“No fucking way,” Dain whispers, but it reverberates in my bones like a lightning strike.
I pivot, dropping my hand from Xaden’s arm, but it’s obvious by Dain’s expression that he now knows there’s something between Xaden and me—and he’s hurt. My stomach hits the ground. “Dain…”
“Him?” Dain’s eyes widen and his face flushes. “You and…him?” He shakes his head. “People talk, and I thought that’s all it was, but you…” Disappointment drops his shoulders. “Don’t go, Violet. Please. He’s going to get you killed.”
“I know you think Xaden has ulterior motives, but I trust him. He’s had every opportunity and has never hurt me.” I move toward Dain. “At some point, you have to let this go.”
Dain looks horrified for a second but quickly masks it. “If he’s what you choose…” He sighs. “Then I guess that has to be enough for me, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.” I nod. Thank gods all this nonsense is about to be past us.
He swallows hard and leans in to whisper, “I’ll miss you, Violet.” Then he pivots on his heel and heads for Cath.
“Thank you for trusting me,” Xaden says as I reach Tairn’s foreleg.
“Always.”
“We have to ride.”
He pauses, like he’s going to say more, but turns away instead. As he heads back to Sgaeyl, I can’t help but note both of the important men are walking away from me right now, in opposite directions, and given the one I’ve chosen to follow, my life is about to change forever.
The first known gryphon attack occurred in 1 AU (After Unification) near what is now the trading post of Resson. At the edge of the dragon-protected border, the post has always been vulnerable to attack and, over the course of the past six centuries, has changed hands no less than eleven times in what has become a never-ending war to secure our borders from our power-hungry enemies.
—Navarre, an Unedited History by Colonel Lewis Markham
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
We fly into the morning and then the afternoon, and when Andarna can’t keep up, she hooks on to Tairn’s harness midflight. She’s asleep by the time Xaden chooses to skirt the thousands-foot-high Cliffs of Dralor that give Tyrrendor a geological advantage over every province in the kingdom—over every province on the Continent, really, and go around instead, heading into the mountains north of Athebyne.
There’s a pulling sensation in my chest, then a snap as we cross the barrier of the wards.
“It feels different,” I tell Tairn.
“Without the wards, magic is wilder here. It’s easier for dragons to communicate within the wards. The wingleader will have to take that into account when commanding his wing from this outpost.”
“I’m sure he’s already thought of that.”
It’s nearly one o’clock in the afternoon when we approach Athebyne, stopping, at the orders of the dragons, at a lake closest to the outpost so they can drink. The surface of the lake is smooth as glass, reflecting the jagged peaks in front of us with breathtaking accuracy before the riot lands on the shoreline and sends ripples over the water in tiny shock waves. A thick forest of trees and heavy boulders surround one edge of the water, and nearby grass is trampled, which means we’re not the first riot to rest here.
There are ten dragons in all with us, and though I might not recognize each one of them, I know that Liam and I are the only first-years in the group. Deigh lands beside Tairn, and Liam jumps from his seat like we haven’t just spent seven hours in the sky.
“You both need to drink and probably eat something,” I tell them as I unbuckle from the saddle. My thighs are sore and cramping, but it’s not quite as bad as it was at Montserrat. The extra hours in the saddle this last month have helped.
Tairn pops a talon onto a latch, and Andarna plops to the ground, shaking her head, body, then tail.
“And you need to sleep,” Tairn replies. “You’ve been up all night.”
“I’ll sleep when you do.” Navigating his spikes carefully, I slide down his foreleg to the mossy edge of the shore.
“I can go for days without sleep. I’d rather you not fire off lightning bolts out of sleep deprivation.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to retort that it takes effort to wield lightning, but after I shattered Xaden’s window last night, I’m not sure I have any expertise on the subject. Or maybe it’s just Xaden who makes me lose control. Either way, I’m dangerous to be around. I’m surprised Carr hasn’t given up on me.
“It’s strange to be beyond the wards,” I say, changing the subject.
Tairn’s talons dig into the soil as Liam approaches, stretching his neck high above his shoulders. From the general agitation of the riot, I wonder if it’s something they all feel, this wrongness in the air that has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.
“We’re twenty minutes out from Athebyne, so hydrate! We have no idea what kind of scenario is waiting for us,” Xaden calls out, his voice carrying over the squad.
“You doing all right?” Liam asks, coming my way as Tairn and Andarna both take the few steps they need to access the water.
“Stay with Tairn,” I tell Andarna. She’s a shiny target this far from the protection of the Vale.
“I will.”
Gods, I should have left her at Basgiath. What the hell was I thinking, bringing her out here? She’s just a kid, and this flight has been grueling.
“It was never your choice,” Tairn lectures. “Humans, even bonded ones, do not decide where dragons fly. Even one as young as Andarna knows her own mind.” His words bring little comfort. When push comes to shove, I’m responsible for her safety.
“Violet?” Concern furrows Liam’s brow.
“If I say I’m not sure, will you think less of me?” There are so many ways to answer that question. Physically, I’m sore but fine, but mentally… Well, I’m a mess of anxiety and anticipation for what the War Games will bring. We were warned the quadrant always loses ten percent of the graduating class in the final test, but it’s more than that. I just can’t put my finger on it.
“I’d think you’re being honest.”
