There are times I look at Parapet, at the very act of Threshing and marvel that dragons have not been to Unnbriel. What we call treacherous is their idea of primary school.
—Unnbriel: Isle of Dunne by Second Lieutenant Asher Daxton
“You can’t be serious,” Rhi whispers next to me three days later in Battle Brief as Professor Devera questions first-years about the fall of Vallia, a midsize city two hundred miles west of the Bay of Malek.
Not only are the venin moving in Krovla again, but in the eight days we were gone, Cygnisen’s flier cadets arrived. Battle Brief is now beyond standing-room-only capacity. Even the steps serve as seating.
“She’s absolutely serious,” Ridoc responds from Rhi’s other side, cracking a giant yawn that I immediately catch and repeat, fighting and failing to stifle it with my hand.
Godsdamn am I tired. Every muscle aches, my stomach can’t decide if it wants to eat everything or expel it all, and I’m starting to see double when I try to focus on the map. We flew in this morning from Athebyne and were rewarded for pushing our limits by being sent straight into Battle Brief on General Aetos’s order. At least I managed to secure my father’s books in my room and heard from Imogen that she’d kept my prisoner alive first.
“He wanted you to trade your and Xaden’s…services…for weaponry?” Sawyer asks, leaning forward from Ridoc’s right and adjusting the top of his prosthesis. “I thought Deverelli was neutral. They don’t even have an army.”
Xaden. My hand clenches around my pen as I scribble the nearly mid-February date on my notes. How many more times can he slip before the rings around his irises become permanent and the veins at his temples turn red? For a second in that bedroom, I thought I’d found a temporary answer to stay his progression, but even on an isle without magic, he hadn’t been safe.
“Or perhaps the isle hadn’t been safe from him,” Tairn interjects.
I ignore the jab.
“Could you keep it down?” A brown-haired flier with a Cygnisen shoulder patch and third-year rank turns around and glares at Sawyer, and though I hate his scowl, I have to admit, the glasses really work for him.
“Turn it back around—” Ridoc starts, then pauses to appreciate the flier. “Well, hello Cygnisen. Have you been properly welcomed to Basgiath yet?” He cranks up a smile I’ve seen enough times to know he’ll be coming out of someone else’s bedroom tomorrow morning.
The flier scoffs. “I don’t do second-years.”
“Good thing I fuck like a third.” Ridoc grins. “Plus, I’m on quest squad, which gives me an additional boost of desirability.”
That earns him a second glance and a flash of interest before the flier turns around in his seat.
“Where do you get the confidence, Gamlyn?” Maren asks from my left.
Ridoc snorts. “Survive the Gauntlet. After that, you’re well aware one rejection isn’t going to kill you.” He leans toward the flier. “By the way, third-years usually sit up top, but if you want to be close to me, that’s all right, too.”
The flier tilts his head and drums his pen on the desk.
I smother a laugh, and Sawyer shakes his head.
“Tell Sawyer about the Deverelli Army,” Ridoc reminds me, settling back in his seat as a first-year fumbles an easy question about high-ground strategy.
“Oh, right.” I yawn again and open the Archives door to a crackle of power in hopes it will keep me from falling asleep. Have to admit, it’s nice to be me again. “They have one. They just call them guards. So yes, they have weaponry to trade, they just don’t advertise it.”
“Wanting you as a weapon is weird. They don’t have magic,” Cat says from Maren’s left. “You’re scary with lightning, Sorrengail, but without it…” We all look her way, but she just shrugs. “What? You were all thinking it. I just said it.”
“Is there something more important than enemy troop movements going on up there, Iron Squad second-years?” Devera asks, and the lecture hall quiets.
Heat creeps up my neck, and I sink in my seat.
“I mean…” Ridoc scratches the side of his head. “Sorrengail’s kind of responsible for saving the entire Continent right now, so maybe—”
Rhi’s hand slams over his mouth. “Absolutely not. You have our apology, Major.”
Devera arches a sardonic brow and leans back against the desk. “And how was your trip to Deverelli, cadet? Have you saved us all?”
Leather jackets creak in every direction as heads turn my way.
I clear my throat. “I believe the prince is debriefing leadership, but we’ve brokered a deal that will allow us diplomatic access to the isle as a launching ground for further searches.” And I personally secured Courtlyn’s silence on what Xaden did by promising my own like a sacrifice, adding a gentle reminder that I wouldn’t want our new ally to appear weak.
“Is that all we should discuss?” she asks, her expression uncomfortably close to my mother’s, and I nod.
“Of all the shops in the merchant isle, she made us visit the bookstore,” Cat adds with an exasperated sigh, tapping her pen on her notebook, and I breathe a little easier with the transfer of attention.
“That sounds like our Violet.” Devera flashes a smile. “Since you’re so talkative today, Sorrengail, why don’t you tell us what about the offensive in Vallia is so concerning.” She gestures behind her at the map.
Shit, I really should have been paying attention. I scan the map for the length of two heartbeats, noting that some flags that had once been red are now gray, and the red has retreated from the north of Braevick and on the whole is moving nauseatingly southwest.
“It shows southward movement,” I answer. “Once we raised the wards in Aretia, the venin changed course, leaving conquered territory like Pavis to concentrate on Poromiel’s border with Navarre in what we now know was an offensive meant to strike the Basgiath hatching grounds. Moving southwest shows a change in strategy.” They’re less than a day’s flight from Cordyn by wyvern, but there’s a lot of undrained ground to cover if feeding is their only goal. But if that were the case, the map wouldn’t look quite so premeditated.
“Your best guess on that strategy?”
My stomach turns. “They somehow know about the Aretian wards and they’re moving into position for the inevitability of them falling.”
A murmur ripples through the room.
Devera nods. “That’s what I think, too.”
My blood runs cold. But how?
• • •
The next week passes in a blur. I’ve never had to work harder…or worried about Xaden quite so much.
He should be back by now. The Senarium expects us to leave in a week for Unnbriel, and I’m getting nervous. Eight days should be enough for the circles around his eyes to fade, right?
Unless he’s progressed to asim. I shove that thought as far away as possible.
When I’m not learning in class, pushing burnout in the range, freezing my ass off in flight maneuvers, practicing with the mini crossbow Maren gifted me, working every muscle to its breaking point with Imogen, or listening to Andarna go into exhaustive detail on why Tairn is the worst—period—mentor—period—ever—period, I’m reading my dad’s books with whichever members of my squad can spare their time. It takes Dain and me two evenings to decode the clues Dad left to open the passcode-locked books, and once we do, I can’t even tell my sister, since she’s taken personal leave for the first time in her entire career.
And whenever I’m not doing any of that? I’m in the fighting pit with my squad, either for our own instruction or joining the rest of the quadrant in what’s quickly become our favorite activity—watching the shit get kicked out of one another in hopes of learning something.
This afternoon, every second- and third-year in our squad is seated on the bottom left rows of the amphitheater with a book from Jesinia in their lap while two other squads from Second and Fourth Wing practice in front of us under the guidance of Professor Carr, who’s rotated in to teach today. Garrick and Bodhi look on from just beneath us, leaning against the wall, both shaking their heads every now and then when they, too, look up from their books.
A second-year goes flying in a blast of fire, and every single one of us looks up as the guy lands on his ass, flames still rising from his hair.
“You’re up.” Bodhi jabs Garrick, and he takes off at a sprint onto the mat. A flick of his wrist and the flames snuff out, deprived of oxygen.
“Letting them get a little close, don’t you think?” Garrick asks Professor Carr.
“Oh, this is going to get good.” Ridoc sets the Continent’s most redacted volume on Unnbriel’s warlike customs in his lap, and Sawyer follows suit beside him. Sawyer hasn’t joined us in flight maneuvers, but I’m glad he’s feeling up to sitting in on classes. It bodes well for his return, if and when he’s ready, or even just ready to talk about it.
“Ballsy,” Rhi agrees from my other side, using her thumb to mark her place in a book about weather patterns throughout the isles.
Professor Carr narrows his eyes on Garrick and folds his arms. “A scar would remind him to wield a little faster next time. It’s not like he’s dead.”
“Flame never should have touched him,” Garrick argues.
“Clearly you haven’t taught enough to know the best methodology,” Carr snipes. “Having powerful friends doesn’t make you a good instructor.”
Garrick’s jaw ticks as he steps off the mat with the smoking second-year, and the guy goes back to his squad.
“He’s an asshole,” Bodhi notes, then leans back against the wall and returns to reading his assigned collection of early fables from Braevick. He’s looking for tales of dark wielders cured by love, or good deeds, or dancing naked under a full moon after drinking the venom of a rare snake only found on the farthest isle during a lunar eclipse, or…something.
Anything.
I adjust the blank leather cover disguising Dad’s book and reread the passage on trial by combat for different levels of entrance to Unnbriel’s court, then roll my left shoulder with a wince. Pushing into my stiff trapezius muscle doesn’t help soothe the protesting joint, either.
“You were too hard on her last night,” Garrick grumbles at Imogen, grabbing his book from Bodhi.
For all that we’re reading, I can’t begin to contemplate what’s on Jesinia’s desk.
“Fuck off,” Imogen mutters behind me, flipping a page aggressively.
“I’m fine.” I spare a glance at both of them, then continue down the page. My father’s observations on the combative isle are sharp, almost clinical, but lack his usual insight. There’s a marked difference between this book, written when he was twenty-three and straight out of the Scribe Quadrant, and the manuscript he left for me in his office.
But when did he visit the isles? Or have the time to transcribe the rudimentary dictionaries that have quickly become the bane of Dain’s existence?
“She’s rotated every single one of her joints at least three times in the last hour.” Garrick’s tone sharpens. “I’d say that means you need to lighten up—”
“Nope.” Imogen flips another page. “You’re not taking your frustrations with Carr out on me. If Violet thinks we’re doing too much, she’ll tell me.”
I glance over my shoulder to see her twirling her forefinger, suggesting Garrick turn back around, while Quinn leans over her shoulder, reading a volume Queen Maraya sent on venin and their medicinal uses.
Given how difficult it was to get our hands on these books, it’s wild to think that Garrick could probably walk straight from here to wherever her library is.
I blink, then lean forward, bracing my elbows on the wall right above Bodhi’s head. “Hey, Bodhi?” I whisper so only the two of us can hear.
“Hey, Violet?” he answers, looking up.
“What’s your second signet?” I lower my voice even more.
He lifts his brows, then glances in Garrick’s direction. “Don’t have one.”
“As in you don’t have one that I get to know about but will eventually see you wield, or don’t have one have one?”
A corner of his mouth lifts into a wry smile that reminds me of his cousin’s. “Don’t have one. Just like Xaden. Why?”
“Curious,” I admit. “And selfishly hoping you’d be able to do something cool like keep Halden from speaking.” Gods only know what he’ll do at the other isles after his performance on Deverelli.
“If I could, would that mean I get to go on the next expedition?” His eyes light up.
“Heads up,” Garrick says, and we both look forward as a first-year with a rebellion relic steps into the pit with Timin Kagiso—the newly promoted wingleader for Second Wing. “Let’s try to keep anyone else from burning.”
Go figure another fire wielder was Second Wing’s executive officer when Aura died.
“On it.” Bodhi sets his book on the wall and takes a step closer to the mat near the end of the squad.
“Still can’t believe they made Stirling the senior wingleader,” Sawyer mutters, glancing up the rows to where Panchek watches with other members of leadership.
“Better than Iris Drue,” Cat notes as she works out a knot in Trager’s shoulders. “Pretty sure she’d murder every flier in their bed if she could.”
“True,” Sawyer agrees, his attention shifting up the steps. “I thought you all had physics right now.”
Rhi and I both follow his line of sight as Lynx, Baylor, Avalynn, Sloane, Aaric, and Kai descend the steps on our right. The first-years are here.
“Got out ten minutes ago,” Sloane replies, her gaze darting over us—or rather, our books. “We came to help.”
“Excellent.” Rhi jabs her thumb over her shoulders. “Empty row behind the third-years. Take a seat and watch.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Sloane crosses her arms and lifts her chin in a way that reminds me of her older brother. “You’re in charge of your mission now, right?”
“Yes.” My stomach sinks.
“We want to help.” She gestures to the books.
Ridoc shakes his head. “First year is hard enough without adding all this into it.”
I’m with him.
“You’re one dragon short of even pairs,” Avalynn says, completely ignoring Ridoc. “You know, in case you need to split up for some reason.”
Rhi cocks her head to the side.
“Odd numbers don’t bother me—” I start.
“What Sorrengail is too nice to say is first-years aren’t going,” Imogen says.
“Or helping,” Garrick adds over his shoulder.
“Didn’t ask you,” Baylor challenges, glaring in Garrick’s direction. “Last time I checked, we’re the actual Iron Squad and you’re a substitute teacher.”
“That’s not a fight I’d pick.” I lift my brows at Baylor.
“Unless you’d like your ass kicked,” Garrick offers with a flash of a smile.
“Sit or move,” Dain orders, walking down the stairs. The circles under his eyes have my brows knitting. Between decoding my dad’s clues, studying for his own classes, and his duties as wingleader, he’s taking on too much, and I’m a major reason for it.
“We’re trying to help,” Sloane argues, her cheeks flushing a second before her narrowed gaze drops away from Dain.
“You can help by staying alive,” Dain counters, sliding in to sit on the edge next to Rhi and taking out Dad’s separately bound dictionary for Unnbriel from his pack. “Carr tells me you’re refusing to train your signet.”
“You what?” I shut my book.
“You really going to mourn the loss of another Mairi?” Sloane fires back at Dain.
“His death will always be on my head. Yours will not.” Dain’s tone sharpens. “I don’t coddle first-years anymore, so train. Your. Signet.”
“Asshole,” she whispers, and the flush in her cheeks deepens.
I lift my brows at the look she shoots him, mostly because I can’t tell if she wants to stab him in his seat or—
“Fuck,” Garrick mutters, and all our heads turn toward the pit as fire erupts from Wingleader Kagiso, streaming toward the first-year.
Bodhi takes three quick steps onto the mat, then turns his hand, and the fire dies. An argument immediately ensues with Carr, but I ignore it and pivot my focus to Sloane.
“Why won’t you train?” I ask her.
“Would you train if all you did was destroy things?” She drags her gaze from the pit. “Kill people?”
Power hums along my bones, hot and insistent. “I don’t know,” I say quietly. “Would I?”
She glances at Rhi.
“Don’t look at me. I agree with her.” Rhi shakes her head and flips to the map section of her book.
Sloane’s shoulders fall. “I just want to help in a way that doesn’t suck the magic out of something. And I highly doubt you lot would have been content to sit aside last year while your second-years went off and saved the Continent.”
My words fail, and Aaric lifts a single brow behind her, taking note of my speechlessness.
“Solid point,” Sawyer says slowly as another first-year enters the pit against Kagiso.
“Liam—” I start.
“Made his choice,” Sloane reminds me. “We’re making ours.” She folds her arms. “And he would want me to make sure you’re as prepared as you can be, even if that means none of us go with you.”
Rhi and I exchange a look, and she nods.
“Fine.” I pivot in my seat and grab the heavy pack at Imogen’s feet, then rifle through for the most innocuous-looking texts. “Here you go.” I hand the stack to Sloane. “Read these and write up a one-page report on each—”
“Oh for fuck—” Kai groans from two steps back.
“No whining. You said you wanted to help,” Rhi interrupts as Bodhi returns to the wall.
“And get them back to me as soon as you can,” I finish.
“Thank you.” Sloane gives them to the others, then glances at me, Rhi, and Dain before following the rest of her squad up the steps.
Aaric waits, holding a tome on mythology. “Scribes haven’t released your mission report yet. How badly did it go?”
Ridoc scoffs. “Your arrogant brother—”
“Give us a second,” I cut him off quickly, then set my book on my seat and scoot past Rhi and Dain to get to the steps.
“Halden was Halden,” I tell Aaric, lowering my voice. “He did Halden things and caused Halden-style ramifications, none of which are your fault.”
A muscle flexes in Aaric’s jaw, and his grip tightens on the book. “He get anyone killed?”
I nod. “His guard, Captain Winshire.”
He looks toward the pit. “Did he jeopardize your mission?”
“No. Halden got himself banned from Deverelli, but I was able to accomplish what I needed to.” It just cost Xaden… Gods, I don’t even know how much it cost him this time.
Aaric nods, then looks back at me with eyes that are identical to his brother’s and a gaze that couldn’t be any more different. “Are you in over your head, Violet?” he asks quietly.
“No.” I swallow.
He narrows his eyes, then nods before following his year-mates up the steps.
I turn to find the second- and third-years engaged in a heated debate, all gathered so tightly around Rhi that I can barely see her in the center.
“I think you fly from Deverelli to Unnbriel, then—” Trager starts.
“Back to Deverelli, then Athebyne, then here?” Cat interrupts. “You have no idea how fucking long that flight is. Then you double that journey for Hedotis, then Zehyllna, Loysam, and the minor isles? No.” She shakes her head. “No. Even using Deverelli as a base, it’s a waste of flight time.”
I lean over Dain’s shoulder.
“I fucking hate when you’re right,” Dain mutters.
Rhi drags her finger across the map. “You have predominantly westerly winds until you hit this latitude.” She points to the northern coast of Deverelli. “At which point, they shift, so every time you’re coming back to report, you’re facing a headwind.”
“Dragons can take it,” Maren notes quietly.
“Gryphons can’t,” Bodhi finishes, looking over the wall alongside Garrick.
“So basically, we’re fucked,” Ridoc notes. “It will take us way longer than five months to search all the isles.”
Numbers fly through my head. The major isles aren’t the issue. It’s the dozen minor isles that border the Cerlian Sea that pose the conundrum. This last trip took eight days, and that was just to Deverelli.
“Interesting read?”
I spin toward that voice. My heart jolts at the sight of Xaden on the lowest step, then settles as I take my first deep breath since he walked away more than a week ago. “Hi,” I whisper, taking in every single detail of his face before locking my gaze with his. The whites of his eyes are clear, but something about the color…
“Hi,” he replies, looking me over the same way I just did to him.
“You look good.” I reach for the bond and nearly melt with relief when I feel his shields give way for me. Glittering onyx wraps around my mind in a familiar wave, and I drop my barriers. “You feel good, too.”
“I slept,” he answers. “And I feel oddly…well.” He clears his throat. “Funny thing about that bedroom.”
“In Aretia?” I brace my hand on the rough edge of the wall to keep from tugging on the edges of his flight jacket and yanking him against me.
His gaze drops to my mouth and heats. “I used to love it, and now I can’t fucking stand it when you’re not there.”
“I missed this.” I lean into the bond, like I can somehow burrow into it if I try hard enough, bury myself in us. In terms of intimacy, this is even better—
“Than sex,” Xaden finishes, and I find myself nodding instead of lecturing him about reading my intentions, but that wasn’t…
My eyes widen. Has he been honing his signet like Ridoc?
“News from home?” Bodhi asks behind us, and I startle.
“Not unless you want to hear about how Riorson House needs roof repairs or how the oldest Sorrengail sent the largest med bag I’ve ever seen for the next expedition.” Xaden looks past his cousin to Garrick. “I just need Professor Tavis.” I step forward, but he retreats out of my reach, shaking his head. “We’re at Basgiath.”
Right. Back to the rules.
“Later?” I move out of the way so Garrick can slide by on the steps, and the sun catches on the amber flecks in Xaden’s eyes as he nods before walking away.
Amber.
It’s only sheer force of will that keeps me from chasing him down. Instead, I turn back toward the argument that’s continued around Rhi.
“Then skip Deverelli and just fly straight there!” Bodhi points to the isle of Unnbriel.
“The gryphons won’t make it!” Cat shouts.
My focus darts island to island. Ten days here. Twenty days there. A month round trip once we’re toward the outer reaches of Loysa and the minor isles. A sour feeling takes hold of my stomach, and it begins to slowly churn. The problem is reporting back to the Senarium between trips. Xaden doesn’t have enough time, and neither do the Aretian wards.
“The Empyrean will side with whatever choice you make,” Andarna promises, but Tairn is quiet, no doubt occupied with finally being able to talk with Sgaeyl after their period of forced silence.
We have to go, and we have to go now.
“So we fuck the rules.” I raise my voice, and everyone quiets.
Cat throws a practice disk onto the map, and I recognize the sound-shield rune she’s tempered into it.
I glance her way thankfully, then look to the others. “We supply and we go. We leave for Unnbriel as planned, but then we…disobey direct orders. We don’t fly back between isles. We don’t report or return until we find her kind.”
Rhi’s brows rise to impossible heights. “That could take a month.”
“Or longer depending on weather,” Maren guesses.
“They’ll court-martial you,” Sawyer reminds us. “It’s probably the right plan, but you go against direct orders…” He cocks his head to the side. “Then again, it’s hard to court-martial the squad that comes back with the seventh breed.”
“Excellent point.” Ridoc nods. “Do we still have to take Prince Pompous?”
“Yes.” Dain leans forward and braces his forearms on his knees. “Some of the isles won’t talk to us without him. Hedotis immediately comes to mind.”
“This is…” Bodhi’s eyes narrow on me. “Come down here.” Magic ripples as I cross the sound shield and step down onto the outer cobblestone rings of the pit. “What’s going on, Sorrengail? Because I’m all for fucking rules, ignoring orders, and bucking protocol, but this rush—”
“His eyes.” I clench my fists and lower my voice to softer than a whisper. “From the alloy in Deverelli…the flecks in Xaden’s eyes didn’t go back to gold. They’re still amber.” We have to find a cure before people start noticing or he worsens.
Bodhi’s features slacken. “Shit,” he says quietly. Hope fades from his expression, but I refuse to let it steal mine. “Well, I have what you asked for.” He reaches into his pocket and hands over two vials that have been marked S and A. “I can get more if you want it.”
Serum and Antidote.
“Thanks.” I quickly pocket them before anyone can see. “I’m not planning on using them on—”
“I’m just glad you recognize you might have to,” he interrupts.
“We’ll find a cure,” I promise with far more certainty than I feel.
Bodhi’s mouth tightens. “I’d kill to go, but you need to take Garrick with you.”
Neither of us say what he means.
Take Garrick in case you don’t.
Someone shouts on the mat, and both our heads jerk in that direction.
Kagiso shoots another blast of fire, sending a shrieking second-year scrambling backward, but Carr doesn’t intervene as the flames creep closer and closer to the terrified brunette.
“Help her,” I whisper.
“I’ve been ordered to stand down.” Bodhi tenses as her screams intensify and she drops to her hands and knees.
The next blast of flames comes within inches of her.
“Wield!” Carr shouts. “Defend yourself!”
The second-year out of Claw Section splays her hand wide on the mat and screams. Color drains in a circle around her hand, leaving the mat gray.
Oh shit. My stomach clenches and I stare, stunned.
She’s turning right in front of us. Or has she been one of them all along? Xaden would have sensed her, right? He was just here. Or would she have sensed him? I palm my dagger.
Gasps and shrieks sound in the stands behind us.
“Carr!” Panchek orders.
The professor moves faster than I’ve ever seen him, brandishing an alloy-hilted dagger and driving it straight through the cadet’s back, into her heart.
Just like that. She’s dead. Executed. No questions, no chance to cure her, nothing.
Bodhi shudders. “Take. Garrick.”
