Iron Flame (The Empyrean, #2)

by Rebecca Yarros

I’ll never push another library cart with Liam.

💔

Garrick has always been my best friend. His father was my father’s aide, which in a way makes him my Dain, except trustworthy.

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

“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.”

“Fine. You can come with me if you agree not to scare her.” “I can’t control her feelings.” He scoffs. I arch a single brow. “I just want to meet her.” He lifts his hands, palms outward. “So you can see if she’s trustworthy? By looking at her? Even you aren’t that powerful.” I open the door and step out into the hallway. “Let’s go.” “I’ll know. I’m an incredible judge of character.” He walks out after me, pulling the door closed.

In the years after my father died, I forgot what it felt like to be loved. Then I entered the quadrant and became the monster everyone needed me to be, and I never regretted it. But then you gave those words to me, and I remembered…and nearly lost you, too. 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.

“What’s alloy made of?” I ask, heady with the knowledge that I can keep Dain out. “An amalgamation of Talladium, a few other ores, and dragon egg shells.” I blink with surprise, both at his answer and the fact that he told me. “Dragon egg shells?” Well that’s…weird. “They’re metal and still carry magic long after the dragons hatch.” His

“You want to give me those three little words?” I stiffen. “I thought not. Sleep, Violet.” His arm tightens around me. “You love me,” he whispers. “Stop reminding me. I thought we agreed not to fight tonight.” I snuggle in deeper, his warmth lulling me into that sweet middle space between wakefulness and oblivion. “Maybe you’re not the one I’m reminding.”

“Violence, remember it’s only the body that’s fragile. You are unbreakable.” “Unbreakable,”

“I’m not always calm or collected, and I’m never in control when it comes to you.”

“I would have done the same thing you did because I’m just as reckless for you as you are for me.”

Shit. What is this? Jealousy? Anxiety? Insecurity? “All three,” Tairn responds in utter annoyance. “To which I will remind you that not a single dragon chose her. You were selected by two. Pull yourself together.”

“But at one point Xaden chose her.” I lean into the right bank as Tairn hugs the face of the mountain, continuing to climb. “And at one point, you thought gruel was a satisfactory meal, until you grew some teeth and found the rest of the world’s food waiting. Now cease this line of thinking. It does not serve to make you stronger.”

“You need to hydrate. You’re all dried out from the flight.” “Our departure was more my fault than yours. I will not stand for you to bear my punishment.” “Stop being sweet. It’s disturbing.”

“Do you know what my signet is, Cadet Sorrengail? Why it is I’m so good in this room? It’s classified, but we’re all friends here, aren’t we?” I stare at him but don’t reply. “I don’t see people.” He tilts his head and studies me. “I see their weaknesses. It’s a great advantage in battle.

“I’m here,” Liam promises. “And I still don’t regret it, Vi. Not one second.” Wetness tracks down my cheeks.

“There’s nowhere in existence you could go that I wouldn’t find you, remember?”

“You’ll lose everything you’ve worked for.” My voice breaks. “Because of me.” “Then I’ll have everything I need.” He lowers his face, leaning in so he’s all I see, all I feel. “I will happily watch Aretia burn to the fucking ground again if it means you live.”

“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 yours does, and when you die, I’ll meet Malek at your side. It’s a damned good thing that you love me, too, because you’re stuck with me in this life and every other that could possibly follow.”

And for the first time in my life, I feel weak. That’s what that monster did to me in this room. He took my strength. “But he didn’t break you, Violet,” Liam says softly from the corner of the room, and my chest squeezes tight as he takes a step back toward the shadows. Then another.

I’d already lost one child keeping our borders safe, and I wasn’t willing to lose another. Why did you think I forced you into the Riders Quadrant?” “Because you think less of the scribes,” I answer. “Bullshit. The love of my life was a scribe.” Steadily, we climb, twisting along the staircase. “I put you into the Riders Quadrant so you’d have a shot at surviving, and then I called in the favor Riorson owed me for putting the marked ones into the quadrant.” I stop as the door at the Archives level comes into view. “You did what?” She didn’t just say what I think she did. She tilts her head to look me in the eye. “It was a simple transaction. He wanted the marked ones to have a chance. I gave him the quadrant—as long as he took responsibility for them—in return for a favor to be named at a later date. You were that favor. If you survived Parapet on your own, all he had to do was see that no one killed you outside of challenges or your own naivete your first year, which he did. Quite a miracle, considering what Colonel Aetos put you through during War Games.”

It all clicks into place. That night at the tree last year when he should have killed me for catching the meeting of the marked ones. The challenge where he had every opportunity to exact his revenge on my mother by ending me—and instructed me instead. Nearly intervening at Threshing... My ribs feel like they’re cracking all over again. He’s never had a choice when it came to me. His life—the lives of those he holds dearest—has always been tied to mine. And suddenly, I have to know. “Are those your knife marks on his back?” “Yes.” Her tone is bland. “It’s a Tyrrish cust—” “Stop talking.”

And as for Violet”—he lets go of my hand and rips at the buttons of his flight jacket, then tugs his neckline down, exposing the scar on his chest—“if you want to confine her, question her, then it’s me you start with. I bear the responsibility for her and any decision she makes. Remember?” Gravity shifts as I stare at that thin silver line and its precise edges. It’s… gods, it’s the same length as the ones on his back. Xaden isn’t responsible for just the marked ones anymore; he’s responsible for me. Responsible for my choices, my loyalties—not to Navarre, like the marked ones, but to Aretia. Imogen tried to tell me that day on the flight field, but I didn’t pick up on it. “When did you do that?” I ask. “About two seconds after I put you in Brennan’s arms after Resson.”

“What else aren’t you telling me?” There’s no way he’d have cut her out of the conversation unless he was worried about my reaction to the information— or hers. “What she herself has not recognized.” He lowers his head, his great golden eyes locking with mine. “She’ll fly, but she’ll never bear a rider.”

“She makes a good point,” Andarna agrees. “Can you carry a luminary?” “That question insults me.” “Can you carry a luminary while insulted?” she prods. Tairn growls.

“So what are the Sorrengail siblings going to do now that you’re all reunited?” Xaden asks, lifting his head to look at my family. “We’re going to beat the shit out of our brother,” Mira answers with a smile. “Survive,” Brennan chimes in.

“It’s a conduit,” Felix explains. “Lightning may appear from various sources, but Tairn channels his power through you. You are the vessel. You are the pathway. You are the cloud, for lack of a better term. How else do you think you can wield from a blue sky? Did you never realize it’s easier for you to wield during a storm, but you’re capable of both?”

Have they always bickered like this? “We’re not fighting the entire way there, and we sure as hell can’t fight once we get there. This is dangerous enough as it is. Pull yourselves together and quit squabbling.” “Yes, Mom,” Mira mocks. Mom. What would she think of the three of us working together?

We all fall silent, the quiet only broken by the frost crackling beneath our boots. “Too soon?” Mira asks. “I’d say so,” I answer, tightening the straps on my pack. “Definitely,” Brennan adds. All three of us are faintly smiling when we reach the dragons.

“Stop keeping me safe!” I immediately regret raising my voice with Cat in the room and try to steady my ire with a deep breath. “You never would have pulled this bullshit last year. You never held me back, never caged me in the name of protecting me. You were the one telling me to find another way on the Gauntlet, watching me fight off other cadets at Threshing—” “I wasn’t in love with you then.” His hand grasps the nape of my neck, and his thumb skates over the pulse in my throat. “During Gauntlet, Threshing…I had no idea what you would become to me.” And he couldn’t kill me thanks to the deal he made with Mom—the deal he still hasn’t trusted me with. “I sure as hell hadn’t sat by your bedside for three days, knowing my life—if it even existed beyond yours—would mean nothing without you in it.” The gold flecks in his eyes catch the light, and I can’t help but blink at what I see there. “You’re…scared, aren’t you?” I grasp the door’s edge to keep from reaching for him. “Of losing you? More like terrified. And when Sgaeyl told me Tairn was headed this direction I nearly lost my fucking mind.”

“I was going to remind you that it’s probably bad manners to stab our hostess, but you know what?” She shrugs. “Fuck it. We don’t need a luminary.”

“I can kill just as easily in a gown as leathers. Want to see?” Only a fool would call Mira’s expression a smile.

What the hell is wrong with me? I never judge myself against other women when it comes to how we look. How we fight? Sure. Ride? Definitely. But nothing ever as shallow as…appearance. Being pretty doesn’t save you at Basgiath.

How does she know that? I’ve had enough. “It would be a pity to kill her now. I’m hunting ten minutes away and I’d miss the show,” Tairn says.

“Give it a rest.” Syrena’s tone sharpens at her sister. “You’re all of a year older than Violet, and it’s been longer than that since you two were together. He’s just a man, but she’s the best weapon we have against the dark wielders.”

“I’m still really damned angry with you.” I lift my chin, just as furious with myself for getting into this position, for feeling whatever all this bullshit is.

“Feeling is mutual.” He slides one hand into my hair, then sucks a breath through his teeth when his fingers meet skin at the base of my spine. “But it’s possible to be angry while still madly, wildly, uncontrollably in love with me.”

“What did you do?” I break the kiss, breathing deeply, and he leans his forehead against mine, keeping us cocooned in total darkness. “What I should have done the second I saw you this afternoon.” His hand tightens in my hair, tugging slightly. “And probably shocked Cat enough to make her stop fucking with your head.” “What do you mean?” “She has the gift of heightening the emotions of the people around her, and she’s exceptionally powerful. If you hadn’t blocked me out all evening, I would have told you sooner.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. Sorry that I’ve been overreacting since pulling you out of that interrogation chamber—hell, since Resson. When Sgaeyl told me they were torturing you, and I couldn’t get to

you…” His eyes close for a second, and when they open, the fear I spotted earlier is front and center. “I can’t fucking breathe when you’re in danger, but that’s not your fault. I should have brought you here when you asked me to.”

“Watch your back,” Xaden warns, his voice already fading as he flies east with Sgaeyl on a mission I’m not privy to. “I didn’t have time to question every flier about their intentions.”

When a gryphon bonds, it does so for life. Guard your life as you would your gryphon’s, for they are forever intertwined.

Tairn quickly locates ours, and riders scurry as he drops to an abrupt landing. “You could have crushed someone,” I lecture. “Could have, but alas, they moved.”

“You put an unlocking rune into my dagger, didn’t you?” I ask, sliding all the disks besides the one I just finished into my pack, ignoring Warrick’s journal, which mocks me from the edge of the desk. “That’s how we got out of the interrogation chamber.” “A variation of it, yes.” Holding the best rune of my attempts, I lift my pack to my shoulders and slip my arms through the straps as I stand, turning to face him. His torso is still gloriously bare, but unfortunately—or fortunately for my schedule—he has pants on. “Care to elaborate?” To my consternation, he goes for his socks instead of a shirt. “You can do the unlocking rune. It’s simple enough.” He shrugs. “I added an element of need into the rune. So, you can’t walk up to any door and open it just because you want to, but if the dagger’s on your body and picks up on the need for a door to unlock, it will. If you’d made it up to the forge at Basgiath, it would have opened to your need.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he puts on his boots. “I had the key the entire time?” My eyebrows rise, and if I didn’t already love him, I would have fallen right then.

“Stones?” I look up at him. “As in more than one?” “A hundred and seven,” he answers, watching me with expectation. The marked ones. He wants me to ask. “What does it do?” I rub my thumb over the blackened design. “Did. It’s a protection rune, but it was only intended to be used once.” He runs his hand through his damp hair and pauses. “As you get better with runes, you can pull elements into them. Things like strands of hair or even other full runes for locating things. Or protecting them. This particular rune was made to protect someone of my father’s bloodline.” “You.” I look up and hand the stone back. “You’re his only child, right?” Xaden nods. “Each of the children of the officers were given them before our parents left for the Battle of Aretia. We were told to carry them at all times, and we did, even to the execution.” His fingers brush mine as he takes the stone. I damn near stop breathing, keeping my eyes on his. “It was designed to counter the signet of the rider whose dragon would kill them.” He swallows. “But it could only activate when killed by dragonfire.” “Which is the primary method of execution for traitors,” I whisper. He nods. “I kept it closed in my fist—we all did—as we stood there, watching our parents put into lines for execution. And the second they were…” His shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath. “…burned, heat raced up my arm. The next time I felt anything like that was after Threshing.”

My eyes widen, and I close my hand over his. “The rebellion relics?” That must be why the swirling marks always start on the marked ones’ arms. He nods. “Our parents knew they’d die one way or another, and the last thing they did was make sure we were protected. I keep it purely for sentimental reasons.”

“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.”

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.”

“This is what I fantasize about when I’m away from you,” he says against my heated skin. “Your taste. Your scent. The little gasps you take right before you come.” He settles in, his hands splaying wide on my inner thighs, pinning me in place as he uses his tongue to rob me of every thought. He swirls around that sensitive bud over and over, teasing, arousing, driving me higher and higher, but denies me the very touch I need. “Is this what you think about? My mouth between your soft thighs?”