etter.” A week later, Felix pops a grape into his mouth, then motions
to the stacked rocks and the tendrils of steam at the base that only
last a second before they’re whisked away by the wind and snow. “You
almost hit it that time.”
I clench the energy-warmed conduit in my hand. “I did hit it.” I sway on
my feet and shake off my exhaustion. Too many late nights have been spent
translating Warrick’s journal from the beginning, too many lunches have
been eaten in that cold wardstone chamber, and I’ve definitely spent too
much time with Dain.
I’d almost forgotten how good he really is with languages, how quickly
he catches on.
“No.” Felix shakes his head, then plucks another grape from the bunch.
How are those things not frozen? The ground has accumulated about six
inches of snow in the hour we’ve been out here. “If you’d hit it, the rocks
wouldn’t be there anymore.”
“You said to use less power, remember? Smaller strikes. More control.”
I shake the orb in his direction. “What would you call that?”
“Missing the target.”
Snowflakes sizzle into steam as they land on the bare skin of my hands,
and it’s all I can do to not glare at the professor.
“Here.” He shoves the bunch of grapes into the pack at his feet, then
reaches for the orb, plucking it from my hand. “Strike the conduit.”
“I’m sorry?” My eyes bulge as I swat a loose tendril of hair from my
face.
“Strike the conduit,” he says like it’s the simplest task, holding the
metal-and-glass orb only inches away from my fingers.
“I’d kill you.”
“If only you could aim,” he teases, his smile flashing white. “You clearly
understand how energy and attraction work, as evidenced by how you took
those wyvern out, right?”
“I struck into the cloud.” My brow crinkles. “I think. I can’t really
explain it. I just knew that lightning can exist within a cloud, and when I
wielded, it was there.”
Felix nods. “It’s about the energy fields. It’s quite similar to magic that
way. And you”—he touches my hand with the orb—“are the greatest energy
field of all. Summon your power, but instead of letting the conduit have it
all, cut it off yourself.”
I shift my weight and swallow hard, fighting the tide of fire that lifts the
hairs on my arm. Imagining the Archives doors shutting all but the last few
inches, I allow only a fraction of Tairn’s power to reach my hands.
My fingertips graze the metal of the orb, and it crackles with the familiar
sight of whitish blue tendrils of pure energy branching from my fingertips
against the glass and gathering into a single, delicate stream at the alloy
medallion in the center of the conduit. Unlike the shimmering strands I pull
from Andarna’s power to temper runes, this is physical, like a tiny,
sustained lightning strike. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I let
the power flow from me into the conduit just like I do every night, imbuing
stone after stone now that I know how to change them out once they’re
fully imbued. “I love watching it do that.”
It’s the only time my power is beauty without destruction—without
violence.
“You’re not watching it, Violet. You’re doing it. And you’re supposed to
love it. It’s better to find joy in your power than it is to fear it.”
“I don’t fear the power.” How could I when it’s so beautiful? So varied?
I’m afraid of myself.
“You shouldn’t be,” Tairn lectures. He’s been commenting off and on the
last hour—whenever he hasn’t been trying to get Andarna to stop chasing
the two new flocks of sheep Brennan had moved into the valley. “I chose
you, and dragons make no mistakes.”
“What’s it like to go through life so self-assured?”
“It’s…life.”
I manage not to roll my eyes by keeping all my focus on limiting Tairn’s
power.
“Good. Keep going. Let it flow, but think trickle, not flood.” Felix
slowly draws the conduit away. “Don’t stop.”
Every muscle in my body tenses, but I do as he asks and don’t cut the
stream of power. Tendrils of that same white-blue energy stretch the inch of
airspace between my fingers and the orb.
“What…” My heart starts to pound so hard I can feel it in my ears, and
the five separate filaments of power pulse in time with its beat.
“That’s you,” Felix says softly, gentler than he’s ever been with me as he
draws the orb away another inch, then another. Then again, I’d be careful
with me right now, too, if I were him. “Increase slowly.”
The doors to my Archives open just another foot or so, and the power
stretches with no pain and only moderate heat, evaporating any unlucky
snowflakes in its path.
“You’re starting to get it now, aren’t you?” Felix retreats a full step, and
my hand begins to tremble as I fight to amplify the power just enough to
reach the conduit but not strike.
“Get. What?” My arm is full-on shaking now.
“Control.” He grins, and I startle, my gaze swinging back to his.
Power bursts through the doorway and rips through me in a streak of
scalding heat, and I throw my hands up—and away from Felix—a second
before the strike splits the clouded sky, singeing the mountain on impact
less than thirty feet up the ridge.
Felix’s Red Swordtail puffs steam in agitation, but all I feel from Tairn is
pride.
“Well, you had control.” Felix hands the conduit back to me. “But at
least that means you’re capable. For a while there, I wasn’t sure.”
“I wasn’t, either.” I study the orb as if I’ve never seen it.
“You wield your power like a battle-ax, and sometimes that’s exactly
what’s needed. But you of all people”—he gestures to the daggers sheathed
in my flight jacket—“should understand when a dagger is called for, when
only the precise cut will do.” He lifts his pack from the ground and slings it
over his shoulder. “We’re done for today. By Monday you’ll be able to keep
that power flowing from—shall we say ten feet?”
“Ten feet?” There’s no fucking way.
“You’re right.” He nods, turning toward his antsy dragon. “Make it
fifteen.” His head tilts to the side, and he pauses as if he’s talking to his
dragon. “When you get back to the house, tell Riorson we’ll need both of
you in the Assembly chamber at five o’clock.”
“But Xaden isn’t—” I lower my shields and sure enough, there he is.
The shadowy pathway between our minds is strong with proximity and
heavy with… weariness?
“You’re home early. Everything all right?”
“No.” He doesn’t give any details, and his tone doesn’t invite further
questions.
“Is Sgaeyl all right?” I ask Tairn as I walk up the forearm he’s dipped
for me.
“She’s unharmed.” Frustration and anger simmer, then quickly scald our
bond, and I swiftly shield him out to keep from losing control over my own
emotions.
A half hour later, after flying back to the valley and watching Andarna
show off her developing ability to extend her wing while counting to thirty
with enthusiastic applause, I walk into the chaotic halls of Riorson House
and head straight for the kitchen.
Once I have a plate of what I need, I start up the sweeping staircase and
find Garrick, Bodhi, and Heaton talking on the second-floor landing. The
look on Garrick’s soot-covered face matches the ominous weight of
Xaden’s mood, and when Heaton turns their head, I nearly fumble the plate.
The right side of their face is one giant contusion, and their right arm is
splinted from the elbow down.
“What happened?”
Garrick and Bodhi exchange a glance that makes my stomach sink, even
knowing that Xaden is alive—and not in our bedroom on this floor, but four
stories above me.
“They took Pavis,” Heaton tells me quietly, looking to see that we’re not
overheard.
I blink. That can’t be right. “That town is only an hour’s flight east of
Draithus.”
Heaton nods slowly. “Took seven of them and a hoard of wyvern. Town
was overrun before we even got there. Your sister—she’s all right, just
taking Emery to the healers for a shattered leg. She ordered us out after—”
Their voice breaks, and they look away.
“After Nyra Voldaren fell during our mission today,” Garrick finishes.
“Nyra?” She was the quadrant’s senior wingleader last year and was
damn near invincible.
“Yeah. She went in to defend a group of civilians that had taken shelter
near the armory, and…” His jaw works. “And there was nothing left of her
or Malla. It was just like Soleil and Fuil, completely drained. I’m sure
they’ll update everyone in Battle Brief tomorrow, but they recalled all first
and second lieutenants to Aretia to regroup.”
“I think they’re going to change the wing structure,” Heaton adds.
“They have to,” Garrick agrees. “Leaving the less experienced riders
back from the front doesn’t do a damn thing when the front is this fucking
fluid.”
“Did they take Cordyn?”
Garrick shakes his head. “Skipped right over it and hundreds of other
miles. They targeted Pavis and stayed there.”
“It’s a good staging point”—Bodhi drops his voice when a trio of fliers
out of First Wing walk by—“for Draithus. Has to be.”
They’re coming for us.
Many of our most esteemed tacticians have tried to estimate the
approaching tipping point—where the outcome of the war may have
been decided even though we still fight. Many believe it will come in the
next decade. I fear it will arrive much sooner than that.
—CAPTAIN LERA DORRELL’S GUIDE TO VANQUISHING THE VENIN
PROPERTY OF CLIFFSBANE ACADEMY
W
