“I was trained as a scribe, remember? All we’ve done is defend our borders for six hundred years. They’re the ones who won’t accept peace as a solution. What shipments have you been giving them?” “Weapons.” My stomach hits the ground. “That they use to kill dragon riders?” “No.” He shakes his head emphatically. “These weapons are only to fight venin.” My jaw unhinges. “Venin are the stuff of fables. Like the book my father—” I blink. The letter. What had he written? Folklore is passed from one generation to the next to teach us about our past. Was he trying to say… No. That’s impossible. “They’re real,” Xaden says softly, like he’s trying to lessen a blow. “You’re saying people who can somehow tap into the source of magic without a dragon or gryphon to channel, corrupting their power beyond all salvation, actually exist.” I say the words slowly just so we’re crystal clear. “They’re not just part of the creation fable.” “Yes.” His forehead creases. “They drained all the magic out of the Barrens and then spread like an infestation.” “Well, at least that’s in keeping with folklore.” I fold my arms across my chest. “What was the fable again? One brother bonded to gryphon, one to dragon, and when the third grew jealous, he drew directly from the source, losing his soul and waging war on the other two.” “Yes.” He sighs. “This was not how I wanted to tell you.” “Assuming you were ever going to tell me!” I glance to where Tairn watches, his head low as though he might have to incinerate Xaden at any moment. “Care to add to the discussion?” “Not yet. I’d prefer you come to your own conclusion. I chose you for your intelligence and courage, Silver One. Don’t let me down.”