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)
Tairn’s claws impact the frozen ground to Aotrom’s left, and the sudden landing vibrates every bone in my body like a rung bell. Pain explodes along my spine, my lower back taking the brunt of the insult. I breathe through the worst of it, then accept the rest and move on. “Well, that was graceful.” I jerk my goggles to my forehead.
“You fly next time.” He shakes like a wet hound, and I block my face with my hands as ice and snow fly off his scales.
I tug at the leather strap of my saddle when he stills, but the buckle catches along the jagged, shitty line of stitches I put in after the battle, and one of them pops. “Damn it. That wouldn’t have happened if you’d let Xaden fix it.” I force my body out of the saddle, ignoring the aching protest of my cold-cramped joints as I make my way across the icy pattern of spikes and scales I know as well as my own hand.
“The Dark One didn’t cut it in the first place,” Tairn responds.
“Stop calling him that.” My knee collapses, and I throw my arms out to steady my balance, cursing my joints as I reach Tairn’s shoulder. After an hour in the saddle at these temperatures, a pissed-off knee is nothing; I’m lucky my hips still rotate.
“Stop denying the truth.” Tairn enunciates every word of the damning order as I avoid a patch of ice and prepare to dismount. “His soul is no longer his own.”
“That’s a little dramatic.” I’m not getting into this argument again. “His eyes are back to normal—”
“That kind of power is addictive. You know it, or you wouldn’t be pretending to sleep at night.” He twists his neck in a way that reminds me of a snake and levels a golden glare on me.
“I’m sleeping.” It’s not entirely a lie, but definitely time to change the subject. “Did you make me repair my saddle to teach me a lesson?” My ass protests every scale on Tairn’s leg as I slide, then land in a fresh foot of snow. “Or because you don’t trust Xaden with my gear anymore?”
“Yes.” Tairn lifts his head far over mine and blasts a torrent of fire along his wing, melting off the residual ice, and I turn away from the surge of heat that painfully contrasts my body temperature.
“Tairn…” I struggle for words and look up at him. “I need to know where you stand before this meeting. With or without Empyrean approval, I can’t do any of this without you.”
“Meaning, will I support the myriad of ways you plan to court death in the name of curing one who is beyond redemption?” He swivels his head in my direction again.
Tension crackles along Andarna’s bond.
“He’s not—” I cut off that particular argument, since the rest is sound. “Basically, yes.”
He grumbles deep within his chest. “I fly without warming my wings in preparation for carrying heavier weight for longer distances. Does that not answer your question?”
Meaning Andarna. Relief gusts through my lips on a swift exhale. “Thank you.”
Steam rolls in billowing clouds from his nostrils. “But do not mistake my unflinching support of you, my mate, and Andarna for any form of faith in him.” Tairn lifts his head, cueing the end of the conversation.
“Heard.” On that note, I trudge toward the trampled path where Rhi and Quinn wait. Ridoc gives Tairn a wide berth as he does the same to my right. My nearly numb, gloved fingers fumble with the three buttons on the side of my winter flight hood, and the fur-lined fabric falls away from my nose and mouth as I reach them. “Everything good on your route?”
Rhi and Quinn look cold but uninjured, thank gods.
“Still…alarmingly routine. We didn’t see anything of concern. Wyvern burn pit is still just ash and bone, too.” Rhi picks a clump of snow from the lining of her hood, then pulls it back up over her shoulder-length black braids.
“We didn’t see shit for those last ten minutes, period.” Ridoc shoves his gloved hand into his hair, snowflakes slipping off his brown cheeks without melting.
“At least you’re an ice wielder.” I gesture to his annoyingly flake-free face.
Quinn pulls her blond curls into a quick bun. “Wielding can help keep you warm, too.”
“I’m not chancing it when I can’t see what I might strike.” Especially having lost my only conduit in the battle. I glance at Ridoc as a line of our Tail Section’s dragons launch for their patrol behind him. “What were you arguing with Aotrom about, anyway?”
“Sorry about that.” Ridoc cringes and lowers his voice. “He wants to go home—back to Aretia. Says we can launch the search for the seventh breed from there.”
Rhi nods, and Quinn presses her lips in a firm line.
“Yeah, I get that,” I say—it’s a common sentiment among the riot. We’re not exactly welcome here. The unity between Navarrian and Aretian riders crumbled within hours of the battle’s end. “But the only path for an alliance that can save Poromish civilians requires us to be here. At least for now.”