“Which is why you can’t tell anyone what she is,” Sgaeyl says. “Hopefully she’ll mature once you’re out of the quadrant, and the elders are already placing more…stringent protections on the feathertails.”

“I won’t,” I promise. “Andarna, thank you. Whatever you did saved my life.”

“I made time stop.” Her mouth drops open into another jaw-cracking yawn. “But only for a little bit.”

Wait. What? My stomach hits the ground as I stare into Andarna’s golden eyes and forget the pain, the solid earth beneath my feet, even the need to breathe as shock rolls through me, robbing me of logic.

No one can stop time. Nothing can stop it. It’s…unheard of.

“What did she say?” Xaden asks, gripping my shoulders to steady me.

Tairn growls and a puff of steam blasts us both.

“I’d take your hands off the rider,” Sgaeyl warns.

Xaden loosens his grip but continues to cradle my shoulders. “Tell me what she said. Please.” His mouth tightens and I know that last bit cost him.

“She can pause time,” I force out, stumbling over my words. “Briefly.”

Xaden’s features slacken, and for the first time, he doesn’t look like the stalwart, lethal wingleader I met on the parapet. He’s flat-out shocked as his gaze swings to Andarna. “You can stop time?”

“And now we can stop it.” She blinks slowly, and I can feel exhaustion wafting off her. Channeling that gift to me tonight cost her. She can barely keep her eyes open.

“In small increments,” I whisper.

“In small increments,” Xaden echoes slowly, like he’s absorbing the information.

“And if I use it too much, I can kill you,” I say softly to Andarna.

“Kill us.” She stands on all four paws. “But I know you won’t.”

“I’ll do my best to be worthy.” The ramifications of this gift, this exceptional power, hit me like a death blow, and my stomach bottoms out. “Is Professor Carr going to kill me, too?”

Every gaze whips toward me, and Xaden’s grip tightens on my shoulders, his thumbs stroking in a soothing motion. “Why would you think that?”

“He killed Jeremiah.” I push the panic away and focus on the tiny golden flecks in Xaden’s onyx eyes. “You saw him snap his neck like a twig right in front of the whole quadrant.”

“Jeremiah was an inntinnsic.” Xaden’s voice lowers. “A mind reader is a capital offense. You know that.”

“And what are they going to do if they find out I can stop time?” Terror freezes the blood in my veins.

“They’re not going to find out,” Xaden promises. “No one is going to tell them. Not you. Not me. Not them.” He motions with one hand toward our trio of dragons. “Understand?”

“He’s right,” Tairn says. “They can’t find out. And there’s no saying how long you’ll have the ability. Most feathertail gifts disappear with maturity when they begin to channel.”

Andarna cracks another yawn, looking nearly dead on her feet.

“Get some sleep,” I tell her. “Thank you for helping me tonight.”

“Let’s go, Golden One,” Tairn says, and they all bend slightly, then launch, wind gusting against my face. Andarna struggles, her wings beating twice as hard, and Tairn flies up underneath her, taking her weight and continuing on to the Vale.

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone about the time-stopping,” Xaden asks as we head back into the tunnel, but it feels an awful lot like a command. “It’s not just for your safety. Rare abilities, when kept secret, are the most valuable form of currency we possess.”

My brow furrows as I study the stark lines of the rebellion relic that winds up his neck, marking him as a traitor’s son, warning everyone that he’s not to be trusted. Maybe he’s telling me to keep quiet for his own gain, so he can use me later down the road.

At least that means he intends for me to be alive at a later date.

“We need to figure out how unbonded cadets got in your room,” he says.

“There was a rider there,” I tell him. “Someone who ran away before you arrived. She must have unlocked it from the outside.”

“Who?” He halts, taking my elbow gently and turning me toward him.

I shake my head. There’s no way he’ll believe me. I barely believe it myself.

“At some point, you and I are going to have to start trusting each other, Sorrengail. The rest of our lives depend on it.” Fury swims in Xaden’s eyes. “Now tell me who.”

Accusing a wingleader of wrongdoing is the most dangerous of all accusations. If you’re right, then we’ve failed as a quadrant to select the best wingleaders. If you’re wrong, you’re dead.

—My Time as a Cadet: A Memoir

by General Augustine Melgren

CHAPTER

TWENTY

“Oren Seifert.” Captain Fitzgibbons finishes reading the death roll and closes the scroll as we stand in formation the next morning, our breath creating clouds in the chilled air. “We commend their souls to Malek.”

There’s no room for sorrow in my heart for six of the eight names, not when I’m shifting my weight to soothe the ache of black-and-blue along my ribs and ignoring the way other riders stare at the ring of bruises I wear around my throat.

The two others on today’s list are third-years from Second Wing, killed on a training operation near the Braevick border, according to breakfast gossip, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s where Xaden had been before coming to my rescue last night.

“I can’t believe they tried to kill you while you were sleeping.” Rhiannon’s still seething at breakfast after I told our table what happened.

Maybe Xaden is fighting to keep last night’s events a secret, to hide what a liability I really am to him, because no one else in leadership knows. He didn’t say a single word after I told him who unlocked the door, so I have no clue if he believes me or not.

“Even worse, I think I’m getting used to it.” Either I have kick-ass compartmentalization skills or I really am acclimating to always being a target.

Captain Fitzgibbons makes some minor announcements, and I tune him out as someone strides our way, cutting through the space between the Flame and Tail Sections of our wing.

Just like it always does, my stupid, hormone-driven heart stutters at the first sight of Xaden. Even the most effective poisons come in pretty packages, and Xaden’s exactly that—as beautiful as he is lethal. He looks deceptively calm as he approaches, but I can feel his tension as if it’s my own, like a panther prowling toward his prey. The wind ruffles his hair, and I sigh at the completely unfair advantage he has over every man in this courtyard. He doesn’t even have to try to look sexy…he just is.

Oh shit. This feeling right here—the way my breath catches and my entire body draws tight when he’s near—is why I haven’t taken anyone to bed or celebrated like the rest of my perfectly normal friends. This feeling is why I haven’t wanted anyone…else.

Because I want him.