We fly into the morning and then the afternoon, and when Andarna can’t keep up, she hooks on to Tairn’s harness midflight. She’s asleep by the time Xaden chooses to skirt the thousands-foot-high Cliffs of Dralor that give Tyrrendor a geological advantage over every province in the kingdom—over every province on the Continent, really, and go around instead, heading into the mountains north of Athebyne. There’s a pulling sensation in my chest, then a snap as we cross the barrier of the wards. “It feels different,” I tell Tairn. “Without the wards, magic is wilder here. It’s easier for dragons to
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