Onyx Storm (The Empyrean Book 3)

It has been the experience of my lifetime to spend these months with others who value knowledge just as reverently as I do. But though their intelligence and their wisdom inspire me, their artifice terrifies me.

—Hedotis: Isle of Hedeon by Captain Asher Sorrengail

Of all the ways I’d envisioned getting to know Xaden’s mother, holding her at bay in a bedroom doorway of her own house while her son refuses to see her definitely never came to mind.

“This is very kind of you.” I balance the silver tray of snacks she’s just delivered on one hand and grip the golden doorknob with the other. “I’ll be sure he gets these. And thank you for sending our missives.”

Having seen renderings of Fen Riorson, I can definitely say that Xaden takes after him in looks, but there are traces of Talia, too. Xaden shares her high cheekbones, her long eyelashes, and even the shape of her ears, but it’s the gold flecks in their eyes that make the biological link undeniable.

Hopefully Andarna’s kind will know how to bring the gold back fully in Xaden’s.

“It was lucky a ship bound for Deverelli was in the harbor to take your correspondence.” Talia uses her considerable height advantage to peer over my head into our bedroom with eyes so full of longing that pity wraps around my rib cage, then constricts. “I was hoping he might want to talk?”

He definitely does not.

“He’s resting.” I force a quick, sympathetic smile and pull the door closer, narrowing her scope of vision.

“What about dinner? He should meet the rest of the family.”

What an awful idea. He’s been nearly catatonic since this morning, and she wants to throw a party with people he’s never met? “I’ll ask, but that might be a lot for him to—”

“We’ll keep it small, then.” Talia’s face falls with her gaze and she purses her lips, forming little golden-brown lines around her mouth. “I was so young when he was born,” she whispers, staring at the doorframe. “Still young when the contract expired. I never thought I’d get to see him again, and now that he’s here…” Tears fill her eyes as she slowly looks at me. “You understand, right?”

What in Amari’s name am I supposed to say to that? Of course I can’t understand how anyone would leave him, but—

“Tell her the truth. He loathes her,” Tairn suggests. “As does Sgaeyl. The life-giver is lucky she wasn’t scorched this morning, though I do believe Sgaeyl is still contemplating her options.”

Because that would be great for international relations, considering who Talia is married to.

“That’s his mother,” Andarna argues. “What would you do, Violet?”

“I’m not the person to ask about motherly relationships,” I reply. Grief slices quick and deep, giving strength to the pity that’s stretching its viny little tethers toward my heart. “I understand wanting to know him,” I tell Talia. “He is spectacular in every way—”

“Then you’ll let—” She steps toward me.

“Dinner,” I say, standing my ground. “I’ll see if he’s willing to have dinner. But if he isn’t, you’re going to have to respect that, too. You push, and he’ll shove back twice as hard.”

She braces her hand on the doorframe and shifts her eyes in thought. “What if I can promise you’ll get a meeting with the full triumvirate? That’s what you need, right? Maybe I can give you some answers they’ll look for to evaluate your acumen.”

I blink, and pity recedes an inch. “What I need is for Xaden to be all right. If that means setting this house on fire and leaving without accomplishing anything else on this isle, then I’ll hand him a torch.” Damn, this tray is getting heavy.

Her posture softens and she steps out of my space, her hand falling to her side. “You must love him to prioritize his feelings over your mission,” she says quietly, like it’s a revelation.

“Yes.” I nod. “It’s nothing compared to the way he risked Aretia for me.”

“He risked Aretia,” she whispers through a watery smile. “Then he loves you, too. His father never would have…” She shakes her head, and her hair rustles against the back of her gown. “Doesn’t matter. Having dinner with him would be more than I’d ever hoped for. I’ll send someone up in a few hours to see if he’s willing to join us.”

“Thank you.” I wait until she heads down the long cream-colored hallway, then shut the door and turn the lock just in case.

Then I take the tray in both hands and go find Xaden.

The room they gave us is obviously meant for guests of distinction. It has high, vaulted ceilings; intricately carved furniture; sophisticated artwork; and a bed that could easily sleep four people. Everything is cream with touches of pale green and gold, all perfect in a way that borders on too pretty to touch. Our black flight jackets look sorely out of place draped across the chair of the delicate desk, and our packs and boots are so dirty I insisted on leaving them in the attached bathing chamber.

The carpet is soft under my bare feet as I cross the spacious room and open one of the double glass doors onto the covered veranda. The high balcony links with the four other bedrooms to the right on this side of the house, so it’s no surprise to find Garrick sitting on the edge of the balustrade with Ridoc, their backs to the ocean.

But it does surprise me to find the cushioned loveseat empty.

Ridoc lifts his brows at me and tilts his head to my left, and I take the cue, shimmying between the guys and the decorative table in front of the loveseat when they hop off the railing.

“Good luck.” Garrick pats my shoulder, and the two retreat down the veranda.

I find Xaden on the shaded floor between the loveseat and the corner piece of railing where my armor is tied, drying in the ocean breeze. He sits in sparring pants and an undershirt with his back against the wall, bare forearms resting on raised knees, gaze fixed into the distance.

“Room for one more down there?” I ask.

He blinks, then forces a half smile. “For you? I’ll move to the couch.”

“Don’t even think about it.” I squeeze in next to the railing, careful not to twist my torso and anger my ribs, then sit and set the tray on the floor in front of me.

“These fell out of your pack.” He opens his fist, revealing the two vials Bodhi gave me.

Shit. “Thanks.” I take the vials and slip them into my pants pocket.

“That little one-two combo would definitely help me get my hands on you at home if I didn’t think Sgaeyl would torch me for willingly blocking the bond, even temporarily.”

I swallow. “I should have told you I had it—”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.” He looks me straight in the eye. “I’m glad you have it. I don’t want to lose my connection to Sgaeyl, not when I can still use my signet to fight venin, especially since you have one obsessively hunting you. But feel free to shove that serum down my throat if at any moment I’m not…myself. I’d rather be powerless than potentially hurt you.” He glances down at the tray. “My mother?”

Nice subject change.

“She brought you food, but really only wanted to talk to you.” Through the gaps in the railing, I look out over the strip of sand that meets the ocean and press my lips into a tight line. While Tairn and Andarna sun their scales on the beach, Sgaeyl prowls along the waterline, her head low, her eyes narrowed.

“She’s pacing for some reason,” Xaden says as Sgaeyl passes by. “Not that I can ask her.” He huffs a self-deprecating laugh. “Not that she’d answer.”

“She’s worried.” I look over at his freshly salved wound. Good, the swelling has decreased a little already.

“Worrying isn’t in her nature. She likes to solve the immediate problem and handle consequences later.” He leans over and plucks a cinnamon-sprinkled dried fig from a crystal bowl, then studies it. “Of course there’s fucking sugar on it. Like somehow remembering that one little fact from when I was seven years old is going to make up for the last thirteen years.”

He leans again and drops it onto the empty plate, and I remain silent, hoping he’ll continue. He’s never really talked about his mom before.

“And all this time I figured she was living in Poromiel. She never even told me she was from Hedotis. Neither of them did.” He leans his head back against the wall. “Makes sense now—why she never had family visit, why she was so infatuated with all things colorful, the bedtime stories told with arinmint tea when she would whisper about people with purple eyes who lived without war.”

Waves crash against the beach below, and Sgaeyl turns, pacing back toward us.

“You should see if she’ll hunt with the others,” I suggest to Tairn.

“Feel free to ask. I’ll watch. Be sure you’re near the water so you can put yourself out when she sets you on fire,” he replies.

“It’s a mineral called viladrite,” I tell Xaden as he flicks the sugar off his fingers. “Dad wrote that it’s so prevalent on the isle that it’s in everything they eat and drink. It turns paler eye colors purple.”

“I love that you know that.” He drops his hand to my knee. “Did your dad’s eyes change?”

“Not that I know of. They were always hazel like mine.” I smile at the memory. “Guess he wasn’t here long enough.” I still can’t figure out when he had time to study the isles, but maybe my grandmother knows, if I ever get the courage to speak with her like Mira did.

“We’ll only be here long enough to search the isle for Andarna’s kind and speak with the triumvirate”—the bruise on his jaw ripples when he clenches his teeth—“and my mother is married to one of them. The irony is poetic.”

I twist toward him and wince when my ribs object. “She wants to have dinner tonight.”

“Fuck that.” His expression shifts into the same impenetrable mask he used to wear around me last year.

“Xaden.” I cradle the side of his face and stroke my thumb over the edge of his scar. “Don’t shut me out.”

His eyes flash to mine. “Never.” Sliding an arm behind me, he grabs hold of my hips with both hands and carefully lifts me into his lap. “I can think of far better ways to spend my evening than dinner.” He grazes his teeth along the shell of my ear, and a shiver rolls down my spine. “Can’t you?”

I gasp at the sudden rush of heat that flares low in my stomach when he kisses the side of my neck, flicking his tongue at the spot he knows turns me into a puddle.

“No magic,” he reminds me, sliding his hand down my stomach. “No danger of losing control.”

A whimper escapes my lips as his fingers dip beneath my waistband, mostly because what he suggests sounds fucking fantastic, but partially because I want all of him. I miss the heightened rush from our signets, his shadows flaring, my lightning cracking, the intimacy of lowering every barrier and hearing his voice fill my mind. I need to feel him unravel under my touch. Losing control is part of what makes us…us.

“No lumpy bedrolls,” he continues, slipping his hand into my pants. “No squadmates ten feet away. No awkward dinners. Just you and me and that bed.”

I groan, instantly remembering what we’re supposed to be talking about. “As utterly delicious as that sounds…” My fingers dig into his thigh as his mouth toys with my earlobe. “Sex is not going to fix the real problem.”

He sighs, then lifts his head. “I know.”

I scramble out of his lap before I change my mind and drag him to our bed. The quick motion has me hissing through the sharp sting as I stand and grasp the railing with both hands, facing the water.

“Fuck.” Xaden jumps to his feet and wraps his arms around me gently. “I’m so sorry. I forgot about your ribs. You shouldn’t be flying, let alone have me crawling all over you.”

“Not flying isn’t an option.” I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth as the worst of it passes. “And never apologize for touching me.”

He drops his chin on the top of my head. “I hate that we can’t get you mended.”

“In a life without magic, the best medicine is time,” I muse, a smile curving my mouth as I spot Cat and Trager walking down the beach, hand in hand. “Look at that.”

“Good for them. He’s been pining after her for years.” His hands bracket mine on the railing, and his body heat staves off the chill from the ocean breeze. “How much pain are you in? I don’t want to ask you to sit through dinner if it hurts.”

I’m not about to be a barrier if he wants to talk to his mother, especially knowing what I would give to have the same opportunity with mine. “It’s not too bad as long as I don’t twist. Or breathe too deeply. Or lift Andarna.” The joke falls flat.

“So you can sit through dinner.” The conflict in his voice has me turning in his arms.

“Only if you want to.” I look up at him.

“Do you want me to?” He swallows.

“I’m not making that choice for you.” I bring my hands to his chest, trying to remember the last time he was indecisive about anything and coming up short.

His eyes narrow and he steps back. “You think I should, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” I shake my head. “And I’m probably not the best person to give you advice on this—”

“Because she charmed you in the three minutes it took for her to push a tray through the door?” He puts more space between us, retreating down the veranda.

“Because my mother just died.”

He stills, and regret instantly washes over his face. “I’m sorry, Violet.”

“You don’t need to be. I’m just saying that I’m not the person to ask if you should spend a night talking to yours, because I would give anything for ten minutes with mine.” I set my hand over my chest like it has a prayer of holding the grief inside where it belongs. “I have so many questions, and I would kill for a single answer. Maybe you should talk to Garrick, because any advice I give you would be poisoned by my own grief. You have to do whatever’s best for you. Whatever you can live with once we leave here. Whatever choice you make will be the right one as far as I’m concerned. You have all my support.”

“I don’t know if there’s a right choice. She’s not like your mother.” He laces his hands behind his neck as Sgaeyl passes by again, following her own footprints. “I absolutely understand you wanting ten minutes. I want them for you. Right or wrong, everything your mother did was to protect you and your siblings. She died protecting you.”

“I know.” I swallow the growing lump in my throat.

“My mother abandoned me.” His hands drop to his sides.

“I know,” I repeat in a whisper, my heart breaking all over again for him. “I’m so sorry.”

“How does she”—he points to the door—“deserve my ten minutes when she fed me chocolate cake on my tenth birthday and vanished later that night? I am the fulfillment of a contract for her. Nothing more. I don’t give a shit how she looks at me, or whatever bullshit she undoubtedly spewed at you. The only reason we’re in her house is because she’s married to one of the triumvirate, and I have no problem using that to get what we need.”

My chest cracks a little more with every word, then splits clean open. I knew she’d left, just not how.

“And don’t think that has anything to do with this.” He points to his eye. “I’m aware in the moments I lack emotion. You and Garrick don’t need to share little oh no glances. I already feel it. It’s like sliding over a frozen lake while a shrinking part of me screams that I’m supposed to be swimming in those pieces I’ve bartered away, and those feelings are right beneath the surface, but fuck is skating faster and a hell of a lot less messy. This shit?” He swings his finger back toward the house. “It’s messy and painful and infuriating, and if I could choose to give this portion of myself away, so help me, Malek, I would. I get it now. It’s not just the power that’s addicting; it’s the freedom to not feel this.”

“Xaden,” I whisper, all but bleeding out by the time he finishes.

Steam billows over the veranda, and our heads whip in the direction of the beach, where Sgaeyl stands the width of Tairn away with a curled upper lip, glaring at Xaden.

“Stop pacing and eat something,” he begs her. “I know you’re hungry and I can’t stand that you’re hurting this far from magic, so alleviate some of the pain and go hunt. I’m all right.”

She drops her jaw and roars so loud my ears instantly ring. The glass doors bow and the little table trembles before she snaps her teeth shut. Three errisbirds fly out of the tree on my left, and two dark-haired boys come running out of the house to see what the commotion was.

“Sgaeyl,” Xaden says softly, walking toward the edge of the veranda.

She backs up three heavy steps, and my heart stutters as her hind claw nearly tramples one of the boys before she launches skyward over the house. Her tail swings so close, it slices the leaves from the trees before she disappears.

Good thing the errisbirds left.

“At least she didn’t set you on fire.” Tairn quickly follows and Andarna trails after, fighting to fully extend her wing.

All of them are struggling without power.

“Fuck.” Xaden’s eyes slide shut.

“Simeon! Gaius!” One of the maids runs out of the house three stories beneath us, holding her skirts high as she sprints across the sand. “Are you all right?” she asks in Hedotic.

“That was amazing!” the older boy shouts in kind, lifting his fists toward the sky.

“We can leave,” I offer Xaden, crossing the distance between us and winding my arms around his waist. “Right now.”

“My mother is having our uniforms laundered.” He brushes the loose strands of my braid behind my ears.

“So we’ll be cold. Say the word, and we’ll go.” I turn my cheek and rest my ear against his heartbeat. “You’re all that matters to me.”

“Same.” He drops his chin to the top of my head. “We can’t just skip an entire isle,” he grumbles, splaying his hands over my back. “We disobeyed direct orders to be here.”

“We can.” I listen to the steady rhythm of his heart and watch the maid fuss over the boys as they walk back toward the house. “The riot hunts, does a pass to make sure Andarna’s kind hasn’t chosen the blandest isle ever to call home, and we go. Hedotis hasn’t entered a war or aligned itself with any kingdom at war in its recorded history. They aren’t going to help us.” I run my hand up and down his spine. “And you know where your mother is now. If you ever feel the need, you can come back. They’re your ten minutes, too.”

“And you’re not hoping—” His words end abruptly as Talia runs out of the house beneath us, fisting the fabric of her gown.

“Boys!” she screams in Hedotic as she races to the edge of the stone patio, then yanks the children into her arms. “You’re all right?” She pulls back and gives them the same once-over I usually earn from Mira after a battle.

“We’re great!” the older assures her with a wide grin. “Right, Gaius?”

“Mama, you should have seen it roar!” the younger one adds with a bob of his head.

Mama. My stomach drops straight out of my body as I hope I have that word wrong.

Xaden tenses, and I hear his heart begin to race.

“I heard it roar, and that was excitement enough,” Talia tells the boys, running her hands over their hair and down the sides of their faces. “But you’re all right. You’re all right,” she repeats with a nod. “Elda, will you get them cleaned up? The triumvirate is joining us for dinner, and Faris’s parents would like the boys to spend the night there.”

“Of course,” the maid replies, then ushers the children into the house.

Talia remains, her shoulders trembling as she catches her breath.

“What did she say?” Xaden asks.

“The triumvirate is coming to dinner.” I start with the easiest part first. “And the boys…”

“They’re hers, aren’t they?” His tone slips into icy disdain.

“Yes,” I whisper, holding him tighter as Talia returns to the house without looking up.

“The older is probably what? Eleven?” His arms drop. “No wonder she never came back. She didn’t just marry; she built a whole new family.” There’s nothing amused about his laugh.

“I’m so sorry.” I pull back to look at him, but his expression is flat.

“You did nothing wrong.” He steps out of my arms, and it feels frighteningly poignant as he slips away. “This feeling is one I would gladly exchange.”

It’s not just the power that’s addicting; it’s the freedom to not feel this. His words play back in my head, and a new fear takes root, burrowing insidiously in the pit of my stomach. Does he know I’ve brought my new conduit? That there’s a fully charged piece of alloy in my pack?

“Don’t barter it away,” I beg as he stares at the sea, and the words spill out of me faster and faster as his eyes harden and he resurrects the defenses it took me a year to break past. “The pain. The mess. Give it to me. I’ll hold it. I know that sounds ludicrous, but I’ll find a way.” I lace our fingers. “I will hold everything you don’t want to feel because I love every part of you.”

“You already hold my soul and now you want my pain? Getting greedy, Violence.” He brings my hand to his mouth and brushes a kiss over my knuckles before letting go. “Fuck it. Dinner with my mother sounds great. Think I’ll wash up first.”

He leaves me standing on the veranda, my thoughts racing more rapidly than Tairn could ever fly. The triumvirate is coming to dinner. They’ll test us tonight. They sent the kids away.

Do they think we’re dangerous? Or are they?

We need an edge. What would Rhi or Brennan do?

Shit. What did I bring with me? Brennan sent the med kit—

Brennan sent the med kit.

I need Mira.

“Andarna, when those boys leave the house, I need you to follow as invisibly as you can,” I say down the bond.

“Are we scheming? I do enjoy scheming.”

“We’re planning.”

Two hours later, I hold the precious glass vial with both hands as Mira and I head downstairs. Now is not the time to be clumsy. We quickly find Talia in the dining room, discussing dinner with a spindly man in a pale green apron who scrubs at his nails with a blue-edged towel.

“Violet?” Hope lights her eyes, and she dismisses the man before walking our way. “Did you ask him?” Her gaze darts toward Mira.

My sister folds her arms and studies the table.

“He said dinner sounds great,” I tell Talia. It’s not exactly a lie. My hands twist around the glass, shielding its contents from view. “The rest will be flying, but six of us can make it. And I thought this might serve as a peace offering between us, and maybe…” I press my lips in a line and look down at the vial.

“Stop debating and just give it to her,” Mira orders with an exasperated sigh. “My sister is too polite to suggest that it might help smooth the waters and make tonight a little less awkward for those involved. Remind Xaden of home and all that.”

Talia lifts her brows, and I hand over the vial and its dehydrated, light-green leaves. She takes the gift with a bewildered smile. “Is this…”

“Dried arinmint,” I reply.

Gods bless Brennan.