I palm a dagger in my right hand and crack open the door to the Archives, letting power trickle into me.

Melgren walks at the center, his beady eyes shifting down our line of Aretian riders. I don’t need Cat’s gift to heighten his anger. He wears rage like it’s a part of his uniform.

I force myself to glance at the other members of their chosen party, only recognizing three, two of whom were Mom’s aides at one point or another.

“Colonel Fremont—second on the left—is a very powerful air wielder,” I tell Xaden. “He can suck the air straight out of your lungs.”

“Thank you.” Shadows rise in front of the three of us, curling in blade-like fingers at the level of our knees.

Then my gaze falls on Mom.

She walks at Melgren’s side, cutting through the field with quick, efficient steps, her attention split between Mira and me. The closer she comes, the more apparent her exhaustion. Deep bruises mark the space under her eyes, contrasting with her paler-than-normal complexion, even though the lines from her flight goggles indicate she’s spending time in the sky.

Mira tilts her chin and smooths her expression into a mask I envy and do the best to emulate.

The dragons follow, led out of the forest by Melgren’s dragon, Codagh. The utter nightmare of a black dragon immediately lowers his head as he stalks forward, and his golden eyes narrow at me—no, at Tairn standing behind me. Fuck, I’d almost forgotten just how big he is, easily five feet taller than Tairn, numerous battle scars marking his chest scales and wings.

Mom’s dragon, Aimsir, follows, prowling toward us at the same time the other five make their appearance, an orange, two reds…and a blue.

Tairn steps forward and lifts his head to hover over mine, a menacing rumble working its way up his throat.

“Don’t drool on me,” I joke, but it falls flat.

The Navarrian riders walk to the center of the field, and when Ulices moves, so do we, leaving ten feet of empty field between our lines. Swords and daggers gleam within easy reach on both sides.

“And here I was thinking you were dead, Ulices,” Melgren starts, forcing a smile that’s mostly bared teeth.

“And here I was hoping you were,” Ulices counters, using his height to look down his nose at Melgren.

“No such luck,” Melgren replies. “What happened to meeting at the outpost?” He gestures back toward the trees. “We have refreshments waiting if you’d care to—”

“Probably poisoned,” Tairn adds, but he sounds slightly distracted, as if holding more than one conversation at once, probably because he is.

“We don’t,” Xaden interrupts. “Speak your piece, Melgren.”

Melgren’s gaze jumps to Xaden. “We never should have let you into the quadrant.”

“Regrets are truly a bitch, aren’t they?” Xaden cocks his head. “Let’s get to it. You may have nothing better to do with your day, but we’re busy fighting for our Continent.”

“Nothing better?” Melgren snaps, his face blotching. “Do you know the destruction you caused by dropping those wyvern on the outposts? The lengths we went to in order to keep it quiet? The civilians we had to—” He stops himself, breathing deeply and straightening his shoulders. “You almost tore down centuries of work, of tightly woven defensive strategy designed to protect the people within our borders.”

“But only the people within your borders,” Mira accuses. “Fuck everyone else, right?”

Mom’s eyes flash with barely leashed reprimand.

“Yes.” Melgren turns that unnerving stare on my sister. “When you abandon ship in the middle of a hurricane, you save those you can in the dinghy, then cut the hands off anyone else who tries to climb aboard so they don’t pull you under.”

“You’re a callous asshole,” she fires back.

“Thank you.”

“Are we here for a reason?” Xaden asks. “You know, besides the evil villain lecture?” Sunlight glints off the blade of his sword as he shifts his grip.

“We let you go,” Melgren answers, glancing between Ulices and Xaden. “Let you take half the Riders Quadrant cadets without so much as a fight. Let her go”—his withering gaze slides over mine, and I lock my muscles to keep from shuddering—“after she brutally murdered the vice commandant. Ever stop to think about why?”

My stomach clenches.

“I personally try not to think about you,” Xaden replies, outright lying, but damn does he pull it off.

“You can’t afford to lose the riders necessary to fight us,” Ulices answers. “We’re too expensive to keep, especially with the number of riders—and the riot—who chose to leave you.”

“Perhaps.” Melgren tilts his head. “Or perhaps I let you.”

My grip tightens on my dagger.

“Perhaps”—the general draws out the word—“I knew we’d need you for a coming battle.”

Highly unlikely. Who would they possibly be fighting behind the wards?

“I’ll meet Malek before I fight for Navarre again,” Ulices snarls.

“You were always too quick to make important decisions,” Melgren says with a sigh, patting his chest. “That’s why I didn’t mourn your loss.”

Damn. That was harsh.

“This meeting is over—” Ulices starts, red rising up his neck and splashing onto his cheeks.

“They’re going to overrun us at Samara,” Melgren interrupts.

Everyone quiets.

I struggle to draw my next breath. Surely he didn’t mean to say that. I look at Mom, and my knees weaken at the subtle nod she gives me. Even Mira tenses.

“I’ve seen it,” Melgren continues. “They come for us on solstice, and they win.”

Shit, he said exactly what he meant. A chill races up my spine as the blood drains from my face. If Samara falls, if any of the outposts do, wyvern would have unfettered access to parts of Navarre the ward extensions have protected for the last six hundred years.

Without the outposts, Basgiath’s wards would rebound to their natural limits, only a few hours’ flight, reaching nowhere near the border.

“How?” Ulices challenges, and the riders from Mira’s unit exchange disbelieving looks.

“Do me a favor,” I say to Xaden. “Forget feeling guilty about reading my intentions and please read theirs.”

“Everyone but the major on the right is shielded, but she’s scared shitless and intends to do whatever she needs to get us to agree,” he answers, shifting so his hand brushes the back of mine. “Oh, and she wants to eat after this meeting, and argue with your mother over her supposed affection for her daughters. Now put your shields up and block me—and everyone else—out.”

Holy shit. No wonder inntinnsics aren’t allowed to live. Xaden is both a jaw-dropping weapon and a frightening liability. I do as he suggests, only leaving space for Tairn and the opaque, glimmering bond I feel with Andarna, even at this distance.

“How isn’t how it works.” Melgren folds his arms across his chest, and Codagh bares his dripping teeth. “All that matters is that we lose on solstice.”