CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“N
ot helping!” Rhiannon hisses as we all stare at Jack-fucking-
Barlowe. A small, almost soft smile curves his mouth for an instant, and we fall silent as he nods at me then looks away quickly before he takes
his seat.
“What the fuck was that?” Ridoc asks.
“I have no idea.” It’s the first time since Parapet he’s looked at me with anything but pure malice.
“It’s him,” Tairn growls. “Baide has kept the truth hidden for these months.”
“I can see him.” I’d ask how the fuck a dragon hides something in the Vale, but Andarna isn’t exactly common knowledge, either.
“Be aware of him at all times,” Tairn warns.
Rhiannon squeezes my hand as she shifts in her seat. “Maybe a few months of being dead has changed him.”
“Maybe.” Sawyer’s eyes narrow as he stares holes in the back of Jack’s head. “But I think we’re better off killing him again.”
“I’m down with that plan,” Ridoc agrees.
“Let’s focus on keeping an eye on him,” I suggest, forcing my voice past the knot in my throat as the applause finally dies down, allowing me to put my thoughts in order.
Jack is alive. Fine. He’s hardly the worst thing I faced last year. I brought down not only one but two venin. I destroyed an entire horde of wyvern with Xaden. Maybe Jack’s changed. Maybe he hasn’t. Either way, my signet and hand-to-hand skills have only improved, and I doubt he’s been sparring in the infirmary.
Ridoc, Sawyer, and Rhiannon all stare at me like there’s a chance I might grow a tail and start breathing fire at any second. “I’m all right,” I tell them. “Seriously. Stop staring.” I don’t have the option of not being all right.
They shoot me skeptical looks of varying degrees, then face forward.
Markham clears his throat. “Now, to our second matter of business for the hour.” He looks over at Professor Devera.
“Yesterday evening, there was an unprecedented attack on one of our largest outposts,” she says, her shoulders straightening as she scans the room.
“Again?” Rhiannon mutters. “What the hell is going on out there?” She releases my hand and starts to take notes.
A murmur rises among the cadets.
Focus. I have to focus.
“And this, cadets, is no conjecture. No propaganda. No game.” That last word is said with a sideways glance at Markham. “It’s unprecedented not only in its proximity—we’ve never had outposts attacked this close together before—but also because it involved three drifts.” She lifts her pointed chin.
I glance up at the map, forcing my mind to work. Pelham near the Cygni border is my first guess, but Keldavi—along the Braevick border—is a close second after it nearly fell last week. Maybe the fliers are recognizing our weaknesses.
“They attacked Samara a little after sundown, while most of the riot was wrapping up the day’s patrol.”
The breath freezes in my lungs and my heart stutters. She has my full, undivided attention. Who cares if Jack Barlowe is seated beneath me or if papers are flying around with Poromish news? None of that matters more than whatever Professor Devera is about to say.
They’re alive. They have to be.
I can’t begin to fathom a world without Mira…and Xaden? My heart can’t comprehend the possibility.
Oh gods, Sgaeyl’s anger. I drop my shields completely, searching for a bond I wouldn’t be able to feel from this far anyway. Still, I search.
“Tairn?” I reach out, but anxiety floods my bloodstream, overpowering every logical thought. It’s not mine, but it may as well be. My heart begins to pound, and my ribs close in on my lungs.
“The outpost was successfully defended by the three riders who were not on patrol. Their victory is nothing short of astonishing. While no riders were killed in the assault”—her gaze snaps to mine—“there was one rider
severely wounded.”
No. The denial is sharp and fast.
Rage and terror pump through my veins.
Professor Devera lifts her hand and scratches the left side of her neck before looking away. “What questions would you ask?”
The left side of her neck.
Right where Xaden’s relic is.
Mira’s all right, but Xaden… I can’t be here. It’s impossible to be here when I have to be there. There’s no reality outside of me being there. Here doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t exist.
“I have to go.” I grab my bag from the floor and shove the strap over my shoulder.
“Was the outpost breached?” someone in front of me asks.
“Vi?” Rhi reaches for me, but I’m already standing, moving down the row toward the staircase.
“Cadet Sorrengail!” Professor Markham calls out.
There’s no time to answer him as I climb the stairs. No world outside the impossible-to-ignore drive that propels me up. My body isn’t even my own because I’m not here.
“Cadet Sorrengail!” Markham yells as I leave the briefing room. “You do not have leave!”
“Get to the courtyard,” Tairn rumbles through my mind.
We’re on the same page, neither of us willing to wait for me to walk to the flight field. It doesn’t matter if the uncontrollable urge is coming from me or Tairn, not when we both need the same thing.
“Violet!” someone shouts after me. Bootsteps race down the hall.
Jack Barlowe is alive. I whip a dagger from my thigh sheath and spin toward the threat.
“Whoa!” Bodhi throws up one hand, the other clutching his rucksack. “I don’t want you to freeze to death on the flight there.” He yanks his flight jacket out of his pack and hands it to me.
“Thank you.” I take the jacket with motions that don’t feel like my own.
He’s right. I would have climbed onto Tairn without a jacket. At least I carry my flight goggles in my bag at all times. “I can’t stay. I can’t explain.
I can’t be here.”
“It’s Tairn.” He nods. “Go.”
I go.
By their third year, a rider must attain full and complete control over
their shields. Otherwise, in moments of extreme stress, they are susceptible to being not only influenced by their dragon’s emotions but
controlled by them.
—COLONEL KAORI’S FIELD GUIDE TO DRAGONKIND
