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)
A thousand emotions flit across his face…and then they’re gone.
He’s on the ice.
My stomach flips.
“Stay,” I demand. “Or meet me in Aretia. The man I love stays. He fights.”
“Riorson?” Lewellen asks from the doorway of the great hall. “Luceras wants a word regarding mining production.”
“You have to accept what I already have,” Xaden says to me. “The man you love no longer fully belongs to himself.” He walks past Lewellen into the great hall, taking my heart with him.
I just fought with every weapon in my arsenal, and it wasn’t enough.
My shoulders slump in defeat as I lean against the wall.
“I’m not entirely sure what that was about, but I’ve seen how hard it can be to love someone in power.” Lewellen grimaces sympathetically. “Wearing a title like his can sometimes feel like you’re a fraying rope, being continuously ripped apart between what you personally want and what your people need.”
“What about what he needs?” I ask.
Lewellen pauses, as though choosing his words carefully. “He needs you to keep him from fraying, which can sometimes mean putting what you want—or need—aside for the good of the province. It’s horribly unfair to ask that of anyone, let alone the first lightning wielder in a century.” Lewellen’s voice softens. “I have the utmost respect for you, Cadet Sorrengail, but this is a crucial time that will determine the path of the province for the next millennium. Your purpose is as great as his in a wholly separate arena, and if that purpose makes it impossible for you to be what Tyrrendor needs—”
“Tyrrendor, not Xaden?” I’m fighting for both, but he doesn’t know that. To his ears, he stumbled into an argument where I just asked Xaden to stay with me instead of tending to Tyrrish business.
A guard shifts, reminding us both that we’re not alone.
“They are now one and the same.” He says it with such kindness it’s hard to be angry. “You are both so young, with such formidable signets. And if you choose not to adapt to the changes his title brings—” He stops himself, then sighs. “I just hope you two will figure out the balance between it all.”
Like hell am I giving him up, even though nothing about what he laid out sounds equal or balanced.
“By balance, you mean Tyrrendor comes first, Xaden second, our relationship fights for third, and my personal needs are a matter of convenience.” Saying it aloud puts it all in harsh perspective.
“Something like that.” Sadness pulls at the corners of his mouth.
“Xaden comes first for me.” It comes out so self-sacrificial that I half expect my mother to appear and smack me upside the back of my head. “Just so we’re clear. But I will never stop being the woman he fell in love with in order to morph into whatever doormat you think he requires. We’re already balanced because we’re both strong for ourselves and each other. He needs me to be me, and I’m telling you I promised to help keep Tyrrendor safe, but not at his expense.”
“He’ll say the same about you. It’s what makes your relationship so dangerous.” He sighs. “Like I said, it’s hard to love someone in power, and that goes both ways.” He slips back into the hall and shuts the door.
But Xaden isn’t in power. He is power.
And he’s slipping.
“Let me know if he leaves,” I tell Tairn, and then I head to class.
Xaden flies out two hours later.
A dragon determines its last flight, and its rider’s.
—Article One, Section Two The Dragon Rider’s Codex
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
“You’re sure you only want me here the first time you try this?” I ask Sawyer two days later as we stand in the middle of the flight field with Tairn, Andarna, and Sliseag at four thirty a.m. “I’m not exactly the best one to catch you if this goes poorly.”
He tightens the straps on his pack. “No, but you’re the only one I want seeing if I fall on my ass.”
“Or going for help if you break your leg?”
A small smile plays across his mouth. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”
“Do you want to talk about this?” I gesture to Sliseag.
“Thanks, but I’ve been talking to Jesinia. I’m ready. I need you for the more practical side of…this.” He nods toward Sliseag, then crouches down, then pulls a lever on the inside of his prosthesis. A flat, two-inch-wide piece of metal with a curved end pops out of the toe of his boot. “And it’s not my first time. I need a second opinion because it didn’t go so well for me yesterday.”
“You made that?” It’s pretty damned cool.
“Yeah.” He stands, then stares at Sliseag’s left front leg. The Red Swordtail is smaller than Sgaeyl, but his talons are still enormous given what Sawyer’s about to try. “His scale pattern in this one row doesn’t overlap.” He points upward. “And in theory, the hook should just catch the top of each scale as I climb, but I can’t get there without fall—”