Iron Flame (The Empyrean, #2)

by Rebecca Yarros

He holds up his hands like he’s under attack, and I glimpse a rune-shaped scar on his palm before he grips the edge of the table.

“Naolin… He was—” His jaw flexes. “Tairn’s previous rider,” I suggest slowly, wondering if he was more than that to Brennan.

His amber-colored eyes meet mine.

“We think the iron box Garrick Tavis found at Resson is some kind of lure, but we had to destroy it before we could fully investigate. A box like it was found in Jahna, already smashed.” He glances my way. “But the craftsmanship is Navarrian.”

Aretia has a dormant wardstone.

A second wardstone? “I thought only one was created during the Unification.”

“But the art of creating new wards is a lost magic, anyway, so it’s basically a glorified statue. Pretty to look at, though.”

Orange Daggertail, Marbh,

Sgaeyl snarls at Brennan, baring her fangs and taking one threatening step in his direction, her claw fully extended in a series of sharp talons. “Hey! That’s my brother,” I warn her, putting myself between them. “She’s aware,” Brennan mutters. “Just doesn’t like me. Never has.”

Her scales are so deeply black they glimmer almost purple—iridescent, really—in the flickering sunlight that filters through the leaves above. The color of a dragon’s scales is hereditary—

“Tails are a matter of choice and need.”

study the coppery streaks in her eyes. Were those always there?

“The First Six riders were desperate to save their people when they approached the dens over six hundred years ago. Those dragons formed the first Empyrean and bonded humans only to protect their hatching grounds from venin, who were the bigger threat. We don’t exactly have opposable thumbs for weaving wards or runes. Neither species has ever been entirely truthful, both using the other for their own reasons and nothing more.” “It never occurred to me to hide anything from you.”

Zihnal to pay the God of Luck

“Secrets make for poor leverage. They die with the people who keep them.”

one-eyed Orange Daggertail

That orange looks temperamental, his gaze darting over the formation as his tail twitches,

Cath digs his red claws into the masonry and leans over Dain’s head, swinging his swordtail behind him in a serpentine motion as he blows a hot breath of steam over the crowd that sours my stomach. Dain really needs to check Cath’s teeth, because there has to be a bone stuck in there decaying or something.

then I’ll take the eye I so graciously left him.”

“I think there’s something going on in the Healer Quadrant,” she says, lowering her voice. “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.”

It is not unheard of that a candidate enters the Riders Quadrant having been paid to assassinate a cadet. I’m sorry Mira was targeted but proud to say she dispatched the threat quickly. You have enemies, General.

“Secrets die with the people who keep them,”

His eyes are light brown but rimmed in red as though he’s on some kind of drug.

A...

“He was probably sent as a message to your mother,” Emetterio says, shaking his head. “Same thing happened to your older sister during her years.”

“It’s ironic, don’t you think?” Varrish asks, retreating one step at a time. “From what Colonel Aetos told me, your father was writing a book on feathertails—dragons which hadn’t been seen in hundreds of years—and then you ended up bonded to one.” “Coincidental,” I correct him. “The word you meant to say is ‘coincidental.’” “Is it?” He seems to ponder, backing away and passing by Bodhi. My stomach turns. “Is it?” “I know nothing of your father’s research,” Tairn promises. But Andarna has gone silent.

palm-size gray stone with a decorative black rune

hazy golden eyes

Nolon couldn’t even see them until after dinner, and there were only a handful of other cadets in the infirmary.”

“Green dragons, especially those descending from the line of Cruaidhuaine, have an especially stable connection to magic, which some believe is a result of their more reasonable, defensive nature,”

Answers are supposed to follow questions. That’s how my life has always worked. Until now, there’s never been a question I couldn’t answer after a few hours in the Archives, and now I’m not sure I can trust any answers I do find there. Nothing makes sense.

The buzzing rises to a hum as energy gathers, pushing at my skin, looking for an outlet.

Awareness spreads through every part of my body as I lock eyes with him.

It’s hard work, mending a soul. Been at it for months now.”

“Told you, I’m harder than most,”

“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. You might not be able to barge through, but you’re aware I’m there. Just like you can muffle Tairn’s and Andarna’s emotions but you can’t lock them out forever.”

The wave of death halts and the wind falls silent, as if he’s stopped time.

white of his scalp under his slicked-back, thinning hair. Shadows mark the gaunt hollows of his cheekbones on an eerily youthful face, and his lips are cracked and dry, just like the land behind me, but it’s his red-rimmed eyes, the distended veins spiderwebbing across his temples and cheeks, that have me fighting to open my mouth, straining to scream. Venin.

“There is no escaping me, rider,” he whispers, his fingers ghosting over my cheek but not quite touching. “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.”

What the hell is our vice commandant’s signet?

your particular skills could be of use?

scribe cadet walks by, but I can’t see who it is with the hood up. That’s odd. Usually they’re only in the quadrant for death roll or whenever Markham needs extra people.

“Tairn told me he felt Sgaeyl get very angry last night,” I say over my shoulder to Bodhi as we continue walking. “Anything I should know about?”

Professor Devera folds hers with quick, precise movements and pockets it.

Menders are not healers. Healers are bound to the Code of Chricton, sworn to aide all in time of need and never to harm a beating heart. Menders are riders. They’re only sworn to the Codex. They can as easily bring harm as heal.

No game.” That last word is said with a sideways glance at Markham.

While no riders were killed in the assault”—her gaze snaps to mine—“there was one rider severely wounded.” No. The denial is sharp and fast. Rage and terror pump through my veins. Professor Devera lifts her hand and scratches the left side of her neck before looking away. “What questions would you ask?” The left side of her neck. Right where Xaden’s relic is.

gryphon riders are not capable of producing signets, they are not powerless. In fact, some would argue that they’ve honed lesser magic, especially mindwork,

“Maybe you struggle,” Varrish snips, losing his customary slick indifference. “Some of us do not bow to the whims of our dragons. In fact, we influence them.”

“Well, that’s certainly a theory worth contemplating.” Kaori pauses, waiting for a reply that doesn’t come. “Odd. Would that mean you influenced Solas when he set fire to that squad of bonded riders after Parapet?”