknowingly developed it on a human.”

“On you.” I search his face for any sign of anger but find none. “I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He strokes my hair and holds my gaze. “You didn’t know. Didn’t do it on purpose—”

“Of course not.” I would never purposely violate his privacy that way—or Maren’s.

“Which is what makes you exceptionally dangerous.” His jaw flexes twice. “I can only read someone while they’re awake, and I’m limited by their ability to shield. No one can shield while they’re sleeping. You could potentially walk straight into Melgren’s own dreams and he couldn’t stop you. Probably wouldn’t even know.” His face twists for a heartbeat before he quickly masks it. “Violet, they’ll kill you if they find out. It won’t matter that you’re the best weapon they have against the venin—against me. They’ll snap your neck and call it self-defense.”

Well, that’s…terrifying.

“Only if it’s true.” I slide off his lap and start pulling on my sparring uniform, leaving my armor draped on the back of the chair. “It’s just dreams, right? If it’s dreams? It’s like tripping into someone’s fears, not their actual thoughts.”

“Except I think you meddle, because I wanted to channel on that field and found myself raising my hand instead— What are you doing?”

Meddle?

“I can only think of one way to confirm for sure, and don’t worry, I’ll be careful.” I button my pants, then stare as he rises and pulls a set of dry clothes from his pack. “What are you doing?”

“Going with you, obviously.”

There’s no point arguing, so we both dress. A few minutes and several stairs later, I knock on Maren’s door.

It takes her a minute to answer, and when she does, her eyes are groggy with sleep. “Violet? Riorson?” she asks with a jaw-cracking yawn. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry to wake you, but I need to ask you something completely…weird.” I rub the bridge of my nose. “There’s no other way to say it, and I need you to not ask me why.”

“Tread carefully,” Xaden warns.

“All right.” Maren folds her arms over her robe.

“Did you happen to have a portrait of your family?” I ask.

“I still do,” Maren answers, her forehead puckering. “Is something wrong with my brothers? I just saw them a few hours ago.”

“No.” I shake my head vehemently. “Nothing like that.” Maybe we’re wrong and this is just some weird effect from the bond. If Maren still has the portrait, then it couldn’t have caught fire. Then Xaden can’t be right—I didn’t walk into her dream.

“Here, I’ll show it to you,” Maren offers, then disappears into her room. She’s back within a few seconds and holds out the portrait.

Recognition hits with all the subtlety of a dagger. “I’ve seen it before.” The soft smiles, the honey-brown eyes. Gods, no wonder the boys looked familiar to me. I was just in too much pain to register why the first time. “It’s beautiful.” I force myself to swallow.

“Thanks.” She draws back her hand. “I keep it with me wherever we go.”

“You’re not worried about losing it?”

“That used to be my worst nightmare, actually,” she says, staring down at the miniature. “Until I lived through losing them.”

Worst nightmare. It takes every ounce of self-control I have to keep my expression flat. “I can understand that all too well. Thank you for sharing that with me—”

“Silver One!” Tairn bellows.

Xaden’s head tilts, and Maren stiffens.

“I’m right here—”

“A horde approaches from the east!” he shouts.

Bells peal, the loudest of them straight overhead.

We’re under attack.

For maximum potential, riders should be stationed close to their villages if possible. Nothing is a more effective motivator than seeing one’s home on fire.

—Tactics part II, a Personal Memoir by Lieutenant Lyron Panchek