“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

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

We split as the hallway grows too crowded, and I continue up and up the stairs, climbing to the fifth floor, then nodding to Rhi and Tara as I pass by the open door to Rhi’s room. Clearly, by their wide smiles, they don’t know yet, and I decide to give them a few more minutes of blissfully ignorant happiness and keep walking down the long hallway to the back stairs.

The service stairway is dark, but mage lights wink on as I climb the steep, wrought-iron spiral staircase to its end. I open the door with lesser magic, then step out onto the narrow walkway that runs along the apex of the roofline and close it behind me.

Xaden sits on the edge of the small defensive turret thirty feet away, and the only shadows surrounding him are the ones the dying afternoon light casts. If I didn’t feel his turmoil saturating the bond between us, I’d think he was up here for the view, the very picture of control.

Step by careful step, I cross the eastern line of the roof, careful not to let the breeze rip the plate from my hand or screw with my balance.

“What did I tell you about risking your life in order to talk to me?” he asks, his gaze focused on the town below.

“I’d hardly call that risking my life.” I set the plate on the wall, then climb up to sit next to Xaden. “But I do now understand how you’re so damn good at Parapet.”

“Been practicing since I was a kid,” he admits. “How did you know I was up here?”

“Other than being able to track you through the bond? You told me in a letter that you’d sit up here waiting for your father to come home.” I reach for the plate, then hold it in front of him. “I know chocolate cake isn’t going to fix this, but in my defense, I got it for you when I’d just thought you’d had a shit day, before I knew what really happened.”

He glances at the slice, then leans in and brushes his mouth over mine before grabbing it. “I’m not used to people taking care of me. Thank you.”

“Get used to it.” The cold seeps into my leathers from the wall beneath us, and I note the heavy gray clouds moving in from the west. “It’s already snowing up the pass. I bet we get seven inches tonight.”

“Maybe more if you’re good.” A corner of his mouth lifts as he cuts into the cake with the fork.

“You’re making dick jokes?” I brace my hands on the top edge of the wall.

“You’re talking about the weather.” He takes a bite, then cuts another one and hands me the fork.

“I was being considerate and giving you the option of not talking about what happened. Would you rather I talk about how translating is going with Dain?” I take the offered bite and give the fork back. Damn, no wonder he loves this cake. It’s better than anything we had at Basgiath.

“I’d rather you stop being considerate and ask.” His gaze locks with mine.

I swallow, getting the feeling he’s not just talking about today’s loss. “Were you there?”

“Yes.” The fork clicks against the plate as he sets it in his lap.

“Tairn didn’t tell me.”

“I think Sgaeyl somehow blocked him out.” He cocks his head to the side. “Pretty sure we’re both blocked out right now, which means—”