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)
In the hope and excitement this new development of the bonds between dragons, gryphons, and their humans brings, I wonder who has stopped to contemplate the nature of magic’s balance. Do we not risk the equal rise of the very powers we seek to wield?
—Recorded Correspondence of Nirali Ilan, Commanding General, Cliffsbane Fortress, to Lyra Mykel, Deputy Commanding General, Basgiath War Camp
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Irid?” I blink and fight like hell to keep my face blank.
“Yes, your irid.” Theophanie surveys the sky, then the landscape behind us as Garrick staggers to his feet, sword in hand. “Some do not believe, but I knew as soon as the cream-robed scholars whispered about the seventh breed in your war college. Pity I had to leave so abruptly. One hasn’t been seen in centuries, and I was so hoping to set…eyes on her.” She finishes the statement like the threat it is, bringing her crimson gaze to mine.
Andarna. Terror races up my spine and lightens my head.
“Irid,” Andarna whispers. “Yes. I remember now. That is what my kind are called. I am an irid scorpiontail.”
“Fly for the wards!” I scream mentally. “She’s not here for me. She wants you.”
“I will not abandon you,” she roars.
“Everyone on the Continent needs you alive. Now fly.” My fingers brush the conduit hanging from my wrist, but it’s of no use to me without Tairn’s power. I need to stall, give Andarna enough time to escape. “She’s out of your reach.”
“Hmm.” Theophanie studies my face. “Disappointing, but it wouldn’t be fun if I caught my prey on the first attempt. You truly don’t know what she is, do you?” The dark wielder’s mouth curves into a delighted smile that instantly sickens my stomach. “What a prize you’ve won. Sometimes I forget just how short mortal memory can be.”
Mortal. As opposed to what? Immortal? How fucking old is she?
She moves sideways, toward the village, and Garrick and I both mimic her movement, putting ourselves between her and Tairn. “When the shadow wielder comes to us—”
“He won’t,” I snap. Power hums, filling me at a trickle as the sound of wingbeats fills the air.
Tairn’s waking up, but whatever’s coming at us is coming fast.
“He will,” she says in that same infuriatingly certain tone Xaden uses. Lightning cracks like punctuation, branching through the cloud overhead.
She didn’t even have to lift her hands. Holy shit, I’m outmatched in every possible way.
“And when you come with him, you will remember that I let you live today and choose me, not Berwyn, as your teacher.” She retreats step by slow step, extending her arms out at her sides.
Maybe venin lose their minds with their souls, but humoring her gives Andarna more time to flee. “And why would I do that?”
Power comes flooding back, scalding my bones, and I let it gather and coil.
“Besides the fact that he’s subpar and you’d be chained to him, powerless to resist his orders?” She sneers in disgust, then schools her features. “I’ll let you keep both your dragons while giving you what you want most in the world.” Her gaze drops to the conduit as wind pulses. The others must be here. “Control and knowledge.”
Tairn swivels and his head snaps toward Theophanie, but his teeth close just short of her feet as she’s plucked off the ground by the claw of a wyvern. Its gray wings beat fast and hard, blasting us with wind and carrying its creator from the battlefield.
“Holy shit, we’re actually alive,” Garrick says, lowering his sword. “She left us alive.”
“Are you all right?” I ask Tairn, my voice cracking.
“I am not deceased.” He gains his feet, his talons digging into the rocky soil.
Relief pricks at my eyes, and my vision wobbles.
“Do not dehydrate on my account,” he lectures. “It takes more than weather to fell me.” His golden gaze drops to my knee. “Wish I could say the same for you.”
“Yeah, you’re just fine,” I mutter, then turn toward Garrick, who’s already picking up one of my lost daggers. “You don’t have to do that.”
“You’re not exactly in a position to walk,” he reminds me, scooping up the second.
“Did you?” I ask quickly as the wingbeats grow louder. “She called you a walker.”
He’d traveled a thousand miles in minutes, and there’s only one way I’ve read about to accomplish that, but no one has done it in centuries.
Garrick wipes the back of his hand across his temple, and it comes away bloody. “Yeah, and she called you a leash.” No wonder he’s best friends with Xaden. They’re both excellent at dodging questions.
“You have a second signet, don’t you?” And like Xaden, he hid the strongest one.
“So do you.” He hands back my daggers and sways. “Or at least you will.”
“Thank you.” I hold his gaze while sheathing the blades and wade through the significance of what he’s concealing. “You know the last time someone wielded distance—”