Iron Flame (The Empyrean, #2)

by Rebecca Yarros

Her nonchalance skates a chill down my spine as she drums her bony fingers on the table, a giant emerald ring catching the light.

It is the valley above Riorson House, heated by natural thermal energy, that is its greatest asset. For there lie the original hatching grounds of the Dubhmadinn Line, from which two of the greatest dragons of our time—Codagh and Tairn—descend.

He has sources at Basgiath.

glimpse a rune-shaped scar on his palm before he grips the edge of the table. “Naolin… He was—” His jaw flexes.

“I’m sorry your rider died saving my brother.” “We will no longer speak of the one who came before.” Tairn’s voice is rough.

“Naolin didn’t fail, but it cost him everything. I woke up on a cliffside not far from here. Marbh had been wounded, but he was alive, too, and the other dragons…” His amber-colored eyes meet mine. “There are other dragons here, and they saved us, hid us in the network of caves within the valley, then later with the civilians who survived the city being scorched.”

Because love, at its root, is hope. Hope for tomorrow. Hope for what could be. Hope that the someone you’ve entrusted your everything to will cradle and protect it. And hope? That shit is harder to kill than a dragon.

“You’ll find I’m harder to block than most.”

“Maybe you’re more like me than I gave you credit for.”

“Secrets make for poor leverage. They die with the people who keep them.”

For better or worse, I am committed now to my own cause—saving as many people as I can from this war.

I’ve danced with Malek more than my fair share over this last year and told him to fuck right off every single time. Maybe Sloane is right and he doesn’t want me.

graphic.” I’m not touching the question of their history with waves of anger still rolling off Tairn like a thunderstorm.

“I’m always holding back secret dragon knowledge, but wards are not among it.” His

“I could remind you of some very fun, very dishonorable ones.” I lean back into him, and he throws his leg over mine, locking me down tight. “You want to give me those three little words?” I stiffen. “I thought not. Sleep, Violet.” His arm tightens around me. “You love me,” he whispers. “Stop reminding me. I thought we agreed not to fight tonight.” I snuggle in deeper, his warmth lulling me into that sweet middle space between wakefulness and oblivion. “Maybe you’re not the one I’m reminding.”

“Violence, remember it’s only the body that’s fragile. You are unbreakable.”

“Who the fuck’s flight jacket are you wearing?” “Really?” I throw my arms out, happily letting the warmth soak

“When I do sleep, I dream of the sounds you make right before you come and the way the blue in your eyes outshines the amber right after, all sated and hazy. I wake up starving for you—only you—even on the mornings you’re halfway across the kingdom. This isn’t me denying you or manipulating you. This is me

kisses me like I’m the answer to every question. Like everything we’ve been and will be hinges on this moment. And maybe it does.

“Death of me, I swear.”

look up into the wrath of Dunne in the form of gold-flecked

flecked onyx eyes.

“There’s nowhere in existence you could go that I wouldn’t find you, remember?”

will happily watch Aretia burn to the fucking ground again if it means you live.”

do. I’m sorry if you expect me to do the noble thing. I warned you. I’m not sweet or soft or kind, and you fell anyway. This is what you get, Violet—me. The good, the bad, the unforgivable. All of it. I am yours.” His arm wraps around the small of my back, holding me steady and close.

“You want to know something true? Something real? I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been since the night the snow fell in your hair and you kissed me for the first time. I’m grateful my life is tied to yours because it means I won’t have to face a day without you in it. My heart only beats as long as yours does, and when you die, I’ll meet Malek at your side. It’s a damned good thing that you love me, too, because you’re stuck with me in this life and every other that could possibly follow.” My

Half palace, half barracks, but entirely a fortress, Riorson House has never been breached by army. It survived countless sieges and three full-out assaults before falling under the flame of the very dragons it existed to serve. —On Tyrrish History, a Complete Accounting, third edition by Captain Fitzgibbons

Now, this is a view I could be more than happy to wake up to for the rest of my life. He’s asleep on his stomach, his arms folded under his pillow, his hair falling over his forehead, his perfectly sculpted lips parted slightly. The covers only rise to the small of his back, leaving me with miles of inked skin to admire. I almost never get to see him like this, never get to simply look at him, and I take advantage of every single second, studying the angles of his muscled arm, up to his rounded shoulder, and across the faint silver of the lines that mark his back. He’s always more than enough to elevate my pulse, but asleep and fully unguarded, he steals my breath. Gods is he beautiful. And he loves me.

Ulices’s skin blotches while I feel the blood rush from mine. His chair. The empty one. He’s the seventh.

It’s Tyrrish for resurrected,”

“Looks like we need to seek another luminary, because he’ll meet Malek before Violet,” Xaden says in that calm, icy tone he uses when his mind’s made up.

You wield pure power that takes the form of lightning because that’s what you’re most comfortable shaping it as. Apparently Carr never taught you that, either.”

“Maintaining control is nearly impossible around Violet.” My face heats. What the hell? Did he hear her out there? That’s impossible.

“She was wearing a Deverelli silk robe when I answered the door.” I grab my pack from the ground and swing it over my shoulders, grimacing at the weight. “How do I know it was Deverelli silk, you ask? Because it was pretty much see-through.” “Oh, damn!” Sawyer cringes. “Why would she… Are you…” Rhiannon, Quinn, and even Imogen stare at him as the first-years head inside. “Think about where she sleeps!” Ridoc smacks the back of Sawyer’s head. “Ow! Right. You’re still in Riorson’s room,” Sawyer says slowly, blatantly turning his back on Cat as she walks by with her drift. “I forgot. Roll has you listed in Rhiannon’s room.”

“I honestly don’t care if you kill her, Violence.”

And I love him more than I hate her.

“She wants you for your name.” “I know.” He braces his hands on the arms of the chair and leans in, brushing his lips over mine. “And you love me in spite of it. That’s one of the many reasons I will always choose you.” He drops to his knees in front of me and works the laces on my boots with quick, efficient movements. “What are you doing?”

“My house. My chair. My woman.”

“I don’t like you thinking you’re not the center of my fucking world, yet here we are. And before you start another argument, I’ll fuck you later tonight. Trust me. I’m making a momentary point, not a lasting vow of masochism.” He braces my foot on his thigh and ties the laces.

“You are the first and only woman I’ve ever loved.”

“And to answer the question, I’d feel jealous, which is something you have a unique ability to bring out in me. And then I’d kick his ass, partially because that’s what I do when someone challenges me, and more importantly for implying there’s any other future besides the one where you and I are endgame.”

“I love you. She will never sit in this seat. She will never wear a Tyrrish crown. She’s never had me on my knees in front of her.” His mouth curves into a wicked grin that makes me instantly ready for it to be tonight. “And I’ve also never fucked her with my tongue.”

“It’s already snowing up the pass. I bet we get seven inches tonight.” “Maybe more if you’re good.” A corner of his mouth lifts as he cuts into the cake with the fork. “You’re making dick jokes?” I brace my hands on the top edge

“Tairn didn’t tell me.” “I think Sgaeyl somehow blocked him out.”

The breath of life of the six and the one combined and set the stone ablaze in an iron flame. —The Journal of Warrick of Luceras —Translated by Cadets Violet Sorrengail and Dain Aetos

“Usually, jealousy sways the tongue of young wielders.” He drags a single, long fingernail down my throat, exposing an expanse of tan arm under his robes, and I twitch, fear accelerating my heartbeat. I force my mouth to open, but no sound comes out.

“But you will turn for something much more dangerous, much more volatile.” He wraps his hand around my throat loosely.

“You’ll tear down the wards yourself when the time comes.”

“but for the most illogical of mortal emotions—love. Or you’ll die.” He shrugs. “You both will.” He flicks his wrist, and a bone-jarring crack tears me from my

The art of imbuing comes naturally to only a handful of signets, and automatically only to one: the siphon. —A Study on Signets