“I’m not going to turn you in,” I say quickly, looking up at him as Mira comes within hearing distance. “But we’ll be fighting about this later.” I lift my brows.
The muscle in his jaw ticks like he wants to say more, but he only adds, “I will make myself available to you.”
“You ready for this?” Mira asks, crossing in front of Xaden to stand beside me.
“No,” I reply to Mira. “Are you?”
“No.” She rests her hand on the pommel of the shortsword sheathed at her hip. “But she’ll never know that.”
“I want to be you when I grow up.” A smile tugs at my lips despite the anxiety quickening my breaths.
“You’ll be better than me,” she counters, then looks over the top of my head to talk to Xaden. “By the way, you couldn’t convince him to stay in Aretia?”
“I don’t wield emotions, and members of the Assembly don’t take well to being tied down and restrained.” He reaches back over his shoulder and draws one of the swords strapped to his back with his left hand, leaving his right free to wield. “If you’re looking to influence mindwork, find a flier.”
I barely keep myself from jabbing him at his clever semantics, because the man clearly specializes in mindwork.
“Here we go,” Mira mutters as seven figures dressed in black step into the clearing.
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.
