Onyx Storm by Rebecca Yarros. The following text has been transcribed from Dutch into English by Faithfully Fantasy. Forged by darkness is an adventurous fantasy tale with non-stop action, set in a brutal, competitive military college for dragon riders. It features elements related to war, one-on-one combat, blood, intense violence, severe injuries, gore, death, the death of an animal, recovery from an accident, grief, poisoning, burning, life-threatening situations, obscene language, and descriptions of sexual acts. Readers sensitive to these elements are advised to take them into account before diving into the storm... The following text has been transcribed with great accuracy from Navarrian to the modern language by Jesinia Neilwart, curator of the Scribe’s Quadrant at Basgiath War College. All events are true, and the names of individuals have been preserved to honor the bravery of the fallen. May their souls be commended to Malek. Securing Basgiath and the wards has cost us dearly, including the life of General Sorrengail. A revised strategy is required. It is of utmost importance to our kingdom to form an alliance with Poromiel, even if only temporarily. Recovered correspondence from General Augustine Melgren to His Majesty King Tauri PROLOGUE Where in Malek's name is he going? I rush through the tunnels beneath the quarter, trying to follow him, but the night is the ultimate shadow, and Xaden blends seamlessly into the darkness. If not for our dragon bond guiding me in his general direction and the sporadic disappearance of mage lights, I would never have guessed he was concealed somewhere directly ahead of me. Fear grips me with an icy fist, making my steps falter. Tonight, he had remained calm, guarded by Bodhi and Garrick, while we waited for news about Sawyer's injury after the battle that nearly cost us Basgiath. But there’s no telling what he’s up to now. If anyone sees even a glimpse of the faint, strawberry-red rings around his irises, he’ll be arrested—and likely executed. According to the texts I’ve read, they’re supposed to fade at this stage. But what could possibly be so important that he’d risk being discovered before then? The only logical answer sends a shiver down my spine, unrelated to the chill of the stone passageway seeping into my socks. I hadn’t had time for boots or even my armour after the soft click of a closing door had roused me from restless sleep. Neither of them wants to answer,' says Andarna. I yank open the door to the covered bridge just as a similar door on the opposite side slams shut. Was that him? Sgaeyl is still... enraged, and Tairn smells of both anger and sorrow." Understandable, for reasons I don’t want to dwell on yet, but inconvenient. "'Do you want me to ask Cuir or Chradh—' Andarna begins. 'No. All four of them need their rest badly.' As soon as morning comes, we’ll undoubtedly be back on patrol for any lingering Venin. With uncertain steps, I cross the freezing length of the bridge, and the view beyond the windows makes me catch my breath. Earlier, it was warm enough for thunderstorms, but now snow falls in thick sheets, covering the ravine that separates the quarter from the main Basgiath campus. My chest tightens, and a fresh wave of seemingly endless tears threatens to sting my painfully swollen eyes. 'It started about an hour ago,' Andarna says cautiously. The temperature has been dropping steadily over the past few hours since... Don’t think about it. My next breath is shaky, and I shove everything I can’t handle into a neat, mental, fireproof compartment and lock it deep within me. It’s too late to save Mom, but I’ll be damned if I let Xaden work himself to death. 'You’re allowed to grieve,' Andarna reminds me as I push open the door to the Healers’ quadrant and step into the bustling hallway. Injured people in uniforms of every color line the sides of the stone tunnel, and healers rush in and out of the infirmary doors. 'If I let myself dwell on every loss, I’ll have no time for anything else. That’s the lesson I’ve—' Over the past eighteen months, I’ve learned this lesson all too well. I pass a group of infantry cadets who appear to be intoxicated and continue through the now-expanded infirmary, searching for a shadowy presence. This part of the quadrant hasn’t sustained any damage, but it still reeks of sulfur and ash. “May your mother never be forgotten! To General Sorrengail, the flame of Basgiath!” one of the third-years shouts. My stomach twists, but I press forward without reacting. As I approach the corner and round it, my heart stutters as I catch sight of a dark blur obscuring the right side of the wall. The staircase leading to the interrogation room comes into view, flanked by two dazed guards. Shadows flicker over the steps. Damn it. I usually love being right, but this time, I had hoped otherwise. I reach out to Xaden in my mind, but all I find is a thick wall of cool onyx. I need to get past those guards. What would Mira do? “She would have already taken out your lieutenant and confidently owned that choice,” Andarna answers. “Your sister is the kind of rider who acts first and asks questions later.” “That’s not helpful.” The little food I managed to eat earlier threatens to come back up. Andarna is right, though—Mira will kill Xaden if she finds out he’s been tapping into the ground’s power, no matter the circumstances. But confidence? That’s not a bad idea. I gather every ounce of arrogance I can muster—or imagine—straighten my shoulders, lift my chin, and stride toward the guards, praying I look more composed than I feel. “I need a word with the prisoner.” The two men exchange a brief glance before the taller one on the left clears his throat. "We have orders from Melgren not to let anyone down these stairs." "Tell me something..." I tilt my head and cross my arms as if I’m armed with every dagger I own—or at least have something at my feet. "If the man directly responsible for your mother’s death was just one staircase away, what would you do?" The shorter guard looks down, revealing the scar beneath his ear. "Orders are orders—" begins the taller one, his gaze drifting to the end of my braid, which had come loose in my restless sleep. "He’s behind a locked door," I cut him off. "I’m asking you to look the other way for five minutes, not to hand me the key." My eyes flick deliberately to the key ring hanging from his blood-stained belt. "If it were your mother—the one who secured the entire kingdom’s defense system with her life—I promise I’d grant you the same favor." The taller guard pales. "Goverson," the shorter one whispers. "She’s the lightning wielder." Goverson growls and straightens his hands at his sides. "Ten minutes," he says. "Five for your mother, and five for you. We know who saved us today." He gestures toward the staircase with his head. But he doesn’t know. Neither of them knows the sacrifice Xaden made to kill the Venin general—their general. "Thank you." I begin descending the stairs, my knees trembling, ignoring the overwhelming scent of damp earth clawing at the edges of my self-control. "I can’t believe he came here," I murmur to myself. He’s probably looking for information," Andarna notes. "I can’t blame him for wanting to know what he is." The yearning in her voice frightens me for more reasons than I care to admit. "He’s not some soulless Venin. He’s still Xaden. My Xaden," I snap, clinging to the one thing I’m certain of as I descend the stairs in silence. "You know what happens when you channelled from the the ground," she warns. Do I know? Yes. Do I accept it? Absolutely not. "If he’d completely lost himself, he could have drained me dry at any point tonight—especially while I slept. Instead, he ensured our safety and risked discovery by staying at my side for hours. He’s channelled from the ground once. If his soul has... fractured, we can fix it. We will fix it." I don’t dare admit anything more. "I already know what Tairn thinks, and the thought of arguing with both of you is exhausting. So please, in the name of everything Amari holds dear, stand with me on this." The direct bond between us shimmers. "Okay." "Really?" I pause mid-step, pressing my hand flat against the wall to steady myself. "I’m as much in the dark as he is, and you trust me," she says. "You don’t need to fight me on this." Oh, thank the gods. Relief floods my bones, and I let my head drop for a moment. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear that until she said it. "Thank you. And you have every right to learn where you come from, but I’ve never doubted who you are." I descend the final steps with renewed determination. "You alone get to decide whether to find your family. But I fear Melgren… I scorched the Venin in battle," Andarna interrupts, her words tumbling out in a rush. "You... did." Frowning, I continue downward toward the interrogation cells. I’d been too shocked by how she looked—how her scales had shifted—to dwell on the burning Venin. As far as I know, we’ve never seen one burn before. Tairn hadn’t mentioned it either. "I’ve been thinking about it all night. Magic feels different when I change colors. When I used my power, it was like the Venin transformed, weakening to the point of blistering," Andarna explains, her tone slowing slightly to enunciate but still rushed. "That... changes everything." Muted voices echo from below, and I quicken my pace. "It’s definitely worth investigating." Though I’m not willing to risk Andarna by declaring she might be our newest weapon—especially not with rumors already circulating that we’re seeking an alliance with Poromiel. What’s worse than leaders endangering Andarna? Leaders across the entire Continent doing the same. You can fight it all you want, but that power streaming through her veins?” Jack taunts, his words growing clearer as I near the final few turns. “There’s a reason the higher-ups want her. A little brotherly advice? Fall in line and find someone else to fuck. That infamous control of yours so much as flickers in her direction—” “I would never,” Xaden retorts, his voice lethally icy. My heart rate doubles and I halt just before the last curve in the stairwell, keeping out of sight. Jack’s talking about me. “Even you don’t get a say in which parts of us are taken first, Riorson.” Jack laughs. “But speaking from personal experience, control goes quickly. Just look at you, freshly fed from the source and already down here, desperate for a cure. You will slip, and afterward… Well, let’s just say that silver hair that has you so besotted will be gray like the rest of her, and those weak-ass initiate rings in your eyes won’t just last a few days—they’ll be permanent.” That’s not going to happen." Xaden bites out each word with venom. "You could hand her over yourself," Jack taunts, the sound of chains rattling punctuating his words. "Or you could let me out, and we’ll do it together. Who knows? Maybe they’ll even let her live, just to keep you on their leash until you’re fully turned into an Asim and have forgotten her entirely." "Go to hell." My hands curl into fists. Jack knows Xaden channelled from the ground’s power. He’ll tell the first person who interrogates him, and then Xaden will be arrested. My head spins as the two of them continue arguing just a few meters away. Their voices blur into the whirlwind of my thoughts. Gods, I can’t lose Xaden—not before I’ve even— No. That can’t happen. It won’t happen. I refuse to lose him, refuse to let him lose himself. Fear claws its way to the surface, but I smother it before it can breathe, before it can grow. The only thing stronger than the forces lurking within me is the resolve that steels my spine. Xaden is mine. My heart, my soul, my everything. He channelled from the ground’s power to save me, and I’ll search the entire world to find a way to save him in return. Even if I have to…" Negotiating with Tecarus to gain access to every book on this damned Continent or capturing venin to interrogate them one by one—I will find a cure. We will find a cure," Andarna promises. "We’ll start with the easier options, but if I’m right, and I somehow changed that venin when my scales shifted, then the rest of my kind must know how to master that technique. How to change him. How to heal him." My breath catches at the possibility—and the cost. "Even if you’re right, I won’t use you—" "I want to find my family. You know the order to track down my kind is coming now that your leaders know what I am. Let’s do it on our terms and for our own reasons," she says with a sharpness that cuts through my doubt. "Let’s follow every possible lead to a cure." She’s right. "Every possible lead might mean breaking a few laws," I warn. "Dragons aren’t bound by human laws," she counters, her tone eerily reminiscent of Tairn. "And as my bonded, as Tairn’s rider, neither are you." "Rebellious teenager," I mutter, my mind already forming half a dozen plans, three of which might actually work. Even as their rider, there are crimes I’ll have to commit myself—and involve only those I trust implicitly. I nod to myself, accepting the risks, at least for my part. "You’ll have to keep secrets again," Andarna cautions. "Only as far as they protect Xaden." Which, at this moment, means stopping Jack from walking away from this conversation alive. Do the cloths without killing him, since we can't afford a manhunt that would come with the death of our only prisoner. 'Are you sure I shouldn’t ask Cuir or Chradh?' 'No.' I begin descending the stairs. There’s only one person, besides Bodhi and Garrick, whom I can trust to put Xaden’s interests first, one person who is allowed to know the full truth. 'Tell Glane I need Imogen. *(I will not die today)*. I will save him. Violet Sorrengail’s personal addition to The Book of Brennan. CHAPTER 1 Two weeks later It should be a violation of the Codex to fly in January. With this howling storm and my constantly fogged-up flight goggles, I can’t see a thing as we make our way through the raging snowstorm above the mountains near Basgiath. Hopefully, we’re almost through the worst of it. I grip the saddle knob with gloved hands and hold on tight. 'It wouldn’t be too convenient to die today,' I say through the mental bond connecting me to Tairn and Andarna. 'Unless you want to keep me away from the Senarium this afternoon?' I’ve been waiting over a week for what amounts to an invitation disguised as a command from the King’s Council, but it’s an understandable delay, as today marks the fourth day of their historic peace negotiations taking place on campus. Poromiel has openly declared they’ll give up after the seventh day if no agreement is reached, and things aren’t looking good. I just hope they’re in a good mood when I arrive. 'Want to make that meeting of yours? Then make sure you don’t fall again,' Tairn chides. 'I’m telling you again, I didn’t fall off,' I argue. 'I jumped off to help Sawyer—' 'Don’t make me open my mouth.' 'You’ve got to let me join the patrols sometime,' Andarna interrupts from the warmth and safety of the Vale. 'It’s not safe,' Tairn repeats for probably the hundredth time. 'There’s the weather, and we’re hunting dark wielders; this is no pleasure flight." "You’d better not fly right now," I agree, searching for any sign of Ridoc and Aotrom, but there are only white walls. My chest tightens. How does anyone manage to see any of the topography or our squadron members in this wreckage, let alone a dark wielder several meters below us? I can’t remember a worse storm than the ones that have battered the war college these past two weeks, but without... Mom. The grief sinks the tips of her razor-sharp claws into my chest. I lift my face to feel the biting pain of the snow against the top of my cheeks and focus on anything to keep breathing, to keep moving. I’ll grieve later, always later. "It’s just a quick patrol," Andarna complains, pulling me out of my thoughts. I need the practice. Who knows what kind of weather we’ll encounter when we go looking for my kind later? "Quick patrols" can be deadly, and I’m not going to come up with reasons to test Andarna’s fire theory. Dark wielders may have limited powers within the shields, but they are still deadly fighters. Those who didn’t flee after the battle used surprise attacks to add more names to the death roll. The First Wing, the Third Wing, and our own Claw Section have suffered losses. "Practice spreading the magic evenly enough to keep your limbs warm while flying, because your wings won’t bear the weight of this ice," Tairn growls through the falling snow. "Your wings won’t bear the weight of this ice," Andarna mimics him mockingly. "But yours will. Can somehow still bear the weight of your ego." "Go look for a sheep and let the adults do their work." Tairn’s muscles shift slightly beneath me in a familiar pattern. I lean forward as much as the saddle allows and prepare for a dive. My stomach rises to my throat as his wings fold in, and we plummet downward, straight through the storm. The wind tugs at the hood of my winter flying outfit, and the leather strap of my saddle digs into my frozen thighs, while I silently pray to Zihnal that there’s no mountain peak directly beneath us. Tairn levels out, and my stomach settles. I push my goggles up to my forehead, quickly blink my eyes, and look to the right. At a lower altitude, the storm isn’t as fierce, giving me a better view of the rocky mountain ridge just above the flight path. "Looks clear." My eyes begin to water from the battering wind and snow, which feels more like tiny ice projectiles than flakes. I wipe the lenses clean with the suede fingertips of my gloves before pulling the goggles back down over my eyes. "Agreed. Once we hear from Feirge and Cruth, we’re done for today," he mutters. You say that as if it’s bad that we haven’t encountered any enemies for three days straight. "Maybe we’ve actually caught and killed them all. The cadets have finished off thirty-one Venin in the area around Basgiath, while our professors are sweeping the rest of the province. It would be thirty-two if anyone even suspects one of them is among us, even though he’s the one who’s taken down seventeen of them." "It’s not really comforting that it’s this quiet—" The wind slams into us, and Tairn jerks his head. "Up." My head immediately follows his example. Oh no. No wind. Wings. Aotrom’s claws are all I see, and my heart is seized by panic. He drops out of the storm, coming straight at us. "Tairn!" I shout, but he’s already rolling to the left, and we shoot out of the way. The world spins; air and land switch places twice in a nauseating dance, before Tairn extends his wings in one jarring motion. The maneuver cracks the two-centimeter-thick layer of ice on the leading edge of his wings, and chunks fall away. I gasp, full but trembling for air as Tairn beats his wings with maximum force, climbing dozens of meters in mere seconds and heading straight for the Brown Swordtail that is bound to Ridoc. Rage sears the air in my lungs. Tairn’s emotions flood my system for a heartbeat, before I slam my mental blocks down to mute the worst of what’s flowing through the bond. "Don’t do it!" I shout through the wind as we come up on Aotrom’s left side, but as always, Tairn does whatever he wants, and seemingly just inches from Aotrom’s head, he snaps his jaws shut with full force. "It was clearly an accident!" That normally could be prevented by dragon communication. The smaller Brown Swordtail screeches as Tairn repeats his warning. Aotrom extends his neck toward him, signaling his surrender. Ridoc looks my way through the snowstorm and raises his hands, but I doubt he saw my apologetic shrug before Aotrom shoots southward toward the flight field. Apparently, Feirge and Rhi have checked in. "Was that really necessary?" I let my blocks drop, and Tairn and Andarna’s bonds rush back in full force, but the shimmering path leading to Xaden is still blocked, muted by only an echo of his usual presence. The loss of this constant connection sucks, but he doesn’t trust himself—or what he thinks he’s going to become—to open it. "Yes," Tairn answers, in a way that shows he finds that one word sufficient. "You’re almost twice his size, and it was clearly an accident," I repeat, as we quickly descend toward the flight field. The snow on the ground in the mountain gorge is trampled into a muddy series of paths due to the constant patrols carried out by the second- and third-years. "It was careless, and a twenty-two-year-old dragon should know better than to cut himself off from his gang just because he’s fighting with his rider," grumbles Tairn, his anger fading into a mutter as Aotrom lands next to Rhi’s Green Daggertail, Feirge. Tairn’s claws sink into the frozen ground to the left of Aotrom, and the sudden landing makes every bone in my body vibrate like a ringing bell. Pain explodes along my spine, and my lower back absorbs most of the impact. I breathe through the worst of it, accept the rest, and keep going. "Well, that was graceful." I rip my flight goggles off my forehead. "Then you fly next time." He shakes himself off like a wet dog, and I hold my hands up to my face. As ice and snow fly off his scales, I tug at the leather strap of my saddle as soon as he stops, but the buckle gets caught on the jagged row of bad stitches I gave myself after the battle, and one of them pops loose. "Damn. That never would’ve happened if you’d let Xaden fix it." I force my body out of the saddle, ignoring how my joints, stiff from the cold, painfully protest as I move along the icy pattern of spines and scales I know as well as my own pocket. "The Dark One didn’t make him either," Tairn responds. "Don’t call him that." My knee gives out. I extend my arms to keep my balance and curse my joints as I reach Tairn’s shoulder. After sitting in the saddle for an hour in these temperatures, a pissed-off knee is no small thing; I’m lucky my hips are still rotating. "Don’t deny the truth." Tairn emphasizes every word of his damn command. I avoid a patch of ice as I prepare to take off. "His soul is no longer his own." "That’s a bit dramatic." I’m not going to start that discussion again. "His eyes are normal again." "That kind of power is addictive. You know that too, or else you wouldn’t pretend to sleep at night." He twists his neck in a way that reminds me of a snake and locks his golden, unblinking eyes on me. "I sleep." It’s not a complete lie, but it’s definitely time to change the subject. "Did you just want me to fix my saddle so you could teach me a lesson?" My ass protests against the scales on Tairn’s leg as I slide over them and land in a fresh foot-high layer of snow. "Or is it because you don’t trust Xaden with my gear anymore?" "Yes." Tairn lifts his head high above mine and spits a stream of fire over his wing to melt the remaining ice off. I turn away from the warm wave, which stands in painful contrast to my body temperature. "Tairn..." I search for words and look up at him. "I need to know which side you're on before this meeting. Whether or not the Empyrean approves, I can’t do this without you." "You mean whether I’ll support you in the countless ways you want to face death to heal someone who’s beyond redemption?" He turns his head back in my direction. The tension crackles through Andarna’s bond. "He’s not..." I let this one discussion point go, since the rest makes sense. In principle, yes. He growls deeply in his chest. I fly without warming my wings in preparation for carrying heavier weights over longer distances. Isn’t that an answer to your question?" He means Andarna. Relief flows from my lips as I exhale quickly. "Thank you." Steam billows from his nostrils. "But you must not misinterpret my unwavering support for you, my mate, and Andarna as any form of trust in him." Tairn lifts his head, signaling the end of the conversation. "Understood." That said, I stagger toward the trampled path where Rhi and Quinn are waiting. Ridoc walks in a wide arc around Tairn and does the same to my right. My nearly numb, gloved fingers fumble with the three buttons on the side of my winter flying outfit’s hood, and the fur-lined material comes loose from my nose and mouth as I reach them. "Everything good on your route?" Rhi and Quinn look cold but unharmed, thank the gods. "Still... alarmingly normal. We haven’t encountered anything concerning. In the wyvern fire pit, there’s still only ash and bones." Rhi grabs a handful of snow from the hem of her hood and then pulls it back over her black braids, which reach her shoulders. "We couldn’t see a damn thing for the last ten minutes, nothing more." Ridoc pushes his gloved hand through his hair, and the snowflakes slide off his brown cheeks without melting. "At least you’re still a snow magnet." I gesture to his annoyingly snowflake-free face. Quinn gathers her blonde curls into a quick knot. "Maybe you can stay warm by wielding." "I’m not taking that risk if I can’t see where I might crash." Especially since I’ve lost my only conduit in the fight. I glance at Ridoc just as a row of dragons from our Section Tail lifts off behind him. "What exactly were you arguing with Aotrom about?" "Sorry about that." Ridoc winces and lowers his voice. "He wants to go home, back to Aretia. Says we can start the search for the seventh den from there." Rhi nods, and Quinn presses her lips into a tight line. "Yeah, I get it," I say. It’s a widely shared opinion among the gang. They’re not exactly jumping to help us here. The unity between Navarrian and Aretian riders had crumbled just hours after the battle ended. "But an alliance that can save Poromielian civilians is only possible if we Stay here. At least for now." On top of that, Xaden insists we stay. "He stays because Navarre’s shields protect you from him." Tairn spits another stream of fire out as I ignore him, warming his left wing, and then crouches down before jumping into the air with the others. The courtyard is almost empty when we arrive via the tunnel that runs under the ridge separating it from the training grounds. Straight ahead, there’s a layer of snow on the sleeping quarters building, on the central roundabout that connects the barracks, and to the left of that, on all the roofs of the academic wing, except for the southernmost one, where in the highest gun tower, Malek’s fire burns brightly, consuming the belongings of our dead as he requires. Maybe the god of death is cursing me for keeping my mother’s personal diaries, but should we ever meet, I’ll at least have a good word to say to him. "Report," commands Aura Beinhaven from the podium to our left, where she stands next to Ewan Faber, the burly, sour-looking wing leader of what little remains of Navarre’s Fourth Wing. "Oh, great, you’re back in one piece." Ewan’s voice drips with sarcasm. He crosses his arms, and snow falls from his broad shoulders. "We were so worried." "That jerk was barely a squadron leader in Claws when we came back," Ridoc mutters. "Nothing to report this morning," answers Rhiannon. Aura nods but doesn’t bother to say anything. "Any news from the front?" My stomach tightens. The lack of information is tormenting. Nothing I’m going to share with a bunch of deserters," Aura replies. Oh, she can drop dead. "A bunch of deserters who saved your ass!" Quinn flips them the bird as we walk past. Our boots crunch on the snow-covered gravel. "Navarrean riders, Aretian riders... We can’t function like this," she says softly to the group. "If they won’t even accept us, the fliers don’t stand a chance." I nod in agreement. Mira is currently working on this issue. Not that the leadership knows or will allow us to use what she finds out, even if it would benefit the negotiations. Arrogant assholes. "Devera and Kaori will be back soon. They’ll straighten out the command structure once the princes have signed a treaty that hopefully grants us grace for even leaving in the first place." Rhi tilts her head as Imogen walks out of the roundabout ahead of us. Her pink hair gently falls against her cheek as she steps down the stone stairs. "Cardulo, you missed your patrol." "I was reassigned by Lieutenant Tavis," Imogen explains, not hesitating for a second as she approaches us. Her gaze flicks to me. "Sorrengail, I need to speak with you." I nod. She was on Xaden-watch. "Make sure you’re there tomorrow." Rhi walks past Imogen with the other two, then stops halfway up the stairs and glances over her shoulder as the others head inside. "Wait. Isn’t Mira supposed to be back today?" "Tomorrow." Fear ties a neat bow around my throat and pulls. Coming up with a plan is one thing, but executing it is another, especially if this is the result. Has that made the people I love become traitors... again?" "Every possible lead," Andarna reminds me. "Every possible lead," I repeat like a mantra, straightening my shoulders. "Fine." A slow smile breaks out on Rhi’s face. "We’ll be in the infirmary when you’re done," she promises, and she walks up the remaining steps to the roundabout. "Did you tell the second-years what Mira’s working on?" Imogen whispers in a sharp, accusatory tone. "Only the riders," I reply softly. "If we’re caught, it’s treason, but if the fliers get caught…" "It’s war." Imogen finishes my sentence. "Ridoc, did you freeze this door shut?" Rhi calls from the top of the stairs. She pulls with all her weight on the roundabout door handle before heading through the parallel door to her left. "Get over here and loosen it, NOW!" "Right. Telling them was a great idea." Imogen rubs her nose bridge while Ridoc lets out a hysterical laugh from the roundabout. "You four are so unbearably difficult. We’ll be lucky if we pull this off without getting executed." "You don’t have to take part." I stare at her for a long time in a way I could only have dreamed of eighteen months ago. "I’ll do it with or without your help." "Are we in a feisty mood today?" One corner of her mouth curls up. "Relax. As long as Mira’s got a plan, I’m in." "She doesn’t know what failure is." "I can understand that." Snow blows across our faces, and Imogen’s eyes harden. "But say..." Please tell me you didn’t tell your fearless quartet everything about why we’re doing this." "Of course not." I stuff my gloves into my pocket. "He’s still pissed that I ‘burdened’ you with information." "Then he should stop with all that crap no one is supposed to know." She rubs her hands together against the cold and follows me up the stairs. "Listen, I just wanted to speak to you because Garrick, Bodhi, and I talked about it—" "Without me?" My back stiffens. "About you," she clarifies without guilt. "Even better." I reach for the door handle. "We’ve decided that you two need to revise your sleeping arrangements." My grip tightens on the handle, and I consider slamming the door in her face. "And I’ve decided that you all can get lost. I’m not running from him. Even when he loses control, he’s never hurt me. He won’t." "I already told them you’d say that, but don’t be surprised if they keep asking. Good to know you’re still predictable, even if Riorson isn’t." "How was he this morning?" The heat rushes to my face as we walk into the empty roundabout, and I push my hood back. Without lessons, formations, or any set arrangements, the academic wing may look deserted, but the study rooms and the hall are packed with aimless, worried, restless cadets hoping to survive their next patrol and eager to vent their frustrations on someone else. Each of us would kill for a Combat Evaluation. "As grumpy and stubborn as always," Imogen answers. We turn toward the sleeping quarters and fall silent as we pass a group of second-years from the First Wing glaring at us. Passing by, including Caroline Ashton, which means the truth-Sayers have let her off the hook. Fortunately for us, the downward stairs to the Healers’ Quarter are blissfully empty. 'Are you planning on telling him what we’re up to?' 'He knows we’ve been sent out to find Andarna’s kind. As for the rest? He doesn’t want to know.' I nod at a few approaching Aretian riders from the Third Wing as we reach the tunnels, but wait to speak until we’re out of earshot. 'He’s afraid of unintentionally becoming a leak, which is ridiculous, but I respect his wishes.' 'I can’t wait for him to find out you’re going to lead your own rebellion.' She grins as we walk over the covered bridge to the Healers’ Quadrant. 'It’s not a rebellion, and I’m not... leading.' Xaden, Dain, Rhi—they’re the leaders. They inspire and give orders in the interest of their unit. I’m just doing whatever it takes to save Xaden. 'Not even the mission to find Andarna’s kind?' She opens the door to the Healers’ Quadrant, and I follow her inside. 'That’s different, and I’m not so much a leader but the one who picks a leader. Hopefully.' I glance into the messy tunnel, past the quietly sleeping patients mostly dressed in infantry blue, and see a group of scribes with hoods moving among them, undoubtedly gathering more accurate reports of the battle. 'Sounds the same, but it’s not.' 'Right.' The word drips with sarcasm. 'Well, the message has been delivered, so I’m done with this conversation. Let me know when Mira’s back.' She walks off toward the main campus. 'Say hi to Sawyer for me, and good luck this afternoon!' Thank you,’ I call after her, and I turn toward the infirmary. The smells of herbs and metal hit my lungs as I walk through the double doors. I wave to Trager, one of the rider-trained healers doing their best to help wherever possible, to my right. He nods back while standing beside a patient’s bed, picking up needle and thread. I quickly head to the nearest corner to stay out of the way of the healers who are hurriedly moving back and forth between rows of beds filled with the wounded, each enclosed by curtains. I hear Ridoc’s laugh as I approach the last bed. The light blue curtains are tied together, behind which a pile of discarded winter flight jackets sits in the corner, and all the other second-years from our squad are gathered around Sawyer’s bed. ‘Don’t exaggerate,’ says Rhiannon. She’s sitting on the wooden chair by Sawyer’s head, waving her finger at Ridoc, who’s sitting on the bed where our squad member’s lower leg used to be. ‘I just let them know that table was from our squad, and they should just—’ ‘Move their cowardly asses back to the First Wing where they belong.’ Ridoc finishes the sentence for her with another laugh. ‘You didn’t really say that.’ One corner of Sawyer’s mouth curls up, but it’s far from a real smile. ‘I did.’ I make sure not to step on Cat’s outstretched legs on the floor beside Maren as I enter the cramped space, unbutton my flight jacket, and toss it on top of the pile. ‘Riders get injured by the strangest things.’ Cat raises a dark eyebrow and flips through Markham’s history textbook. ‘We have bigger problems than little tables.’ ‘True.’ Maren nods and braids her dark brown hair with four strands. ‘How did the patrol go, actually?’ Sawyer shifts to sit up straighter without anyone’s help. ‘Calm,’ answers Ridoc. ‘I’m starting to think we’ve got them all.’ ‘Or that they’ve fled,’ says Sawyer thoughtfully, and the light in his eyes dims. ‘Soon you’ll have to track them down.’ ‘Only once we’ve graduated.’ Rhi crosses her legs. ‘They don’t send cadets across the borders.’ ‘Except Violet, of course, who’s going to find the seventh den so we can win this war.’ Ridoc casts a smug grin in my direction. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep her safe.’ I don’t know if he means that teasingly or seriously. Cat snorts and flips another page. ‘As if they’d let you go? I bet only officers are allowed.’ ‘Not at all.’ Ridoc shakes his head. ‘It’s her dragon, her rules. Right, Vi?’ Every head turns in my direction. ‘If they give us the orders, I’ll give them a list of reliable people who can come along.’ A list with so many revised versions that I’m not even sure I have the right one in front of me. ‘You just need to take the squadron,’ Sawyer suggests. ‘We work best as a team.’ He snorts. ‘Who am I kidding? You work best as a team. I can barely walk up a flight of stairs.’ He nods toward the crutches next to his bed. ‘You’re still part of the team. Hydrate.’ Rhi reaches for the nightstand, above a note in handwriting that looks like Jesinia’s, to grab a tin cup. I can’t grow my leg back with water.’ Sawyer takes the cup, and the metal handle hisses as it molds to his fingers. He looks up at me. ‘I know that sounds pretty crappy after you lost your mother—’ ‘Pain isn’t a competition,’ I assure him. ‘There’s always enough for everyone.’ He sighs. ‘Colonel Chandlyr has been here.’ My stomach feels hollow. ‘The commander of the retired riders?’ Sawyer nods. ‘What?’ Ridoc crosses his arms. ‘Second-years don’t retire. Dead? Yes. Retire? No.’ ‘I know,’ Sawyer begins. ‘It’s just—’ A shrill scream echoes through the infirmary, so high-pitched it’s meant only for something worse than pain: terror. The silence that follows chills me to the bone, and the fear makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I draw two of my daggers from their sheaths and turn my face toward the threat. ‘What was that?’ Ridoc slides off Sawyer’s bed, and the others stand behind me as I step away from the bed and turn toward the open infirmary doors. ‘She’s dead!’ A cadet in infantry-blue uniform stumbles in and drops to his hands and knees. ‘They’re all dead!’ The gray handprint on the side of his neck is impossible to miss. Venin. My heart seizes. We haven't found them out on patrol-because they're already inside. The rarest signet, which appear once per generation or century, have been documented twice simultaneously with an equal counterpart, both during critical times in our history, but only once have the six most powerful walked the Continent at the same time. As fascinating as that spectacle must have been, I would rather not witness it again in my lifetime. – A study of signets by Major Dalton Sisneros CHAPTER 2 "They're within the walls!" Tairn bellows. "Already figured that out." I swap my daggers for two alloy-hilted ones at my thighs and move quickly to hand one to Sawyer. "None of us die today." He nods, taking the blade by the hilt. "Maren, protect Sawyer," Rhiannon orders. "Cat, help whoever you can. Let's go!" "Guess I'll just...stay here?" Sawyer calls after us, muttering a swear word as we take off sprinting between the rows of infirmary beds. We're the first to make it to the doors, where Winifred holds the wailing infantry cadet by his upper arms. "Violet, don't go out there-" she starts. "Lock the doors!" I shout as we run through. "Like that's going to stop them?" Ridoc challenges as we enter the tunnel, then all three of us skid to a halt at the sight before us The blankets on every overflow bed down the hallway have been thrown back, revealing desiccated bodies. My stomach plummets. How did this happen so fast? "Oh shit." Ridoc draws another dagger at my right as two more riders sprint through the infirmary doors behind us, both from Second Wing. I reach for Xaden and find his shields not only up but impenetrable. Frustrating, but fine. I'm perfectly capable of fighting on my own, and I have Ridoc and Rhi with me. "You do not have a conduit," Tairn reminds me. Which means I can't pinpoint my lightning strikes, especially not indoors. "I've always been far more accurate with daggers than my own power. Warn whoever's riders guard the wardstone." "Already done," he replies. "Check the bridge!" Rhiannon commands the two from Second Wing, and they take off toward the Riders Quadrant. "Bring their bodies outside once you're done killing them so we can roast them for fun," Andarna suggests. "Not right now." I calm my breath and concentrate. "Eyes open," Rhiannon says, her voice as steady as her hand as she pulls an alloy-hilted dagger and moves to my left. "Let's go." Then we move as one, quiet and quick as we make our way down the hall. I keep my eyes forward as Rhi and Ridoc check left and right respectively, and their silence tells me all I need to know. There are no survivors. We follow the curve of the tunnel, passing the last cot, and a scribe flies out of the stairwell ahead, his robes billowing behind him as he runs toward us at full speed. I flip the dagger in my hand and pinch it by the tip, my heart starting to beat double-time. "Which way did they go?" Rhi asks the cadet. The scribe's hood falls back, revealing red-rimmed eyes with spiderwebbed veins at his temples. Nope, definitely not a cadet. He reaches beneath his robes, but I've already flicked my wrist by the time he grabs the pommel of a sword. My dagger lodges in the left side of his chest, and his eyes bulge in shock as he falls gracelessly to the tunnel floor. His body shrivels in the span of a heartbeat. "Damn. Sometimes I forget how good you are at that," Rhi whispers, scanning our surroundings as we move forward. "How did you know?" Ridoc asks in the same hushed tone, quickly kicking the husk of a body over and retrieving my blade. "A scribe would have run toward the Archives." I take the blade back and wrap my hand around the hilt. "Thanks." The alloy's hum of power is a little dimmer but still there, hopefully capable of another killing blow. How many of them had Imogen and I seen. on our walk to the infirmary without even realizing? "That's how they fed without notice. They're dressed as scribes." Two figures in cream robes approach from the opposite side of the tunnel, mage light shining on their first-year rank, and I prepare to throw again. "Drop the hoods," Rhi orders. They both startle, and the cadet on the right lowers her hood quickly, but there's a slight tremble in her counterpart's hands as she complies, her wide blue eyes locked on the body at my feet. "Is that..." she whispers, and her friend wraps an arm around her swaying frame. "Yes." I lower my blade, noting that neither of them carry red in their eyes or at their temples. "Get back to the Archives and warn the others." The women turn and run. "Up or down?" Ridoc asks, facing the steps. Someone shouts beneath us. "Down," Rhi and I say simultaneously. "Great." Ridoc rolls his neck. "Down the stairwell to the torture chamber where an untold number of freshly fed dark wielders wait. Good times." He takes the lead, switching his dagger to his left hand and lifting his right in preparation to wield as Rhiannon steps in behind me. We edge down the stairs rapidly, keeping our backs to the stone wall, and I send up a silent thanks to Eran Norris for building Basgiath with stone stairs instead of wooden ones with the potential to creak...or burn. "Pay attention to the present, not the past," Tairn lectures. Metal clangs beneath us, the pitch varying from the ting of colliding blades to the ear-grating rasp of steel scraping against stone. But it's the maniacal laughter mixed with grunts of pain that has me hurrying faster, has power rising, crackling along my skin. "Control it!" Tairn orders. shields up to block him, knowing he can still push through if he wants. "Stop playing with your kill and help us get this door open!" someone demands from below. If they want a cell door open, they're definitely not on our side. They've come for Jack. "How many guards are on Barlowe?" Ridoc whispers as we near the turn in the staircase that will expose us to whomever waits beneath. "Two-" Rhiannon's answer is quickly muffled by the sound of a low and painful scream. "Make that one," I reply, readying my right hand to throw. The antechamber of the brig comes into view, and my gaze flies over the all-too-familiar space, taking quick stock of our situation. Two dark wielders dressed in scribe robes yank at the unmoving door handle to Jack's cell, while a female pulls her ruby-hilted sword across the neck of a second lieutenant who's been pinned to the thick table with daggers through his hands, and a fourth stands at the edge of the shadows. Her long silver braid swings free of her hood as her attention whips in our direction, and her eerie red gaze jumps to mine and widens slightly under a faded tattoo on her forehead. My blood chills when a smirk tilts her mouth, distorting the red veins at her temples, and then she....disappears. I blink against the sudden breeze that rustles a loosened strand of my braid, then stare at the empty space she'd occupied. At least I think she had. Am I seeing things now? Rhi gasps behind me, and my focus jolts to the imprisoned guard. Blood floods the table from the rider's wound, and I swallow back the burn of acid in my throat, catching sight of two corpses to the left, one in cream, the other in black. The female with the jeweled sword at the table pivots, her short blond hair smacking her sharp cheekbones as she turns in our direction, revealing branches of red veins at her temples. I flick my wrist just in case this one disappears, too. "Riders-" Her alarm dies with my blade lodged in the middle of her throat. Ridoc rushes the two at the door, but they're ready, one drawing a sword that Ridoc blocks with a thick band of ice. I throw my remaining dagger at the other as I jump the last two steps, but the dark-haired venin moves unnaturally fast, dodging the strike. My blade bounces off the stone wall behind him as I run toward the rider bleeding out on the table. Fuck! Rhi leaps over the female's body, headed for Ridoc, and I continue on, keeping an eye on the one I missed. The venin swings his arm, and a shape flies toward me. "Drop, Vi!" Ridoc shouts, throwing his hand out, palm down, and a chill sweeps over the front of my legs as spikes rush at my face. I hit my knees and slide along a small sheet of ice as the mace whips over my head, slicing through the air with a whistle. "Not the silver hair!" the dark wielder with the sword bellows, and I scramble to my feet, slipping on the blood-covered stone. "We need her!" To control Xaden? Fuck that. I'll never be used against him again. "Mine, now!" Rhi shouts, and when I glance left, she's swinging the mace at its previous owner, giving me time to get to the twitching rider on the table. "Hold on," I tell him, reaching for his throat to staunch the bleeding, but I pause as his last breath rattles his chest and he falls limp. He's gone. My heart clenches for all of a beat before I draw two more daggers and turn toward my friends. The black-haired venin moves in a blur, ducking beneath the mace Rhiannon swings, then appears before me like he'd been standing there all along. Fast. They're too damned fast. My heart jolts as I jerk my dagger to his throat, and he studies me with sicken- ing excitement in his red eyes. Power floods my veins, heating my skin and lifting the hair along my arms. "Ah, the lightning wielder. You're a long way from the sky, and we both know you can't kill me with that knife," he taunts, and the veins along his temples pulse as Rhi sneaks up behind him, her alloy-hilted dagger poised to strike. Shadows quake at the edges of the chamber, and a corner of my mouth rises. "I won't have to." His eyes flare in confusion for all of a mil- lisecond before shadows explode around us, immediately devouring every speck of light in a sea of endless black I instantly recognize as home. A band of darkness wraps around my hips and yanks me backward, then brushes my cheek gently, steadying my galloping heartbeat and quieting my power. Screams fill the chamber, followed by a pair of thuds, and I know without a doubt any threat to my life's been extinguished. A heartbeat later, the shadows retreat, revealing the shriveled bodies of the dark wielders on the floor, alloy-hilted daggers embedded in their chests. I lower my weapons as Xaden strides toward me from the center of the room, the hilts of the two swords he keeps strapped to his back peeking above his shoulders. He's in thick winter flight leathers, devoid of any markings but his second lieutenant rank, and speckled with tiny dots of water that tell me he's been out in the snow. Second lieutenant. The same rank as Barlowe's guards had been. The same as Garrick, who's standing at the base of the steps behind Xaden, and almost every other officer temporarily stationed here to protect Basgiath. My heart stutters and my gaze rakes over Xaden's tall, muscled frame, searching for any sign of injury. Gold-flecked onyx eyes meet mine, and my breath stabilizes only when I realize he's unharmed and there isn't a single trace of red to be found anywhere near his irises. He may technically be an initiate, but he's nothing like the venin we just fought. Gods, I love this man. "Tell me something, Violence." A muscle in his square jaw ticks as he stares down at me, rippling the tawny-brown skin of his stubbled cheek. "Why is it always you?" *** An hour later, the debriefing with the commander of the Riders’ Quarter, Colonel Panchek, is over, and we’re free to leave. He doesn’t seem to care that they were trying to save Barlowe instead of focusing on the wardstone.’ Garrick runs a hand through his dark hair and walks ahead of Xaden and me, down the stairs into the academic wing. ‘Maybe it wasn’t their first attempt.’ Rhi looks over her shoulder at Garrick. ‘We’re not exactly getting daily updates.’ We’re not safe here, not that we ever were. ‘Pancheck is updating the other leaders too, right?’ Ridoc asks as we pass the second floor. ‘Melgren already knows. There were only two of us down there.’ Xaden casts a meaningful glance at Garrick’s hand, where the rebel relic is visible beneath the sleeve of his uniform. ‘I’m just glad Sorrengail activated the wards before she left.’ Garrick doesn’t bother clarifying that he’s talking about my sister. ‘Barlowe can’t hear or see anything outside that room unless someone opens the door, so he’s not gathering any new intel. Judging by the stones in the cell that he drained, he’ll be dead within a week.’ Xaden stiffens at my side, and I reach out to him mentally, but his blocks are thicker than the walls of this fortress. ‘It’s not always up to me,’ I whisper to Xaden. I brush his hand with mine as we continue down the wide spiral staircase to the first floor. Xaden snorts, intertwines his fingers with mine, and brings the back of my hand to his perfectly shaped mouth. ‘Yes, it is,’ he responds softly, emphasizing his words with a kiss. My heartbeat quickens, just like every time his lips touch my skin, which has been happening a lot these past few weeks. A lot has happened. ‘You know, that whole “finish them off in the dark” thing you did was pretty badass.’ Ridoc raises his finger. ‘But I would’ve taken him down myself.’ ‘Not true.’ Xaden strokes his thumb over mine. Garrick’s shoulders shake as he laughs silently, and we walk down the last steps to the main entrance. ‘I almost took him down myself,’ Ridoc insists, waving his finger. ‘Really not,’ Xaden reassures him. ‘How do you know that?’ Ridoc lowers his hand. Garrick and Xaden exchange a look of pure annoyance, and I suppress a smile. ‘Because you were on one side of the room,’ Garrick says, ‘but your knife was on the other.’ ‘A problem I was actively solving,’ Ridoc shrugs as he and Rhi reach the ground floor. Xaden stops for a moment and tugs on my hand, silently asking if I’ll stay with him, which I do. ‘We should go check on the others.’ Rhi looks up at me. ‘Are you heading to the great hall?’ I nod, and the nerves churn in my stomach. ‘You’re ready. You can do this,’ she says with a quick smile. ‘Do you want us to walk with you?’ ‘No. Go check on the squadron,’ I reply. Garrick stops a step below us. ‘I’ll join you later.’ ‘We’ll wait for you,’ Ridoc promises over his shoulder as he and Rhi head left, disappearing around the corner. ‘Everything okay?’ Garrick turns to us and studies Xaden’s eyes. ‘Well, if you’d give us five minutes alone,’ Xaden says. Garrick frowns in concern as he looks at me, but he quickly smooths out his expression when I nod. ‘Damn it. You trust her at night when she’s babysitting me, right?’ Xaden squints at his best friend. ‘Don’t act like it’s my fault you need a babysitter,’ Garrick shoots back. The shadows creep over the step beneath our feet. ‘It’s okay,’ I quickly reassure Garrick, keeping my hand intertwined with Xaden’s much larger one. ‘I’m okay. He’s okay. Everything’s okay.’ Garrick glances at both of us, turns, and heads up the stairs. ‘I’m nearby,’ he warns, and then turns the corner to the right, towards the sparring room. ‘Damn it.’ Xaden pulls his hand from mine and leans back against the wall; his swords clatter against the masonry. His jacket falls open as he rests his head against the stone window frame. ‘I never realized how much I liked being alone until I couldn’t anymore.’ His throat moves as he swallows, and his hands tighten at his sides. ‘I’m sorry.’ I close the gap between us, stand between his feet, and place my hand against the side of his neck, right on the magically tattooed lines of his marking. ‘No need.’ He covers my hand with his, lowers his head, and slowly opens those eyes I can never get enough of. ‘I trust you.’ Not a hint of red in sight. ‘Better not.’ He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me against him. The contact immediately heats up. My skin and it makes my stomach twist in the most delightful way. ‘I’m damn sure there’s only one reason why he and Bodhi don’t sleep by our bed every night, and that’s because they know I would’ve killed them for it before, let alone now.’ Not that we do anything else in that bed other than sleep. I trust him, but Dunne would damn well trust himself, at least not enough to let go of control even a little. ‘In the name of transparency, I might as well tell you that they want me to reconsider our bedroom arrangement.’ I press my hand flat against his warm chest. His eyes widen, and the arm he has wrapped around me tightens. ‘Maybe that’s better.’ ‘That’s not happening. I told Imogen to shove it.’ A smile slides over his mouth. ‘Of course you did.’ ‘Once you’re healed, they won’t be so concerned anymore.’ My eyes trace the sculpted shape of his jaw, over his prominent cheekbones, to the black strands of hair that have fallen over his forehead. He’s still him. Still mine. His muscles tighten under my fingers. ‘Are you ready to go to the Senarium?’ ‘Yes.’ I nod. ‘And don’t change the subject. I’m going to find a way to heal you.’ I put every ounce of my determination into those words and raise my eyebrows at him. ‘Let me in.’ It’s not a request. To my surprise, he lowers his barriers, and the shimmering onyx-colored bond between us takes on a solid form. ‘You used your seal today. Within the shields.’ He nods, lets his hand fall from mine, and wraps his arms completely around me. ‘I got the message from Sgaeyl.’ I enjoy the feeling of his body against mine but don’t hope for a kiss. ‘Did she say we’re in trouble?’ He looks away and shakes his head. ‘She still won’t talk to me. Flying is so embarrassing.’ My chest threatens to burst under the weight of the sadness in his voice. ‘I’m so sorry.’ I let my hands slide over his lower back to hug him and turn my head so his heart beats under my ear. ‘She’ll come around.’ ‘Don’t count on it,’ Tairn warns with a growl through the mental bond that’s only ours, and I completely ignore him. Xaden places his chin on top of my head. ‘She knows I’m not… whole. She feels it.’ I jump back, pull away, and raise my hands to his face. ‘You are whole,’ I whisper. ‘I don’t know what price you had to pay to access those powers, but that doesn’t mean you’ve changed—’ ‘Yes, I have,’ he counters, stepping down a step, out of my arms. I can only think of one way to prove that’s not true. ‘Do you still love me?’ I throw the question at him like a weapon. His eyes snap to mine. ‘What kind of question is that?’ ‘Do. You. Still. Love. Me?’ I emphasize each word and step into his personal space to prove I’m not intimidated by him. He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me toward him until I’m just a few centimeters from his face, close enough to kiss. ‘Even if I reached the rank of Maven, led armies of dark wielders against everyone we care about, and if I had to watch every vein in my body turn red because I had drained all the powers of the Continent, I would still love you. What I’ve done doesn’t change that. I don’t know if that’s even possible.’ ‘See? You’re still yourself.’ I focus on his mouth. ‘Telling me that you’re capable of terrible things while you still love me is pretty much your version of foreplay.’ His eyes darken, and he pulls me closer until only his own stubbornness separates our lips. ‘You should be terrified, Violet.’ ‘I’m not.’ I stand on my toes and brush my lips against his. ‘I’m not afraid of you. I won’t run, Xaden.’ ‘Damn it.’ He lowers his hand and takes a step back, putting more space between us. ‘Because I had set up my blocks, I didn’t know you were in the interrogation room until I was already halfway down the stairs.’