“I didn’t go snooping.” I shake my head, my eyes narrowing at him.

A corner of his mouth rises. “Because you trust me.”

“Analogy.” I enunciate every syllable.

“So ask the question, Violet,” he says softly, in that calm, controlled tone that makes me lift my chin. “Humor me.”

“Fine,” I grit out through my teeth. “Do you happen to have a battle—” Shadows surge from the armoire, and I catch the glint of metal a heartbeat before the bands of darkness hold a dagger to within inches of my chin.

I gasp, then lock every muscle. “What the fuck, Xaden?”

“Am I going to hurt you?” The carpet makes his bootsteps nearly silent as he crosses the room, giving me plenty of time to object or retreat, but I don’t.

“I’m going to hurt you if you don’t get that away from me.” I keep my eyes on him.

“Would I ever let this knife hurt you?” His boots touch the tips of mine, and he leans into my space.

“Of course not.”

The shadows slowly take the blade closer to Xaden’s throat, and I grab for the hilt, yanking it away and tossing it to the desk before he can accidentally nick himself.

His smile flashes, then fades. “Hey, Violence?”

“What?” I snap.

“There’s a knife in the armoire.” His hand slides to the nape of my neck, and he leans in, narrowing the world to just the two of us. “All you had to do was ask, and even if you weren’t aware it was coming, you know I’d never let it hurt you. I’m not the one you don’t trust.”

I scoff. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Love, you’re the smartest person I know. If you actually wanted the answers, you’d ask the right questions.” His voice softens as his thumb sweeps along my jawline. “You knew about the deal. Maybe the question you need to be asking is why you didn’t confront me about it.”

“Because I love you!” My voice breaks into a mortifying whisper that’s almost half as embarrassing as the thoughts I can’t keep from spinning in my brain. The thoughts that I’ve fought to hold at bay ever since my mother told me about the deal she made with him. Heat flushes my cheeks as he holds my stare, and frustration curls my hands into fists. “Because I want to think you kept me alive those first few months before Threshing because you were intrigued or impressed by me or attracted to me like I was to you, and not because you made a deal with my mother. Because it’s horrifying to think that the only reason you fell in love with me is because of her. Because maybe you’re right and I didn’t want that particular truth, since I know there’s a thin line between devotion and obsession, between cowardice and self-preservation, and I’m walking it when it comes to you. I love you so fucking much that I ignored every warning signal last year, and now half the time I don’t know what side of that line I’m standing on because I’m too busy looking at you to watch my own feet!”

“Because you don’t want yourself to know where your feet are,” he says softly.

My mouth snaps shut. How dare he.

Someone pounds on the door.

“Fuck off!” Xaden yells over his shoulder, then sighs as if remembering the sound shield.

“Let’s put your theory to the test. You want me to demand the truth? To ask you something real?” I hold his gaze and steel my heart.

“Please, do,” he challenges.

“What’s your second signet?”

His eyes widen, and the blood drains from his face as his hand falls away. For the first time, I think I’ve actually managed to shock Xaden Riorson.

“I know you have one,” I whisper as the pounding continues. “You told me that Sgaeyl was bonded to your grandfather, which makes you a direct descendant. If a dragon bonds a family member, it can strengthen a signet, but a direct descendant will either produce a second signet…or madness, and you seem pretty sane to me.”

He inhales sharply and forces his features into a mask.

I shake my head and scoff. “So much for asking. I just can’t figure out why Sgaeyl was allowed to choose you, how she got away with it. How you both did.”

The pounding only increases. “We have an emergency out here!”

Brennan?

Both of our heads turn toward the door, and Xaden quickly moves to open it. He listens to my brother’s hushed words, then looks over his shoulder at me. “A horde of wyvern has been spottled flying from Pavis toward the cliffs.”

Xaden says something else to Brennan, then turns to me again. “You ready to raise those wards? Or would you like to wait until they’re actually at the gates?”

Fuck.

It was never our continent. From the very beginning, it was theirs, and we were simply allowed to live here.

—THE JOURNAL OF WARRICK OF LUCERAS

—TRANSLATED BY CADET VIOLET SORRENGAIL

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

“Dragons,” Brennan says as we skip the path that leads to the wardstone chamber and instead climb the one that leads to the top of the hill with the other members of the Assembly, Xaden and Rhiannon walking up behind us in the afternoon light.

The wind howls as storm clouds roll in above us. Even the weather holds a sense of urgency, and if I’m wrong? If I missed a symbol? A meaning? We’ll be fighting for our lives in the next few hours. But I can feel the distinct, powerful hum of the wardstone from here, so that must mean I have part of it right.

The time Dain, Xaden, and I have put in imbuing the wardstone has paid off. It’s not creating wards on its own, of course, but it’s at least holding power.

The chaos inside Riorson House bleeds onto the trail that leads to the valley as riders and fliers alike hike for the flight field, armed to the teeth with swords, battle-axes, daggers, and bows. My own daggers are sheathed—all but the two I left in the cave with Solas’s body—and my pack is strapped to my back. Most third- and second-years are headed to the outposts along the Navarrian border, and then there’s me.

I’ll be with Xaden, since Tairn and Sgaeyl can fly faster than the rest of the riot to confront the approaching horde. The last thing we want is to let them get to Aretia.

If we hurry and the translation is accurate, we might get the wards working just as the horde reaches the height of the cliffs. I try not to focus on what will happen if I’ve translated wrong again, my heart racing in my chest as we hurry up the path.

I glance over my shoulder at Xaden, his jaw clenched, eyes not quite meeting mine. Maybe he and I keep having the same fight because we never get to actually finish it. What in Malek’s name could his signet be if he went that pale?

“Dragons,” I repeat to Brennan, pulling my attention back to my brother and handing the journal over on the page I’d mistranslated originally. “That line?” I point with a gloved finger. “It’s more loosely interpreted as political power, not physical, which would be a lower placement on the symbol. Dain caught that one. The stone needs a representative of each den.” Which is exactly why Rhiannon is trekking up the path behind us with a stone-silent Xaden. We need Feirge. “And it took reading the entire beginning to know that once a dragon fires a wardstone, their fire can’t be used on any other, and reading the entire end to know they created two wardstones. But it doesn’t say why they never activated this one. It’s dragonfire that triggers the imbedded runes, and they obviously had enough dragons, so why wouldn’t they protect more of Navarre if they could?”

My entire body aches from today’s attack, especially my head and shoulders, and I fight to lock the pain away so we can get this done. It won’t matter if I’m hurting if we’re dead in the next few hours. Gently, I probe the swollen knot on the back of my head and wince.

“Let me mend it,” Brennan says, worry creasing his forehead as he looks up from the journal.

“We don’t have time right now. Later.” I shake my head and tug my hood up over my head to ward off the cold.

He shoots me a disapproving look but doesn’t try to talk me out of my choice. “Not only did you translate it, but you went back and did it again when most people would have quit. I’m really impressed, Violet.” His mouth curves into a smile.