Tyrrendor was the last to cut contact with the isles. The province has a reputation for its cunning leadership, but in this case, I would add: astute.
—Subjugated: The Second Uprising of the Krovlan People by Lieutenant Colonel Asher Sorrengail
We stop at Athebyne the first night, testing the gryphons’ limits with speed and endurance. Then we push them to their max with twenty-four hours in the saddle, pausing only to feed and water the winged ones before reaching Cordyn as dawn breaks.
Everyone thinks the torturous day is to prepare the gryphons for the flight across the sea.
Only Xaden knows the real reason: even though he made it through the night unscathed, I’m terrified to let him touch the unwarded ground more than absolutely necessary.
We fly over swaths of scorched and desiccated land, evading venin with the help of the intel Drake brought. Part of me can’t help but feel like we’re evading the fight, even though I know we’re searching for the way to end it.
“The gryphons cannot keep up,” Tairn warns me as we descend toward Tecarus’s palace. “Especially when carrying the bulk of two humans.”
“Carrying” is a loose term for the baskets Halden and his guard dangle in, held by the gryphons’ claws.
“Are you offering to carry one of them?” I ask, fighting off the sleep that has weighted my eyelids for the past three hours. The drastically warmer climate isn’t helping, either.
“I’m suggesting we continue onward with only riders and fliers.” The beats of his wings are slow, almost lazy in deference to the gryphons and Andarna, who unclasped from her harness an hour ago just in case we were spotted and escorted to the palace.
“As much as I would love that, he speaks for Navarre.” I reach for my flask, only to remember I emptied it a couple of hours ago.
“He will not matter when we find the irids. Only Andarna will.”
“Well, as soon as you make contact with them, I’m happy to ditch the prince. Until then, we’re stuck with the humans for clues.” I look right, catching glimpses of Andarna in the pulses between Tairn’s wingbeats. “You feeling tired?”
“Hungry,” she responds. “Kira says they have a plethora of goats, since the environment is not as suitable for the fleece of sheep. Perhaps they have superior food along with the superior weather.”
“We’re well aware you aren’t a fan of the snow.” I grin into the warm wind as Tairn approaches the expanse of Tecarus’s fighting pit instead of the grassy terrace he chose during our last visit.
“Perhaps you are like Sgaeyl’s kind,” Tairn notes. “They favor the warmer climate.”
That’s right. The hatching grounds of the blues used to be near here before the Great War.
Guards notice our arrival and rush to the highest terrace of the fighting pit as Tairn lands in the center of the field, snapping his wings closed while Andarna touches down less gracefully to his right.
Within moments, our five dragons and two gryphons cover every available foot of the field.
I detach one of my packs but hesitate to leave the second strapped to the back of the saddle.
“It is safer that I carry it,” Tairn reminds me, dipping his shoulder impatiently.
“It means you can’t detach the saddle.” I don’t want him uncomfortable.
“As if I would disparage my family name by being unprepared should the enemy—”
“Got it.” I undo my strap, then beg my body to comply as I climb out of the seat. Muscles, tendons, ligaments—they all creak and pop as I dismount, and my knees nearly buckle when I hit the ground.
I can’t help but shoot a glare at Cat as she springs up the stairs to meet the two waiting flier guards like she hasn’t been airborne twenty-four hours straight.
“Can I take mine off?” Andarna asks, swiveling her head to gnaw on the metal strap across her shoulder.
“No!” Tairn and I shout simultaneously.
“No,” Andarna mocks. “Fine. I seek sustenance.”
“You will wait until our welcome is assured,” Tairn orders, and Andarna huffs a breath of steam in his direction, then sits on her back legs and glowers. “Pick your tail up off the ground right now. Where do you think we are? The Vale?”
I adjust the straps of my pack over my summer-weight flight jacket and bite back a laugh when Andarna blasts a short stream of fire at Tairn’s back leg as she rises to all fours.
“I’m not dignifying that with a response,” he snarls.
Ahead of us, Sgaeyl springs into the air, and my brow furrows as Xaden watches her fly away, his features schooled in that carefully controlled mask he loves so well.
Aotrom, Teine, and Cath all stay put, but Kiralair launches along with Drake’s gryphon, Sovadunn.
“How are you feeling?” I ask once I reach Xaden, noting that Mira is already halfway up the steps of the arena, blade drawn.
“I should be asking you that.” He rolls his neck and drags his gaze from Sgaeyl’s retreating form to sweep over me, lingering on my hips and knees like he can see how sore they are. “Your body can’t be happy after that long in the saddle.”
“I’m…” I pause—we both do—as Halden climbs awkwardly out of the four-foot-tall basket Kira deposited in front of us. “I’m better off than whatever’s happening there.”
The prince curses when his pack catches on the thick weave of the carrier as he exits, the fabric holding him prisoner. Instead of lifting the bag over the barrier, Halden wrenches it free, tearing the strap clean off.
“Clearly it was common sense that attracted you to the heir.” Sarcasm drips from Tairn’s tone.
“I was eighteen and he was handsome. Give me a break.” I wince, noting that Halden doesn’t exactly rush off to help Captain Winshire, the redheaded guard, out of her basket.
“Kingdom seems to be in good hands with that one.” Xaden glances at the drained stones that surround the pit as we walk toward the others waiting ahead. “Think anyone will notice if I sleep out here on these stones until we’re ready to go?”
“Yes.” My voice quiets as we approach Dain and Ridoc, both of whom stare awkwardly as the captain refuses any offers of help and stumbles all five feet ten inches of herself out of her basket to Halden’s left, then strides up the steps after him in speedy annoyance. “But I’ll sleep out here with you if you want. If it’s what you need.” I’ll do whatever it takes to lessen his risk.
“Save that worried look for someone else. As long as there’s no reason to wield, I’ll be fine, just like last night.” Xaden reaches for my hand and squeezes, then lets it go before Halden sees.
Dain and Ridoc both gawk at our surroundings as we climb the stairs out of the pit. It’s slightly cooler than when we were here last, but the humidity has the leather of my flight jacket sticking uncomfortably to my skin.
“Is this where you got the idea for using the sparring pit at Basgiath?” Dain asks over his shoulder when we finally reach the top.
Xaden nods, scanning our perimeter.
The second I spot Tecarus—in what are obviously his bed robes—hugging Cat on the nearby patio, Tairn and Andarna launch from the pit and the others rapidly follow suit. Mira stands to the side and sheathes her blade, offering a narrowed glance of warning to the two flier guards accompanying Tecarus before Drake clasps the tall one on the right in a friendly, back-slapping hug.
“Let me know if he has any venin locked away in a box as a surprise test,” Tairn says, flying in the same direction Sgaeyl took.
We cross the last rows of drained stones imported from the land that borders the Barrens as Halden and Anna reach the patio.
“Will do. Don’t let her eat anything—or anyone—she isn’t supposed to.” A bead of sweat drips down my spine, and I adjust the weight of my pack on my aching shoulders again, cringing at the slight slip I feel in the right joint as my head starts to swim in an annoying wave of dizziness. Exhaustion, dehydration, and heat are never a winning combination for my body.
“You’re such a centenarian. Perhaps my kind will not be such killjoys. Perhaps they will feast as they see fit. Perhaps they will— Ooh! What is that?”
“A Mammoth Red-Horned Tortoise and absolutely not! The shell will embed between your teeth, and I will not carry you and a festering tortoise shell— Get back here!” His voice fades as they fly out of range.
Xaden tenses the second we step off the drained stone and onto the strip of grass that separates the pit from the occupied marble patio leading into the palace’s dining room. “I’m all right,” he assures me as we reach the group.
We fill in the empty places in the small circle, putting me next to Halden, who somehow manages to still look regal…and haughty in a crumpled infantry uniform.
I wince when the rising sun glints off the golden royal insignia beneath his name tags, catching me in the eye, and quickly look down at the austere black of my flight jacket. I’ve never worn one made for actual combat before—only training. There’s no name tag, no patches, nothing beyond my hair to give away who I might be if I fall behind enemy lines, only two four-pointed stars indicating my rank as a second-year cadet.
“There’s the boy!” Tecarus grins at Drake, then glances over the rest of us, his gaze catching on Halden. “Your Royal Highness.” He bows his head. “We were not expecting such an esteemed guest.”
“We appreciate your hospitality, Viscount.” Halden does that condescending head-tilt of a nod that always grated on my nerves. Guess it still does. His hand rises to the small of my back, and I stiffen. “We were hoping to rest for the day, perhaps two depending on the condition of the gryphons, before continuing on to Deverelli.”
Shadows rise up the back of my thigh, curling around my hip, and I sidestep toward Xaden, effectively losing Halden’s hand in the process. “Still all right over there?”
“It would help if your fucking ex kept his hands to himself,” he hisses, the shadow firmly gripping my hip.
“Deverelli?” Tecarus asks, his eyebrows nearly hitting his hairline before his gaze swings my way. “You have the artifact.”
My lips part—
“We do,” Halden answers for me.
Gods, I always hated that about him.
Dain shoots me a look that borders on an eye roll, reminding me that he’d never been Halden’s biggest fan.
“Of course,” Tecarus says slowly, his attention dropping to the shadows lingering at my hip. “Well then, let’s get you comfortable.” He turns toward the palace in a flurry of brocaded fabric, and my shoulders dip with exhaustion as we follow him into the dining room. “Forgive the additional security. We are one of the only major cities left standing in the south,” he tells us as we round the end of the enormous table and through the doors into the airy palace.
I’d almost forgotten just how breathtaking this place is.
It’s built for the movement of air. For beauty, and art, and light. Even the white marble floors shimmer, reflecting the dawn just like the winding pools that flow through the space beyond the wide, central staircase. The palace won’t stand a chance should the venin venture this far south.
Whoever built it had to have known that.
Mira pauses at the base of the white steps, looking down at the black pillar barely visible in the level below us through the open staircase. Like last time, it has quite the crowd milling around it.
“Of course, with the number of fliers in residence, our rooms are limited,” Tecarus says, drawing the belt of his heavily brocaded robe tight as he starts up the steps. “Would you mind doubling up? We have a few rooms available on our top floor.” He looks over his shoulder at the landing. “With the exception of you, Your Highness. Naturally, we can accommodate private quarters for you.”
Shit. There’s no way I’ll make it up two more flights of stairs when this one is already killing me. My knee protests every step, and I curse the humidity and keep climbing even though it feels like the ground rocks beneath my boots.
“Naturally.” Halden’s tone borders on terse. His fatigue is showing, and if he hasn’t changed in the years we’ve been apart, it will only shorten his temper.
“Your room remains empty as well, Riorson. Or should I say Your Grace?” Tecarus adds as we reach the floor we stayed on previously. “I can’t help but notice you’re not wearing the insignia of your rank.” He pauses in the middle of the wide hallway, bringing the entire group to a halt.
I could just about cry as I realize we’re right in front of the room Mira and I occupied during our last visit, and I spot the set of doors beyond that I know are Xaden’s. How am I going to make it to the top floor? “Will you still keep me if I have to crawl up the stairs?” I ask Tairn.
“You’re not crawling,” Xaden answers.
Wrong pathway. Gods, I really am in trouble.
“Shiny things make good targets,” Xaden says to Tecarus from my left as Halden edges in on my right. “And I’ve never been one to confuse a title with power.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Is he really starting shit with Halden right now? I go to roll my eyes, then blink. Is this what Xaden went through when Cat showed up this past fall?
Ridoc snorts behind me, and I hear the distinct sound of a smack against leather—no doubt Dain’s hand against my squadmate’s shoulder. I’m glad I can’t see Mira’s face. Amari knows she’s exasperated as all hell back there.
“But how am I to know on what authority you visit me?” Tecarus turns toward us with a flourish, flashing his impossibly white teeth with a political smile. “As a lieutenant? Merely a rider? A professor? The Duke of Tyrrendor?” He taps his fingers together. “Or perhaps as the beloved of the one rarity I can’t seem to convince to join my court.” His gaze falls to me, as if I need the reminder of his proposal to join his collection as his on-call guard dog in return for the privilege of growing old with Xaden and our dragons in the peace of his estate in the isles. “That offer still stands.”
“As does my answer.” I sway slightly and breathe deeply to beat back the darkening edges of my vision. I need rest and I need it now. This time the shadows at my hips are supportive instead of territorial, and when I glance down, they’re so thin they blend into my leathers, nearly impossible to see. “Thank you.”
“What authority do I hold here? Let’s ask our prince. What do you say, Your Royal Highness?” He levels a look that could wither a fucking tree on Halden.
Apprehension prickles the back of my neck.
“I’m not sure I understand the question.” Halden’s jaw ticks and his fists clench.
“His temper could trigger your power,” I warn Xaden as Tecarus smiles with pure glee at the obvious mayhem he’s created.
“His temper is exactly what I’m counting on.” Xaden drops his focus to the royal insignia. “You understand completely. Am I here as a professor? Or the duke? Or—”
“Obviously you’re a fucking duke,” Halden snaps. “Lewellen made sure of it, didn’t he? The second most powerful title in the godsdamned kingdom goes to a Riorson of all bloodlines.”
“Don’t be an ass—” I start, but the shadows tug gently in a bid for silence, so I give it to him.
“So, I’m not here with the authority of a professor,” Xaden clarifies, masterfully ignoring Halden’s blatant insult.
“You have no authority,” Halden seethes, color infusing his cheeks as he steps toward Xaden, his boots nearly reaching mine in the process. “I am the ranking officer here.”
“Xaden, he’s going to blow. He’ll swing.” Walls. Mirrors. Tables. Breakables. Whatever’s close, really. There was a reason guards never volunteered to be assigned to Halden. The same reason Alic had been such a bully and Cam—Aaric—had avoided them both as much as possible.
“So, not a professor.” Xaden’s eyes narrow, and my whole body tries to sway, held upright by Xaden’s shadows.
“No!” Halden’s shout echoes down the hallway. “Not a fucking professor—”
“Just wanted to clear that up,” Xaden interrupts, then lifts me into his arms. “We’ll see you once we’re rested.” He takes off past Tecarus, striding down the hall.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
“Doubling up as ordered,” Xaden says, throwing open the doors to his room and then kicking them shut once we’re through.
“I cannot believe you just did that!” I slide down the length of his body and ignore the way mine ignites as he grips my hips and turns, pinning me against the door. It’s blissfully solid behind my back.
“Really?” He lowers his head to mine. “Of all the things I’ve done, that’s the one you can’t believe?” His voice softens, and he lifts his fingers to the side of my neck. “That’s what I thought. Your pulse is racing. I counted at least twice that you almost collapsed out there.” He lowers his head to mine. “Did you really want to crawl up the stairs?”
“No,” I admit.
“Now you don’t have to.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “You just rode for two straight days with only twelve hours of rest. I knew you needed to get off your feet and lie down, and I could have just given you my room, but selfishly…”
I look up at him.
“I’m done sleeping in a bed that doesn’t have you in it.” His thumb strokes along my pulse.
Hope ignites in my chest. If he’s willing to sleep in the same bed again, then maybe there’s a chance he’ll eventually trust himself enough to put his hands on me, and not just because he’s jealous that Halden exists. “I’m good with that.”
I’m rewarded with a hint of a smile, then swept up against his chest, the rhythm of his heart a perfect drum beneath my ear. I feel like shit, Xaden is slowly losing pieces of himself, and we’re a thousand miles from Basgiath, yet that steady beat makes everything somehow tenable.
It feels so right to be in his arms.
“Because it is,” he says, holding me tighter.
I blink and pull back to look at him. “I didn’t say that out loud.”
His brow furrows. “Then you must have thought it down the bond, because I wasn’t pushing into your intentions.”
My heart races for a different reason. No. But…maybe. “Or your signet is growing.”
His eyes flare.
Someone knocks at the door.
“Fuck,” Xaden mutters, and I push against his chest. “Don’t be—”
“Let me down.” I’m facing whoever’s on the other side of that door on my feet.
“—stubborn.” He sets me down, then locks his forearm across my ribs to hold me upright as I face forward. “Ready?”
I nod, and his arm twists along my left side. The gold-handled door opens, revealing Tecarus, his two guards a respectable distance behind him.
The viscount’s knowing gaze jumps between Xaden and me, but he doesn’t bother with pithy commentary.
“Make it quick,” Xaden orders without explanation.
“The prince cannot arrive in a basket,” Tecarus says, folding his hands in front of him and wrinkling his nose in distaste. “It is unseemly for royalty, and in a culture that values rare items, shrewd trades, and luxury, he’ll never be granted an audience if he is seen as the item being delivered.”
“What do you propose?” I ask, ignoring the sinking in my chest and the lightening in my head.
“It’s a two-day journey by my fastest ship,” Tecarus says, his brow furrowing as he studies me. “Which would make it what? A twelve-hour flight due south?”
“We estimate sixteen with the gryphons and what your texts have provided about historical wind patterns,” I answer, blinking back the darkness. It’s been a long time since I pushed myself this hard, and fuck am I paying for it.
“I’ll leave within the hour with the prince,” Tecarus offers. “It appears you may need the rest—”
“She’s fine,” Xaden interrupts. “I’m the one feeling a little clingy.”
I bite back a smile.
“Right.” Tecarus laces his fingers. “I suggest you land at my estate on the northern coast about twelve hours after we’ll arrive. It’s about ten miles east of the capital, though they measure distance in—”
“Leagues,” I interrupt. “I read everything you sent.” And everything my father wrote.
“Excellent. The rest of the shoreline is rather…shall we say…defended, and I’ll need to prepare the king for the arrival of dragons or we’ll return home with fewer of them.”
My stomach pitches.
“Trust me, our riot will return intact.” There’s an edge of warning in Xaden’s tone, and his forearm flexes.
“I’m already worried about one hotheaded aristocrat,” Tecarus chides. “Should I add a second to that list?”
“They come for our dragons, and it’s not the aristocrat they’ll be dealing with.” Xaden’s voice drops to that lethal calm that’s a touch more terrifying than a shout.
“Tell me you’ll help control him.” Tecarus’s gaze lands on mine.
I lift my chin. “What makes you think he’s the one you’d have to worry about?”
Tecarus sighs. “I’ll see that you have a map.” He brings his laced fingers to his chin. “You are prepared to lose your abilities when you cross the ocean?”
“We are,” Xaden replies. “Definitely prepared to get a second of relief.”
“It will be fascinating to see if your powers reemerge once on land. And you’ve brought the requested artifact for the audience?” Tecarus asks.
“Halden’s carrying it. He’ll be taking the audience,” I answer. This one time, Halden’s enormous ego works in our favor. His insistence on being the only Navarrian to meet with the king frees Xaden and gives us time to seek out the merchant my father mentioned.
“Excellent.” Tecarus nods. “A word to the wise…” He glances between us. “I may collect rarities, but King Courtlyn absconds with them. Do not wander off from each other, do not advertise what a rare jewel you are, and at all costs—do not make a deal you cannot keep.”
• • •
Nearly twenty-four hours later, my access to magic fades to all but a trickle at the edge of the coast as we fly over by the colors of dawn, trading power for sunlight. The loss is stunning, immeasurable in a way that, for an instant, makes me pity Jack Barlowe.
For the first time since the night Tairn and Andarna channeled to me, I feel…small, naked even, stripped of the power that’s come to not only embolden me over the last year but define me.
A shivering chill sweeps over my skin with the next gust of wind, and Andarna shrieks high above. My head whips in her direction as the sound echoes from those around us.
Tairn drops unexpectedly, his wingbeats faltering, and I fall forward, fumbling for the saddle’s pommels. My hands make impact, jarring my wrists but catching my body weight just before my stomach makes contact as Tairn levels out over the ocean. “Are you all right?” I scan the sky for Andarna.
“Startled. We draw on magic for strength,” Tairn explains. “I hadn’t realized how dependent we truly are—”
Andarna sinks rapidly on our right, her wings beating a furious but futile pace.
“Hook on,” Tairn orders.
“I’m. Quite. Capable.” She loses altitude with every second, plummeting toward the rippling water beneath us.
“I have no desire to scent salted scales. Once you’re wet you’re on your own,” he warns, then picks up his head, swiveling it back and forth in a reptilian manner.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He dives toward Andarna without warning, and her sigh of acceptance comes out with a huff of a snarl as his shoulders tighten, and I hear the metallic click of the harness locking into place. Her added weight makes him dip for a breath of a second, and then his massive wings beat harder, lifting us toward the riot.
Andarna is suspiciously quiet.
“Tairn?” I prompt, my stomach souring with unease.
“I can’t speak with Sgaeyl.” He clips out each word. “Or any of the others. Our communications have been severed.”
I reach for the glittering onyx bond, but even though Tairn is still there, Xaden isn’t.
We’re already cut off.
