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)
Meddle?
“I can only think of one way to confirm for sure, and don’t worry, I’ll be careful.” I button my pants, then stare as he rises and pulls a set of dry clothes from his pack. “What are you doing?”
“Going with you, obviously.”
There’s no point arguing, so we both dress. A few minutes and several stairs later, I knock on Maren’s door.
It takes her a minute to answer, and when she does, her eyes are groggy with sleep. “Violet? Riorson?” she asks with a jaw-cracking yawn. “What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry to wake you, but I need to ask you something completely…weird.” I rub the bridge of my nose. “There’s no other way to say it, and I need you to not ask me why.”
“Tread carefully,” Xaden warns.
“All right.” Maren folds her arms over her robe.
“Did you happen to have a portrait of your family?” I ask.
“I still do,” Maren answers, her forehead puckering. “Is something wrong with my brothers? I just saw them a few hours ago.”
“No.” I shake my head vehemently. “Nothing like that.” Maybe we’re wrong and this is just some weird effect from the bond. If Maren still has the portrait, then it couldn’t have caught fire. Then Xaden can’t be right—I didn’t walk into her dream.
“Here, I’ll show it to you,” Maren offers, then disappears into her room. She’s back within a few seconds and holds out the portrait.
Recognition hits with all the subtlety of a dagger. “I’ve seen it before.” The soft smiles, the honey-brown eyes. Gods, no wonder the boys looked familiar to me. I was just in too much pain to register why the first time. “It’s beautiful.” I force myself to swallow.
“Thanks.” She draws back her hand. “I keep it with me wherever we go.”
“You’re not worried about losing it?”
“That used to be my worst nightmare, actually,” she says, staring down at the miniature. “Until I lived through losing them.”
Worst nightmare. It takes every ounce of self-control I have to keep my expression flat. “I can understand that all too well. Thank you for sharing that with me—”
“Silver One!” Tairn bellows.
Xaden’s head tilts, and Maren stiffens.
“I’m right here—”
“A horde approaches from the east!” he shouts.
Bells peal, the loudest of them straight overhead.
We’re under attack.
For maximum potential, riders should be stationed close to their villages if possible. Nothing is a more effective motivator than seeing one’s home on fire.
—Tactics part II, a Personal Memoir by Lieutenant Lyron Panchek
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
“How many?” I ask Tairn as we race down the steps.
Doors open on every floor we pass, and people pour out of their rooms, most still tugging on their uniforms. Only a small percentage are in black.
“A few dozen. Hard to tell with the weather. Twenty minutes out, maybe less. I’m on my way to you.”
“Andarna—” I start as Xaden makes it into our bedroom first.
“Do not tell me to stay put!” she shouts. “I can scorch the dark wielders.”
I’ll take yelling at me over silence any day.
“Guard the wardstone.” I dart around Xaden as he shoves his arms into his flight jacket, then grab my own out of the armoire. Fuck, I’m in sparring gear and lack armor, but it will have to do. At least my boots are on.
Within minutes, we’re both armed and running down the hall, into a growing crowd.
“How many on patrol?” Xaden shouts to Brennan when we make it to the foyer.
“Six,” Brennan answers, buttoning his flight jacket. “The horde outflew the two on the Dralor route, and the other four are twenty minutes due west.”
Well, that’s the wrong fucking direction for what we need.
“If they outflew two dragons, they have to be greenfire wyvern,” I say, looking up as a conglomeration of riders, infantry, and my own squadmates races in our direction with thundering bootsteps.
“Noted. Riders in residence?” Xaden asks, his gaze sweeping over the staircases as I weave my hair into a simple three-strand braid to keep it out of my way.
“Fifteen retired, ten active—with you, eleven,” Brennan replies. “Taking over all outposts in Tyrrendor from Navarrian riders left us undermanned.”
“Suri?” Xaden scans the foyer.
“In Tirvainne.” Brennan flinches. “And Ulices—”
“In Lewellen,” Xaden finishes. “So neither of the generals of my army are present.”
“Correct,” Brennan confirms.
His army. My fingers stall in my hair as it hits me. Xaden isn’t the ranking officer here, but he’s in command. The weight of that responsibility would buckle my knees, but he simply nods at my brother’s catastrophic news.
“That’s irksome.” Xaden looks up the stairs. “All right. We work with what we have. Felix, keep the first-years safe and your eye on that one.” His finger swings toward Aaric. “Infantry, get to your posts and take out any wyvern we drive to the ground. Riders, run faster.” He pivots toward Brennan, and the others scurry to follow orders. “Thoughts?”
“Wards are still up here, or we would feel it.” Brennan tilts his head.