Iron Flame (The Empyrean, #2)

by Rebecca Yarros

“Dragons don’t take orders from humans.” Power rises within me, humming beneath my skin and making my fingers buzz. “Of course not.” His grin widens like I’ve said something funny. “But you do, don’t you?” “Impudent human,” Tairn seethes. I lift my chin, knowing there’s nothing more I can say about this without disciplinary action. “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.

“You know it’s not like that for him,” he says in a lecturing tone that reminds me of Xaden. “I’ve never seen him—” “Let’s not do this.” “—care like this—” “No really. Stop.” “—and that includes Catriona.” My gaze whips toward him. “Who the hell is Catriona?” He winces and presses his lips in a thin line. “What are the chances that you’ll forget I said that between here and Samara?” “None.” I stumble on a rock, or my feelings, but manage to catch my balance. Physically, at least. My thoughts? Those are tripping over themselves down the path of wondering who Catriona is. An older rider? Someone from Aretia? “Right.” He rubs the back of his neck and sighs.

“What do we do if they try to stop us?” I ask Tairn. “Feast.” Gross.

“We’re done here.” He tosses the book onto the pile of clothing. “See you in forty-eight hours, Cadet Sorrengail. And don’t forget—since your feathertail decided not to join you for formation again, I will be pondering your punishment for dereliction of duty while you are gone.” And with that threat, the trio walks away, the mage lights winking off one by one as they pass, leaving us in the dark again except for the circle of light directly above us. “You knew that was going to happen.” I glare at Bodhi before crouching in front of my discarded things, packing them back into the bag. “That’s why you insisted on walking me out.” “In addition to the very real attempts on all of our lives—Imogen and Eya were attacked today, too, coming out of a briefing for third-years—we suspected they’d search you but wanted to confirm,” he admits, dropping down to help.

“Good thing they didn’t search me,” Tairn says. “Are we carrying…” I blink twice. “We are,” he confirms. “Now get in the saddle before they change their minds and I’m forced to incinerate your leadership. Later I’ll have more than a few words for the wingleader about not preparing you, trust me.” Taking a second to secure my pack, too, I settle in for the flight, dragging the leather across my thighs and strapping in. “Let’s get to them,” I say once I’m buckled. Tairn backs up a few steps, no doubt to keep Bodhi clear, and then launches into the night, every wingbeat taking us closer to the front lines…and Xaden.

Sgaeyl watched me kill another cadet for bullying Garrick during Threshing. She says she chose me for my ruthlessness, but I think I just reminded her of my grandfather. —Recovered Correspondence of Lieutenant Xaden Riorson to Cadet Violet Sorrengail

“There’s only one pass for lieutenants this weekend,” she says, moving a little closer. “Jarrett has it, and Riorson wants it.” “So they’re fighting for it?” I peel my eyes from Xaden long enough to glance sideways at the rider beside me. She has short brown hair, sharp, birdlike features, and a thumbprint-size scar on her jawline. “Leave and pride. Lieutenant Colonel Degrensi’s rules. You want it? You fight for it. You want to keep it? You’d better be good enough to defend it.” “They have to fight for passes? Isn’t that brutal?” And wrong. Extreme. Horrible. “And detrimental to wing morale?” He’s fighting so Sgaeyl will have time off to spend with Tairn, so he’ll have time with me. “Brutal? Hardly.” She scoffs. “No blades. No signets. It’s just a fistfight. You want to see brutal, go and visit one of the coastal outposts with nothing to do but turn on one another.” She leans forward and shouts as Xaden deflects the next punch, then grabs Jarrett by the biceps and throws him to his back. “Damn. I really thought Jarrett was going to take him in less time.” A slow, proud smile spreads across my face. “He won’t take him at all.” I shake my head, staring at Xaden with more than a little delight as he waits for Jarrett to gain his feet. “Xaden’s playing with him.”

“Stop playing around and end it,” I say through our bond, using it for the first time since Resson. “Always so violent.” He thumbs a drop of blood off the split in his lower lip, his gaze flashing to mine, and I swear I see a hint of a smile before he turns on Jarrett. Jarrett swings once, then twice, missing Xaden both times. 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. “Damn,” the rider next to me says. “Exactly.” Is it wrong to smirk? Because I can’t seem to control my facial muscles. Xaden stands back as the riders fall silent in the chamber, and then he extends his hand. Jarrett’s chest heaves for a tense minute before he looks up at Xaden and shoves away the offered hand.

“Twenty-four,” he corrects her, his eyes on me. “I only need twenty-four hours. Jarrett can have the other twenty-four.” Because I’ll be gone. “Suit yourself.” She clamps Jarrett on the shoulder in consolation as he walks by, then follows him out. We’re alone. “You’re early,” Xaden says, but the look in his eyes is anything but condemnation. I lift a brow and try to ignore the way my palms itch to touch him. “Is that a complaint?” “No.” He shakes his head slowly. “I just wasn’t expecting you until noon.” “Turns out Tairn flies pretty damned fast when he’s not being held back by a riot.” Gods, why is it so hard to breathe suddenly? The air between us is thick, and my heart thrums as my gaze wanders to his mouth. He’s killed people for me before, so why is him fighting for a weekend pass stripping every ounce of self-control straight out of my bloodstream? “Violet.” Xaden’s voice drops to that low, quiet tone he only ever uses when we’re alone, and usually naked. Very naked. “Hmmm?” Gods, I miss the feel of all his skin against all of mine. “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.

That you’re human. “I’m about three seconds away from carrying you up to my bedroom to continue this conversation.” His hand slides along my jaw, his thumb caressing my lower lip. “Not your room.” I shake my head. “You. Me. Bed. Not a good idea at the moment.” Too tempting. “As I remember—which I do, often—we don’t always need a bed.” His other hand palms my waist. My thighs clench. “Violet?” I cannot kiss this man. I can’t. But would it really be the end of the world if I did? It’s not like it would be the first time. Shit. I’m going to break. Even if it’s only for this moment. “Hypothetically, if I wanted you to kiss me but only kiss me—” I start. His mouth is on mine before I finish. Yes. This is exactly what I need. My lips part for him, and there’s no hesitation in the glide of his tongue against mine. He groans, and the sound reverberates through my very bones as I wrap my arms around his neck. Home. Gods, he tastes like home.

“Like a moth to a damned flame.” The lament slips from my mind, into our mental pathway. He’s gravity, pulling me back to him by the force of his existence. “I’m more than willing to let you burn me.” Wait, that’s not what I meant—

“We should stop.” “What if I don’t want to?” The physical sound that leaves me is pure denial. I’m not ready for this to end, not ready to return to the reality where we’re not together, even if I’m the one standing in our way. “We have to, or I won’t be able to keep to the only kiss limitation of your hypothetical question.” His hand drifts to my ass as his mouth softens, drawing on my lower lip with one last, lingering kiss. “Fuck, I want you.” “Then don’t stop.” I look him in the eyes so he knows I mean it. “We can keep it to nothing but sex. We did last year… Not that it worked well.” “Violet.” It’s part plea, part moan, and the war in his eyes makes my chest tighten. “You have no idea how badly I want to peel these pants off your amazing ass and fuck you until you’re hoarse from screaming my name, so limp from orgasms that you can’t fathom leaving my bed ever again, and every tree around here goes up in flames from lightning strikes.” His hand slides from behind my head to the nape of my neck. “Until you remember exactly how good we are together.” “I never forgot.” It’s a whimper. My body is still humming. “I’m not talking about physically.” He leans in and kisses me softly. It’s sweet. Tender. Everything I don’t want to feel. Not when it comes to him.

“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.” I stare at him, my mouth dropping open slightly. He’s not asking to hear that I want him. He wants to hear that I love him. “It’s new territory for me, too.” He rakes his hands through his hair. “No one is more surprised than I am, trust me.” “I’m sorry, but weren’t you the one last year who said we could have all the sex we wanted as long as we kept feelings out of it?” I fold my arms across my chest. “See? Fucking fool.” He looks up at the rough-beamed ceiling like it has the answers. “Last year, I would have used any method it took to win you back, but for those three days you were unconscious, all I did was sit there and watch you sleep, thinking of everything I would have done differently.” Determination is etched on every line of his face when he brings his gaze back to mine. “This is me doing things differently.” Somehow in the last month, we’ve managed to switch roles.

Gods, my body feels like it’s cooking itself alive. I reach for the buttons on my flight jacket and yank them open, letting some of the infernal heat escape. “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.” Not quite a lie. Right? “I’ve never seen her produce more than twenty-six strikes in an hour, Major. 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 wyvern. If he’s the picture of control, then maybe I should be glad I don’t seem to have any. “All it takes is her slipping in her grounding, or exhausting her physically, and she will burn out,” Carr warns, his gaze shifting nervously. “Punishing her for insubordination is one thing, but killing her is quite another.” “Again.” Varrish lifts his brows at me. “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?” My shoulders drop and my stomach hits the ground. “This is an example of what happens when dragons choose poorly,” Tairn counters. “Solas should never have given this barbarian more power.” “I don’t want to submit he...

“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?” Andarna growls in pure frustration. Tairn angles his wing, directing the cooling wind over my scalding skin. “Well?” Varrish asks, tugging his cloak around him as steam rises from my body. Tairn snarls. “Humans do not command dragons, and that includes you.” I lift my impossibly heavy arms and reach for power again.

“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.” “Ah yes, that pesky mating bond.” Varrish clicks his tongue and cocks his head to the side, studying me like I’m nothing but an experiment for him to play with. “One more. Just to prove that you can listen to orders if your dragon will not.” “Silver One—” “I can do it.” I stumble to my feet and pray my shoulder will hold if I tuck my elbow in tight to my body. For Andarna, for the other hatchlings protected in the Vale, I can do it. My muscles shake and cramp, and my shoulder screams as though there’s a dagger in the joint, but I raise my palms and reach for Tairn’s power anyway. I make the connection and let the energy flood through me one more time. I wield, and lightning crashes. But my arms cramp as the strike hits the nearest peak, the muscles twisting and bunching in an unnatural way, causing me to physically hold the power I usually release right away. Fuck! I can’t let it go! “Silver One!” Tairn shouts.

After a minute, I find the strength to hold the blanket myself. At least my muscles are working again. Longing rips through me as I stare up at the tree, its wide trunk, which I know bears the scar from two knife marks. I want Xaden. It’s illogical. He couldn’t have stopped Varrish. I don’t need his protection. I don’t need him to carry me back to the dorms. I just…want him. He’s the only person I want to talk to about what happened on that mountain. “I think we need to get her back to the dorms,” Imogen says. “I’ll handle it,” Bodhi promises, capturing my gaze. “This won’t happen to you again.” “Tell the humans that I will handle dragon matters,” Tairn says. “How—” “You will trust me.” It’s an order. “Tairn says he’ll take care of it.” I rock forward and force myself to my feet. Bodhi catches my shoulders gently, wincing when I grimace. “I’m ready. Let’s go.” “Can you walk?” he asks. I nod, looking past him to the tree. “I miss him,” I whisper. “Yeah. Me too.” No one carries me. They simply stay at my side, step by step, as we make our way up the hundreds of stairs that spiral through the foundation walls and back to the dorms, our footsteps the only sound breaking the silence around us. Because no one wants to say what we’re all thinking… If Andarna doesn’t show up at the next formation, Varrish’s second punishment might just kill me.

“Definitely.” Sloane takes a fighting stance against Jacek. “Glutton for punishment, that one,” Imogen says. “It’s like she wants to have the shit kicked out of her.” “I don’t understand.” Aaric shifts ahead of me, his back blocking the view, and I maneuver to see the mat. “I thought everyone marked was trained to fight.” “Depends on where we were fostered.” Imogen moves forward with me. “And after Xaden started to climb the ranks…well, some of the families in charge stopped training us, according to what I’m hearing from the first-years. Good thing she wasn’t on the challenge board this week.”

“I’ve offered to help her,” Imogen says quietly. “She won’t take it.” “Why the hell not?” I catch my knife, flipping it with total muscle memory. Imogen sighs. “No fucking clue, but her stubbornness is going to get her killed.” I watch Liam’s sister struggle under Jacek’s weight, her face splotchy and red from the exertion, and blow out a slow, resigned breath, my fist closing around the hilt of the dagger. The unspoken rule of the quadrant is to let the strong weed out the weak before they can become a liability to the wing. As a rider, I should walk away. I should let Sloane rise or fall on her own merits. But as Liam’s friend, there’s no way I can stand by and watch her die. “Not on Monday, she won’t.” “You suddenly develop Melgren’s signet over there?” Imogen retorts, tucking a chin-length strand of pink hair behind her ear. “I’m calling it!” Rhi shouts, ending the match, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Not exactly.”

“Violet! I thought you said you had it down? We could have studied again this morning. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me you need help.” Isn’t that the truth. “Just remember, you need two out of three elements when pulling any flight maneuver,” she recites as Sawyer takes a bite out of an apple and opens the gym door for us. “Velocity, power, or…” I scan the first floor of the academic wing as we walk down the hall, my gaze scouring every alcove, every classroom door for someone who might jump out at us. “Violet?” Wrenching my focus from the stairwell ahead, I find Rhi giving me an expectant look. Right. She’s asking me about physics and aerodynamics. “Altitude,” Sawyer answers. “Right.” I nod as we step into the stairwell. “Altitude.” “You’re killing me—” Rhiannon starts. “Now!” someone shouts from behind us. Before I can react, a bag is thrown over my head, and with one breath, I’m unconscious.

“At least it’s not an assassination attempt.” If it was, we’d be dead, especially as fuzzy as I feel. “It will be if we aren’t back at Basgiath when Sgaeyl arrives tomorrow.” Oh. Shit. “This can’t last longer than a day.” Can it? “If it does, you should fly back alone.”

“This is the shortest course you’ll be conquering together this year, so try to get to know one another. Fourth Wing, you’re attached to fourth squad.” She looks around, and one of the cadets directly ahead raises his hand. “And Second Wing, you’re attached to second squad, just to make it easy.” A cadet raises her hand on the left. “Your objective is to find the location marked on the maps and secure it. Once you do, you’ll be extracted.” It can’t be that easy. Professor Grady holds out the maps, and Rhiannon steps forward, taking both and handing one to Tomas. One of the infantry cadets starts to step forward but stills. “Two maps,” Professor Grady says. “Two teams but one cohesive unit. You’re not used to working together. You weren’t even warned you would be. But keeping Navarre safe requires teamwork between the segments of our military. There are times in your careers when you’ll need someone you can trust in the air or on the ground, and those bonds are forged here at Basgiath.” He looks between our groups. “We’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.” Tomorrow afternoon?

When Grady reaches the end of our section, he turns, moving backward. “Oh, and did I mention that there are two groups of you out here? The other is on the far side of the forest, and while your dragons will be hunting them, their dragons are hunting you. A few unbondeds joined, too.” The fuck? My stomach hollows. Almost every infantry cadet looks faint, and one wobbles where he stands. “Infantry, the riders are going to need to lean on your land nav expertise, but you won’t live without them should you encounter a dragon.” Grady looks the eight of us in the eye as he backs away. “Try and see that most of them make it out of here, will you?” He flashes a grin and turns around, walking into the forest with the infantry professor, leaving us in the middle of the fucking woods without supplies or our dragons. We stare at the infantry squad. The infantry squad stares at us. The healers look comically uncomfortable, and the scribe already has a notebook out, pencil at the ready. “Well, this should be a good time had by all,” Ridoc mutters. “Did he insinuate that we could die?” the smaller of the healers asks, his olive skin paling. “Piss off the dragons and find out,” Sawyer replies. “You’ll be all right”—I look for his name tag—“Dyre.”

“What do we do if we come across a dragon?” she asks. “First we choose a sacrifice,” Ridoc says. “And then we offer it and run.” Her eyes flare wide. “Don’t be an asshole.” I elbow him in the arm. “Depends on the color, but a good rule of thumb is to lower your eyes and back away,” I tell the infantry cadet. “But we can usually hear them coming.” “Then prepare to be digested,” Cohen adds. “Oh gods,” the brunette whispers. “You are now my favorite year-mate.” Ridoc throws an arm over his shoulder. “Can I see your map?” Brisa asks from the rear of the formation. “Don’t you have your own?” Calvin retorts. Rhi’s head whips toward him. “Give it to her or I cut it out of your hands.” He glares at Rhi but passes it back so we can get it to Brisa.

A guy behind me asks, “Are all scribes this quiet?” “It’s my job to record, not participate,” she answers. “Not participating will still get you eaten by a dragon,” he argues. I assure her, my eyes never leaving his, “I’d never let a scribe get eaten by a dragon.”

“Vi?” I look back. “Something is going on with you,” she says quietly, but there’s no mistaking the steel in her tone. “I haven’t so much as seen Andarna since you returned, you’re running with Imogen of all people, you won’t open up about whatever’s up with you and Xaden, and you won’t talk about War Games. You might think that I don’t notice that you’re pulling away from everyone, but I do. You barely eat with us, and every chance we get to sneak into Chantara, you’re holed up in your room reading.” She shakes her head, running her hand along the grass. “If you’re not ready to talk, to tell me what’s going on with you, I want you to know that’s all right—”

“Please tell me you got to see Sgaeyl?” I ask, summoning the energy to mount. Not sure how, but I manage to climb to his back and settle into the saddle. “I did for a couple of hours. That’s all the time I was willing to be out of range from you, and only after Baide left.” “And they’re already gone, right?” Why does it feel like my heart is breaking all over again? Missing Xaden is illogical and annoying and kind of pathetic, but I can’t make the feeling ebb. “We will see them in a week.” So why does every instinct I have scream we won’t?

Her eyes widen. “He was killed?” I nod. “A few days after we saw Markham take him.” Her face turns the same shade as her robes. “He was looking for an account of a border attack that doesn’t exist. I told him there’s no such record, but he came back three times, certain there was because he’d had family killed in the event. I recorded the request and sent it up my chain of command, thinking it would help him, but…” She shakes her head and drops her hands, blinking back tears. “It’s not your fault,” I sign, but she doesn’t respond, and it hits me that I could have been hauled away by Markham last year, but I wasn’t.

“You’re looking for something. I knew it the second you lied about preparing for a debate.” She searches my eyes. “You’re a horrible liar, Violet.” I laugh. “I’m working on it.”

“When it’s quiet.” I nod in understanding, my stomach flipping with a mixture of hope and fear that I’m going to get her hurt…or worse. Glancing over her shoulder, I see Aoife walking our way. “Aoife is coming,” I sign, keeping my hands where the other scribe can’t see them. “Thank you.” “But there’s something I want in return,” she signs quickly, angling her back so Aoife won’t see. “Name it.”

“You think Sloane has a shot?” Rhi asks on Monday as we watch the first round of challenges be called out. My stomach churns with nausea like I’m the one who’s going to be summoned to the mat. Fuck, I’d actually feel better if it was my name I knew they were going to call instead of Sloane’s. “She’ll win,” I answer truthfully.

“And when he walked out of that secretive room he’s got with Varrish in the back of the infirmary, he was with an air wielder who looked just as haggard,” Ridoc chimes in as he sidles up between us. “So clearly Nolon isn’t doing his best work. Guy needs a month off.” Aaric delivers a punch to his opponent’s jaw that makes the guy’s head snap back. “I give that a seven,” Ridoc heckles from the sidelines. “Out of ten? Solid eight,” Sawyer counters from the other side of Rhiannon. “Perfect form.” Then he lowers his voice and adds just for the four of us, “And I’m still going with the torture theory. I bet they’ve got gryphon riders in there or something.” “You think he’s really torturing people back there?” Rhiannon says, lowering her voice even more. “I have no clue.” I blink as Aaric elbows his opponent in the throat with a quick jab that even Xaden would respect. “I would think they’d use the main interrogation chambers if they were doing something like that. The ones beneath the school.” “That’s a fucking nine,” Sawyer calls out.

“Get up, Sloane!” I yell, looking her dead in the eye. Dasha falls back on her ass, blinks rapidly, her head wobbling as if she’s been at the pub for the evening. Sloane rolls to her side and plants her palms on the mat. “Now,” I order her. Anger fills her eyes, and she lunges forward toward Dasha. Dasha’s fist curls, but her swing doesn’t make contact as Sloane buries her shoulder in Dasha’s stomach. At that angle, she had to have knocked the breath out of her. Good. She only has another moment. Maybe two. Sloane scrambles behind Dasha and then yanks her up and into the weakest chokehold I’ve ever seen. But hey, if it works. “Yield!” Sloane demands.

“What did you do?” Imogen whispers without looking at me. “What needed to be done.” We both stand as the first-years do, but unlike them, we don’t stumble as we gain our feet. “You sound like Xaden,” Imogen says. My gaze swings toward her. “Relax. It’s a compliment.” She smiles. “Liam is immeasurably grateful right now.” I swallow past the lump in my throat.

“Ouch.” Imogen points to her right eye as she approaches. “That’s going to swell shut.” “I won, didn’t I?” Her voice shakes. “You won because I took Dasha out for you.” I keep my voice low and spread my palm wide open, where there’s a trace amount of the shimmering powder left on my skin. “No.” She shakes her head. “I won that fair and square.” “Gods, do I wish that were true.” I huff out a breath. “Ardyce powder, when combined with an earlier dose of ground lillybelle, disorients someone for a minute—maybe two, depending on the dose. Similar to being drunk. Alone, they’re mildly upsetting to the stomach. Together?” I lift my eyebrows. “They kept you alive.” Sloane’s mouth opens and shuts once. Twice. “Damn.” Imogen grins, rocking back on her heels as cadets shuffle past, heading for the door. “Is that how you got through those first challenges last year? Devious, Sorrengail. Fucking brilliant, but devious.” “I did that for your brother,” I tell Sloane, keeping eye contact even though the hatred shining through hers hurts like hell. “He was one of my closest friends, and I promised him while he was fucking dying that I’d look after you. So here I am, looking after you.” “I don’t need—”

“Wrong tactic,” Imogen lectures. “‘Thank you’ is appropriate.” “I’m not thanking her,” she seethes, her eyes narrowing on me. “He’d be here if not for you.” “That’s some bullshit!” Imogen snaps. “Xaden ordered—” “You’re right,” I interrupt. “He would. And I miss him every single day. And because of the love I have for him, it’s okay that you hate me. You can think whatever you need to about me if it gets you through the day, Sloane. But you’re going to train. You’re going to accept help.” “If it’s Malek’s will that I join my brother, then so be it. Liam didn’t need help,” she retorts, but there’s a touch of fear in her eyes that lets me know most of this is bluster. “He made it on his own.” “No, he didn’t,” Imogen argues. “Violet saved his life during War Games. He fell off Deigh’s back, and it was Violet and Tairn who flew after him and caught him.” Sloane’s lips part. “Here’s the deal.” I take a step closer to Sloane. “You’re going to train so you don’t get yourself killed. Not with me. I don’t need to be part of your development era. But you will meet with Imogen every single day if that’s what she wants, because I have something you want.” “I highly doubt that.” She crosses her arms, but the effect is ruined by the rapid swelling of her eye. “I have fifty of the letters Liam wrote for you.” Her eyes widen. “Oh shit.” Imogen’s head jerks toward mine. “Seriously?” “Seriously.” I don’t look away from Sloane. “And at the end of every week that you attend and participate in...

Jesinia brings me The Unabridged History of the First Six the next day, which is not only a three-hundred-year-old text but marked Classified in the endpapers, and I keep my side of the deal, handing over The Fables of the Barren.

“She is safe within the deepest stage of the Dreamless Sleep. You should be able to see her in a few weeks,” Tairn says. “That’s what you said last week.” I mount quickly, my pulse settling as I strap into the saddle. “Before last year, I never would have considered that the safest place in the world was on the back of a dragon.” “Before last year, I might have seen you as an appetizer.” He rolls his shoulders and launches. When I get to Samara, I understand why Varrish warned that I’d see why he’d noted our lack of flight maneuvers. I might be here, but Xaden is on twenty-four-hour duty in the operations center. And I don’t have clearance.

Well, in that case. “One, Xaden told me to keep my distance if I couldn’t lie to them, and two, between the land nav course—which we failed—and his duty schedule, I think leadership is keeping us apart as a punishment for not producing Andarna. And it’s coded, but he says the same in the letter he left on his bed for me.” A letter that quickly became my favorite because it delves into what his life had been like before the rebellion. It also makes me wonder what he’d be like if that was still the reality he was living in. “That’s just…weird,” Imogen says, her brow furrowing as her gaze scans the hallway for threats. “It is.” I do the same, watching every pair of hands I can see. “The timing of the last two weeks is just too coincidental for it not to be on purpose.” “Oh no, that part is completely understandable.” She side-eyes me. “Separating you two would be my first move if I was in a position of power. On your own, you’re both capable of terrifying things with those signets. Together? You’re a fucking menace. I mean it’s weird that he’s writing you letters.” “Why? I think it’s…sweet.” “Exactly. Does he strike you as a letters kind of guy?” She shakes her head. “He’s not even a talking kind of guy.” “We’re trying to work on our communication.”

“Can you love someone who refuses to be open with you?” I challenge. “One,” she blatantly mimics me, “we’re not talking about my love life. I have Quinn—my actual friend—for that.” She pins back the longest section of her pink hair with quick, efficient movements. “Two, we keep information classified all the time. You’d have the same problem with any rider you dated.” “That’s not…” Fine, she has a point, but she’s missing mine. “All right, let’s say that you’re with someone, and one day a battle-ax comes hurtling out of his armoire—” “An armoire? I really wish you’d go back to confiding in Rhiannon.” She shakes her head. “—and nearly kills you. Wouldn’t you demand to see the rest of the armoire to make sure there are no other battle-axes poised to strike before getting back together with them?” We’re almost to the lecture hall. “There’s always a battle-ax.” As we pass the doorway, she nods to Eya, who is chatting with Bodhi, and my eyes flare at her black eye and what looks to be a broken nose. “Because that’s normal?” “You didn’t want normal. If you did, you’d be in a relationship with Aetos.” She shudders. “Or hell, anyone else in this place. But you wanted Riorson. If you didn’t think the man was hiding more than a few battle-axes, then you’re mad at the wrong person, because you lied to yourself.”

“You and I have different definitions of the word ‘enjoy.’” He gestures to the books scattered on my floor. “Not really.” I scan the page quickly and flip to the next. “I think spending the day tangled up in that bed together would be enjoyable, but since you drew your line, here I am with boring, sexless books.” “Say those three little words, and I’ll have you naked in seconds.” He looks at me with so much heat that I do a double take when I glance up, my breath catching. “I want you.” All day. Every day. “Those are not the three words I need.” He slides into my mind like a caress. “And why aren’t your shields up?” “Well, those are the words you get without full disclosure.” I rip my gaze away. “And it’s just us in here.” “Hmmm.” He gives me a look I can’t decipher. “I’ll be right back.” “You don’t really smell,” I whisper, loath to let him out of my sight for even a second. “Get any closer, and you’ll take that back.” He leaves, and I do my best to concentrate on the book in front of me and not the thought that he’s about to be naked down the hall. All I have to do is be honest with him about how I feel, and I can have him. His body, at least. But isn’t that all I really had before? Ironic that it’s my truthfulness that can put me out of my own misery when it’s his candor I crave. I guess in that way, we’re alike, both wanting more than the other person is willing to risk. A few minutes later, he walks back in and the room feels instantly smaller, or maybe it’s the jump ...

“Brennan told you we have a wardstone.” His words are clipped, controlled. The shadows begin moving like hands, gathering all the books around me but the one I’m holding and stacking them. “I’m going to fucking kill him.” “Why? Because he’s more forthcoming with me than you are?” I close the book. “Relax, it’s not like he gave me your journal or something.” “I don’t keep one, but that would have been far preferable,” he snaps. “Digging around for information on Navarre’s most classified defense will get you killed.” “Civilians are fleeing for our borders, no one in Navarre knows the truth, and Aretia needs to defend itself—to protect the people I’m guessing you’re prepared to take in when venin inevitably reach Tyrrendor.” I clutch the old tome to my chest. “You are going to take people in, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be an ass.” I yank my hand from his. “Whoa.” Ridoc’s eyebrows rise as I turn toward Xaden. “I’ve done exactly what you asked. I kept everything from my friends.” I glare into the depths of his soul. “So don’t be an asshole to them.” “Exactly what I’ve asked?” He leans down, bringing his face within a breath of mine. “By keeping your research a secret?” My jaw drops. “Are you really going to stand here and compare secrets with me?” “It’s not the same.” He winces. “It’s exactly the same!” I grip the strap of the bag to keep from jabbing him in the chest with my finger. How fucking dare he. “I’m researching the wards for you.” “Why do you think I’m so angry?” The tension in his eyes, his posture, his tone equals mine. “Because you don’t like being on the other side of secrets.” “What the hell is going on?” Sawyer asks from the hallway. “I…uh…” Ridoc scratches the top of his head. “I think they’re fighting.” “That has… How long have you been hiding this from me?” Xaden questions. “They’re not even…speaking,” Rhiannon mutters. “I haven’t hidden shit from you. I’ve simply told you selective truths.” He draws back like I’ve hit him. “Sorry, guys.” I turn to my friends. “Trust me, there’s nothing I would rather do than go to Chantara with you, but unfortunately, I have to run an errand. Next weekend?” “You’ll be in Samara.” Xaden folds his arms across his chest. How is it possible to both love someone and loathe them all in the same moment?

“You would never sit here and do nothing when you could help. Asking me to do differently is just…insulting,” I whisper to him once I know we’re alone in the tunnels. “I’m smart enough to handle myself in the Archives.” “I never said you weren’t brilliant. I never even said your plan wasn’t brilliant. I said you’re putting yourself in danger and I’m just asking you to be honest with me.” Mage lights flicker on as we make our way toward the covered bridge that spans the canyon between the Riders Quadrant and the main college. “Varrish pushed you to near-fucking-burnout, and you didn’t tell me that, either.” His jaw works. “Or that you wielded in the middle of the courtyard after Battle Brief.” “How did you know?” I hadn’t mentioned Varrish in the letter I’d left for him. “You didn’t think Bodhi would tell me?” His shadows stream forward, opening the door, and we head across the enclosed bridge. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the casual way he uses his power. “I hoped he wouldn’t,” I admit. “That’s the shit you need to tell me, Violet.”

Dragons do not answer to the whims of men.

“Varrish looks eerily delighted that Andarna isn’t here.” “I will handle this.” “Right. Of course you are.” Rhi’s mouth curves into a sad glimpse of a smile before she turns away, heading for Feirge, who waits on Tairn’s other side. “Fuck,” I mutter, rubbing the bridge of my nose. No matter what I say right now, it’s always the wrong thing. “She’s never going to forgive me for keeping all this from her once she finds out.” “She will,” he says, his head lowering slightly, but he doesn’t dip his shoulder even as I reach his front left claw. “Humans have the memories of gnats. Dragons hold grudges.” “I’m going to forget you said that,” I tease back. “Be alert.” His head swivels and I turn, unsheathing a dagger in the same moment.

“There will be no punishment!” Tairn roars, and from the abrupt head jerks of the dragons on the field, including Solas, everyone heard him. “It is not within your power to summon a dragon.” It takes a second for thoughts to relay through riders, and Varrish stiffens. “Your dragon may not fall under my command, Sorrengail, but you do. So unless you’d like to further explore that delicate space between burnout and death, you will mount and present yourself—” “Even the smallest dragon does not answer to the most powerful of humans, which you are not.” Tairn snaps his teeth, the sound carrying over the valley. Feirge’s head draws back, and her golden eyes widen. “Andarna does not answer to you.” Tairn stalks forward, his head and chest so low to the ground that he nearly touches my hair, and Varrish retreats. “I do not answer to you.”

Oh shit. This could go very bad very quickly. “But you”—Varrish points at me—“answer to me!” “Does she?” Tairn lunges forward, bypassing Varrish entirely and surging toward Solas with an ear-shattering roar, his morningstar tail lashing the air above me. Solas whips his head toward the ground to guard his most vulnerable area—his neck—but Tairn is faster, bigger, and far stronger. He’s already there, his enormous jaw locked around Solas’s throat. I gasp as Tairn’s massive fangs sink between the joints of Solas’s scales, piercing his neck, and Kaori sprints to get out of the battleground. Varrish turns and stiffens as crimson rivulets run over Solas’s orange neck scales, dripping off several of the ridges. “Tairn…” What will the Empyrean do to him if he kills Solas? “Only a rider can be the vice commandant of Basgiath,” Tairn warns, and Solas lets out a sound that’s half roar, half shriek. “Without a dragon, you are no rider.” Oh gods. My heart lurches, the beat rushing to a gallop. “Fine!” Varrish shouts, his fists balled at his side. “She will not pay a price for her dragon’s refusal to attend.” “Not good enough.” Tairn’s teeth reach the edges of Solas’s scales as I watch in slack-jawed horror. “This is about you.” Solas half roars, causing his blood to pour even faster down his exposed neck as he whips his tail toward Tairn, but he’s half Tairn’s size and has no hope of making contact, thank Dunne.

“Apologize,” Tairn demands, his voice low and sharp. “I’m sorry!” Varrish’s voice breaks. “Apologize to the one Andarna deemed worthy of her bond.” I try to swallow, but my mouth has gone dry. “Did he really just…” Rhiannon whispers. “I think so.” I nod. “His apology isn’t necessary to me, Tairn. Really. I’m happy to just not die today.” “It is necessary to me, Silver One.” His voice rumbles in my head. “I speak for Andarna while she is in the Dreamless Sleep.” Varrish pivots toward me, hatred and terror filling his gaze. “I am…sorry. It is not in my authority to summon any dragon.” “On your knees.” Rhiannon sucks in a breath, and Varrish hits his knees. “You have my most sincere apology—you and your dragon. Both of your dragons.” “I accept.” My gaze darts frantically to Tairn’s. “I accept!” I shout just in case he didn’t hear me mentally. Tairn dislodges his jaw with a wet, sucking sound as his fangs slip free of Solas’s neck, and he retreats with arrogant footfalls, not even bothering to lower his head or protect his throat. Rhiannon and I fall into the shade as Tairn blocks out the sun overhead. And Varrish stares at me with a hatred so bitter I can taste it on the back of my tongue as Solas launches behind him with a roar aimed in my direction—or Tairn’s—leaving behind pools of blood on the grass below. Only once Solas is clear of the flight field does Varrish rise to his feet, and I don’t need words to hear him loud and clear as he sends one last, lethal look my way a...

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