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the first rule of living at Basgiath is never question a dragon. They tend to cremate anyone they find rude.
“Fascinating. You look all frail and breakable, but you’re really a violent little thing, aren’t you?”
“Going for blood today, are we, Violence?” he whispers. Metal hits the mat again and he kicks it past my head and out of my reach. He’s not taking my daggers to use against me; he’s disarming me just to prove he can. My blood boils. “My name is Violet,” I seethe. “I think my version fits you better.” He releases my wrist and stands, offering me a hand. “We’re not done yet.”
“You’ll never be alone again.” “That sounds more like a threat than a comfort,”
“What did you want to be when you grew up?” I ask, just to keep the conversation going. “Alive.” He shrugs. Well, that’s…something.
“Oh, are we telling dick jokes now?” Ridoc asks from Liam’s side. “Because my entire life has led up to this very moment.” Even Sawyer laughs.
“I can’t use that.” I shake my head. “It’s not allowed.” “I decide what’s allowed and what’s not,” Tairn growls, lowering his head to my level and blasting me with a chuff of steam. “There is no rule that says a dragon cannot modify their seat to serve their rider. You have worked just as hard—if not harder—than every rider in this quadrant. Just because your body is built differently than the others doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to keep your seat. It takes more than a few strips of leather and a pommel to define a rider.”
There’s nowhere in existence you could go that I wouldn’t find you, Violence.”
In his last days of interrogation, Fen Riorson lost touch with reality, railing against the kingdom of Navarre. He accused King Tauri, and all who came before him, of a conspiracy so vast, so unspeakable, that it does not bear repeating by this historian. The execution was swift and merciful for a madman who cost untold lives. —Navarre, an Unedited History by Colonel Lewis Markham
It only takes one desperate generation to change history—even erase it.
“One generation to change the text. One generation chooses to teach that text. The next grows, and the lie becomes history.”
Their parents died to expose the truth while mine sacrificed my brother to keep this heinous secret.
Three surround the city, and one is making his way toward a structure in the middle. A clock tower.”
“There’s something in that trading post. We all feel it,” Tairn says
There’s a figure standing at the top of a wooden clock tower, wearing purple floor-length robes that billow in the wind while he hurls blue flames like daggers at the civilians below. He’s more terrifying than any illustrator could have depicted, rivers of red veins fanning in every direction around soulless eyes consumed by magic. His face is gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and thin lips, a gnarled hand gripping a long red cane made of some misshapen wood.
“Soleil found a sealed entrance to what looks to be a mine,”
“Watch out. Deigh says that building on the other side of the road has a crate of something marked with Liam’s family crest,” Tairn tells me as I fire off another blast that lands nowhere near the venin. “He says it’s highly…unstable,”
But it was the third brother, who commanded the sky to surrender its greatest power, who finally vanquished his jealous sibling at a great and terrible price. —“The Origin,” The Fables of the Barren
“You still love me. It’s possible.” Gods, do I ache to kiss her, to remind her exactly what we are together, but I won’t, not until she asks. “I’m not afraid of hard work, especially not when I know just how sweet the rewards are. I would rather lose this entire war than live without you, and if that means I have to prove myself over and over, then I’ll do it. You gave me your heart, and I’m keeping it.” She already owns mine, even if she doesn’t realize it.
