“I’m going to skip the obvious pun to be made about plenty of mares in my stable.” He flashes a grin, then turns and heads toward the path at the end of the valley. “Seeing as I’m no longer a cadet but a mature, responsible officer.”
She scoffs as he walks by. “We need to go, Sorrengail.”
“You took down a venin?” I pivot, keeping my attention on Xaden. “Outside Draithus?” It’s the last Poromish stronghold before the Cliffs of Dralor.
“You have lengthy news to discuss?” he replies, lifting his brows.
“Are you all right?” I slide my hands to his face, scanning him like that tiny bit of exposed skin will tell me if the other ninety-five percent is unharmed. Being able to raise the wards won’t mean anything if he isn’t safe—at least it won’t mean anything to me.
“News?” His eyes narrow.
“Violet!” Rhiannon calls.
“I have to fly out.” I drop my hands reluctantly, and he catches one in his as I retreat a step. “We’ll talk when I get back.”
“Tell me now.”
“The wingleader voice doesn’t work on me.” I squeeze his hand and let go.
His eyes flare. “You figured out how to raise the wards.”
I blink, then scowl. “I hate it when you do that. Is my face really that easy to read?”
“To me? Yes.” He looks toward the rocky path that leads down to Riorson House. “We should go now. How long will it take to raise them?”
“No.” I shake my head and turn toward my squad, seeing Sloane, Visia, and Cat clearly waiting for me. Guess I don’t need to ask where I’ve been assigned. “We’ll talk about it later. Discussion paused.”
“At least tell me what was missed the first time.” Xaden quickly catches up to me.
“Dragons.” I pat Andarna’s foreleg as we approach the trio of waiting cadets. “‘The six most powerful’ refers to dragons, not riders.”
“In that case, I can have them up before you get back.”
“No, you can’t.” I shoot him a glare.
“Are you two fighting silently?” Cat asks, glancing between Xaden and me, her perfectly arched brows rising slowly.
“They do that,” Sloane informs her.
Xaden ignores them both completely, keeping his gaze locked onto mine as we reach them. “And just why can’t I?”
I lean up and brush my lips over his cool cheek. “Because you’ll need Tairn. Now go warm up. I have a mission to fly.” Without another word to him, I turn to my squadmates. “Let’s go.”
The art of imbuing comes naturally to only a handful of signets, and automatically only to one: the siphon.
—A STUDY ON SIGNETS BY MAJOR DALTON SISNEROS
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Forty minutes later, the four of us are hiking down a steep, snow-covered ridgeline to a cave only accessible by foot in the sector our group has been assigned to, and Lucky Me is in the lead, which leaves Cat at my back.
At least Andarna’s there to protect it should the flier get any stabby ideas about how to get me out of Xaden’s bed.
“This is not what I had in mind when I said I wanted to fly with you.” Andarna huffs at the powdery snow, scattering a portion in a shimmering cloud of frozen misery.
“This is what the mission called for, and you need your strength to fly back,” I tell her, trudging forward through the knee-high layer of fresh hell and hoping I don’t fall through into any older strata.
The only one who isn’t struggling is Kiralair, Cat’s silver-winged gryphon, who walks at Andarna’s side. Only those two are light enough not to cause an avalanche on the nonexistent path.
“Anything?” Tairn asks as he flies to the next peak, his voice tense.
“We haven’t even made it to the cave you selected,” I respond, spotting the mouth of the cave about twenty yards ahead only because Tairn pointed it out under the camouflage of the snowy outcropping above. The riot left us at the only fully stable section of terrain, an outcropping of rock left bare by the vicious wind.
“I still find this plan lacking,” he lectures. “Leaving you on one peak to explore another for a possible energy signature leaves you in unacceptable danger.”
“From whom?” I tug my fur-lined hood closer to ward off the wind when it shifts, stinging the tips of my exposed ears. “Do you really think any wyvern could—”
“I’m coming back.”
“It’s entirely too easy to rile you.” I laugh, and the sound echoes off the snow-covered bowl, making us all take pause.
“For fuck’s sake, Sorrengail,” Cat hisses once it’s clear the snow around us is staying put. “Are you trying to get us buried in an avalanche?”
“Sorry,” I whisper over my shoulder.
Her eyes widen. “Did you just apologize to me?”
