BONUS CONTENT

Threshing Day - Xaden’s pov

-Xaden-

First-years pour into the forest to the south of us as snow starts to fall, but I wait at the edge of the trees with the other marked ones as the crowd rushes by with an exuberance I’ll never understand.

Then again, those Navarrians probably don’t have to worry about a dragon seeing their deepest, darkest secrets, their thoughts, their memories that wake them up in a cold sweat. They’re all here because they volunteered. None of them has been thrown into the Riders Quadrant because their parents were the leaders of the apostasy—the Tyrrish term for our revolt. That honor belongs to the ten of us here with rebellion relics winding around our left arms—a mark the majority of the kingdom believes was gifted to us by General Melgren’s dragon upon the execution of our parents three years ago.

We’re the ones with something to hide, the ones whose parents led a just rebellion for the greater good, only to lose, the ones every other cadet in this hellscape of a college wants dead.

And as Fen Riorson’s son, I have the job of seeing that we all get

out of here alive.

Marked ones. Separatists. Traitors. Those words have been hurled at us for years, but we’ve gotten used to the insults. Victors dehumanizing the defeated is a cliché we’ve learned to live with.

We’ve secretly helped one another where we can, in academics, Gauntlet preparation, and on the mat, but there’s not much I can do about the fire-breathing dragons waiting in that forest for us, and it’s killing me. If any of us die, it will be my fault for putting us here in the first place.

“When are you thinking we should go?” Garrick asks quietly from my right. His lip has yet to heal from the last time Alic Baran ambushed him while sleeping.

I hate that fucking bully almost as much as I hate his fool of a father.

Soleil glances my way from the left, looking for the same answer.

“Not yet.” I keep my tone low. “We’re not giving them our backs if we can help it.”

They both nod, then pass the message to the others on their respective sides.

“Ready to die, you fucking separatists?” Amber Mavis hisses in our direction, narrowing her blue eyes on us before jogging to catch up with a handful of her squadmates. She’s the last of the Navarrians to head into the valley.

Fuck her and her superiority complex.

My hands curl into fists at my sides, but I take a deep breath and swallow my temper. It’s not anything we haven’t heard before, and letting my anger reign will get me nowhere. Once we’re in those trees, all bets are off—the cadets are just as likely to kill us as the dragons—but Kaori is still watching, and I’m smart enough not to break Codex in front of a professor. He clears his throat as if to remind us that he’s still standing between us and the forest, like there was any possible chance we’d forget.

“Since speaking to more than three of you at a time is an opportunity I’m never given, thanks to Addendum Five to the Code of Conduct, I’m going to take advantage,” Kaori says, and snowflakes settle on his black hair before melting.

It never snows this early at Basgiath, but today a cold front rolled in, early enough for us to get on our heavier winter uniforms and cloaks. I can’t help but wonder if General Sorrengail is up there fucking with the weather just to make it harder on us. I wouldn’t put it past her. She may have struck the deal with me that put us in the quadrant instead of on the executioner’s block, but she’s also the officer who hunted down our parents. As much as I’d love to sneak into the main campus and take the life of her youngest, just so she can touch the pain the hundred and seven of us live with every day, it would get the rest of the marked ones killed. For now, I’ll have to be content with the knowledge that she still mourns her oldest.

“I know the quadrant hasn’t been easy on the ten of you.” Worry lines the space between Kaori’s dark brows as he glances down the line of our group. He and Devera are the only professors who don’t treat us like pariahs. Pretty sure the rest of them are hoping the dragons finish us off today just in case we turn out like our parents. “But I’ve seen what happens after Threshing, the way the power dynamic shifts when powerful dragons bond. I promise the others will stop attacking you once you have a dragon at your back.”

None of us respond.

“Right.” Kaori ruffles the snow from his hair. “Watch out for Cruinn, Raighmur, and Tealach. They all had riders killed during the rebellion, and they’ll be…”

“Happy to eat us?” Carrigan Wyckley offers from my left, where she stands with her identical twin. They’re both in Amber Mavis’s squad in Third Wing, and I have no doubt Amber will use today’s lack of supervision to try to take them both out. Good thing the majority of us are excellent fighters, the twins included.

“Dragons eating people is really a misconception.” Kaori tries to smile at us. “Yes, they’ll absolutely ingest a person if necessary for caloric intake, but—”

“We understand what you’re saying, Professor,” Garrick interrupts before Kaori launches into a full-out lesson.

“Good.” Kaori nods and claps his hands together. “Then I’ll see you on the flight field. Remember to split up once you’re in there. We have some second- and third-years observing who will hold you to the Code of Conduct.” He walks off toward the hill, leaving the ten of us on the outskirts of the forest.

Nine sets of eyes land on me.

“Think he suspects?” Bryn asks, lifting her left hand, where the shimmering swirls of her tattoo-like relic peek out from her uniform above her wrist.

“Doubt it.” My jaw works in frustration. Knowing everything that goes on around us is an impossibility, but not knowing who is privy to our secrets could get us killed. The relics on our arms do more than mark us as the children of traitors, but the longer we keep that information to ourselves, the better.

“Any last words of wisdom before we head in?” Soleil buttons her cloak under her neck.

“Keep a weapon drawn at all times.” I reach over my shoulder and draw one of the two swords I keep sheathed at my back just like Garrick. Every person palms their weapon of choice. “Forget what Kaori said about going in alone and stick to pairs, like we talked about. Remember, we have just as many threats on two legs as we do four. Don’t hesitate to defend yourselves, and give no mercy, for you will get none. We’ll meet at the tree tonight.”

Everyone nods, but there are more than a few downcast eyes, and Howell’s shoulders are slumped. Out of all of us here, he’s the only one who isn’t Tyrrish, but his father and his dragon fought on our side, which earned him a death sentence.

A cacophony of noise draws our attention to the sky, and a riot of dragons bursts through the clouds high above us. The sight is enough to make even my breath catch. Every breed but black is willing to bond this year, and they descend on the forest with the force of an earthquake as one hundred and sixty-three of them land in the trees.

Guess it’s time.

“The dragons know what our parents did.” Masen nervously pushes his glasses up his nose.

“Yeah, and you’ll remember that some of the Empyrean sided with us,” Garrick says, adjusting his grip on his sword. The guy has grown another couple of inches in the last year, making his usually dense frame a little gangly. “There are dragons here who know what’s out there and will choose the same. We just have to find them before the others find us. This isn’t hopeless.”

“Feels like it.” Cerella Wyckley leans a dark-brown cheek on her sister’s shoulder.

“You will all live,” I order, raising my voice, and their spines straighten. Excellent. They’re as good as dead if they walk in there already defeated. “You will live for our parents, for our siblings, for one another. We are the first ten to enter this quadrant, but there are ninety-seven still to follow, and we will show them that we can not only survive this place but thrive in it.” Bodhi will be here next year, and Liam the year after that. The thought of my cousin and foster brother enduring this turns my stomach. “We have a mission, and we will accomplish it. We will not be on tomorrow’s death roll. I fucking forbid it. Do you understand?” I meet their gazes one by one, and slowly, they all nod, even Howell.

The pairs head off in their assigned directions.

The twins to the east.

Howell and Weylan cut a path between the twins and the center.

Keanan and Bryn hold hands as they go west.

Soleil and Masen disappear between the trees to the right.

Garrick and I head straight into the middle of the forest, and the snow fades as we step under the canopy of the enormous trees. My gaze sweeps left to right and then back again, scanning for threats.

An impish grin crosses Garrick’s face the second the others are out of sight. “Ah, young love. Keanan and Bryn are still going strong, even after being fostered separately. Gives me hope.”

“Loving anyone in this place is fucking stupid.” I shake my head and watch the trees for movement. “It makes you vulnerable. Vulnerability is weakness. Dragons kill weak things.”

“Ever the romantic.” His grin deepens, reopening the cut on his lip as he scans the perimeter on the left.

“I’m a realist.” I take watch on the right, looking over my shoulder to keep our backs clear, too.

“Someday, someone is going to come along who knocks you on your ass, Xaden.” He laughs. “And I just hope I’m alive to see…” His face falls. “Shit. I almost forgot.”

“That I have about eight months until I’m betrothed to someone I can’t stand?” A rabbit catches my attention, but I quickly move on.

“Yeah. Fuck. I’m sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck with his left hand, keeping his sword in his right. “But maybe one day you’ll develop feelings for Cat—”

“Not going to happen. That’s business. Not love.” Every encounter I’ve ever had with the spoiled aristocrat has only reinforced my belief that we are going to be miserable. “But that contract gives us a fighting chance, and that’s all that matters.”

“Right.” He blows out a long sigh, and guilt taps my shoulder.

He’s been my best friend since I can remember, and the last thing I want is him feeling shitty about me fulfilling the agreement my father made, so I flip the subject to him. “Besides, not all of us fall in love with the first girl we see and then do nothing about it—”

“She was not the first girl I ever saw,” he argues, switching his sword to his left hand so he can swing a finger in my direction. “And you don’t get a say in who you fall for.”

“We’ll see how that goes for you next year when she gets here. You’ll have to stop fucking around, you know.” A smile tugs at my mouth as color flushes his cheeks.

“You’re one to talk, considering you hauled yourself out of a third-year’s room this morning.” He scoffs. “Besides, that woman will never own up to wanting me, and therefore we will never happen. I will be free to fuck around for the rest of my life, while you, my sweet little honey bear, will not. One of us will be in a loveless marriage, and the other in love with no hope of marriage. Not sure who I pity more.”

“We make quite the pair.” I nod, noting that the snow has stopped.

“Misery loves company, and you and I will sail those melancholic waters like we do everything else—together.” He locks his elbow around my neck. “We’ll just have to make the best of this year, I suppose.”

A shrill scream erupts in the distance, and his arm falls away as our steps slow.

“The good news is, there’s one less person out there trying to kill us.” I shrug.

“Praise Malek!” He falters. “Unless you think that was one of us.”

I shake my head. “Too far away.”

Sun cuts through the clouds as we take the western path around a redwood tree that’s thicker than the turrets in Basgiath, and Garrick puts his hand to his chest.

“You all right?” My brow furrows.

“Something…” He looks off into the distance as we come around the tree, and I follow his line of sight toward what looks to be a clearing to the west. “Something in my chest…hurts. Like a hook is lodged between my ribs and is tug—” Garrick stops walking.

“Could be your dragon.” I glance back at Garrick and stop dead in my tracks. My stomach clenches as I spot the bejeweled dagger held to my best friend’s pale throat.

One of the only people in the world I can’t get away with killing stands behind Garrick, just tall enough that his blond hair and royally green eyes peek out above Garrick’s shoulder.

“You’d attack me from behind? That’s low, even for you.” Garrick arches his neck to get away from the blade, and I immediately lift my sword. “But at least I’m awake this time.”

That asshole came after Garrick in his sleep last week, more than comfortable breaking the Codex, knowing no one would say shit because he’s a prince of Navarre. I hadn’t woken up until Garrick had been beaten pretty badly, and I’ll be damned if he gets away with it again.

“Drop it, Alic,” I order.

He smiles maniacally and tilts his head.

Fuck it. If it’s just the three of us, I’ll gut him and no one will be the wiser. King Tauri has three sons. He won’t miss one, and it’s not like Alic’s first in line for the throne. That one went into the Infantry Quadrant like a good little firstborn aristocrat.

Like my father wanted me to do.

Except only two of us here have rebellion relics, which means if I provoke a fight, Melgren’s signet will allow him to see the outcome. And then Garrick and I will be executed for killing this asshole, which would be detrimental to the goal of what we’re doing at Basgiath.

“Your Royal Highness, Alic Tauri Baran. Where are your manners?” Alic clicks his tongue. “One move out of you, Riorson, and Tavis will bleed the ground red.” He scrapes the dagger down Garrick’s skin.

Godsdamn it. The metallic tang of fear coats my tongue, but I keep my blade level and my eyes locked on the knife. The tip of my sword is only about two feet from doing damage, but he’s using Garrick as a shield. No matter how fast I move, he can slit Garrick’s throat before I get there.

“Look what we have here, boys,” Alic calls out. “The son of the rebellion’s leader and his aide.”

Two of his little sycophants from Second Wing—Eian and Lorne—race out from behind the giant redwood, swords raised. They are only a couple of inches shorter than I am, and Lorne is built like a bull.

We’re outnumbered, and I haven’t quite solved the blade-at-Garrick’s-neck issue, which Alic reminds me by pressing the dagger just hard enough to draw a single bead of blood.

“Lower your sword, Riorson,” Alic orders in a snotty tone that holds only the authority he was born with.

“Don’t do it—” Garrick starts, and Alic draws another bead of blood.

Instead of lowering my sword, I sheathe it behind my back. It’s more useful to have both hands free. After all, there are at least a dozen daggers strapped to my body underneath this cloak.

Eian and Lorne rush forward, stopping only when they both hold the tips of their swords within inches of my chest. I’ve already crushed Eian’s little soul on the mat this year, but Lorne might prove a healthy challenge. Bet he’s still pissed I killed his closest friend during the third round of challenges after he broke Soleil’s finger. Oops.

“Shhh, now, Tavis.” Alic draws the blade upward, giving Garrick an impossibly close shave that ties my stomach into knots. “The aristocrats are speaking.” His green eyes flare. “Oh, I almost forgot. You’re the Duke of Nothing now, aren’t you, Riorson? Guess only one of us is still a noble.”

I’m not rising to the bait. No, I keep the monster within me leashed, knowing the wrong move, the wrong words will get Garrick killed. Control is the one thing I pride myself on. Everything else is genetics or training.

Take care of each other. That’s what Dad ordered when he left for the Battle of Aretia.

I try not to remember the vitriol I spewed at him in response when he wouldn’t let us go with him.

“Nothing to say?” Alic taunts. “Fine then. Let’s chat about all the things you used to own that now belong to me and see if Tavis here actually has a dragon in that field.” He nudges Garrick forward, the blade still at his throat, and motions for me to walk with him. “I bet it takes one look at the position I have you in and incinerates you on the spot. Walk.”

I turn my back on Lorne and Eian to move a couple of feet from Garrick’s side, keeping my focus split between the whites of Garrick’s eyes and the movement of our attackers’ shadows in the patchy sunlight as we head toward the clearing.

Lorne presses his sword against my back.

Guess I’ll have to kill him first. With us heading west at this trajectory, if the others keep theirs, we’ll intercept, hopefully sooner rather than later.

“Does he have any other weapons on you?” I use my hands to sign close to my body, avoiding the three behind us but catching Garrick’s attention. “Blink once for no. Twice for yes.”

He blinks once.

That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.

“Don’t trip,” I sign back.

He subtly gifts me with the middle finger.

“Let’s see,” Alic drones on as we cross the forest floor. “I own your city—well, the charred remains of it, at least. Dragons don’t really leave much when they fire a town, do they?”

“We need to keep him confident,” I sign to Garrick. If I’ve learned anything about Alic Baran in the last seventy-eight days, it’s that he won’t kill Garrick until he’s had his fun humiliating him now that he thinks he has the power. “Need him to make a mistake.”

He blinks twice.

A dragon roars to the south, followed by a painful scream. The pressure at my back disappears, and we keep walking.

“And there’s the land around your city,” Alic continues. “Oh, and that fabulous fortress you call a house. That’s mine, too.”

“I’m going to need your sword,” I sign to Garrick.

He blinks once.

“I’m going to need your sword,” I sign again. Stubborn prick.

He rolls his eyes, then blinks them twice.

“Not much for taxes, since all your people are dead.” Alic sighs. “Which, of course, is why no other noble has stepped up for your title. Well, your father’s title. It was never quite yours, was it?”

“Aldwin maneuver,” I sign to Garrick, keeping my hands tight against my chest.

He blinks once.

“Fine. Gerwin?” I sign another option. Benefits of training nearly our entire lives together? We have the same combat vocabulary.

He blinks twice.

“It’s a wonder we never met before Parapet, really,” Alic prattles on. “Your father no doubt kept you from gatherings to keep his rebellion planning a secret.”

“My father kept me away from aristocrats because he knows you’re a bunch of entitled pricks who rule in your own best interest,” I counter, because fuck him.

We walk into the clearing, and the sun blesses me with a clear view of our attackers’ shadows. There’s a gap between the swords and my back, which gives me some room to move, but Alic’s shadow is merged with Garrick’s.

A wave of steam washes over us, and we all still.

My lungs spasm. Standing near a lone tree midway across the field is a giant sapphire-blue dragon with a scar across its snout and swinging a clubtail behind it.

“Hello there,” Alic says quietly.

“Is that yours?” I sign to Garrick, hope lighting up my chest.

He blinks once. No.

Shit. That hope dies a swift death. Blues are the most ruthless dragons in the Empyrean. They’re death machines with pretty scales and a thirst for blood. And if that one wasn’t calling Garrick, it’s either here to bond one of the assholes behind us or kill us. Neither of which is conducive to our survival.

But at least it’s not the navy blue—

A shadow falls over the field, blocking out the sun for a heartbeat before another blue lands beside the clubtail. Its golden eyes narrow on us as it stands to its full height, and just when I think it can’t get any bigger, it does. Navy-blue scales. Flicking a daggertail.

Oh fuck.

Sgaeyl.

“Sgaeyl,” Alic whispers, awestruck.

Of every dragon Kaori projected for us, she is the one he told us not to approach under any circumstances. She’s not just ruthless, she’s flat-out vicious. She abandoned her first rider to his death for cowardice, is rumored to have killed her second, and hasn’t bothered with a rider since her last one died, more than forty years ago, before he even left the quadrant. I’m not his direct descendant, but his last name also happened to be Riorson.

My heart starts to pound as she sits and tilts her head as if she’s ready for a show. The clubtail looks in her direction, and she whips her head toward it, snapping her teeth within inches of its snout. The Blue Clubtail swivels, giving her ample space before it settles a dozen feet away.

She turns those golden eyes back on us, and Malek forgive me for my stupidity, but I can’t look away.

“Godsdamn,” Eian mutters.

Exactly.

She’s not just majestic, she’s terrifying, and I am here for it.

“Mine,” Alic whispers, jarring me from the haze of my thoughts.

His? The fuck she is. Inexplicable rage climbs up my ribs and sits at the base of my throat, but I won’t let myself act on it. I breathe in deeply and welcome the frigid air into my lungs, letting it freeze out the anger and leave nothing but the cold, cruel calculation this situation demands.

“Shall we show her that I’m her match?” Alic says, earning every ounce of my attention. Blood trickles down Garrick’s throat from the same small cut as before.

Sgaeyl glances to the north before returning her gaze to us, and

hope flickers to life again. Someone is coming.

“Show her how you greet royalty, Tavis.” Alic scrapes the dagger down the side of Garrick’s neck. “On your knees and clean the mud off my boots so I don’t get it on her scales when I mount.”

“Fuck you,” Garrick replies.

A corner of my mouth rises as I watch the bushes to the north start to move. “Do it,” I sign.

“Fuck you, too,” Garrick says in my direction.

“On your knees!” Alic shrieks.

The Blue Clubtail bares its teeth, and my eyebrows rise. There are too many ill tempers in this field for this to end well for any of us besides the blue ones.

“I would rather die—” Garrick starts.

“Get on your damned knees or Riorson dies,” Alic threatens, and the shadows on the ground move as something sharp presses into my cloak. I’m going to be fucking furious if I have to mend this thing when we’re done. “I am second in line for the crown of Navarre, and you are no one!”

Someone clearly has a birth-order complex.

“You’re the son of a dead traitor and you will obey!” Alic shouts. “Get. On. Your. Knees!”

The Blue Clubtail lets out another breath of steam, then retreats into the tall trees at the edge of the field, leaving only its head exposed.

That’s…unexpected.

“Do it,” I sign again.

The knife remains at the side of Garrick’s neck, and his sword scrapes the ground as he lowers himself slowly to his knees. The muscles in his jaw flex. He’s going to kill me for this, but at least he’ll be alive to do it.

Masen pops through the thicket and stumbles into the field. Finally. There are now three marked ones here and all bets are off.

“Let’s be clear about something,” I say slowly. “You don’t own anything of mine.”

“I’m sorry?” Alic sputters my way.

“Your father owns my father’s land. Your father owns my father’s title. Your father owns you.” I turn my head slowly to look Alic in the eye.

“I am a prince!” he shouts, blood flushing his cheeks as his eyes bulge.

It all happens pretty quickly from there.

I throw my left hand down, palm splayed open. Garrick shoves the pommel of his sword into my hand, then whips his away. The second steel touches my skin, I grip and spin to the left. I jerk the sword up in a backhand motion, cutting into Alic’s forearm and knocking the dagger out of his hand.

Alic shouts in pain, but I don’t bother checking the damage I’ve caused.

Lorne and Eian both lunge, spearing their swords for my chest, so I hit the snow-covered ground, and the two swords clash somewhere above me. Once Garrick moves, so do I.

Eian groans as I jump to my feet, and I find a blade lodged in the vicinity of his heart, with Garrick’s hand covering the jewel-encrusted hilt of Alic’s dagger.

I toss Garrick’s sword to him so he can deal with Lorne and turn my attention to Alic.

The prince staggers backward, and blood oozes through the fingers with which he holds his forearm.

Steel clashes behind me, but I don’t need to look. Garrick can handle his own. Dukes Lindell and Lewellen saw to it that we both could.

“You can’t get away with this,” Alic shouts, but his lower lip trembles.

“Draw your sword.” I unclip the button at my throat, and my cloak falls to the ground as I stalk forward. Anticipation sings in my veins.

“No.” His feet start to shuffle as he backs away from me. “You won’t kill an unarmed cadet.”

“I will,” I assure him as Lorne grunts, then screams in pain behind me. “You deserve to die for what you’ve put Garrick through since Parapet, and I won’t let him carry another single mark from you, and that includes the weight of responsibility for your death. It stops now. Pick. Up. Your. Sword.”

“You don’t want to do this!” His eyes are wider than fists as his backward pace picks up.

“I do.” My arms swing freely at my sides as I hunt him like the prey he’s treated us as. I’m more than aware of a set of golden eyes watching every move I make, and I do it anyway. If she’s here for me, then she already knows what I’m capable of, and if she’s here to kill me, then at least I’ll rid the world of Alic before I die. “Draw your weapon. You won’t get another warning from me.”

“I’m a prince of this kingdom!” He jerks his sword from its scabbard and stops retreating.

“Don’t conflate a title with power.” I shake my head and close the distance between us.

Fear dilates his eyes as he charges forward without the finesse I’m used to seeing him use on the mat. That fear will be the end of him.

I reach behind my head with both hands, grip the hilts of my swords, and draw, sidestepping his lunge in the same smooth motion. He recovers with grace, I’ll give him that, spinning to face my new angle.

But I’m faster.

My blades converge at his neck, giving him one second to meet my eyes, to realize what’s about to happen to him. I draw my arms back and slice his neck clean open. He drops his sword and falls to his knees, clutching his throat as blood spills over his hands, coloring the snow beneath him scarlet.

I watch silently as the life fades from his eyes.

He falls to the side unceremoniously, his stare vacant as blood pools in the snow beneath him.

“Godsdamn,” Masen says, his chest heaving from running across the field. “He’s definitely dead, then.”

“Yes.” I nod.

“No final words?” Garrick asks, sheathing his swords as he moves to my side. “Seemed a little anticlimactic without a hero speech.”

“I had nothing left to say to him.” I clean my blades on Alic’s cloak, then slip them into their scabbards on my back.

“You really couldn’t leave him for me?” Garrick folds his arms across his chest as Masen checks the other bodies that lie a few feet away.

“No.” A twinge of worry unsettles my stomach. “If anyone finds out what happened here, there will be executions, and I can’t let your neck be the one they come for.”

“You’d rather it be yours.” Garrick scoffs and shakes his head, shooting me a look that would wither a lesser man. “Of course. For fuck’s sake.” He takes a measured breath, then looks at the body. “If anyone sees him like this, they’ll know it was a cadet. An investigation will ensue.”

Fuck. I didn’t think that part through.

“We have to get rid of the bodies,” Masen agrees from somewhere behind me.

A low, menacing growl from the right reminds me that someone’s already seen.

I turn slowly toward the Blue Daggertail, and this time I remember to keep my gaze lowered. She’s been silently stalking closer this entire time, and when I look up, I find she’s less than a dozen feet away. I quickly focus on the gleaming talons of her claws.

If Alic was the rider she intended to bond, then she’s going to be rightfully pissed.

“Move.” A sharp, feminine voice resounds within me.

“What?” My head snaps up. Did she just talk to me? No fucking way.

Her tail flicks forward, and a second later, I’m flying backward. My ass hits the snow and pain erupts on the left side of my face, hotter than any welding fire.

“I do not enjoy repeating myself.”

                  “Xaden!” Garrick shouts and runs in my direction, turning his back on the blue without thought, but Masen shuffles backward, keeping his head bowed.

“She wants us to move.” I rise to my feet, and half my vision swims in red.

“You think?” Garrick puts his hands on my face and starts turning my head. “Fuck, she got you. You’re split clean open from above your eyebrow to the top of your cheek. I’m surprised you still have an eye.”

Heat blasts on our left, melting the snow at our boots, and we all pivot.

Fire surges from Sgaeyl’s mouth as she swivels her head in a snakelike motion over Eian’s, Lorne’s, and Alic’s bodies. The scents of sulfur and ash singe my lungs, and my face starts to throb. The bodies disappear into the molten stream, and when it ceases, they are nothing but burned scorch marks. Even their blades cease to exist.

All three of us stare in various states of shock at the charred patches of ground.

“Guess we don’t have to worry about anyone finding their bodies,” Garrick mutters.

Sgaeyl snaps her head in our direction, and the three of us take a giant step backward.

My heart lodges somewhere in the vicinity of my throat as her golden eyes narrow on me in challenge. I should retreat again; that’s what Kaori would say to do.

Instead, I take a step forward and raise my head, despite the steady stream of blood dripping down my jawline. I will not cower.

Her eyes flare in what I really fucking hope is approval. “This is not a group activity. Tell your acquaintances to depart.”

My heart hammers.

“You guys need to go.” I leave my arms loose at my sides and welcome the cool breeze against the pulsing heat consuming half my face.

“Xaden—” Garrick starts.

“Go.” I keep my eyes locked on Sgaeyl. Talking to me is a great sign—it means that she’s considering me—but given her history of killing her own rider, I’m not about to overstep on her goodwill. “I’ll be fine.” Or dead. Either way, Garrick shouldn’t have to watch.

“Oh…oh.” Garrick’s footsteps sound behind me, followed by Masen’s. “You’re sure about this?”

“I am.” I hold her gaze without flinching. “I’ll see you on the flight field.”

“Don’t die,” he says under his breath, and their footsteps fade out toward the left.

Wind howls through the trees and snow starts to fall again as Sgaeyl and I stare at each other in the middle of the empty field.

“You know who I am.” It’s not a question.

“Everyone knows who you are, Sgaeyl. Being the most ruthless of

your kind earns you a reputation.”

“We have that in common, grandson of Maxim Riorson.” She lowers

her head to a combat position.

My brow furrows and pain flares again as my left eye begins to swell shut. “I’m the grandson of Corbin Riorson. Maxim was my great-uncle.”

She blinks. “If your grandmother said so, I suppose.”

What the fuck? My mind races. Would that mean… No. Dad is the

oldest twin and—

“Don’t overthink it.” She assesses me. “Why did you kill the royal?”

“If you’re speaking to me, you’ve already seen inside my head. You already know the answer.” My left eye seals shut. So much for depth perception.

“I not only require unflinching honesty from you but for you to have unflinching honesty with yourself, Xaden Riorson.” Her stare intensifies, but I hold my stance. “And if I must clean up your messes, you should at least admit to what causes them.”

“He bullied my best—” I stop myself before I finish the sentence. “I am responsible for the hundred and seven souls that mark my back.”

“You are responsible for their loyalty to Navarre, not their lives.”

“That’s not how I see it.” My hands form fists as I search for the right—the honest—words. “I killed Alic because I could. Because I saw an opportunity to rid the world of him and I took it.”

She listens silently, her eyes a constant source of judgment, and there’s every chance she’ll find me lacking, especially if she’s seen all the memories I possess. But if she’s already seen, then there’s no harm in voicing my reasoning. “I was helpless the day they killed my father. I stood there and watched as he was turned into ash. We all did. And I swore I would never be that helpless again. I will never stand idly by while my loved ones are slaughtered.” I swallow the knot forming in my throat. “I can’t save all hundred and seven of us. I know that. And I don’t have a hero complex. I’m not that guy. What I do have is a mission, and I need every marked one possible to survive this place so we can accomplish it. I am responsible for their loyalty, yes. But by giving them mine, I ensure theirs.”

“You think I’ll disapprove of your mission.” She rumbles, but the sound isn’t quite a growl. “Or kill you for breaking the rules of your quadrant.”

It’s nearly impossible to keep from flinching. “You are a dragon of the Empyrean, mated to Tairn, the second-largest dragon on the Continent. It’s common knowledge that he lost his last rider because of my father’s rebellion, so I’m not sure how he’d feel about…me.”

“He’s not the one making the choice, is he?” Steam blasts across my face, so hot that I half expect my skin to blister, and holy fuck it hurts. “He will live with my decision, and I suspect one day I’ll have to live with his.”

Don’t question her choices. Noted.

“I’ll give you my honesty if you give me yours.” I take a fortifying breath.

Sgaeyl’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Do you know what’s happening out there?” I gesture behind me. “Do you know why my father attempted to secede from Navarre?”

She waits so long that I start to wonder if she’s ever going to answer. “I do.”

I nod. “And do you know what I will do with whatever power you channel to me?”

“Do you, Xaden Riorson?” She comes close enough that I could reach out and touch her snout if I dared. “You need not question me. I have seen your soul. Every haunted memory, every vile thought, every malevolent desire for revenge. I am cognizant of your downfalls, and yet I see the potential of everything you can become. I see it all.”

My chest constricts. She’s really choosing me. Not even Garrick knows the true depth of what I’m capable of, the parts I keep hidden from everyone. My mother left. My father died. There isn’t a single person on the Continent who truly knows me.

Until now.

“Say it.” Her eyes almost glow with their intensity. “Tell me what you

will do with all this power after you accomplish your mission?”

I’ll give her unflinching honesty.

“If I live through it?” I let the monster slip its leash a fraction of an inch. “I’d love nothing more than to burn this place to the fucking ground.” To a dragon, there’s nothing as sacred as the Vale, their hatching grounds Basgiath was put here to protect. I’ve just pulled the dragon equivalent of baring my throat.

Sgaeyl lifts her head. “And thus, we begin.”