“Thanks.” I can’t help but smile back with a little bit of pride. “Dad taught me well, and Markham picked up where he left off.”

“Bet you disappointed the hell out of him when you stayed in the Riders Quadrant.”

“I’m definitely his biggest failure.” Just a few more steps.

“But Dad’s biggest success.” He offers the journal back.

“I think he’d be proud of all of us. You should keep that.” I nod at the journal as we finally reach the top. “It needs to be preserved.”

“Any time you want it, it’s yours,” he promises, tucking it into his jacket for safekeeping before heading left toward where Marbh stands next to Cath, his tail flicking as Dain waits in front of him, shifting his weight impatiently.

Six dragons surround the top of the chamber, standing wing to wing, and I make my way to Tairn, who stands beside Sgaeyl, as I would expect.

“How is Andarna?” I ask him, taking my place between his forelegs and peeking over the stone-rimmed edge into the chamber where the wardstone sits a hundred feet below. “She’s not responding when I reach out.”

“She’s been questioned by the elders, and her actions were found justifiable,” he answers. “But to slay another dragon is a heavy mark upon the soul, even when in defense of yourself or your rider.”

“That’s why you only took his eye instead of killing him.” I stiffen as Xaden approaches, refusing to look his way as he moves into position with Sgaeyl.

“I should have ended him then. I will not hesitate when faced with a similar predicament in the future. She now suffers with a burden that should have been mine.”

“I’m proud of her.”

“As am I.”

Rhiannon stands with Feirge, and Suri does the same with her Brown Clubtail.

“Let’s get this done.” Suri shoots a glare my way, obviously still angry that I’ve hidden my discovery for the past week. I’m definitely not winning any points in the trust department.

All six of us exchange glances and quick nods.

“It is time,” Tairn says.

The dragons inhale as one and then exhale fire into the chamber in six separate streams, instantly warming the air around us. This is exactly why they built it open to the sky—not as some kind of worship of the stars but because the dragons needed access for this.

I look away, turning my head to the side when the heat triggers my hypersensitive skin, still stinging from Solas’s assault. A heartbeat later, a pulse of magic vibrates through me in a wave, dredging my power to the surface with a feeling slightly softer than the one that had rippled out at the emergence of Aretia’s first hatchling.

The fire ceases, and the blazing heat dissipates into the winter air, leaving us all staring at the stone, at our dragons, at one another.

That leveled, anchored sensation I’ve only felt within the wards at Basgiath has returned, and the wild, unleashed magic that’s crawled under my skin since leaving Navarre seems to sit back, not weaker but infinitely more…tame. I lean over the edge to look, but the stone looks exactly the same as it did before.

Maybe the fire is more symbolic?

I glance over at Dain, and he smiles wider than I’ve seen in years, nodding to me. My quick grin mirrors his, and my chest swells with excitement. We did it. All the long nights and the cold days spent imbuing, all the squabbles over translation, and even my initial failure are worth it for this moment.

“Is that it?” Brennan asks, looking across the chamber’s opening at me.

“We don’t exactly have time to test it.” Xaden points upward, where the drifts have already taken to the sky, then locks his gaze with mine. “Let’s fly.”

Tairn has never flown faster, leaving Sgaeyl and Xaden behind as he surges for the cliff with the best vantage point for spotting wyvern—the edge of the high plains—usually a two-hour flight for Tairn, but this evening we make it a few minutes under that mark.

“They’re fifteen minutes behind us,” he tells me as he sails over miles and miles of agricultural fields, gradually descending until we land fifty yards from the edge of the cliffs. “Use it to center yourself.”

“Don’t tell me you’re taking Xaden’s side of this argument.” I unbuckle from the saddle and wince as I climb out of my seat. “I need to stretch my legs.”

“I don’t take the lieutenant anywhere.” He chuffs. “As if I have nothing better to do than listen to your romantic issues.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to jump to conclusions.” I navigate his spikes, and he dips his shoulder.

“Though I do take offense at your insult,” he notes as I slide down his leg.

“Insult?” My knee protests when my boots collide with the frozen ground, but the wrap holds tight.

“You doubt your judgment as if I did not choose you for it.”

“But you weren’t listening. Right.” Rolling my shoulders, I walk toward the edge of the cliff and summon just enough of my power that my skin warms even though my breath puffs out in clouds of steam.

There’s a hum here, too, and I instinctively know that this is where the wards end, twenty feet short of the cliff’s edge. This point is a four-hour flight from Aretia for average dragons—if such a creature exists.

Would this be the natural border of Basgiath’s wards if they weren’t extended by the outposts? That distance would leave Elsum, Tyrrendor, and even most of Calldyr unwarded.

Gods, we’re not even shielding most of Tyrrendor if this is the wardstone’s natural range.

“What’s the news?” I ask Tairn.

“The nearest riot of three is twenty miles to the north, and the same to the south.”

“No sightings?” We don’t have the strength Xaden wants in each unit tonight, but we can cover more of the border in groups of three, or in our case, two. Deploying in smaller but closely spaced units gives the stronger dragons a better chance at communicating as well.

Every bonded pair has been recalled from the lines across Poromiel to defend the cliffs, but there’s no hope of those stationed in Cordyn, or beyond at the border with the Braevick province, making it back in time.

“Not from the cliffs.”

“But beyond?” I look out across the darkening landscape, searching for any sign of gray wings.

“I’d estimate we have a quarter hour.” He huffs a hot breath of steam that billows past me. “Prepare yourself. Sgaeyl approaches.”

“Do you think he’s right?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest as wingbeats break the relative silence of the night.

“I know he thinks he is.”

That’s helpful.