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?”