I nod, staring at the thumb-size medallion. How can something so small be the key to our entire continent’s survival? “So you just put the alloy into a dagger and get an instant venin killer?”

A smile tugs at his mouth. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“What do you think came first?” I ask, studying the dagger. “The wards? Or the ability to boost them? Or are they intertwined?”

“That’s all classified.” He takes the dagger back and returns it to the desk drawer. “So how about we work on your shields instead of worrying about Navarre’s?”

I yawn. “I’m tired.”

“Aetos won’t care.” He slides into my mind easily.

“Fine.” I lean back, bracing my weight on my palms, and build my mental shields quickly, block by block. “Do your worst.”

His smile makes me regret the challenge.

Though the chain of command may be consulted, the final say in any academic punishment or repercussion lies with the commandant’s office.

—ARTICLE FIVE, SECTION SEVEN THE DRAGON RIDER’S CODEX

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“You wouldn’t happen to know how to raise wards, would you?” I ask Tairn as we approach Basgiath from the southeast the next day, squinting into the afternoon sun. The headwind added an extra couple of hours onto the flight, making my hips protest and almost outright rebel.

“Despite what you may assume, I am not six hundred years old.”

“Figured I’d ask, just in case you were holding back secret dragon knowledge.”

“I’m always holding back secret dragon knowledge, but wards are not among it.” His shoulders tense, rising slightly, and the beats of his wings slow. “We’re being ordered to the practice grounds. Carr and Varrish are waiting.”

My stomach plummets even though our altitude hasn’t changed. “He threatened he’d be pondering my punishment for not forcing Andarna to participate in maneuvers. I should have taken his warning more seriously.”

Tairn’s low growl vibrates through his entire body. “What are your wishes?”

“Not sure I get a choice.” A deep sense of foreboding crawls into my throat.

“There is always a choice.” He maintains direction even though he’ll have to bank soon to change course to the practice grounds.

I can handle whatever he wants to punish me with if it means keeping Andarna safe.

“We go.”

An hour later, I’m not so sure I’m handling anything as much as I am enduring.

“Again,” Professor Carr orders, his thin white hair flopping with every gust of wind as we stand on the mountain peak we use when training my signet.

And to think…this is only a warning.

Fatigue washes over me again, but I know better than to complain. I’d made that mistake somewhere around strike twenty-five, and it had only added another mark to the tab Professor Carr was keeping in his notebook while Major Varrish supervised from his side.

“Again, Cadet Sorrengail.” Varrish repeats the command, smiling at me like he’s simply exchanging pleasantries. Their dragons, Breugan and Solas, stand as far back as possible without falling off the mountain. Tairn had lunged for their necks, snapped, and pulled back with inches to spare around strike thirteen. It was the first time I’d ever seen dragons scurry. “Unless you’d rather spend the foreseeable future in the brig.”

Tairn’s chest rumbles in a low growl as he stands behind me, his claws digging into the bare rock of the mountaintop. There’s only so much he can do, though. While he’s bound by the Empyrean, I have to follow the rules of the quadrant or risk the brig—and I’d rather bring down a thousand lightning strikes than spend one night locked in a cage at Varrish’s mercy.

When I don’t move, Carr sends me a pleading look, his gaze darting to Varrish.

I sigh but lift my hands, my arms trembling as I reach for Tairn’s power. Then, I ground my feet in the mental construct of the Archives in my mind so I don’t slip away into the fire that threatens to consume me. Swift and fast, the power rises again, and sweat beads on my face and drips down my spine as I struggle to control it.

Anger. Lust. Fear. It’s always the most extreme of my emotions that bring on the strikes. It’s rage that fuels me now as I summon that sizzling hot energy and release it, cracking open the sky with another lightning strike that hits a nearby peak.

“Thirty-two.” Carr jots it down.

There’s no care for if I can aim. Not a single consideration for mastery or strength. Their only goal here is to wear me down, while mine is to hold on to whatever scraps of self-control I can muster so I don’t wake Andarna.

“Again,” Varrish orders.

Gods, my body feels like it’s cooking itself alive. I reach for the buttons on my flight jacket and yank them open, letting some of the infernal heat escape.

“Violet?” Andarna asks sleepily.

Guilt slams into me harder than a lightning strike. “I’m fine,” I promise her.

“Waking is dangerous to the growth process,” Tairn lectures. “Sleep.”

“What’s happening?” She’s alarmingly alert now.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Not quite a lie. Right?

“I’ve never seen her produce more than twenty-six strikes in an hour, Major. She’s at risk of overheating and burning out if you continue to push like this,” Carr says to Varrish.

“She can take it just fine.” He looks at me like he knows. Like he was there at Resson, watching me hurl bolt after bolt at the wyvern. If he’s the picture of control, then maybe I should be glad I don’t seem to have any.

“All it takes is her slipping in her grounding, or exhausting her physically, and she will burn out,” Carr warns, his gaze shifting nervously. “Punishing her for insubordination is one thing, but killing her is quite another.”

“Again.” Varrish lifts his brows at me. “Unless your golden one would like to fly up and say hello, since she failed to appear as ordered. If she joins us, we’ll only task you with three more.”

“This is about me?”

My shoulders drop and my stomach hits the ground.

“This is an example of what happens when dragons choose poorly,” Tairn counters. “Solas should never have given this barbarian more power.”

“I don’t want to submit her for tests or anything barbaric,” Varrish cajoles, as though he’d heard Tairn’s words. “I just want her to understand that she is not above the structure of command.”

“I fucking hate him,” I tell Tairn.

“I can feel this draining you! I’ll come—” Andarna starts.