Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
Ridoc throws a thumbs-up as he walks down the hill.
Xaden studies my face, looking at me like he has to memorize every detail in this exact moment.
I step toward him and he retreats, shaking his head once.
My heart sinks. “You’re going to put some space between us over the abomination comment, aren’t you?”
He flinches, which is as good as confirmation for me.
“You’re not—” I start.
“The other two irids stayed like they hadn’t made up their minds yet,” he interrupts. “And I think you had them because you didn’t know how young Andarna was at Threshing.” His jaw pops and he slides right back into that bored, unbothered mask he loves so well. “Then they saw me. I’m pretty fucking sure that this entire mission we’ve risked everything for just failed because of what I am. Because I’m here with you.”
“That’s not fair,” I whisper.
“But it’s true.” Shadows scatter around the edges of his boots, and he looks down toward the beach. “I’ve barely made it a month without channeling beyond Sgaeyl.” He shakes his head. “Had it just been you and Ridoc, or you and Dain, or you and…anyone else besides me on that beach, there’s every chance you’d be on your way to whatever isle they’ve claimed, that Andarna would have a chance to know her kind, that they’d agree to come back and fire the Aretian wardstone and save my city, save my entire province.” He drags his gaze back to mine. “So yeah, I think the abomination comment—and what it represents—requires taking a moment of space for us both to consider the undeniable fact that I am the worst possible thing for this mission, for my province, and for you.”
My heart hurts for him, for how guilty he feels over something he can’t control.
“All right.” I fold my arms across my chest and debate whether to fight or comfort him, then decide to go a different route. “Facts are considered. I don’t need the moment. You would have been on this mission regardless of our status because of Tairn and Sgaeyl. It’s ridiculous that they passed judgment on you without even hearing you speak, but that’s a statement on their character, not yours. And if you need some space to sort that out in your mind, fine.” I tilt my head at him. “But it doesn’t change a single thing about the way I love you.”
His hands flex.
I turn away from him and start back toward camp. “Let me know when you’re done brooding and we’ll see how big my next strike is. Until then, we’re flying home tomorrow.”
• • •
The gryphons are exhausted, and it takes us ten days to reach Deverelli, where we spend an extra day fixing Andarna’s harness when a piece of metal snaps.
Xaden keeps his distance the whole damned time.
Andarna is barely speaking.
Cat is heartbreakingly silent to the point that I wish she’d take a verbal jab or two.
And I’m about to break under the weight of failure.
We use the day to chart our path over Poromiel, choosing a route that brings us ashore between Cordyn and Draithus in order to minimize our chances of encountering dark wielders. By the time we launch for the Continent, Mira’s asked me at least a dozen times if I’m all right, and though Dain has the annoying habit of continuously measuring how far Xaden and I sit apart with his eyes before meeting my gaze, he smartly keeps his mouth shut.
I scan our surroundings for venin constantly during the flight, too scared to sleep in the saddle. Every glint of sun off a lake makes my stomach lurch, and every distant thunderstorm has me gripping the pommels. Logically, I know there’s no chance Theophanie is aware we’re beyond the wards, available for her to pick off at will, but she shouldn’t have known I’d be in Anca, either. Either our flight plan pays off or Theophanie chooses not to attack, and though we fly over patches of drained land, we make it to the wards without so much as a patrol of wyvern intercepting us.
The ease of it only serves to make me more anxious.
We spend a night under the stars just within the wards to evade the arrest for court-martial we all know is coming, and fly into Basgiath three and a half weeks from the day we left.
There’s no sense of victory as I unload Tairn’s saddlebags on the flight field, not even with having secured an army to come to our aid. The overwhelming failure of losing the irids feels like mold growing on my tongue, souring everything I drink and eat, infecting my words and the very breath in my lungs. The disappointment festers and spreads until I feel wholly, completely rancid as I dismount onto the muddy field.
Andarna flew straight to the Vale. She didn’t even speak as she disappeared over the ridge. Her sorrow hurts most of all.