-SIX
XADEN
very note of Sgaeyl’s terror plays down my spine as I hang suspended
mere feet above the battlefield, my muscles frozen, my power locked
uselessly inside of me. Even if he let me go, I’m not sure I’d have enough
strength left to wield. He wore me down for fucking fun.
I was never a match for him. None of us are.
Every nerve in my body screams from the pain of incineration, the heat
from wielding too much for too long burning me alive. But worse than the
pain is the defeat.
“It hurts, doesn’t it? Nearing burnout?” The Sage walks a slow circle
around me, his blue robes darker at the hem from the melting snow, mere
feet from the ravine I had to cross to prove I could cut it in this place.
“Magic does like everything in balance. Take too much and she’ll consume
you for overstepping.”
I tear at the bonds he has wrapped around me, invisible strings of power
that bind me like a trussed chicken.
“You strike. I block. You throw. I dodge.” He sighs, dragging his staff in
the dirt behind him.
Just like my fucking nightmares.
Except the sweat dripping down the back of my neck reminds me that
this is very much my reality. That Violet is beneath Basgiath, fighting to
raise the wards; that Tairn is picking off the wyverns tearing at Sgaeyl
above me to keep her from my side. What is it about me that fails the
females in my life?
“So, I’m going to give you one last chance to make the right choice so
we can get this over with,” the Sage says, stopping in front of me and
smiling up at me with those eerie red-rimmed eyes and spider-webbed
veins. He retreats a handful of steps, then taps the staff on the ground.
Gravity claims me, and I fall, passing my feet and slamming into the
ground on my hands and knees.
“I told you once that you’d turn for love,” he says, holding his arms out.
“And so you shall.”
“You don’t know shit about me.” I stumble for my feet and fall again,
landing on my knees as Sgaeyl roars in pure fury overhead.
“I know more than you think.” He lowers his staff and leans on it like a
walking stick.
“Because you’re a Sage?” I spit, grounding my feet on that hillside in
Tyrrendor and reaching for my power.
“A Sage?” He laughs. “I am a general.”
Fire races down my arms and shadows stream from beneath me,
wrapping around the arrogant asshole’s torso. Satisfaction courses through
me in a high better than churram. “Generals die the same as soldiers.” I
fight with my own arms to get them to move, but they don’t obey, having
gone into muscle failure long before he hefted me into the sky.
“Do they?” He laughs again, wrapped in darkness. “Come on, shadow
wielder. Turn. It’s the only way to save her.”
“Fuck you.” I throw myself down the bond and feel Violet slipping,
burning, intending to… My shadows slip, but the general doesn’t move.
She’s going to sacrifice herself to save me.
She intends to die.
My heart vaults into my throat, and I taste it again, the same as it was
when I sat by her bedside after Resson—fear.
“You know what will happen when you fail?” the general taunts, flicking
at the weak bands of shadow that curl around his throat. “I’ll step over your
dead body and find her. Then I’ll wrap my hands around her delicate little
neck—”
Fury surges in my veins, the blast of adrenaline enough to solidify the
bands of shadow and yank them tight, but no matter how hard I tug, he
won’t move.
“—and drain her.”
I slam one hand onto the ground and clench my other fist, my arm
shaking with the effort it takes to hold him there as I delve to the depths of
Sgaeyl’s power and let the fire consume me.
“Hold him!” she demands.
But I can’t.
He’s too strong, and I have nothing left. But I’ll be damned if Violet
suffers the consequences. He won’t get his hands on her. Not today. Not
ever. The slush beneath my palm melts, and I feel… There’s something
beneath me.
A steady flow of unmistakable…power.
“You cannot!” Sgaeyl shrieks. “I chose you!”
But Violet chose me, too.
I reach.
My heart stammers and I gasp for air, jolting upright in bed. I check the
back of my neck, but it’s dry. No dripping sweat. No aching muscles. No
exhaustion.
Just Violet, sleeping beside me, her cheek resting on the pillow, her
breaths deep and even thanks to the exhaustion that’s left bruises under her
eyes, her arm bent as though reaching out for me even in her dreams.
I watch her long enough to calm my racing heart, my gaze skimming
over every part of her I can see from the silvery lines of her hard-won scars
to the silvery half of her hair on the pillow. She’s so fucking beautiful I can
barely breathe. And I almost lost her.
My fingertips trail over the smooth, soft skin of her cheek, spotting the
tracks her tears left. She lost her mother today, and while I won’t mourn the
loss of Lilith Sorrengail, I can’t stand the pain Violet’s suffering.
And yet I’m about to be the biggest cause of it.
“I love you,” I whisper, just because I can, and then I climb from the bed
as quietly as possible and dress quickly in the moonlight.
Silently, I leave the room, then make my way down the hall and to the
staircase, surrounding myself in the warmth of my shadows as I descend
floor by floor to the tunnels of Basgiath.
I don’t bother reaching for Sgaeyl. She’s been eerily silent since the
battle ended.
The doors to the bridge open at my command, as do the ones on the far
side when I reach them, keeping myself wrapped in darkness as I pass the
overflowing clinic where we’d spent hours waiting for Sawyer to come out
of surgery earlier.
I sidestep two drunken infantry cadets and keep walking down the
tunnel, only turning when I reach the guarded staircase that leads to my
target. The guard cracks a yawn, and I slip by unnoticed thanks to the
increase in my signet… or whatever this is.
The last time I walked these stairs, I’d just murdered everyone who
stood between me and Violet. It’s ironic that’s the cell I end up standing in
front of now, peering through the barred window at Jack-fucking-Barlowe.
“You look good,” the second-year says, sitting up on the reconstructed
bunk and smiling. “You here to dose me? Pretty sure I’m not due until
tomorrow morning.”
“What’s the cure?” I fold my arms across my chest.
“For the serum?” He scoffs. “The antidote.”
“You know what I fucking mean.” Shadows scurry in from the edges of
the walls in his cell. “Tell me what the cure is, and I won’t send for the
Rybestad Chest that will hold you in the air until you mummify.”
He stands slowly, cracking his neck before he moves to the center of the
room, where the chair they’d tortured Violet in had been bolted. “Cures are
for diseases. What we have is power, and that, dear Riorson, isn’t curable.
It’s enviable.”
“Bullshit. There’s a way to get rid of this,” I seethe.
His smile grows even wider. “Oh no. There’s no cure. You can never
give back what’s taken—you’ll only hunger for more.”
“I’d rather die than become one of you.” Fear flavors the words because
I feel it, the power beneath the college, the craving to sate the need for it.
“And yet, you just did.” Jack laughs, and the sound curdles my blood.
“All this time, you’ve been convincing everyone you’re the hero, and now
you’ll be the villain…especially in her story. Welcome to our fucked-up
family. Guess we’re brothers now.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my husband, Jason, for being the best inspiration an author
could ever have for the perfect book boyfriend and for your endless support
in what can only be described as years of utter chaos. Thank you for
holding my hand when the world went wonky, getting me to every doctor’s
appointment, and managing the overwhelming calendar that comes with
having four sons and a wife with Ehlers-Danlos. Thank you to my six
children, who are quite simply my everything. To my sister, Kate, who
never complained when we were holed up in a London hotel room with
edits instead of sightseeing: love you, mean it. To my parents, who are
always there when I need them. To my best friend, Emily Byer, for always
hunting me down when I disappear into the writing cave for months.
Thank you to my team at Red Tower. Thank you to my editor Liz
Pelletier, for giving me the chance to write my favorite genre. To Stacy
Abrams for what shall be called the July all-nighter. You are an absolute
goddess. Hannah, Lydia, Rae, Heather, Curtis, Molly, Jessica, Toni, Nicole,
Veronica, and everyone at Entangled and Macmillan for answering endless
streams of emails and for bringing this book to the marketplace. To Julia
Kniep and Becky West for all the incredible notes and support. To Bree
Archer for this phenomenal cover and Elizabeth and Amy for the exquisite
art. To Meredith Johnson for being the GOAT. Thank you to my
phenomenal agent, Louise Fury, for always standing at my back.
Thank you to my business manager, KP, for holding my sanity in your
hands and never dropping it. Thank you to my wifeys, our unholy trinity,
Gina Maxwell and Cindi Madsen—I’d be lost without you. To Kyla, who
made this book possible. To Shelby and Cassie for keeping my ducks in a
row and always being my number one hype girls. To every blogger and
reader who has taken a chance on me over the years, I can’t thank you
enough. To my reader group, The Flygirls, for bringing me joy every day.
Lastly, because you’re my beginning and end, thank you again to my
Jason. There’s a little bit of you in every hero I write.
