“Irid?” I blink and fight like hell to keep my face blank.
“Yes, your irid.” Theophanie surveys the sky, then the landscape behind us as Garrick staggers to his feet, sword in hand. “Some do not believe, but I knew as soon as the cream-robed scholars whispered about the seventh breed in your war college. Pity I had to leave so abruptly. One hasn’t been seen in centuries, and I was so hoping to set…eyes on her.” She finishes the statement like the threat it is, bringing her crimson gaze to mine.
Andarna. Terror races up my spine and lightens my head.
“Irid,” Andarna whispers. “Yes. I remember now. That is what my kind are called. I am an irid scorpiontail.”
“Fly for the wards!” I scream mentally. “She’s not here for me. She wants you.”
“I will not abandon you,” she roars.
“Everyone on the Continent needs you alive. Now fly.” My fingers brush the conduit hanging from my wrist, but it’s of no use to me without Tairn’s power. I need to stall, give Andarna enough time to escape. “She’s out of your reach.”
You might be angry when you realize I didn’t wake you to say goodbye. But it’s only because I no longer fully trust my ability to walk away.
—Recovered Correspondence of His Grace, Lieutenant Xaden Riorson, Sixteenth Duke of Tyrrendor, to Cadet Violet Sorrengail
