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“Decision was simple. She’s worth a dozen of me,”
I’ve danced with Malek more than my fair share over this last year and told him to fuck right off every single time.
“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.
“I’m more than willing to let you burn me.”
“You still don’t trust me, and that’s all right. I told you I’m not in this for a battle. I’m winning the damned war. I’m a fucking fool for saying this, but when haven’t I been a fool when it comes to you?”
“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.”
“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’ve never moved anything as big as you, but I bet my signet could put you in the ground without even disturbing the dirt if I’m pissed enough.”
“We are the weapons, and this place is the stone they use to sharpen us.”
I’m striving to be better for you just like I promised, but I need you to know that monster is still there, screaming to use every ruthless part of me to get your words back.
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.
“Violence, remember it’s only the body that’s fragile. You are unbreakable.”
“Oh, good. I was wondering when it was going to start getting dangerous around here again.”
“Just like her brother.”
Truth be told, it’s usually gravity that gets us.
“The only perk I’m getting out of this whole expedition is knowing how much it must pain you to realize you can’t get to her.”
The only signet more terrifying than an inntinnsic is a truth-sayer. And yet we let them live.
“I’m here,” Liam promises. “And I still don’t regret it, Vi. Not one second.”
“I make no such promises.”
“There’s nowhere in existence you could go that I wouldn’t find you, remember?”
“I will happily watch Aretia burn to the fucking ground again if it means you live.”
“I do. I’m sorry if you expect me to do the noble thing. I warned you. I’m not sweet or soft or kind, and you fell anyway. This is what you get, Violet—me. The good, the bad, the unforgivable. All of it. I am yours.” His arm wraps around the small of my back, holding me steady and close. “You want to know something true? Something real? I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been since the night the snow fell in your hair and you kissed me for the first time. I’m grateful my life is tied to yours because it means I won’t have to face a day without you in it. My heart only beats as long as
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It’s Tyrrish for resurrected,”
“Can you carry a luminary?” “That question insults me.” “Can you carry a luminary while insulted?”
“Scratch her eyes out,” Andarna suggests. “Really. The eyes are the softest tissue. Just jab your thumbs in there—” “Andarna! Use some common sense,” Tairn snaps. “The kneecaps are a much easier target.”
Holy shit. She fights like Xaden. He trained both of us.
Initiates have reddish rings to their eyes that come and go depending on how often they drain. Asims’ eyes fluctuate in degrees of red, and their veins distend when riled. Sages’—those responsible for initiates—eyes are permanently red, their veins perpetually distended toward their temples, expanding with age. Mavens—their generals—have never been captured for examination.
“My house. My chair. My woman.”
The breath of life of the six and the one combined and set the stone ablaze in an iron flame.
“Second signets only happen when a dragon bonds a rider in the direct familial line as its previous,”
“Less than a minute,” Xaden whispers as Sgaeyl moves toward him—toward us. “That’s how long it took for you to fall out of love with me.”
“But he is, and I so badly want to be just like him.”
“I waited six hundred and fifty years to hatch. Waited until your eighteenth summer, when I heard our elders talk of the weakling daughter of their general, the girl forecasted to become the head of the scribes, and I knew. You would have the mind of a scribe and the heart of a rider. You would be mine.” She leans into my hand. “You are as unique as I am. We want the same things.”
“Me,” he whispers, a faint, almost indistinguishable red ring emanating from his gold-flecked onyx irises. “You should be scared of me.”

