Iron Flame (The Empyrean, #2)

by Rebecca Yarros

we’re so wildly off topic I’m not sure this is the same meeting.”

“Stop bringing logic into an emotional argument.”

Love doesn’t even have the decency to die. It just transforms into abject misery. That’s what this ache in my chest is: misery.

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.

“Honestly, I’ve considered scrapping the plan and just throwing him off the parapet.”

“I wish I could stay to see what you do with all that time.”

“Confidence is not arrogance. I don’t lose the fights I pick. And we’re both allowed to have boundaries. You’re not the only one who gets to set the rules in this relationship.”

I don’t miss the woman I was, the one who didn’t know her strength. The one who believed everything she read with unfailing confidence, as if the simple act of writing something on a blank page made it gospel.

“What, like you’re so above us infantry?” Calvin counters. “I mean technically, when we’re flying we’re above everyone,” Ridoc argues. “But if you’re asking if I’m better than you, then the answer is obviously yes.”

How is it possible to both love someone and loathe them all in the same moment?

“I would have done the same thing you did because I’m just as reckless for you as you are for me.”

Now cease this line of thinking. It does not serve to make you stronger.”

“But you were the one who demanded he give the cadets a choice. In that moment, you wielded him, our unyielding, uncompromising, headstrong heir apparent.”

A figure dressed entirely in black. His jaw flexes, his hands curl at his sides, and his beautiful face… Well, he hasn’t looked at me with that much anger since discovering my last name at Parapet, back when he wanted to kill me. Guess I should be careful what I ask for, because I’m so fucked. “You aren’t where I left you, Violence.”

“Do you know who you sound like right now?” “Please, enlighten me.” He folds his arms across his chest. “Dain.” I shut the door in his face.

Being pretty doesn’t save you at Basgiath.

“But it’s possible to be angry while still madly, wildly, uncontrollably in love with me.”

“Imagine a man actually shortening a girl’s estimate,”

“No. Because you already carry the weight of protecting Xaden’s life. It was unfair of him to burden you with mine, too.”

Nothing kills powerful, unshakable love faster than opposing ideologies.

Shadows surge from the armoire, and I catch the glint of metal a heartbeat before the bands of darkness hold a dagger to within inches of my chin. I gasp, then lock every muscle. “What the fuck, Xaden?” “Am I going to hurt you?” The carpet makes his bootsteps nearly silent as he crosses the room, giving me plenty of time to object or retreat, but I don’t.

“Let’s put your theory to the test. You want me to demand the truth? To ask you something real?” I hold his gaze and steel my heart. “Please, do,” he challenges. “What’s your second signet?” His eyes widen, and the blood drains from his face as his hand falls away. For the first time, I think I’ve actually managed to shock Xaden Riorson. “I know you have one,” I whisper as the pounding continues. “You told me that Sgaeyl was bonded to your grandfather, which makes you a direct descendant. If a dragon bonds a family member, it can strengthen a signet, but a direct descendant will either produce a second signet…or madness, and you seem pretty sane to me.”

But how many more blows can that love take? How many more daggers are there in that metaphorical armoire?

I can’t imagine walking away from this, from us, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t have some serious issues we need to discuss—nor that I am not pissed as hell that he’s given me another reason to doubt my own ability to trust my own judgment. And just because I can’t imagine walking away doesn’t mean I won’t do it if we can’t find some healthy ground. I’m quickly learning it’s possible to love someone and not want to be with them at the same time.

“I could torch him if you would like,” Tairn offers. “But you do seem attached.”

“Your mother is presumptuous to speak on behalf of dragonkind,” Tairn mutters.

“We rule by committee,” Brennan announces, his arm brushing mine as he stops between Mira and me. “And I think I’m safe in speaking for the quorum when I say that we do not defend kingdoms who sacrifice neighboring civilians”—his head turns toward Mom, and her eyes bulge—“let alone their own children so they can hide safely behind their wards. You will not escape the suffering you’ve forced the rest of the Continent to endure.”

“When all three of your children stand against you, perhaps the time has come for self-reflection.

“I love you,” I whisper. “You could throw my entire world into upheaval, and I would still love you. You could keep secrets, run a revolution, frustrate the shit out of me, probably ruin me, and I would still love you. I can’t make it stop. I don’t want to. You’re my gravity. Nothing in my world works without you.”

“Black really does suit you, Violet.”

As if he senses the weight of my gaze, he looks at me, then winks like we’re not facing certain annihilation. Like we’ve transported ourselves back to last year and this is just another Battle Brief.

“Why is it that only my daughters speak out of turn?” “We get it from our mother,” Mira snipes in a dry tone, and that lethal look pivots to her.