I glance between all three of them. “If I told you—and trust me, I’ve considered it—you would be the ones strapped to the chair. I’m not about to let that happen.”
“Maybe you should let us decide what risks we’re willing to take.” Sawyer cracks his knuckles and rolls his shoulders, already looking at the door.
“Lesser magic isn’t working on the lock,” Ridoc mutters, his hand extended toward the door.
“Valid point, Sawyer. But this…” I shake my head. “It’s not just about me.”
“Right now it is,” Rhiannon says. “It’s all about saving you. We can figure the rest out later. Sawyer, do your thing.”
“Already on it.”
We move out of his way, and he puts his hands up toward each of the hinges. His fingers tremble and the hinges smoke, then melt. Hot metal drips down the edges of the door as he works.
“Quick, before you accidentally weld us in here,” Ridoc lectures.
“I don’t see you melting anything,” Sawyer responds from where he’s crouched, sweat beading his brow as he melts the last hinge.
Relief nearly takes out my knees. We’re going to make it!
The door wobbles, and Rhiannon and I lunge toward the guys, both throwing up our hands over them. Wood smacks into my palms, sending a jolt of pain through my newly mended shoulder as we catch what feels like the heaviest door ever made.
“Move!” Rhiannon shouts.
The guys scurry out from under the door, then help us lower it to the floor.
“We should consider quitting the quadrant,” Ridoc jokes as we walk over the door and out of the chamber. “We’d be kickass thieves.”
“With dragons,” Sawyer agrees.
“Unstoppable,” Ridoc says with a grin.
We pause at the desk only long enough to retrieve our weapons. I feel a little less panicked, less vulnerable with every blade I sheathe.
“Ready?” Rhiannon asks, gripping her shortsword.
Guess I’m not the only one who disdains feeling helpless.
We all nod, then head for the main door. Hope lives for all of a millisecond.
“It’s the same kind of lock. Lesser magic isn’t working,” Sawyer seethes, already putting his hands out.
“I don’t—” Heat prickles along my ribs. It’s the same feeling I get when I walk through the wards on my door. I look down and stare. The dagger closest to the door handle is hot and…tingling. I pull it from the sheath, bumping against the door handle as I brush my thumb over the decorative pommel.
Metal clicks against metal, and we all turn to look at the lock.
“What the hell?” Sawyer’s eyebrows jump.
“I don’t know. That’s…impossible.” Knives don’t open locks. But the heat and the tingling sensation are gone.
“Someone stop staring and try the fucking door!” Rhi orders.
Reaching for the handle, I hold my breath as the latch depresses. I pull. The door opens. “Holy shit.” It’s coincidence. It has to be. Magic isn’t tied to objects like that.
“Holy shit later, escape now,” Rhi says. “Go!”
“Right.” I sheathe the blade and yank the door open.
If we ever choose to invade enemy territory—which we don’t—I would choose Zolya as my first target. Take out Cliffsbane Academy and you take outyearsof gryphon riders in one strike.
—TACTICS, A PERSONAL MEMOIR BY LIEUTENANT LYRON PANCHEK
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
We race out of the cave and into the morning air, the rising sun hitting us in the face. Throwing up our hands to shield our eyes, we run forward into the knee-high grass that spans the distance from the cliffs to the trees.
“Where did you get those knives?” Rhiannon asks when we’re halfway to the line of oaks.
“Xaden.” It doesn’t even occur to me to lie. “He had them made for me—”
“Well, this is an unexpected delight,” Professor Grady says from behind us.
We spin, and I draw two daggers. I’d rather visit Malek than go back into that chamber. But I will…for the final exam.
“Think about that later,” Tairn commands.
“I’m fine, thanks for asking.”
