Iron Flame (The Empyrean, #2)

by Rebecca Yarros

With trembling hands, I unfold the paper—and smile. Xaden Riorson wrote me a letter.

“Hypothetically, if I wanted you to kiss me but only kiss me—” I start. His mouth is on mine before I finish. Yes. This is exactly what I need. My lips part for him, and there’s no hesitation in the glide of his tongue against mine. He groans, and the sound reverberates through my very bones as I wrap my arms around his neck. Home. Gods, he tastes like home.

“You. Are…” Imogen shakes her head as she catches up to me. “I see it now.” “What?” I ask. “Why Xaden fell for you.” I scoff. “Truthfully.” She puts her hands up. “You’re fucking clever. Way more clever than I gave you credit for. I bet you keep him constantly annoyed.” A smile beams across her face. “How glorious.”

Dragons do not answer to the whims of men.

I just killed the vice commandant of the quadrant. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Go back to class?

A crown? Engaged? My chest aches because it all makes sense. Two aristocratic families in need of an alliance. And I’m nowhere near nobility. “And gods, get some control over your emotions, would you? You’re so fucking weak it’s pathetic.” Her words are a string of hisses. Fuck her. Rhiannon trained me, too.

“Fix your wards.” She pulls a leather notebook from her jacket, and my eyes widen with recognition. “If you don’t, they’ll decline over time to nothing. Your father told me once that his research showed that Warrick never wanted anyone else to hold the power of the wards. He wanted Navarre to eternally hold the upper hand. But Lyra thought the knowledge should be shared.”

“You have the heart of a rider but the mind of a scribe, Violet. I’m trusting you not only to protect yourself, but to protect Mira and”—she swallows hard—“Brennan.”

I glance up at the clock. It’s not even eight yet, which means I can keep my mantra for the next few hours. I will not die today. I can’t say the same about tomorrow.

“Rain?” Xaden looks up. “In December?” Warmth. Rain. The charge in the air. “It’s my mother.” A slow smile spreads across my face. “It’s her way of imbuing her favorite weapon.” Me.

“You must save yourself,” Tairn demands. “I chose you not as my next, but as my last, and should you fall, then I will follow.”

No. That single word is all I can think, feel, scream internally as I stare up at the man I’m hopelessly in love with. “Me,” he whispers, a faint, almost indistinguishable red ring emanating from his gold-flecked onyx irises. “You should be scared of me.”

“Cures are for diseases. What we have is power, and that, dear Riorson, isn’t curable. It’s enviable.”