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A dragon without its rider is a tragedy. A rider without their dragon is dead.
It’s not the first time I’ve heard her curse the sickness that nearly killed her while she was pregnant with me or the library Dad made my second home once she’d been stationed here at Basgiath as an instructor and he as a scribe.
“You’re the daughter of a rider, you are twenty years old, and today is Conscription Day. I let you finish your tutoring, but like I told you last spring, I will not watch one of my children enter the Scribe Quadrant, Violet.”
I cringe as the temperature in the room plummets, courtesy of Mom’s storm-wielding signet power she channels through her dragon, Aimsir.
meritorious
“What Brennan did for me,” she says softly, and grief lodges in my throat. “Can you use a sword?” I shake my head. “Too heavy. I’m pretty quick with daggers, though.” Really damned quick. Lightning quick. What I lack in strength, I make up for in speed.
I lunge for the next book before she has a chance to toss it, barely managing to save my favorite collection of dark fables.
“No. You can’t. You’re barely thrice the weight of the pack, the parapet is roughly eighteen inches wide, two hundred feet aboveground, and last time I looked, those were rain clouds moving in. They’re not going to give you a rain delay just because the bridge might get a little slick, sis. You’ll fall. You’ll die. Now, are you going to listen to me? Or are you going to join the other dead candidates at tomorrow morning’s roll call?”
“Dad gave this one to me,” I murmur, pressing the book against my chest. Maybe it’s childish, just a collection of stories that warn us against the lure of magic, and even demonize dragons, but it’s all I have left. She sighs. “Is it that old book of folklore about dark-wielding vermin and their wyvern? Haven’t you read it a thousand times already?” “Probably more,” I admit. “And they’re venin, not vermin.”
“Dad and his allegories,” she says. “Just don’t try to channel power without being a bonded rider and red-eyed monsters won’t hide under your bed, waiting to snatch you away on their two-legged dragons to join their dark army.”
“I happen to know a rider whose powers can make big things very small.” A devious smile plays across her lips. “And smaller things…much, much bigger.”
“Stay the hell away from Xaden Riorson.” The air rushes from my lungs. That name… “That Xaden Riorson,” she confirms, fear lacing her gaze. “He’s a third-year, and he will kill you the second he finds out who you are.” “His father was the Great Betrayer. He led the rebellion,” I say quietly. “What is Xaden doing here?” “All the children of the leaders were conscripted as punishment for their parents’ crimes,”
crenelations
He’s tall, with windblown black hair and dark brows. The line of his jaw is strong and covered by warm tawny skin and dark stubble, and when he folds his arms across his torso, the muscles in his chest and arms ripple, moving in a way that makes me swallow. And his eyes… His eyes are the shade of gold-flecked onyx. The contrast is startling, jaw-dropping even—everything about him is. His features are so harsh that they look carved, and yet they’re astonishingly perfect, like an artist worked a lifetime sculpting him, and at least a year of that was spent on his mouth. He’s the most exquisite
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His gaze clashes with mine as the sky opens and rain falls in a deluge, soaking my hair, my leathers, and the stones around us in seconds.
I will not die today. The words become my mantra,
“Violet Sorrengail,” I answer as thunder cracks above me, the sound oddly comforting.
though this downpour might just cost me my life.
Thunder cracks, the wind slams into me, and I flail my arms. “Shit!”
“The kingdom of Poromiel mainly consists of arable plains and marshlands and is known for exceptional textiles, endless fields of grain, and unique crystalline gems capable of amplifying minor magics.”
The rain eases into a drizzle, as if it had only come to make the hardest test of my life even harder…but I did it. I’m alive. I made it.
My mother can wield the power of storms. Melgren can see the outcome of battles.
“I can read a person’s recent memories,” Dain admits quietly. “Not like an inntinnsic reads minds or anything—I have to put my hands on the person, so I’m not a security risk. But my signet’s not common knowledge. I think they’ll use me in intelligence.”
dragons are the only ones capable of powering the wards that make all other magic but their own impossible within our borders. They’re the reason Navarre’s borders are somewhat circular—their power radiates from the Vale and can only extend so far, even with squads stationed at every outpost. Without those wards, we’re fucked. It would be open season on Navarrian villages when the raiding parties from Poromiel inevitably descend. Those greedy assholes are never content with the resources they have. They always want ours, too, and until they learn to be content with our trade agreements, we
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macabre
You look all frail and breakable, but you’re really a violent little thing, aren’t you?”
A fool with fonilee berries.
avarice
Something in my chest shifts, a feeling that I can’t explain and yet can’t shake.
He’d probably think twice about plotting your murder if you threw a few daggers at his head.
But you’ve already made it this far. Ahh, there she is, the little voice that’s been riding my shoulder lately, daring to give me hope that I might actually survive Presentation.
Feathertail dragons are the breed we know the least about,
This is because feathertails reportedly abhor violence and are not suitable for bonding.
“Best of luck.” Heaton—the thickest third-year in our squad, with red flames cut and dyed into their hair—taps their heart, right over two of their patches, and offers us all a genuine but flat-lipped smile before heading to class.
“I don’t know if I can watch,” Dain says, drawing my attention back to his strong face. His perfectly trimmed beard brackets full lips drawn tight into a frown. “Then close your eyes.” I have a plan—a shitty one, but it’s worth a try. “What changed between Parapet and now?” Dain asks again, a wealth of emotions in his eyes that I can’t begin to interpret. Well, except the fear. That doesn’t need any interpretation. “Me.”
No wonder she and Dain are so close—they’re both in love with the Codex.
The leaves of the trees are all turning gold, as though someone has brought in a paintbrush with only one color and streaked it across the landscape.
You can get there first and warn it.
“One does not live a century without being well aware of the space one takes up. Now get on.”
“I know exactly who and what you are, Violet Sorrengail.”
“You are the smartest of your year. The most cunning.” I gulp at the compliment, brushing it off. I was trained as a scribe, not a rider. “You defended the smallest with ferocity. And strength of courage is more important than physical strength. Since you apparently need to know before we land.”
“Don’t worry, Sorrengail,” Imogen coos in a saccharine-sweet tone. “There’s only three of us in here. You’re perfectly safe.”
Your mother has never understood that while riders may be the weapons of our kingdom, it’s the scribes who have all the real power in this world.”
I’m alive. I’m alive. I’m alive. I repeat the mantra in my head as Xaden wipes the blood from my dagger on the back of Oren’s tunic. “Yes. You’re alive.” Xaden steps over Oren’s body and two others, retrieving my dagger from the fallen woman’s shoulder before reaching my armoire. I don’t even recognize her, and yet she tried to kill me.
“I didn’t realize I’d said that out loud.” The trembling starts in my knees, and then nausea overpowers me. Fuck, I thought I’d worked past this kind of reaction to adrenaline, but here I am, shaking like a leaf as Xaden sorts through my armoire like he hasn’t just taken out half a dozen people.
“It’s not just for your safety. Rare abilities, when kept secret, are the most valuable form of currency we possess.”
“Have you always been this tall?” I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “No. I was a child at some point.” I roll my eyes.
Xaden studies me with an intensity that makes me sway toward him. “You are astonishing.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t do that for weeks.” “Guess I have a superior teacher.” The emotion swelling through me is more than joy. It’s euphoria that has me grinning like a fool. I’m finally not only good at something, but astonishing.
As though he can hear my thoughts, he kisses me harder, claiming every line and curve of my mouth with a reckless edge that makes my body sing.
I surrender completely, melting into him, my body going pliant against his and losing that mental foothold he calls grounding. A flash of light burns behind my closed eyes, followed by the boom of thunder. Thunder-snow isn’t uncommon around here, but damn does it summarize how this feels, wild and out of control.
