Iron Flame (The Empyrean, #2)

by Rebecca Yarros

“I just feel…heavy,” I admit. “I don’t have anyone who knows who I really am anymore. The guy I considered my best friend nearly got us killed. I’m keeping secrets from Rhiannon, from my sister, from…you. There’s not a single person in this world I’m entirely truthful with.”

What we build together has to be strong enough to withstand a storm. Or a war. Easy isn’t going to give that to us.”

“Tairn nearly ripped out Solas’s throat, which worked for getting Andarna out of maneuvers but may end up causing me bigger problems in the future.” A small smile spreads across my face. Look at us: having a conversation without fighting.

“I dream of a million different ways we could have lost. Sometimes I dream it’s Imogen who dies, or Garrick…or you.”

“Tell me something real.” It comes out as a plea, just like it did last year. He sighs and curls around me. “I know who you really are, Violet. Even when you keep things from me, I know you,” he promises.

“I’m still not strong enough to shield you out.” Right now, with his arm draped across my waist, I’m not sure I want to. “I’m not a good measure of your skill,”

“The day you can successfully block me all the way out is the day I’m dead. We’re both dead. I can’t block you out entirely, either, which is how you found me in the sublevel even when my shields were up.

“So I might be strong enough to block Dain?” “Yes, if you keep the shields intact at all times.” “What’s alloy made of?”

“An amalgamation of Talladium, a few other ores, and dragon egg shells.”

“Dragon egg shells?” Well that’s…weird. “They’re metal and still carry magic long after the dragons hatch.”

“It’s not my first sprain. Healers say it should be about four weeks in the sling. I’m giving it two. Maybe.”

“You could ask Nolon—” Ridoc starts, then stops when he sees the look on my face. “What? Don’t tell me Varrish won’t let you get mended.”

“I put my name on Nolon’s list, but I was told he likely wouldn’t have an opening before it healed naturally.”

“Unless they assassinated him during the attack,” I mumble under my breath. We weren’t even friends. I didn’t even know him that well, but out of the ten of us who flew into Resson, now only six are still alive.

“Poromiel’s provinces maintain their individual cultural identities,” I answer. “Someone from Cygnisen is more likely to label themselves as a Cygni instead of Poromish. As opposed to our provinces, who unified under the protection of the first wards, chose the common language, and blended the cultures of all six provinces into one cohesive kingdom.”

“The Calldyr, Deaconshire, and Elsum provinces,”

“The Luceras, Morraine, and Tyrrendor provinces lost their languages,” Sawyer answers, shifting in his seat. He’s from Luceras, along the bitterly cold northwestern coastline. “Technically they gave them up willingly for the good of the Unification, but other than a few words here and there being assimilated, they’re dead languages.”

“Correct. There is always a cost,” Devera says, enunciating every word. “That doesn’t mean it’s not worth it, but not being aware of the price we pay to live under the protection of the wards is how rebellions happen.

“We’re safe here, but we’re not welcome beyond our borders.”

“Navarre might be the largest kingdom on the Continent, but we are not the only one. Nor do we travel to the isles anymore. What else?”

“Not just our language. Our songs, our festivals, our libraries… Everything in Tyrrish had to be changed. The only unique thing we kept were our runes because they’re in too much of our architecture to justify changing.”

“Just because it’s not in Tyrrish doesn’t mean you can’t walk into the Archives and read whatever translated Tyrrish book you want.”

“For starters, no one can just walk into the Archives and read whatever they want. You have to put in a request that any scribe can deny.

Secondly, only a portion of the original scribes spoke Tyrrish, meaning it would have taken hundreds of years to translate every text, and even then, there are no historical tomes older than four hundred years in our Archives that I know of. They’re all sixth, seventh, or eighth editions. Logic dictates that she’s right.” I gesture up to the girl a few rows ahead. “Things are lost in translation.”

“Cadet Trebor, if I were you, I would consider the fact that Cadet Sorrengail has spent more time in the Archives than anyone else in this room, and then I would...

“We lost our folklore,” Rhiannon says. Every muscle in my body locks.

“He was my best friend.” For fifteen years, there was no one closer. I’d thought he was going to be my everything.

I’ll hate him on principle if that’s what we’re doing. No problem with that. But I know you, and you don’t cut people out like that unless they hurt you. So tell me, as your friend: Did he hurt you?” she asks quietly. “Or is this something else we aren’t talking about?”

“This is bullshit.” I look Dain in the eyes when I say it, and he simply folds his arms across his chest. There’s no getting out of this. He’s a wingleader.

“Keep your shields in place,”

“You’re faster this year.” He smiles like he’s proud of me as we circle again. “Xaden taught me a few things last year.” He winces, then attacks, swinging for my torso again. I flip my dagger so the blade runs perpendicular to my forearm as I duck under his jab, then punch upward, clipping him under the jaw without cutting him.

“And then you sent me to die, sent Liam and Soleil to their deaths. Did you know what was waiting for us?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I said ‘I’ll miss you’ because you chose him. I told you I knew things about him, that he had reasons you don’t know about to hate you, and you still chose him. I knew I was saying goodbye to any chance of us on that field. I had no clue gryphons were waiting to ambush you.”

“Violet—” Dain starts. “You may have been my oldest friend, my best friend, but that all died the day you violated my privacy, stole my memory, and got Liam and Soleil killed. I will never forgive you for that.”

“Your mother did it,” he whispers and slowly rises, first to his knees, removing his forearm from my collarbone, and then to his feet. “She wins,” he says as he walks off the mat. “I tap out.”

He didn’t mean that. There’s no way my mother sliced into Xaden a hundred and seven times. Dain’s just trying to get under my skin. I lie there for a handful of breaths, calming my racing pulse. Then I sheathe my blade and roll, gaining my feet awkwardly.

“Fight me and die, or join me and live beyond the ages, but you will never escape me, not when I’ve waited centuries for someone with your power.”

“He’ll use this opportunity to kill you for the embarrassment Tairn put him and Solas through.” “You can’t possibly know that.” “His intentions are pretty fucking clear. Trust me.”

Anger burns in the depths of his gold-flecked onyx eyes. “I’ll see that it’s done.” “See you next week,” I whisper. “Tell her page three hundred and four mentions a text I’d like to

“Violence, remember it’s only the body that’s fragile. You are unbreakable.” “Unbreakable,” I repeat to myself as Professor Grady leads me away.

They’re supposed to be my center, my backbone, my safe place. That’s why squadmates are forbidden from killing each other. Venin. Wyvern. The daggers. The wards. Andarna. Brennan. Aretia. I have too many secrets to count, and none

“Our infantry is killing Poromish civilians at the border.”

“Sir, we’re using standard interrogation protocol,” the woman says, entering the chamber. “Then it’s a good thing that I’m here.” His cheery disposition scares me more than the woman’s fist. “This is my area of expertise—interrogation. And I have just the thing to crack them in record time.” He looks toward the hallway, then crooks his fingers. “Come on in. Don’t be shy.”

“I really, honestly think Varrish might try to kill Violet.”

ZOLYA FALLS TO DRAGON FIRE The third largest city in the braevick province has fallen to the blue fire dragons and their riders. Though the city and its drifts fought valiantly, the two-day battle ended in poromish defeat. All who did not evacuate have perished. An estimated ten thousand lives have been lost, including general fenella, the commander of braevick’s gryphon fleet. All trade routes to the city have been barricaded to prevent further loss of life.

Glacial blue eyes meet mine. Any doubt I had dies a swift death. It’s him. My pounding heart jumps into my throat.

“He’s definitely going to try to kill you. Again.”

“It’s him,” Tairn growls. “Baide has kept the truth hidden for these months.” “I can see him.” I’d ask how the fuck a dragon hides something in the Vale, but Andarna isn’t exactly common knowledge, either. “Be aware of him at all times,” Tairn warns.

And now you pull some possessive, jealous, whose-jacket-is-that bullshit just because your cousin knew I was so panicked that I wouldn’t stop for my own flight leathers?”

“I’m not mad at you for not being hurt. I would never want you hurt. I’m pissed at myself for being so reckless, so wrapped up in you, having such little control over my emotions that I just ran after you like…like…” Like a lovesick little fool. “And you, you’re always calm, collected, and in control. You would have waited for all the information, and you sure as hell never, ever would have let Sgaeyl’s emotions take over—”