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“Xaden’s playing with him.”
“You’re her, aren’t you?” the rider asks, her appraisal pausing on my hair. “Her who?” Here we go. “Lieutenant Sorrengail’s sister.”
Not General Sorrengail’s daughter. Not the cadet Xaden is stuck with because of Tairn. “You know my sister?”
“She has a hell of a right hook.” She nods, her knuckles grazing the scar ...
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“It appears Riorson does, too.” “He does.” “You sound pretty confident.”
“I am.” My confidence in Xaden is almost…arrogance. Gods, he’s beautiful.
“Stop playing around and end it,” I say through our bond, using it for the first time since Resson. “Always so violent.”
Then Xaden strikes with two quick punches, putting his full weight behind them unlike before, and sending Jarrett to his hands and knees in the dirt. Jarrett’s head hangs as he shakes it slowly, blood dripping from his mouth.
“I’m Cornelia Sahalie, by the way.” “Violet Sorrengail.” I know it’s rude, but I can’t make myself look away from Xaden as he turns the corner, approaching from the left.
“Tell me what’s spinning around that beautiful head of yours.” He moves closer, invading my space without touching me. Fuck, I want him to touch me, even if it’s a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.
“I’ve had worse. It’s what I get for blocking with my shields to concentrate on the fight. Otherwise, I would have felt you. Look at me.”
This was a bad idea, a teasing taste of everything I want, and yet I can’t bring myself to stop. There’s nothing outside this kiss. No war. No lies. No secrets. There’s only his mouth, his hands sweeping up my sides, his desire matching the fire of mine. This is where I want to live, where nothing else matters but the way he makes me feel.
“Like a moth to a damned flame.”
“I’m more than willing to let you burn me.” Wait, that’s not what I meant—
“But I’m begging you, Violet. Don’t offer me your body unless you’re offering me everything. I want you more than I want to fuck you. I want those three little words back.”
“They know you’ve been smuggling something out.” I lean over the edge of the high bed and drop my brush into my bag. “Toss me a sharpening stone.” “They suspect.”
It’s not power in itself, but it’s capable of…holding power.
These”—he taps the medallion—“hold extra power to boost the wards and extend them. The more material, the stronger the wards. There’s an entire armory of them downstairs, boosting the wards. The details are classified, but that’s why outposts are placed strategically, to keep our borders from developing weak points.”
“But how could the wards ever falter if these power ...
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“Because they only hold so much power. Once it’s used, it has to be imbued again.” “Hold on. Imbued with power?”
Imbuing is a process of leaving power in stasis, in an object. A rider has to pour their own power into it, which is a skill not a lot of us have.”
“No. That started right before the rebellion. My guess is Melgren had a vision of how an upcoming battle is going to go and these were central to his victory. Once Sgaeyl chose me at Threshing, we started to work to smuggle out a few daggers at a time to supply what drifts we could make friendly contact with.”
How can something so small be the key to our entire continent’s survival? “So you just put the alloy into a dagger and get an instant venin killer?”
“Despite what you may assume, I am not six hundred years old.” “Figured I’d ask, just in case you were holding back secret dragon knowledge.” “I’m always holding back secret dragon knowledge, but wards are not among it.”
“We’re being ordered to the practice grounds. Carr and Varrish are waiting.”
“He threatened he’d be pondering my punishment for not forcing Andarna to participate in maneuvers. I should have taken his warning more seriously.”
“What are your wishes?” “Not sure I get a choice.”
“There is always a choice.”
Anger. Lust. Fear. It’s always the most extreme of my emotions that bring on the strikes. It’s rage that fuels me now as I summon that sizzling hot energy and release it, cracking open the sky with another lightning strike that hits a nearby peak.
“Violet?” Andarna asks sleepily. Guilt slams into me harder than a lightning strike. “I’m fine,” I promise her. “Waking is dangerous to the growth process,” Tairn lectures. “Sleep.”
“What’s happening?” She’s alarmingly alert now. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
She’s at risk of overheating and burning out if you continue to push like this,” Carr says to Varrish. “She can take it just fine.” He looks at me like he knows. Like he was there at Resson, watching me hurl bolt after bolt at the
“Punishing her for insubordination is one thing, but killing her is quite another.”
“Unless your golden one would like to fly up and say hello, since she failed to appear as ordered. If she joins us, we’ll only task you with three more.” “This is about me?”
“This is an example of what happens when dragons choose poorly,” Tairn counters. “Solas should never have given this barbarian more power.” “I
“I just want her to understand that she is not above the structure of command.” “I fucking hate him,” I tell Tairn. “I can feel this draining you! I’ll come—” Andarna starts.
“You’ll do no such thing, or you risk every feathertail in the Vale,” I remind her. “Do you want someone who takes joy in the pain of others like Varrish bonding a hatchling?”
“Humans do not command dragons, and that includes you.”
“Silver One is done!” he shouts. “They can’t hear you,” I remind him, breathing through the pain. “Their dragons can.”
“If she dies, you will summon the wrath of not only General Sorrengail but General Melgren. Her signet is the weapon generals dream of in this war.” Carr glances between Varrish and me. “And if that’s not enough to encourage a degree of caution, Vice Commandant, then remember her death will cost you two of the most powerful dragons on the Continent and Lieutenant Riorson’s irreplaceable ability to wield shadows.”
“You’re burning up.” He glances at Tairn. “Tell your dragon to carry you directly to the courtyard. You won’t make it from the flight field. Get food and a cold bath.” There’s something suspiciously close to sympathy in his eyes as he looks me over. “And while I agree that we do not command dragons, perhaps you could talk Andarna into making an appearance. You are a rare, powerful signet, Cadet Sorrengail. It would be a travesty to use your training sessions in this manner again.”
I’m not a signet. I’m a person. But I’m too damned hot, too tired to make the words form.
Carr never has. To him, we are the sum of our powers ...
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“Cuir says she needs food now that she’s cooled down,” Bodhi adds. “A green would know,” Eya says with certainty. “Food it is.”
“Tell the humans that I will handle dragon matters,” Tairn says. “How—” “You will trust me.”
“Strengthen your shields and perhaps you won’t require monitoring.” “Not completing maneuvers? Refusing to bring Andarna to class?”
“Jacek? Like Navil Jacek?” The second-year from Third Wing Jesinia and I saw hauled away by Markham was listed on the death roll a couple of days ago. “That’s his younger brother on the mat,” Imogen says.
“Jesinia isn’t a threat,” I protest, but my words die in my throat as I remember that it was her report that got Jacek taken in the first place.
“No fucking clue, but her stubbornness is going to get her killed.”
Mortification deprives me of words as heat rushes into my face. I nearly slit my friend’s throat. Somehow, I find the sheath. “You should know better than to sneak up on someone,”
