Iron Flame (The Empyrean, #2)

by Rebecca Yarros

Maybe it was wyvern and venin attacking, not gryphons. Maybe this entire presentation is a well-crafted lie.

“For fuck’s sake.” He takes my elbow and pulls me into an alcove, towering over me with a look of exasperation. “I have direct instructions to keep you as far away from helping as possible.”

“I tried to take a first-year to see Nolon yesterday after formation turned into a firepit, and he looks like absolute shit. I mean, the man could barely stand. And when I went to ask him if he was all right, the new vice commandant said he had more important things to do than talk to cadets

and basically escorted him to that little door in the back of the infirmary, which is now guarded. I think they’re hiding something back there.”

“Since when do a few broken bones wreck a mender?” “Maybe they brought in a prisoner from Poromiel.”

“And Nolon keeps healing them as Varrish breaks them. I heard one of the third-years say that’s what Varrish is known for—torture.”

“Between the running and not eating lunch with us, it kind of feels like you’re avoiding me. And it’s ridiculous, but all I can think is that maybe you’re pissed that I chose Sawyer as executive officer yesterday instead of you, and if that’s the case, then let’s talk about it—”

“Gods, Sloane.” Imogen snorts, laughing off to the right, where she watches with Quinn. “You really feel like dying on your first day?” “Did she compliment you?”

“Did someone say Sorrengail?” a deep voice asks from behind us.

“Hi. I’m Violet Sorrengail.” She points to her purple hair. “See? Like my hair. Do you have a message for—” He grabs hold of her head and twists, snapping her neck.

It doesn’t matter why this guy is trying to kill me right now. Either I’m strong enough to survive or I’m not. The first-year rips the bloodied daggers out of his forearms in quick succession with an angry grunt, letting them clatter to the ground. His mistake. He might be almost a foot taller, but he’ll need those blades if he wants to kill me. His build, though…that’s going to be hard to overcome.

his back as if impervious to pain, but he can’t stand with what I’ve done to him. He can, however, reach for one of the daggers he dropped and throw it at me. Which he does. “Shit!”

The first-year grabs hold of my right thigh and pulls, dragging me with the distinct squeaking sound of leather against the shiny floor. If I put my dagger through his hand, I’ll strike my own muscle.

“Fucking die, already,” he seethes, his voice blending into the ringing in my ears as he lowers his face to mine.

“Secrets die with the people who keep them,” he whispers, bringing his nose an inch from mine. His eyes are light brown but rimmed in red as though he’s on some kind of drug.

Aetos.

Fear floods my mind, breaking past my shields, but it’s not mine. I can’t focus on Tairn’s fear. That way lies shock and death. And I’m not abo...

Pain. My entire body is nothing but pain. “Violet?” Dain’s voice shakes as he crouches beside me. “Are you all right?” Secrets die with the people who keep them. No, I’m not all right. His father just tried to have me assassinated.

“Say something,” Dain begs in a frantic whisper.

“Vi—” He stands and offers me a hand, and the worry in his familiar eyes— Fuck no. I throw all my energy into my shields. “Don’t. Touch. Me,”

The fear flooding my pathways changes to relief. “I’m all right,” I tell Tairn and Andarna.

“I’m not going to try and kill her this year. Promise.”

“You were just strangled, Cadet Sorrengail,”

“Aetos sent him,” I whisper to Imogen. “I think we’re being targeted.” Gods, I hope that’s not why Xaden didn’t show yesterday.

“Damn, Sorrengail,” he mutters, offering me an arm I don’t take. “It’s always something, isn’t it?”

Nadine is dead because she said she was me.

That can’t be right. Liam was the best fighter in our year, and every marked one knows they have to report to the Riders Quadrant when they’re of age. Surely she’s trained.

“You sure she’s Liam’s sister?” Ridoc asks. “Yep,” Imogen answers with a long sigh. “But she sure wasn’t fostered with fighters, and it shows.” Aaric puts her on her ass six times with little to no effort.

beg off from dinner and turn down Rhi’s offer of help to get to my room, slowly but surely taking the steps up to the second-years’ floor. Every bone, every muscle, every fiber of my being aches. A heartbeat before I reach for my door handle, I feel it, the familiar midnight-tinted shadow wrapping around my mind.

the door and see Xaden leaning against the wall between my desk and my bed, looking ready to kill someone as usual, his arms folded over his chest. “It’s been eight days,” I croak, wincing. “I know,”

the bruises I know are around my neck. “I don’t even know what his name was.” “I know.”

“Colonel Aetos sent him.” He nods, the motion curt. “I’m sorry I couldn’t kill him first.” “The first-year? Or Aetos?” “Both.”

“Let’s get you clean and wrapped up.” “You can’t go around killing cadets. You’re an ...

I fucking love your hair. If you ever want to bring me to my knees or win an argument, just let it down. I’ll get the point.

“You warded my room for complete privacy for me and anyone I want to bring in?” I lift my eyebrows at him. “In case I feel like…”

“I promised Liam I’d help Sloane, and I couldn’t do that from the courtyard.” A sarcastic laugh escapes my lips. “And she fucking hates me.”

“Trust me. She does. She actually wanted to challenge me at assessment.” I lean back against my headboard. “She blames me for Liam’s death. Not that she’s wrong—”

“Liam’s death wasn’t your fault,” he interrupts, his body going rigid. “It was mine. If Sloane wants to hate anyone, she can aim it all right here.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” It’s not the first time we’ve had the argument, and something tells me it won’t be the last. I guess there’s enough guilt for two to carry. “It was.” He opens the top and rifles through the bag. “Xaden—”

“Sleep is the fastest way to heal unless you plan on seeking out Nolon, and from what I hear, he’s hard to come by these days.” “You need sleep, too,”

“But I need you to pay close attention to what happens when you leave in seven days with Tairn.”

“Until then…here.” “What is this?” I spare a glance downward, but it only looks like folded parchment. “You told me once that I was scared you might not like me if you got to really know me.” “I remember.”

“Third floor, south wing, second door on the right. The wards will let you in.” His barracks room.

“No, Violet.” He lifts both swords overhead, then slips them into the sheaths on the pack behind him with practiced expertise and a hint of a smirk. “Just you and me.”

Xaden Riorson wrote me a letter.

“Two things,” she signs as we both sit on the bench, then reaches into her satchel, pulls out a tome, and hands it to me. It’s a copy of The Gift of the First Six and looks to be hundreds of years old.

I quickly read from the beginning of the paragraph to be sure I have it right, then sign the sentence she’s looking for, spelling out the last word—the name of an ancient king who lived a thousand years before Navarre existed.

Ancient king. I flip to the first page of the book, and my shoulders sag. It bears a date from twenty-five years ago. “It’s hand-copied from an original,” Jesinia signs. “About five years before the quadrant received the printing press.”

A scream rends the air, and my head shoots up. Across the courtyard, a second-year from Third Wing is dragged from the academic building, between two older riders, followed by Professor Markham. What in Amari’s name?

“That rider requested a book yesterday, and I recorded the request.” She leans toward me, panic growing in her eyes. “I have to record the requests. It’s—”