“You’re welcome for flying to your aid,” Xaden replies, earning a sneer.
“The Vale is the only thing that matters,” Mom interrupts, shifting slightly so her shoulder is between Melgren and me. “The Archives are already sealed. The rest of the fortress can be rebuilt.”
“You’re going to abandon it,” Xaden says softly, using that cold, menacing tone that used to scare the shit out of me. From the way Panchek steps back, it hasn’t lost its edge.
Their silence is damning. My gaze jumps from face to face, looking for someone—anyone—to argue.
“They can launch that line at any moment.” Melgren points to the waiting horde. “We have over sixty injured pairs, be it dragon or rider that’s wounded. That horde right there will take us as spread out as we are now.”
“Then why not move every cadet to the Vale?” Xaden challenges.
Melgren narrows his beady eyes. “You might lead a revolution, Riorson, but you know nothing about winning a war.”
At least he called it a revolution and not a rebellion.
“You’re using them as a distraction.” Xaden drops his arms. “A delaying tactic. They’ll die while those in the Vale have time to prepare. Prepare for what, exactly?”
My jaw drops. “You can’t do that.” I pivot, putting myself in front of Mom. “You won’t need to. Brennan has mended the wardstone.”
“Even Brennan can’t mend magic, Cadet Sorrengail.” There’s no give, no room to stray from the course in her eyes.
“No,” I admit. “But he doesn’t have to. If the stone is mended, it could hold power. We could still raise the wards. I know how.”
A curious caress of shimmering shadow slides down my shields, but I don’t let him in.
“You weren’t entirely successful in Aretia, were you?” she asks, lowering her voice so only I hear. “‘Could’ isn’t good enough.” That part is for a wider audience, and the rebuke heats my cheeks.
“I can do it,” I whisper back just as quietly, then raise my voice to be heard. “If you put Xaden and me in the Vale, you leave the wardstone unprotected, and that is the only solution to keep everyone on this field alive today.”
“You don’t know if it works after being mended,” she says slowly, like there’s any chance I might misunderstand her. “And even if it did—”
“Their leader has arrived,” Tairn tells me, and by the way every rider’s face pivots skyward—including mine—he’s not the only dragon who’s noticed.
There, in the center of the horde, now flies a wyvern slightly larger than the others, bearing a rider in royal blue. The pitch of my stomach says that if he comes closer, I’ll recognize his dark, thinning hair and the annoyed purse of his lips, even if logic argues that I won’t, that it’s just a fucking dream.
My heart rate soars as fear soaks into my skin, colder than the rain and melting snow around us.
“As you can see,” Mom says, tearing her gaze from the horde. “It’s too late for wards now.”
“It’s not!” I argue.
“Cadet—” Mom starts.
“I can get them up,” I promise, putting myself in her way when she tries to sidestep me. “If they can hold power, then I can get the wards up!”
“Cadet,” Mom snaps, her cheeks turning ruddy.
“At least see if the stone can hold power before you sentence all of us to death!” I push.
“Violet!” Mom shouts.
“Listen to me!” I yell right back. “For once in your life, listen to what I’m telling you!”
She draws her head back.
I forge on. “For once in my life, trust me. Have faith in me. I can get the wards up.”
There it is, the slight narrowing of her eyes that says I have her attention.
“If we raise the wards, every wyvern on this field is dead. Every dark wielder is powerless—” I swallow, thinking of Jack. “Nearly powerless. Name one other weapon capable of managing that feat. Just go down there with me and see if it will hold power. Help me imbue it,” I plead with my mother. “If it won’t hold power, then I’ll do whatever you want, but I can do this, General. I know how.”
“Enough of this. We’re wasting time.” Melgren waves me off, then walks toward Codagh, his aides following after.
“Wait!” my mother calls out, and my heart stops.
“I’m sorry, General?” Melgren snaps, pausing to face us just outside the archway.
“This is my school.” Mom lifts her chin. “I said wait.”
“It’s my army!” he barks. “And there is no waiting!”
“Technically, half of it is your army,” Xaden says, his gaze pinned on the wyvern horde. “The other half is mine. And seeing that you had no problem having my father executed, I have no problem leaving you to die if you refuse her help.”
Melgren stares at Xaden, the color slowly draining from his face.
“That’s what I thought.” Xaden sticks out his hand. “You want to walk with me, Violet?”
Something in his tone—maybe it’s resignation—makes me twine my fingers with his, following him as he walks out of the archway, past Melgren, and toward the dragons.
