“There’s a lot of that going around today,” Xaden retorts. “Now get on your dragon so I can get her on hers.”
Dain gives me a long, intense look, then turns and runs, racing up Cath’s foreleg in a way that’s so reminiscent of the Gauntlet that I get flashbacks.
“Where are you?” I ask Tairn, seeing empty skies above us.
“Almost there. I was doing what could be done.”
“I can’t do this,” I say to Xaden, turning in his arms to face him. “The others are gone. Call it the favor you owe me, I don’t care. We can stay. I can’t just leave her here. It’s wrong, and it’s something she’d never do to me. I have to stay for her. I just have to.”
There’s so much compassion, so much understanding in his eyes, that when he lets go of my waist, I think he might just let me stay. Then his hands are on my cheeks, sliding back to cup the base of my neck as he brings his mouth to mine.
The kiss is reckless and consuming, and I give it my all, knowing it might be the last one. His tongue licks into my mouth with an urgency I return, angling to take him deeper.
Gods, it’s not just as good as I’d been fantasizing about, remembering that night. It’s so much better. He was careful with me against that wall, but there is nothing hesitant about the way he lays claim to my mouth, nothing cautious about the ache that pulses low in my stomach. He only breaks the kiss when we’re both panting, then rests his forehead against mine. “Leave for me, Violet.”
“Almost there,” Tairn says.
Xaden’s been stalling to give Tairn and Sgaeyl time to arrive. My heart sinks like a rock, pinning my feet in place. “I will hate you for this.”
“Yeah.” He nods, a flash of pure regret crossing his face as he draws away. “I can live with that.” His hands fall away from my face and reach for my arms, lifting them so I’m shaped like a T. “Arms up. Hold tight.”
“Fuck. You.”
The enormous shape of Tairn appears behind him, and Xaden drops to the stone floor just as Tairn flies directly above, his shadow falling over me a second before his foreclaw scoops me up like he’s done countless times when I’ve fallen midflight.
“You have to take us back!”
“I have done everything I can and will not risk your life.” He climbs in altitude, then throws me up onto his back in a practiced maneuver. “Now, hold on so we can outfly them.”
I look over my shoulder and see Xaden on Sgaeyl, approaching quickly, and farther behind them, hundreds of feet below, a dozen gryphons envelop the keep.
Winning the War Games isn’t about strength. It’s about cunning. To know how to strike, you have to understand where your enemies—your friends—are most vulnerable. No one stays friends forever, Mira. Eventually those closest to us become our enemies in some way, even if it’s through well-intentioned love or apathy, or if we live long enough to become their villains.
—Page eighty, the Book of Brennan
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
The stone wall outside Professor Markham’s office in the Riders Quadrant digs into my back, irritating my relic as I brace all my weight next to the closed door. I’m ready to crawl out of my own skin with worry and the insufferable buildup of power that’s threatening to combust at any moment.
It’s been two days since we left Montserrat. One day of flight back to Basgiath and one excruciatingly long day of silence.
The sun is barely up. I haven’t done library duty since returning, and I’ve somehow managed to get out the door before Liam even knows I’m gone. Breakfast doesn’t matter. I couldn’t give a shit if I miss formation. This is the only place I can contemplate being.
Footsteps on the circular staircase to the left make my stomach tense, and my pulse jumps as my gaze flies to the doorway, looking for the first sign of a cream tunic.
Instead, Xaden walks into the hallway, holding two steaming pewter mugs as he heads straight for me. “Still hate me?”
“Absolutely.” That’s not entirely true, but it’s easy to blame all the guilt I’ve been eating for two straight days on him.
“Figured you’d already be waiting.” He holds out one of the mugs as an offering. “It’s coffee. Sgaeyl says you haven’t slept.”
“It’s none of Sgaeyl’s business if I’m sleeping,” I snip. “But thanks.” I take the cup. He looks like he’s had a full eight hours and a vacation since yesterday. “I bet you’re sleeping like a baby.”
“Quit telling Sgaeyl about my sleep habits,” I grumble at Tairn.
“I’m not dignifying that demand with a response.”
“Andarna is my favorite.”
Tairn snorts.
Xaden leans back against the wall across from me and sips his coffee. “I haven’t slept well since the night my father left Aretia to declare the secession.”
My lips part. “That was more than six years ago.”
He stares at his coffee.
“You were—” I pause. “I don’t even know how old you are now.” Mira was right. I know almost nothing about him. And yet…I feel like I know who he is in the very marrow of his bones. Could my emotions be any more scattered when it comes to him?
“Twenty-three,” he answers. “My birthday was in March.”
And I didn’t even know. “Mine is in—”
“July,” he answers with a ghost of a smile. “I know. I made it my business to know everything there was to know about you the second I saw you on the parapet.”
