“You have no idea what I’m thinking.” Fucking. Traitor.
“You’re thinking I’ve betrayed our kingdom.”
“Logical guess. Good for you.” Another bolt of lightning whips free, streaking cloud to cloud. “You’re working with gryphon riders?” I leave my arms loose at my sides just in case I need my hands free to wield, though I know I’m no match for him. Not yet. “Gods, you are such a cliché, Xaden. You’re a villain hiding in plain fucking sight.”
He winces. “Actually, they’re called fliers,” Xaden says softly, holding my gaze. “And I might be the villain to some, but not you.”
“I’m sorry? Are we seriously arguing the semantics of your treason?”
“Dragons have riders, and gryphons have fliers.”
“Which you know because you’re in league with them.” I retreat a few steps so I don’t act on the overwhelming urge to punch him in the face. “You’re working with our enemy.”
“Did you ever once stop to think that sometimes you can start out on the right side of a war and end up on the wrong one?”
“In this particular case? No.” I point toward the shore. “I was trained as a scribe, remember? All we’ve done is defend our borders for six hundred years. They’re the ones who won’t accept peace as a solution. What shipments have you been giving them?”
“Weapons.”
My stomach hits the ground. “That they use to kill dragon riders?”
“No.” He shakes his head emphatically. “These weapons are only to fight venin.”
My jaw unhinges. “Venin are the stuff of fables. Like the book my father—” I blink. The letter. What had he written? Folklore is passed from one generation to the next to teach us about our past.
Was he trying to say… No. That’s impossible.
“They’re real,” Xaden says softly, like he’s trying to lessen a blow.
“You’re saying people who can somehow tap into the source of magic without a dragon or gryphon to channel, corrupting their power beyond all salvation, actually exist.” I say the words slowly just so we’re crystal clear. “They’re not just part of the creation fable.”
“Yes.” His forehead creases. “They drained all the magic out of the Barrens and then spread like an infestation.”
“Well, at least that’s in keeping with folklore.” I fold my arms across my chest. “What was the fable again? One brother bonded to gryphon, one to dragon, and when the third grew jealous, he drew directly from the source, losing his soul and waging war on the other two.”
“Yes.” He sighs. “This was not how I wanted to tell you.”
“Assuming you were ever going to tell me!” I glance to where Tairn watches, his head low as though he might have to incinerate Xaden at any moment. “Care to add to the discussion?”
“Not yet. I’d prefer you come to your own conclusion. I chose you for your intelligence and courage, Silver One. Don’t let me down.”
I barely restrain myself from flipping the middle finger at my own dragon.
“Fine. Were I to believe venin exist and roam the Continent wielding dark magic, then I’d also have to believe they never attack Navarre because…” My eyes widen at the possibility’s logical conclusion. “Because our wards make all non-dragon magic impossible.”
“Yes.” He shifts his weight. “They’d be powerless the second they cross into Navarre.”
Fuck, that makes sense, and I desperately don’t want it to. “Which means I would have to believe that we have no clue that Poromiel is being relentlessly, viciously attacked by dark wielders just beyond our borders.” My brow furrows.
He glances away and takes a deep breath before looking me in the eye. “Or you have to believe that we know and choose to do nothing about it.”
Indignation lifts my chin. “Why the hell would we choose to do nothing about people being slaughtered? It goes against everything we stand for.”
“Because the only thing that kills venin is the very thing powering our wards.”
He doesn’t say anything else as we stand there, the only sound the water lapping against the shore in time with the echo of his words beating against the edges of my heart.
“Is this why there have been raids along our borders? They’re looking for the material we use to power our wards?” I ask. Not because I believe him, not yet, but because he’s not trying to convince me. The truth rarely needs effort, my dad used to say.
He nods. “The material is forged into weapons to fight the venin. Here, take this.”
Raising his right arm, he takes a black-handled dagger from the sheath at his side. I’m brutally aware of every move, horrifyingly aware that he’s been able to kill me whenever he wants, and this moment is no different. Though it would have been a swifter death if he’d simply used one of the swords strapped across his back. He moves slowly, extending the dagger as an offering.
I take it, noting the sharpened blade, but it’s the alloy embedded into the rune-marked hilt that makes me gasp. “You took this from my mother’s desk?” My gaze jumps to his.
“No. Your mother probably has one for the same reason you should. To defend against venin.” There’s so much pity in his eyes that my chest tightens.
The dagger. The raids. It’s all right there.
“But you told me there was no chance we could be fighting something like this,” I whisper, clinging to the last of my hope that this is all a horrible joke.
“No.” He moves closer, reaching for me and then dropping his hand as if he’s thought better of it. “I told you I would hope that if this threat was out there, our leadership would tell us.”
“You twisted the truth to suit your needs.” My hand curls around the dagger’s hilt, and I feel it hum with power. Venin are real. Venin. Are. Real.
“Yes. And I could lie to you, Violence, but I’m not. No matter what you think right now, I have never lied to you.”
Sure. Right. “And how do I know this is the truth?”
