Onyx Storm (The Empyrean Book 3)

Sometimes diplomacy is best served at swordpoint.

—Journal of Captain Lilith Sorrengail

Guards move in and everything goes to complete, immediate shit.

Xaden draws both his swords, then surprises the hell out of me by tossing one across the gap to Halden, who catches it with his left hand in the same breath that I palm two of my daggers.

We are not dying tonight.

“Try not to kill anyone,” Xaden says, even as the first of the guards charges up the steps between the panthers. “International relations and all.”

“Tell her that.” I glance down at the panther, thankful she’s still occupied. “Do not overreact,” I warn Tairn, hoping it’s not my final request. “We still need this deal.”

“I resent the implication that I am given to melodramatics,” he replies, but there’s a distinct, plate-rattling roar to my left that causes more than a few guests to shriek as Xaden clashes blades with the guard, then kicks him clean off the stairs with a boot to the center of his chest.

I whirl to the left as a guard climbs the end of the dais without stairs and pull a move from Courtlyn’s own book, thrusting my dagger through her hand and yanking it out. She shouts, falling backward, and when I rise, I find two more guards have managed the same maneuver behind us, filling the space between Xaden and me.

Bone crunches and a body flies around the guards, but there’s easily a half dozen more waiting beyond the panthers.

The closest guard has at least a foot on me and fifty pounds, and if the scars on his forearms are any measure, he’s no stranger to fighting. But he’s no Xaden.

I charge before he can take a fighting stance and let muscle memory take over, my first cut landing deep in the outside of his thigh before I duck close, avoiding the swing of his long spear. They aren’t made for close combat, and I am.

He misses, thrusting the spear into the table, shattering glass, and giving me the time to regretfully slice the tendons behind his knee. It’s a long-lasting injury for a warrior, but at least it won’t kill him.

He bellows, toppling sideways and falling from the dais, but before I can get up, pain explodes at the back of my head, and I’m yanked upward…by my godsdamned braid.

A battering ram of an arm shoves my chest onto the bloodied plate between our packs, and my face narrowly misses a sharp shard of glass. The spear shattered my conduit. “Do your dragons scream before they die, fire-bringer?” the guard hisses in my ear as she leans over my back. “Does it take them minutes to perish after you do? Or is it instant?”

Anger storms through my veins, heating my skin from the scalp down in a flood of smelted rage. “Your ignorance is staggering.”

Gods bless my flexibility, I swing my left arm behind my back and stab deep into her arm.

She shouts, jerking upright, and I shove the heel of my hand against the table and throw every ounce of my energy into jolting backward, slamming my head into her face. Bone crunches, and her weight disappears.

I turn, only to meet the stunning blow of an elbow against my cheekbone. Skin splits, my ears ring, and I fall back against the table, blinking the stars out of my eyes as a hand grabs hold of my throat and squeezes.

“Violet!” Xaden yells, and I slash my blade across the offending arm and thrust my knee in a move even Mira would be proud of. The man falls and I cough for my first breath as the dais shudders.

I lift my blade toward the giant on my right, but the pommel of a sword reaches his temple first. The man collapses, and Xaden shoves him off the platform with his foot.

“That is enough,” Tairn declares.

“She holds her own,” Andarna argues. “Oh. Perhaps there are now too many.”

“Stop playing and end this! It’s the only way to kill their mounts!” Courtlyn shouts from behind us.

Xaden reaches for my face with his empty hand, cupping my chin and turning my cheek toward the blue light as a dozen more guards pour in from behind Courtlyn. I take a precious second to make sure Halden’s still alive. He’s on the ground, chest moving, eyes closed—I think he might be unconscious, but I don’t see any blood.

“Xaden, behind us,” I warn as he studies the wound that has begun to throb. When he doesn’t answer, my gaze jumps to his, and my breath falters.

I’ve seen him in battle before, seen the icy rage that comes over him, even the killing calm. I’ve witnessed the transformation from man to weapon, watched strategy overtake compassion—just like we’re trained for.

But this…whatever’s swirling in those onyx eyes is a tempest I’ve never beheld. It’s one step past fury, as though Dunne herself has stepped into his eyes and now peers back at me. He’s Xaden, but he’s…not.

“Xaden?” I whisper. “It’s nothing. Really. I’ve had worse on a sparring mat.”

“They’re all fucking dead.” His vow lifts the hair at the back of my neck, and the guards rush the table simultaneously with their weapons drawn, obviously having learned from the last failed assault.

Two on…twelve. Shit.

I startle and pull back to fight, but Xaden whips his arm around my waist and yanks me against his chest. His sword hits the table, and to my complete and utter surprise, he presses a soft kiss to the top of my forehead as an axe—

Metal hits the ground.

Screams sound around us, and I jerk my head left, finding Xaden’s outstretched hand mid-twist. The unmistakable sound of cracking bone follows, and every guard surrounding us drops to the floor, their heads twisted at unnatural angles.

Wisps of barely there shadow dissipate, and the band around my waist falls away with a familiar caress.

No, no, no.

Silence falls, thicker than the cloying, humid air, and my heart cries, demanding some other answer than the one my brain already knows because there’s only one logical explanation for what just happened—but even that can’t be possible because there’s no magic here.

Tairn bristles along the bond, and Andarna shudders. I can feel them both, closer than they should be, but there’s still no bond to Xaden.

“Y-y-you…” Courtlyn stammers. “What have you done?”

I drag my gaze along the wall of rustling palms to the left, over the scattered dead Deverelli guards and the panthers that happily investigate them, and across Xaden’s chest, finding nothing but the same on the other side of the table.

He’s killed all dozen of them.

It’s only muscle memory that sheathes my daggers.

Something falls from his hand, hitting his abandoned sword with a metallic clink. I grab the small object on impulse and close my fingers around the pebble-size piece of alloy from my conduit. Agony cracks my soul clean open, as if I can give Xaden some of what he’s just lost as I register the alloy’s chill, its complete and total lack of energy before shoving it in my front pocket.

“They hurt you,” he whispers without apology. “They were going to kill you.”

The why of it doesn’t matter. Not right now. Not when we’re surrounded on an enemy isle, escorted by riders who don’t know what Xaden’s become, and facing down Navarrian royalty who would gladly see him dead.

Why is a matter for later.

“Violet.” The plea in his whisper pulls me together faster than anything else could, and I jerk my head up. His eyes are tightly closed as he rubs the bridge of his nose.

“Come here,” I say quietly, rising on my toes and cupping the side of his face, lifting my hands to his temples to shield him from view. Courtlyn’s chair squeaks on the dais. “Look at me.”

Xaden’s eyes flash open. Red rims his irises and consumes the gold flecks I adore so very much, but he’s still him behind these eyes. I force my body not to react, then pull his forehead to mine. “I love you and we need to get you out of here, so you have to trust me. Do not move until I tell you.”

He nods.

“Sit down. Put your head in your hands and stay there.” I let him go, and he does exactly as I ask, keeping his head low as if he’s ashamed of what he’s done.

“I need help,” I tell Tairn and Andarna.

“We’re ready,” Tairn replies. Thank gods they’re always in my head.

“Andarna, when it’s time, be gentle.” For once, I don’t even want to lecture her about not staying home when she’s told, though she’d better have her harness on if this doesn’t go as planned.

“Is your lightning gentle? Do I critique your work?” She huffs.

Courtlyn still stands behind the table, one of the panthers at his side, panic etched in every line of his face as the court mutters in muted tones of hysteria behind us.

“I need you to get Sgaeyl as close as possible,” I tell Tairn, then offer what I hope is a contrite smile Courtlyn’s way. “Our most sincere apology, but in Navarre, riders are trained to kill when you attack us, and our restraint can only be pushed so far. As you can see, the duke feels some remorse, but you did just try to murder two of our kingdom’s nobles.” I cringe. “Not a good look for negotiations. Shall we begin round two? I’ll lead this time.”

“We have no magic.” Courtlyn’s eyes widen, and his gaze darts over the room, as if he’s deciding whether or not to call for more guards.

“Watch your words,” Tairn warns. “Sgaeyl is here. It’s getting cramped behind these trees.”

“And yet here we are. Did you know that I’m a lightning wielder?” I cock my head to the side.

Courtlyn swallows. “Tecarus mentioned something along those lines.”

“What happened?” Halden sits up with perfect timing, rubbing a growing lump on his head.

Courtlyn’s chest rises and falls more rapidly with every second, and I watch the panic build within him like a breaking dam ready to burst. I drop my right hand to my sheaths and wait for him to explode. “Shira!” he bellows, snapping faster than I expected.

“Violet!” Halden shouts, and Xaden’s back turns to stone beneath my hand, but true to his word, he doesn’t move a muscle.

Neither do I.

“No!” Courtlyn shrieks, his eyes locking behind me in horror. His mouth falls agape, and the group of Deverelli erupts into full-blown multitoned cries of distress.

“You stay put and she lives,” I warn him as people run for their lives, emptying out the hall.

“Well, holy shit,” Halden says with lifted eyebrows, wobbling as he stands.

I look over my shoulder, and a slow, proud smile spreads across my face. Andarna stands with her front claws atop the bodies of the guards, her wings tucked in tight, her black tail flicking back and forth as she holds Shira delicately between her front four teeth, the snarling cat’s claws safely tucked outside so she can’t cause any damage. Andarna even has her lips puckered so the little cat doesn’t get drenched in dragon saliva. How thoughtful.

“Shira…” Courtlyn cries.

“You see, that’s my little one.” I pivot toward Courtlyn with a grin, wrinkling my nose. “Raised her from a juvenile—well, Tairn and Sgaeyl have, really, but you get the point. Now, Andarna doesn’t eat our allies—it’s a whole thing her elders are trying to teach her—but you know how adolescents are. Never really know if they feel like listening on any given day.” I shrug. “So we can negotiate, and I will give you the rarest treasure found anywhere on this world and Shira will walk away in need of a good bath, or I can call Tairn and Sgaeyl in here, and they can all have little panther snacks before we fly back to the Continent. Your choice. But either way, you should know that dragons outlive their riders, so had you succeeded in killing us, all you would have done was really piss them off before they scorched everything in their paths and flew back to tell the rest of the Empyrean what you’d done. I’m willing to let the Duke of Tyrrendor depart in good faith that you won’t try to attack us again if you’re ready to begin.”

Courtlyn’s face falls, and for the first time since we walked in, he actually looks his age as he glances at Xaden. “Agreed.”

“My king!” someone yells from behind me.

“It’s fine, Burcet!” Courtlyn calls back. “My trade minister will stay for negotiations, along with finance and”—he looks their way—“foreign.”

“As it should be.” I nod, then hold out my hand to Halden. “Bring me both of his weapons.”

Halden’s head draws back in offense.

“Now,” I add, just in case he thinks I’m kidding.

“Way to fuck up the negotiations, Riorson.” He glares and tosses them over.

The steel lands on the table with a clatter, and I make quick work of sheathing Xaden’s swords at his back and packaging the dagger in his bag with the Sword of Tyrrendor.

“All ready.” I tap Xaden’s back and he stands, turning away from Courtlyn and Halden before swinging his pack over his shoulder.

He keeps his head low but opens his eyes to look at me. “I’m not sorry, but I am.”

“I love you.” I cup the sides of his face and choose my words carefully. “Sgaeyl is just behind the trees. Take the heirlooms back to Aretia and handle whatever business you might have there for the province.” My throat tightens as I hold his gaze, beating back the physical instinct to fight or flee at the glimpse of red. I rise up quickly and press a hard, quick kiss to his mouth. “I’ll see you at Basgiath in a week.”

“A week,” he promises, and then he goes, hanging his head as he descends the dais, then lifting it when he passes Andarna and striding through the trees like the arrogant ass he is.

I pivot back to Courtlyn, noting that his three ministers are picking their way toward us.

The king’s gaze narrows on me in a glare that’s equal parts hatred and appreciation. “Are you nervous now that your reckless one has departed?”

I clear my throat, and the ground shakes as Tairn steps over the trees, lowering his head so that the table linen moves with his breath. “No, not particularly. Dragons are known to have short tempers, and Andarna’s jaw is probably getting a little tired, so we should speed this along, don’t you think?”

Courtlyn nods.

“Same terms as the duke stated while I sat beside him earlier this evening, and I will add that Xaden Riorson is to be pardoned of any crime you would accuse him of regarding tonight’s activities, considering he was provoked and attacked by your guards, and he is to be allowed to return to Deverelli as a member of our riot at any time.” I flash a smile.

Courtlyn blusters, and his ministers call out protests as they make their way toward the dais.

“Or we can go home, and I can ask King Tauri how he feels about tonight’s actions and go from there.” I shrug.

“Accepted,” Courtlyn bites out.

“Excellent. Now, I expect you will accept the citrine as payment for the alliance but agree you should be compensated for the prince’s crimes.” I unclasp the top of my pack and remove the hard metallic shards of shell I’ve carried all the way from the Continent. The smallest pieces cover my palm, and the largest section would easily fit a medium-size dog. I set the base on the table and its pieces inside, marveling at how the shades of color graduate from the darkest onyx on bottom to the brightest silvers on top, each ring of hardened scales nestled within the next yet never separate, creating a smooth outer layer with no ridges that only cracks when the hatchling is ready.

“A dragon egg shell.” Courtlyn drags out the words, less than impressed. “As amazing as your beasts are, once you’ve seen one shell, you’ve seen them all.”

“Not this one.” A corner of my mouth lifts, and I run my finger along the inner edge, picturing her biding her time for hundreds of years, listening, waiting. A charge of energy runs up my arm, and I lift my brows at the sensation. “This is the only shell of its kind. It belongs to the one and only irid we have on the Continent. The seventh breed of dragon. It is Andarna’s kind we’re searching for.”

“You expect me to believe—” Courtlyn starts, then stands completely awestruck, staring at Andarna.

I glance back and see she’s chosen to blend with the vegetation so it appears Shira is hanging in midair, suspended by an unknown pointed vise. “Yes.”

“And this is her shell.” Courtlyn leans closer.

“It is. She gave me permission to gift it to you.” I push the heavy structure toward him.

“I’m starting to drool,” she warns me.

“Just a little longer. You’re doing great.”

Courtlyn nods, inspecting the shell. “Yes, yes.” His head pops up. “One condition. He”—his finger swings toward Halden—“never steps foot on my isle again or his life is forfeit.”

“Done.”

“Violet!” Halden argues.

“Done,” I repeat to Courtlyn.

“Then the deal is struck.” Courtlyn bows his head.

“The deal is struck.” I bow mine, and Andarna spits Shira out. The panther bolts past us, taking her sisters with her.

“You will begin at Unnbriel, will you not? It is the closest main isle, after all.” Courtlyn waits for me to nod, then eyes Andarna’s shell before stepping around the table toward me. “If you are amenable, there is another trade I might be able to broker for you.”

“I’m listening.”