“Yeah, and I thought venin were a myth and dragons were the only key to powering wards.” He shrugs. “But the art of creating new wards is a lost magic, anyway, so it’s basically a glorified statue. Pretty to look at, though.”
“You have a wardstone,” I murmur, my thoughts spinning. They wouldn’t need as many weapons if they had wards. If they could generate their own protection, maybe they could weave extensions into Poromiel, like we’ve expanded our wards to their max. Maybe we could keep at least some of our neighbors safe…
“A useless one. What we need is that godsdamned luminary that intensifies dragonfire hot enough to smelt alloy into the only weapons capable of defeating venin. That’s our only shot.”
“But what if the wardstone isn’t useless?” My heart races. We’d only ever been told there was one wardstone in existence, its boundaries stretched as far as possible. But if there’s another… “Just because no one knows how to create new wards today doesn’t mean the knowledge can’t exist somewhere. Like in the Archives. That’s information we wouldn’t have wiped. We would have protected it at all costs, just in case.”
“Violet, whatever you’re thinking? Don’t.” He rubs his thumb along his chin, which has always been his nervous tell. Amazing the things I’m remembering about him. “Consider the Archives enemy territory. Weapons are the only thing that can win this war.”
“But you don’t have a working forge or enough riders to defend yourself if Navarre realizes what you’re up to.” Panic crawls up my spine like a spider. “And you think you’re going to win this war with a bunch of daggers?”
“You make it sound like we’re doomed. We’re not.” A muscle ticks in his jaw.
“The first separatist rebellion was crushed in under a year, and up until a few days ago, I thought it took you, too.” He doesn’t get it. He can’t. He didn’t bury his family. “I’ve already watched your things burn once.”
“Vi…” He hesitates for a second, then wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a hug, rocking slightly like I’m a kid again. “We learned from Fen’s mistakes. We’re not attacking Navarre like he did or declaring independence. We’re fighting right under their noses, and we have a plan. Something killed off the venin six hundred years ago during the Great War, and we’re actively searching for that weapon. Forging the daggers will keep us in the fight long enough to find it, as long as we can get that luminary. We might not be ready now, but we will be once Navarre catches on.” His tone isn’t exactly convincing.
I take a step back. “With what army? How many of you are there in this revolution?” How many will die this time?
“It’s best if you don’t know specifics—” He tenses, then reaches for me again. “I’ve already put you in danger by telling you too much. At least until you can shield Aetos out.”
My chest constricts, and I sidestep from his embrace. “You sound like Xaden.” I can’t help the bitterness that leaches into my tone. Turns out, falling in love with someone only brings that blissful high all the poets talk about if they love you back. And if they keep secrets that jeopardize everyone and everything you hold dear? Love doesn’t even have the decency to die. It just transforms into abject misery. That’s what this ache in my chest is: misery.
Because love, at its root, is hope. Hope for tomorrow. Hope for what could be. Hope that the someone you’ve entrusted your everything to will cradle and protect it. And hope? That shit is harder to kill than a dragon.
A slight hum tingles under my skin, and warmth flushes my cheeks as Tairn’s power rises within me in answer to my heightened emotions. At least I know I still have access to it. The venin’s poison didn’t take it from me permanently. I’m still me.
“Ah.” Brennan shoots me a look I can’t quite interpret. “I wondered why he ran out of here like his ass was on fire. Trouble in paradise?”
I flat-out glare at Brennan. “It’s best if you don’t know that.”
He chuckles. “Hey, I’m asking my sister, not Cadet Sorrengail.”
“And you’ve been back in my life all of five minutes after faking your death for the last six years, so excuse me if I’m not going to suddenly open up about my love life. What about you? Are you married? Kids? Anyone you’ve basically lied to for the entirety of your relationship?”
He flinches. “No partner. No kids. Point made.” Shoving his hands into the pockets of his riding leathers, he sighs. “Look, I don’t mean to be an ass. But details aren’t anything you should know until you master keeping your shields up at all times against memory readers—”
I cringe at the thought of Dain touching me, seeing this, seeing Brennan. “You’re right. Don’t tell me.”
Brennan’s eyes narrow. “You agreed entirely too easily.”
I shake my head and start for the door, calling over my shoulder, “I need to leave before I get someone else killed.” The more I see, the bigger of a liability I am to him, to all of this. And the longer we’re here… Gods. The others.
“We have to go back,” I tell Tairn.
“I know.”
Brennan’s jaw flexes as he catches up to me. “I’m not sure going back to Basgiath is the best plan for you.” He pulls the door open anyway.
“No, but it’s the best plan for you.”
…
I’m nervous as hell by the time Brennan and his Orange Daggertail, Marbh, as well as Tairn and I, reach Sgaeyl—Xaden’s enormous, navy-blue daggertail, who stands under the shade of several even taller trees as though guarding something. Andarna. Sgaeyl snarls at Brennan, baring her fangs and taking one threatening step in his direction, her claw fully extended in a series of sharp talons.
“Hey! That’s my brother,” I warn her, putting myself between them.
“She’s aware,” Brennan mutters. “Just doesn’t like me. Never has.”
“Don’t take it personally,” I say right to her face. “She doesn’t like anyone but Xaden, and she only tolerates me, though I’m growing on her.”
“Like a tumor,” she replies through the mental bond that connects the four of us. Then her head swings, and I feel it.
The shadowy, shimmering bond at the edge of my mind strengthens and pulls gently. “In fact, Xaden’s walking this way,” I tell Brennan.
“That’s really fucking weird.” He folds his arms across his chest and looks behind us. “Can you two always sense each other?”
“Kind of. It has to do with the bond between Sgaeyl and Tairn. I’d say you get used to it, but you don’t.” I walk into the copse, and Sgaeyl does me a solid favor and doesn’t make me ask her to move, taking two steps to the right so I’m in between her and Tairn, directly in front of…
What. The. Fuck?
That can’t be… No. Impossible.
“Stay calm. She’ll respond to your agitation and wake in a temper,” Tairn warns.
I stare at the sleeping dragon—who is almost twice the size she had been a few days ago—and try to get my thoughts to line up with what I’m seeing, what my heart already knows thanks to the bond between us. “That’s…” I shake my head, and my pulse begins to race.