She looks…like how I feel.
“Good to see you made it through the unfortunate assault on Samara,” Syrena says as they reach Xaden.
“You want to explain what the fuck that was about?” Xaden’s tone ventures into less-than-friendly territory. “Because one of your gryphons nearly took me out. If we didn’t have a mender nearby in the Eastern Wing, I’d be down an arm because I hesitated, thinking it might be one of you.” He glances at the other woman. “I thought we were on the same side, but I won’t hesitate if it happens again.”
I lean forward in the saddle, but there’s not much give. Being up here, where I can only guess at what his expression might be, is torturous. Energy crackles in my fingertips, but I hold steady, keeping ready in case this drop doesn’t go according to plan.
“I can’t control every drift, Riorson,” Syrena responds. “And I’m not going to blame other drifts in other chains of command who have to follow orders. We need more weapons than what you can supply. There are enough daggers in that outpost to arm a hundred fliers—”
“Those are powering our wards.” His hands curl into fists at his sides.
“Our wards? Since when do you sympathize as Navarrian? And at least you have wards, Xaden,” the girl on the right argues.
“For now.” Xaden looks in her direction for a split second before returning to face Syrena.
That tone. The way she used his name… They definitely know each other.
“The attacks have to stop, Syrena,” Xaden continues. “In your chain of command or not, the second I hear of fliers actually stealing daggers from outposts or any Navarrian wards being weakened by flier thievery, I’ll cut off what shipments we do have coming your way.”
I suck in a deep breath at his threat.
“You’ll condemn us to death.” Her shoulders straighten.
“You’ll condemn us all to death if you take down the only wards standing between the venin and the hatching grounds at Basgiath,” I say. “It’s our only forge for weaponry, and there’s enough raw magic in that range to feed them for a century. They’d be unstoppable.”
Every head lifts my direction.
“You’re drawing attention.” Tairn growls at the fliers, and they immediately look away.
“I never said I’d sit here silently.”
“Nice to meet you without Riorson’s face attached to yours, Sorrengail,”
Syrena says, her gaze diverted from Tairn. Smart woman. “Though I’m guessing he still doesn’t trust us completely if he’s got you on the back of that enormous dragon of yours.”
Xaden remains quiet.
“I’m glad you made it through Resson,” I respond with a smile. Not that she can see it.
But the younger flier does. She stares up at me in an unsettling mix of shock and…shit, I think that’s malice narrowing her eyes.
“My last name isn’t winning any friends to your left,” I say to Xaden.
“Ignore her.”
“We made it through thanks to you and that incredible lightning you wield,” Syrena says.
Another rumbling growl works up Tairn’s throat as his head pivots right and he bares his teeth.
Syrena glances at the younger flier and then blanches. “You know better than to stare at a dragon, Cat!”
Cat. It’s a fitting name for the way she’s sizing me up.
“Wasn’t staring at the dragon,” the woman replies just loud enough that I barely make out the words. But she shifts her glare, aiming it at Xaden. “She’s striking, I’ll give you that.”
What the fuck?
“Don’t,” Xaden replies, his tone dipping to that icy calm before addressing Syrena. “Sorrengail is right. You take down our wards, and there’s nothing stopping them from draining the hatching grounds. They’d be impossible to engage, let alone defeat.”
“So you’d rather we die while you sit protected behind the very weapon that could save our civilians?” the man asks like he’s requesting the weather report.
“Yes.” Xaden shrugs.
My eyebrows hit my hairline.
“This is a war,” Xaden continues. “People die in wars. So, if you’re asking if I’d rather your people die than mine, then obviously my answer is yes. It’s foolish to think we can save everyone. We can’t.”
I inhale sharply at the reminder that the man I get behind closed doors isn’t the one the rest of the world knows. It’s not the first time I’ve heard him express the sentiment. He feels the same way about the marked ones who won’t work to save themselves at Basgiath.
“Still an asshole, I see.” Cat folds her arms.
“We’ve lost riders to the venin, too,” he counters. “We’re fighting with you. But I’m not sacrificing the safety of our movement or our civilians for yours. If that makes me an asshole, then so be it. We’re not just sitting behind our wards,
either. I’m risking my life, risking the lives of the people I care about, to get you weaponry from Basgiath and to complete our own forge to keep providing that weaponry so we’re ready when both dark wielders and Navarre inevitably come for us. Which they will.”
“Completing a forge?” Cat chances another glare in my direction. “Viscount Tecarus would strongly argue with that statement. You’ve had not one but two chances to acquire the luminary, and it’s not like you haven’t had what he’s asked for both times.”
“Out of the question,” Xaden bites out.
“You’re willing to let our entire kingdom fall prey to these monsters because you’re what?” Cat asks, cocking her head at Xaden. “Smitten? Please. I know you better than that.”
“Cat!” Syrena snaps.
My stomach lurches. “What the hell is she talking about?” Ludicrous as it might be, I think…it’s me. What the hell would I have to do with a Poromish viscount?
“Nothing of any consequence.” Xaden’s tone is anything but comforting.
Tairn chuffs.
“We’ll be discussing this later,” I warn Xaden, adding it to a never-ending list.
“You know nothing where she’s concerned.” Xaden shakes his head once at Cat before turning back to Syrena. “The forge is our highest priority. As soon as we secure a luminary, we’ll be operational and able to supply you in full. We have the rest of the material we need to begin, and that’s all you get to know, because you’re right, Syrena. I don’t trust you. Until then, there are twenty-three daggers in these bags.” He points to the bags at his feet.
“Twenty-three?” Syrena asks, lifting a brow.
“I need one of them.” There’s no apology in his words or tone. “Take them or leave them. Either way, Garrick will see your next shipment is delivered at the appointed location.” He backs away, keeping his face toward them. “It’s near Athebyne. I’m not hiding it from you, just not repeating it in front of the rest of her drift.”
“I appreciate the honesty.” It’s surprising and refreshing.
“You have maybe a year until they’re on your border,” Syrena says.