Total pages in book: 295
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
Xaden sighs. “I guess that’s one way to accomplish the goal, though I wish you’d left some parts out.”
Parts like Liam’s death.
“It’s true!” someone in Second Wing yells, stepping out of formation and stumbling in shock.
“What the hell are you talking about?” another shouts, looking at the rest in confusion.
“If your dragons don’t choose—” Dain starts, but his voice is overpowered by the outbreak of mayhem within the ranks.
“How’s it going there, wingleader?” Sarcasm drips from Xaden’s tone.
“You think you can do better?” Dain turns a slow glare his way.
“Can you stand on your own?” Xaden asks me.
I nod, grimacing through the sharp bites of protest all throughout my body as I straighten.
He steps forward, raises his arms, and shadows rush in from the wall at our back, engulfing the formation—and us—in complete darkness. There’s a glimmer of a caress across my cheek, right where it’s split to what feels like bone, and more than one cadet screams.
“Enough!” Xaden bellows, his voice amplified, shaking the very dais under our feet.
The courtyard falls silent.
Shadows recede in a rush, leaving more than one cadet gawking at Xaden.
“Fucking show-off,” Garrick mutters over his shoulder, still squared off with Aura.
A corner of Xaden’s mouth rises. “You are all riders!” he shouts. “All chosen, all threshed, all responsible for what happens next. Act like it! What Aetos has told you is the truth. Whether or not you choose to believe is up to you. If your dragon has chosen not to share what some have seen, then your choice has been made for you.”
Wingbeats fill the air, and a murmur rises among the formation. I lock eyes with Rhi where she stands at the head of our squad. She nods subtly toward the rotunda.
I glance that way and catch a trio of figures in cream, led by Jesinia, all carrying packs. Thank gods, they came. Now I just need three dragons willing to carry them.
“Already taken care of,” Tairn promises. “And only this once.”
This once is all we need to save their lives.
“Wars do not wait for your readiness,” Xaden continues, “and make no mistake about it—we are at war. A war in which we are outmatched not only in strength of signet but air superiority as a whole.”
“Is this your idea of a pep talk?”
“If they need to be roused, they shouldn’t be coming with us.”
Fair point.
“Whatever you decide in the next hour will determine the course—and perhaps the end—of your life. If you come with us, I cannot promise you’ll live. But if you stay, I guarantee you will die fighting for the wrong side. The venin will not stop at the border. They will drain every ounce of magic in Poromiel, and then they’ll come for the hatching grounds in the Vale.”
“If we go with you, they’ll hunt us down as traitors!” a voice from Third Wing calls out. “And we would be!”
“Defining yourself as a traitor requires declaring your allegiance,” Xaden counters. “And as for hunting us down...” His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. “They won’t be able to find us.”
My heart starts to pound with the growing roar of wingbeats in the air.
The door to the Gauntlet and flight field flies open, and a dozen professors rush out, anger and shock lining their faces.
“What have you done?” Carr shouts, running for us, his wispy hair flying in all directions as he lifts his hands. “You’ll end us all, over who? People you’ve never met? I won’t allow it!”
“Bodhi!” Xaden orders as Carr reaches Third Wing.
Fire erupts from Carr’s hands, streaming toward the dais, and my stomach drops.
Time seems to slow as Bodhi steps forward and twists his hand like he’s turning a dial.
The fire dies, extinguishing like it was never there and leaving Carr staring at his hands.
“You taught us well, Professor,” Bodhi says, holding his hand in place. “Maybe a little too well.”
Damn.
“He can counter signets,” Xaden tells me.
Well, that’s fucking terrifying.
The rest of the professors look upward as dragons fill the skyline, their wings flaring on approach.
Green. Orange. Red. Brown. Blue. I look up, spotting Tairn’s rapid descent. Black.
Xaden grabs my waist as the walls shake under the weight of the mass landing. Claws dig in, shredding the masonry as dozens of dragons—maybe more—perch on every available space. Some fill the mountainside behind us, and others claim the top of the turrets in the quadrant, hovering like living sculptures.
“We won’t stop you,” Devera says to Xaden, then shifts to where her own dragon perches beside the parapet. “In fact, some of us have been waiting to join you.”
“Really?” Bodhi grins.
“Who do you think left the news about Zolya all over Battle Brief?” She nods.
A smile lifts my mouth. She’s exactly who I’ve always thought she is.
“We’re leaving within the hour,” Xaden calls out. “Your choice is as simple as it is personal. You can defend Navarre, or you can fight for the Continent.”