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)
“He’s brooding.” I shrug.
“That’s a word for it,” Ridoc says, pressing down a corner of his ice-wielding patch that’s come unsewn.
Jesinia emerges from the back of the Archives, holding a small paper bundle tied with twine. She quickly makes her way toward us, immediately gifting Sawyer with a smile as she sets the book-size package on the table and pushes it toward me.
“Hi,” he signs, and damn if his grin doesn’t tug at the corners of my mouth.
“Hi,” she signs, then turns toward us. “Your reports have been fun to read, but it’s good to have you back so you can tell me about the trip in person.” Her gaze meets mine. “That was delivered for you by courier this morning—I intercepted it before Aetos could open it like he does all of your mail.”
“Thank you,” I sign, then pick up the package. It’s far too soft, too malleable to be a book, and the tag labeled with my name and quadrant is from a seamstress in Chantara.
Weird.
“We need somewhere private,” Ridoc signs.
Rhi’s brow furrows. “What’s going on?” she signs.
“Please,” Ridoc signs to Jesinia.
She nods, then leads us to one of the private, windowless study rooms that line the front wall of the Archives and motions us inside.
I head in first with Sawyer, and the others follow. “I know Sliseag isn’t Tairn,” I whisper as we make our way around to the back of the table. “And I also know it can be hard to do things differently, especially in an environment that demands perfection and uniformity.”
“An environment that produces perfection and uniformity.” Sawyer stiffens, glancing across the table at Rhi and Ridoc as she quizzes him again as to why we’re here.
Oh. I get it now. “For me, flying…differently is worth it,” I say under my breath as we sit. “But whether you feel the same about asking Sliseag for help is a question only you can answer.”
“I think I could keep my seat,” he admits quietly. “Most of that is thigh work. It’s mounting that intimidates me.”
“Anything I can do to help?” I ask him.
Jesinia peeks through the doorway as if checking to see that we weren’t followed, then closes the door.
Sawyer shakes his head. “I’ve been working toward the run and making adjustments to the prosthesis for the climb. I just need to get it right, make sure it works before I let myself hope.” His gaze flickers to Rhi.
“You could never disappoint her,” I rush as Jesinia turns toward us.
“Our friend? Never. Our squad leader?” He grimaces.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” Jesinia signs, “so make it quick before they come kick you out.”
Ridoc leans all the way back in his chair and stares at me.
“What is happening?” Rhi signs, looking between the two of us.
“Tell them,” Ridoc signs. “Or I will.”
I sigh. There’s no point being nervous. Either I trust my friends, or I don’t.
“Xaden is slowly turning venin,” I say and sign.
Rhi’s eyes widen, and she leans forward. “Talk.”
I think I started falling for you that night in the tree when I watched you with the marked ones, but I began tumbling the day you gave me Tairn’s saddle. You’ll give some self-serving excuse, but the truth is you’re kinder than you want people to know. Maybe kinder than you know.
—Recovered Correspondence of Cadet Violet Sorrengail to His Grace, Lieutenant Xaden Riorson, Sixteenth Duke of Tyrrendor
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Ihang in the air, suspended by an invisible hand around my throat as lightning strikes in the distance. Fear pumps through my veins, but the harder I fight, the narrower my windpipe becomes, the harder it is to draw breath.
“Quit fighting it,” the Sage orders. “Quit fighting me.”
You’re dead. This isn’t real. I repeat the phrases mentally when my lips refuse to form the words. This is only a nightmare.
A very visceral, terrifying nightmare.
The fight drains out of me, and I fall to the ground before him, hitting my knees and gasping for charred air.
Andarna screams, bellowing with rage and pain, and my head snaps toward the ridgeline…toward the storm. Blue fire licks up the hillside, reaching for the city walls of Draithus, devouring the fleeing civilians in its path.
“Such emotion.” The Sage tsks, crouching down in front of me. “Don’t worry. It will fade in time.”
“Fuck you.” I lunge forward, only to be shoved back to my knees by an invisible force.
“I’ll allow you to help her this time,” the Sage promises, pushing his robes up the length of his tanned arms. “Just submit. Come to me. Accept where you belong, and you’ll find a freedom like no other.”
“And if I don’t?” I ask, playing into the dream.
“Then you’ll find I have ways to bring you to heel.” The Sage draws a sword from his robes, and the next flash of lightning reflects in the emeralds adorning the top of the hilt.