aden vetoed my second pitch to head to Cordyn like an overprotective
asshole, and then I happily took him to bed, content with my own
plans. He was gone again to look for more Navarrian deserters before I
woke up this morning.
If I didn’t feel him in my swollen lips and every sore muscle in my body,
I’d almost think I dreamed him coming back yesterday.
Guess this is our new normal.
“Well?” Felix folds his arms over his barrel chest and lifts a silver brow
at me.
Crisp, snow-scented wind whips at my cheeks as we stand between our
dragons, a thousand feet over the tree line on a bowl-shaped mountainside
about a ten-minute flight from the valley above Aretia.
“Those boulders?” I point across the ridge to a stack of three boulders as
Tairn shifts his weight, the snow crunching under his claws.
“Would it help if I painted them?”
I refrain from rolling my eyes. “No, it’s just that Carr never cared where
I struck, as long as I increased the number of strikes in an hour.” I roll my
shoulders and open the gates on Tairn’s power, feeling it rush through my
veins and heat my skin.
Felix looks at me like I’ve grown another head. “Well, I guess we’ll see
what that technique has gotten us.”
“I can wield twenty-six an hour on a good day, and I’ve been pushed
over forty, but that last strike broke that mountain and… ” The memory
steals my words.
“And you were nearly burned alive?” he asks. “Why in Malek’s name
would you ever push yourself to that limit?”
“It was a punishment.” I lift my arms as power rises to a sizzling hum.
“For what?” He watches me with an expression I’m too jaded to call
compassion.
“I ignored a direct order so I could protect my dragon.” The sizzle heats
to a burn, and I flex my hands, letting the strike rip free.
The cloudy sky cracks open and lightning strikes on the opposite side of
the bowl, hitting far above the tree line, easily a quarter mile from the
boulders.
Felix blinks. “Try again.”
Reaching for Tairn’s power, I repeat the process, letting it fill me, then
overflow and erupt, wielding another strike that lands halfway between the
first and the stack of boulders. Pride makes my lips curve. Not bad timing.
That was a pretty quick strike after the first.
But when I look at Felix, he isn’t smiling. He slowly brings his stunned
gaze to mine. “What was that shit?”
“I did that in less than a minute after the first strike!” I counter.
“And if those boulders were dark wielders, you and I would be dead by
now.” Two lines knit between his eyebrows. “Try again. And this time, let’s
try the revolutionary tactic of aiming, shall we?”
His sarcasm fuels my frustration, and another strike rips free, hitting
between us and the boulders.
“It’s a wonder you haven’t hit yourself,” he mutters, rubbing the bridge
of his nose.
“I can’t aim, all right?” I snap at him, reevaluating my previous thoughts
that he and Trissa—the petite, quiet one—were the nice members of the
Assembly.
“According to the reports filed about Resson, you can,” he retorts, his
deep voice rising with that last word. “You can aim well enough to hit a
dark wielder atop a flying wyvern.”
“That’s because Andarna stopped time, but she can’t do that anymore, so
I’m left with what got us through the other portion of the battle—the good
old strike-and-pray method.”
“And I have no doubt that in a field of that many wyvern, you did some
damage with sheer luck.” He sighs. “Explain how you hit that last strike in
Resson.”
“I… It’s hard to explain.”
“Try.”
“I pulled it. I guess.” I wrap my arms around my waist to ward off the
worst of the chill. Usually, I’d be warming up right about now, not feeling
my toes start to lose feeling. “I released the strike, but I wrestled it into
place while Andarna held time.”
“What about smaller strikes?” He turns fully to face me, his boots
crunching the rock beneath us. “Like those that flow from your hands?”
What the fuck? My face must read the same because his eyes flare.
“Are you telling me that you’ve only wielded full strikes”—he points
upward—“from the sky? That you just started throwing around bolts and
never refined the skill?”
“I brought down a cliff on a classmate—that didn’t kill him—and from
then Carr’s concern was how big and how often.” I lift my hands between
us. “And lightning comes from the sky, not my hands.”
“Wonderful.” He laughs, the sound deep and… infuriating. “You just
might wield the most devastating signet on the Continent, but you know
nothing about it. Nothing about the energy fields that draw it. Instead of
shooting your power like an arrow—precise and measured—you’re just
heaving it around like boiling oil, hoping you hit something. And lightning
comes from the sky or the ground depending on the storm, so why not your
hands?”
Anger reddens my skin, raises my temperature, prickles my fingers, and
pushes the power within me to a roar.
“You are slated to be the most powerful rider of your year—perhaps
your entire generation—and yet you are just a glorified light show—”
Power erupts, and lightning flashes close enough that I feel the heat.
Felix glances to the right, where a scorch mark still smokes about twenty
feet away.
Fuck. Shame races in to overpower the last vestiges of anger.
“And not only can you not aim, but you have no control,” he says
without skipping a beat, like I didn’t almost torch us both.
“I can cont—”
“No.” He drops down to the pack at his feet and begins sorting through
it.
“That wasn’t a question, Sorrengail. That was a fact. How often does
that happen?”
Whenever I’m angry. Or in Xaden’s arms. “Too often.”
“At least we found something to agree on.” He stands and holds
something out to me. “Take it.”
“What is it?” I glance at the offering, then pluck it gingerly from his
outstretched hand. The glass orb fits comfortably in my palm, and the
decoratively carved silvery metal strips that quarter it meet at what appear
to be the top and the bottom, where a silver medallion of alloy the size of
my thumb rests upright inside the glass.
“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?”
“I never thought about it.” My fingers tingle where they meet the metal
striping.
“No, you were never taught it.” He gestures around the mountainside.
“Your lack of aim, of control, is not your fault. It’s Carr’s.”
“Xaden only moves shadows that are already there,” I argue, fighting
down the rising emotions I’m worried will lead to another embarrassing
strike.
“Xaden can control and increase what already exists. It’s why he’s more
powerful at night. No two signets are alike, and you create something that
was not there before. You wield pure power that takes the form of lightning
because that’s what you’re most comfortable shaping it as. Apparently Carr
never taught you that, either.”
“Why wouldn’t he?” I look from the orb up to Felix as the first flakes of
snow flutter down. “If I was the best weapon?”
A corner of his mouth lifts into a wry smile. “Knowing Carr, I’d say he’s
scared shitless of you. After all, you just took half of their cadets without
even a plan. You brought down Basgiath on a fucking whim, no less.” His
laugh is more incredulous than mocking this time, but it still rubs me the
wrong way.
“I didn’t do that.” My fingers curl around the orb. “Xaden did.”
“He hunted riderless wyvern, deposited them on Melgren’s front door,
and exposed Navarre’s greatest secret to the border outposts before noon,”
Felix agrees. “But you were the one who demanded he give the cadets a
choice. In that moment, you wielded him, our unyielding, uncompromising,
headstrong heir apparent.”
“I did no such thing.” Energy buzzes, and I roll my shoulders as it
vibrates through my limbs, building to a breaking point. “I presented a
humane option, and he took it. He did it for the sake of the other cadets.”
“He did it for you,” Felix says softly. “The wyvern, the exposure,
breaching Basgiath, stealing half its riders. All for you. Why do you think
the Assembly wanted to lock you away in July? They saw what you were.
In that way, I suppose you’re just as much a danger to Aretia as you are to
Basgiath, aren’t you? Power isn’t only found in our signets.”
“I’m not powerful just because he loves me.” The bitter taste of fear fills
my mouth a heartbeat before power breaks free, cracking through me like a
whip, but lightning doesn’t flash. At least not in the sky.
I blink at the glowing orb, then marvel at the string of lightning that runs
from where my forefinger rests against the metal strip to the alloy pendant
inside. The bolt vanishes a breath later.
“No. You’re powerful and he loves you, which is even worse. Your
power is too closely tied to your emotions,” Felix notes. “This will help. It’s
not a permanent solution, but it will keep everyone in Aretia safe from your
temper for now.”
“I don’t understand.” And I can’t stop staring at the orb, like the tiny
lightning bolt will reappear at any second.
“The runes etched into the conduit are woven to draw specific power. I
wove these specifically for you the last time you were here, but you were
forced to leave before I could teach you how to use it. I’d hoped you
wouldn’t need it, honestly, but it seems Carr hasn’t changed much in the six
years I’ve been gone.”
“Runes?” I repeat like a bird, staring at the etched shapes.
“Yes. Runes. Wielded power woven for set purposes.” He exhales
slowly. “Which you know nothing about because Basgiath doesn’t teach
Tyrrish runes, even if the college was fucking built on them. Guess we’ll
ask Trissa to teach that class. She has the most patience out of the
Assembly.”
I yank my gaze from the orb to Felix. “This… siphons my power?”
“Somewhat. I made it as a simpler way to imbue power into alloy. It will
draw it from you when it threatens to overpower you or when you choose to
direct it. Hopefully”—he lifts his brows—“in small, controlled amounts.
Practice this week. You have to learn control, Sorrengail, or you’ll continue
to be a threat to everyone around you. God forbid you’re flying in the
clouds with your squad the next time you lose your temper.”
“I’m not a threat.”
“What you want to be doesn’t change what you are without work.” He
picks up his pack and slings it over his shoulders. “You never learned how
to start small, like the rest of your squad, and then move to the bigger,
harder strikes. You have to master the basics you were never taught. Small,
precise strikes. Small strands of your power instead of”—he gestures to the
sky—“whatever in Dunne’s name that was.”
“I don’t have time to master small, precise strikes. I need help today,” I
argue. “We need Tecarus to give us a luminary or—” I cut myself off.
“Or you and Xaden fucked the entire movement on that whim I
mentioned earlier?” He lifts both brows at me.
“A
“Something like that. It was a lot easier last year when all I had to worry
about was keeping myself alive, and not the entire Continent.” And I failed.
“Well, they do say second year makes or breaks you.” He delivers the
joke with a straight face, but there’s a definite light in his eyes. “As for
Tecarus, he wants to see you wield, not necessarily see you wield well. Your
biggest obstacle there is convincing Xaden to fly with you, since I hazard to
guess he’s not budging on the topic of you going. He already shut down the
possibility in July.” He shrugs. “But we’re done for today. We’ll meet again
in a week, and I’ll be able to tell by the amount of power stored in that alloy
whether or not you’ve been practicing. Store enough, and I’ll continue to
teach you.”
“And if I don’t?” My fingers curl around the orb.
“I won’t,” he answers simply over his shoulder as he walks toward his
Red Swordtail. “I’m not interested in wasting my time on cadets who don’t
want to be taught when there are over a hundred who do.”
The scorch mark behind him. The untouched boulders. The blast sites
across the ridge. They all capture my attention. He’s right. I’m a light show
with deadly consequences, and the amount of times I’ve unleashed while
close to my friends, close to Xaden… My throat tightens. I’m the menace
everyone thinks Xaden is.
He might be a weapon, but I’m a natural disaster.
And I’m done letting everyone around me suffer because I can’t get my
shit together.
“I want to learn,” I call after him. As soon as I get back.
“Good. Show me.”
re you sure about this?” Mira asks as we enter the valley under the
brightest moon this month. Every blade of grass is coated with
predawn frost, reflecting back at us like glittering gems.
“‘Sure’ is a relative term.”
“How relative?” She lifts her brows at me. “Because what we’re about
to do could have some pretty major consequences.”
“I’m sure this is the only way we’ll be able to make the weapons we
need.” I fasten the top button of my flight jacket to ward off the late-
October chill. “And sure that if we stay on task, we can be back in two days
max. I’m definitely sure that this will stop the gryphon attacks on Navarrian
outposts. But am I sure that we won’t fail or end up permanent guests of
Viscount Tecarus? No.”
“Well, I’m sure Xaden is going to lose his shit when he finds out you
went behind his back,” Mira lectures as we make our way to our dragons.
“Yeah, well, Xaden will forgive me as soon as he realizes we’re back in
the venin-slaying business. I’m only doing it this way because he refuses to
do what needs to be done in the name of protecting me.”
“Just so you know, I’m only doing this because doing everything you
ever ask for the rest of our lives still wouldn’t make up for me not believing
you. I happen to like protective Xaden. Makes me worry about you less.”
I kind of miss when he wanted to kill me. At least then he didn’t insist
on hovering.
“And I’m only doing this to make sure neither of you die,” Brennan
chimes in from the right.
“Please.” Mira scoffs. “You’re only here because of the rank on your
uniform.”
“Neither of you can negotiate an arms deal on behalf of the Assembly.
You both know this could go very badly, right?” He shoves his hands in the
pockets of his flight leathers.
“Is there a risk?” I nod and ignore the jump in my heart rate. “Yes. But
he wants to see me wield for a luminary. Even Xaden said the biggest threat
is him keeping me, not killing me.” And if I have to stay in Poromiel so my
friends and family can be safe, then fine. As long as Brennan and Mira get
to leave with the luminary, it’s a fair trade.
“Feel free to stay in the place you’ve called home for six years,” Mira
challenges Brennan, then shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve always been better than
you with a sword, anyway. I’ll bring Violet home without a scratch.”
“No.” I glance between them. 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.
“You sure you can find the way?” I ask Tairn after I secure my pack
behind my saddle.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that.”
“And Sgaeyl?” I shift forward and buckle into the saddle, flinching as
the cold seeps through my leathers.
“She’s out of range, but her emotions are calm.”
“And you promise not to tell her until we’re back?” I clutch the pommel
and glance around the valley, looking for any sign of Andarna, but she’s
nowhere to be seen.
“She’s already gone, and the Hungry One has been seething since this
afternoon when she found out she wasn’t coming.” Tairn crouches low, then
springs into the sky. The ground falls away with every powerful beat of his
wings, and I foolishly hold my breath as we pass over a sleeping Aretia, as
if the sound of my inhale might wake my friends.
Rhiannon is the only one who knows we’re going, and she’ll cover for
us as much as possible. But even though I might be dispensable for a day, I
have no doubt someone will notice Brennan is missing.
My cheeks are numb before we make it past Aretia, and my legs lose
feeling by the time we reach the Cliffs of Dralor a couple of hours later.
Flying for any amount of time this late in fall isn’t for the faint of heart.
Tairn flies through the morning, holding back his speed for Teine and
Marbh as we glimpse Krovla’s second most populous city, Draithus, to the
south and continue into the darkness ahead. The feeling seeps back into my
limbs the lower in elevation that we fly and the higher the sun climbs.
“Sleep, Silver One. It’s not me Tecarus wants to see perform like some
kind of pet.”
I take his advice and get as much rest as possible, but my jittery nerves
have me shifting in my seat as we fly over land I’ve only seen in paintings.
Amber fields ready for harvest give way to pale beaches and blue-green sea
as the day passes into afternoon.
The closer we fly, the tighter the anxiety in my chest coils. This is either
the best idea I’ve ever had… or the worst. By the time a drift of three
gryphons appears, flying directly toward us in a standard V attack
formation, I decide that we’re definitely leaning into worst idea territory.
Just because they’re smaller doesn’t mean they can’t deal Tairn some
real damage with those talons.
“It’s all right. They’re escorting us into Cordyn,” Tairn tells me, but
there’s a shift in his tone that tells me he’s not happy about the entourage or
the speed he has to slow to in order to accommodate them. They spread out,
flying in a formation that surrounds the six of us. “See that sorry excuse for
a fortress on the eastern side of the farthest peak?” he asks as we follow
the line of the beach. I’ve never seen water that color, like it can’t quite
decide if it’s turquoise or aqua.
“You mean the palace that looks like it’s glowing?” The structure is a
sprawling, glistening combination of white pillars and blue pools that
cascade in five distinct terraces down the gentle slope of the hills above the
beach.
“It’s just the sun reflecting off the white marble,” he grumbles. “The
entire thing is ridiculous and indefensible.”
How… beautiful. What a luxury to build a place like this, designed
purely for aesthetics. No high walls or portcullises. Tairn’s right. It’s utterly
indefensible, and it will fall should venin choose to take it, but my heart
clenches at the thought that I’ll never experience peace long enough to live
somewhere like it. I can even make out a vast, colorful garden as we
approach over the riverside city beneath.
The gryphon ahead of us dips into a sharp descent and Tairn follows
suit, tucking his wings and getting just close enough to the gryphon to let
him know he’s no match.
“Stop intimidating them.” The last thing we need is an incident before
we can even ask Tecarus for the luminary.
“I can’t help their inferiority.” There’s a definite smile in his tone, but
his mood shifts as we level out near a manicured lawn in front of the third
terrace of the palace. “You will not be happy with the welcome we’re about
to receive.” He lands behind the gryphon and his flier, who hops down to
face us.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine. You worry too much.”
“We’ll see about that.”
I make quick work of removing my pack, but damn do my stiff joints
ache as I slide down Tairn’s foreleg to land in the soft, green grass.
“Are you all right?” Mira asks, already waiting for me because she’s that
much quicker.
“Just sore from sitting in one position for so long.” Gods, it’s hot down
here.
“Maybe we should have sent word ahead. They look like they’d rather
fight than negotiate.” She turns her attention forward, to the line of three
gryphons and their fliers, who all face down our dragons despite being
drastically overpowered, forming a wall of feather and talons that blocks us
from proceeding to the palace.
“They’re certainly brave, I’ll give them that,” I mutter as Brennan
reaches our sides, putting me between him and Mira. Some things never
change.
“They’re also expecting us,” Brennan notes quietly as we start forward.
“You think?” Mira asks, her gaze scanning our surroundings.
I keep my focus on the fliers and their hands.
“There are at least three dozen people watching from the balconies
above, and there’s another group behind the gryphons,” Brennan states.
“They were waiting.”
“Plus, no one’s screaming at the sight of our dragons,” I add quietly.
Mira grins. “True.”
“Be careful what you say in here. Tecarus will hold us to whatever deal
we make. He doesn’t take kindly to broken words. And keep your shields
up, though I’m not sure they’ll do much good,” Brennan orders when we’re
less than a dozen feet from the fliers. “Fliers might not wield signets, but
most of their lesser-magic gifts involve mindwork, and it’s the one area
where they have the upper hand on us.”
“Noted.” I don’t even need to check my shields. They’ve been locked
into place since we left Aretia.
The gryphons stare down at us with dark, beady eyes as we approach
and click their razor-sharp beaks in a rhythm that reminds me of speech.
The aggressive snaps of the one on the right make me glad I can’t
understand what they’re saying.
Two of the fliers wear the same brown leathers I’ve seen before on
Syrena, but the guy on the left with the patchy beard has a lighter-colored
one and different symbols embroidered on his collar.
“Cadet?” I ask Tairn.
“Yes.” He pauses. “According to the feathered ones, a third of their
ranks took shelter here. Cliffsbane Flight Academy was in Zolya.”
Brennan says something in Krovlish, his tone changing into the curt one
he uses when his rank is more important than his name.
“We know who you are,” the tall flier in the center interrupts in the
common tongue, studying the three of us as if assessing which is the biggest
threat. His attention lands on my wind-ravaged coronet braid and his
posture changes slightly, taking on the most casual of battle stances.
Guess I win.
Mira moves closer to my side and stares him down, her hand resting just
above the hilt of her sword.
“And you speak Navarrian,” Brennan notes.
“Of course. Not every kingdom thinks theirs is the only language that
should be spoken,” the flier on the left says, her fingers drumming along her
sword.
Solid point.
“Give us one truth, and we’ll allow you to meet with the viscount,” the
central flier says, his reddish brows knitting.
“You’re a truth-sayer.” Like Nora. It’s a guess, but I know I’m right
when his pale eyes flare. So, some of our powers are the same. Interesting.
“Unlike riders, we do not label ourselves by our abilities, but yes, I have
the gift of telling when someone is lying,” he corrects me.
“Noted,” I say for the second time in the last five minutes. I fucking hate
being disadvantaged by ignorance, but it’s not like the Archives were
stacked with tomes on fliers or what they’ve gone through for the last six
hundred years.
“Seeing as you’ve arrived without invitation, we require you have
honest intentions before traveling farther.” His hands flex near his daggers,
and Mira palms the hilt of her sword.
We’re one misstep away from drawing weapons, and we all know it.
“I’m here to wield lightning in return for asking your viscount for help.”
May as well start us out.
He cocks his head to the side, then nods, glancing toward Brennan.
“I’m here to broker a deal for your luminary in return for weaponry,”
Brennan declares.
The flier nods and looks at Mira.
“Fine.” She sighs. “Make one wrong move toward my sister, and I’ll gut
you like a fish. That goes for everyone in this city. How is that for honest?”
My mouth opens slightly as I glance sideways at my sister.
“Damn it, Mira,” Brennan growls.
The flier’s mouth curves into a toothy smile. “I can respect that.” He
glances up at the gryphon above him, and the trio parts, revealing the figure
waiting directly behind them.
A figure dressed entirely in black.
His jaw flexes, his hands curl at his sides, and his beautiful face… Well,
he hasn’t looked at me with that much anger since discovering my last
name at Parapet, back when he wanted to kill me. Guess I should be careful
what I ask for, because I’m so fucked.
“You aren’t where I left you, Violence.”
Having refused every proposal from the isle kingdoms, Queen Maraya
has named her distant cousin, Viscount Tecarus of Cordyn, as her heir.
As the viscount is living in his fifth decade and has no direct heirs of his
own, the decision has not been a popular one.
—ON THE ARISTOCRACY OF POROMIEL
BY PEARSON KITO
“W
