Onyx Storm (The Empyrean Book 3)

There are two reasons rider cadets are not given the same summer and winter leave as others: Firstly, civilians do not react well to dragons casually roaming their villages. Secondly, raising tigers for war requires locking their cages lest they turn on each other…or you.

—Sharpen the Talon: A Professor’s Guide by Colonel Tispany Calthea

I shake my head at the two subtle marks.

“That’s nothing. It’s barely there.” And his eyes look exactly the same from this distance. Whatever he did wasn’t even close to what had happened during the battle.

“Because I stopped.” He climbs off the far side of the bed and retreats until the backs of his thighs hit my desk. “The second your power rose, I felt it and remembered why I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to touch you. And I thought, if I could at least take care of you, that would be enough for me, but then I was so fucking close…” He white-knuckles the edge of my desk and brings his gaze to mine. “I can’t afford to lose control around you. Not even the edge of it.” He glances toward the headboard. “Not like that. Not at all.”

My chest aches, and I breathe deeply to slow my racing heart. If he truly channeled… “Can I come over there? I won’t touch you.”

He nods. “I’m all right now. Firmly under control.”

I cross the cold floor in my bare feet and put myself directly in front of him, sighing with relief when I don’t find a trace of red in his eyes. “No red.”

His shoulders dip. “Good. I locked it down pretty quick and didn’t even feel myself taking anything, but I obviously did.”

“Sandpaper takes more than you did.” I look back at the headboard just to be sure I wasn’t imagining things. “I can barely see it, and only because I’m looking.”

“I took it without thinking. Without choice. And if it had been you?” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “I would never have forgiven myself.” He heaves a heavy sigh.

The ache in my chest only sharpens. “Are you going to go all broody and try to pull away from me? Because fair warning, I’m not going to let that happen.”

“No.” The corners of his mouth rise. “I just think we’ve been right to steer clear of activities where I can’t be trusted to keep control. It’s the only way you’re safe, and as much as I want you to run, I’m too selfish to give you up.”

I nod slowly, since it’s not like I’m going to argue with what’s obviously his line.

“And just so you know, that memory of yours was really fucking hot. I loved every second of it.” He swallows and grips both sides of the desk again, like he already regrets his decision.

My brow knits. “I’m not quite sure how I even did it. Is the thought sharing an inntinnsic thing? Or a bond thing? It’s happened more than once with us.”

A corner of his mouth rises, and his grip relaxes. “No fucking clue. I’ve never tried it with anyone else.” His smirk shifts to a full smile, and I breathe a little easier. “The first time, I was sitting in tactics and couldn’t get you out of my damned head. Then you reached out, struggling to wield when you’d all but set the whole campus on fire the night before, and I just let the memory play, partly to help you, but mostly so you’d be in the same hell I was in.” There’s zero guilt in the admission. “Now let’s get dressed. We probably slept through breakfast.”

We get ready in relative normalcy considering what just happened. I wrap my knee quickly, going above and below my kneecap to hold it in place, then finish dressing. By the time I slip my armor on over my undershirt, Xaden is there, lacing it on just as efficiently as when he takes it off, though one takes considerably longer than the other. “You were out late last night,” I say as he works his way to the tie. “Anything to do with Duke Lindell being here?”

“Yeah.” He tugs gently, and my shoulders straighten.

“Makes me glad you’re sleeping here,” I note, and his fingers still. “All three of the highest Houses of Tyrrendor are here, two of whom are known to hold allegiance only to the province, and the third is suspected.” I glance over my shoulder at him. “Was it not Lindell who made sure you and Liam were trained to enter the quadrant?”

Xaden nods. “It was, though Lewellen had a hand in it, too.”

My brows rise. “I’m sure it’s crossed Melgren’s mind that he could wipe the slate clean. There’s a lot of chaos in these halls and almost no one of rank to notice.” Be careful. I say those two words with my eyes.

He nods again, then goes back to situating the corset, and I face forward. “Killing me isn’t required to annihilate the Tyrrish aristocracy. Officially, I’m just a lieutenant who has no place in any of the negotiations, and yet I’m supposed to speak for Aretia, according to your brother. All done.” He ties the corset strings, then shocks the shit out of me by placing a kiss beneath my ear before he walks to the weapons rack by the door.

“Thanks. Do you want to?” I ask, tugging my uniform top on and buttoning it.

“Sit in on the negotiations?” he asks, shrugging on his back sheaths.

“Speak for Aretia. All of it.” I cross the room, starting to braid my hair into its usual coronet on my way to the desk, and he looks at me with an expression I can’t read. “You said you were happy with the way things were running, but I don’t know if anyone ever…asked you.”

His brow furrows. “The Assembly runs Aretia. I just own the house, which is probably a good thing, since I’m…well, venin. Great on the battlefield, but not a good governing quality.”

I lock every muscle to keep from flinching, then continue braiding.

“Anyway, we’re trying to work out the terms of the riot staying, and Lewellen seems to think he can at least get my father’s sword back from Tauri, but it all feels tangled. If we don’t stay, Poromiel walks. If Navarre can’t protect the fliers here at Basgiath, Poromiel walks. If anyone murders anyone—which happens a lot around here—”

“Poromiel walks,” I guess, reaching for the pins on my desk to secure the braid in place, and most definitely noticing that he used the term we. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I’ll be actively working on one of those things in the next forty-eight hours, but he doesn’t want to know, and losing control a few minutes ago isn’t going to help that stance.

“Exactly, and two of the third-year fliers had a run-in with First Wing last night near the great hall that left everyone bloody.” He starts sheathing his daggers along his thighs. “If Tauri isn’t willing to take civilians, then Poromiel has nothing to gain by promising not to attack our outposts. The only incentives are weapons and keeping the fliers safe.”

“Both of which can be achieved by an alliance with only Aretia,” I note as Xaden begins putting my daggers in place, slipping them into the sheaths at my thighs and the ones sewn into my uniform along my ribs.

“Now who sounds like the separatist?” His mouth quirks. “If we had stable wards, maybe. But we know they’re faltering, and even if they weren’t, the last time Tyrrendor attempted to secede, it didn’t go—” He cocks his head to the side like he’s listening, then storms toward the door, whipping it open. “Are you fucking kidding me? Neither of us has even used a bathing chamber yet.”

Ah, there’s the hard-ass everyone else gets. I don’t fight the urge to smile. There’s a huge part of me that likes that I’m the only one who gets his softer edges. “Who is it?” I ask, grabbing my flight jacket off the back of the chair.

“You’re in there with my little sister and you’re asking me if I’m kidding you?” Brennan snaps back. “Usually, I consider myself pretty understanding about the fact that you sleep in her bed, and I look the other way when you two attach yourselves at the face, but we have a meeting in thirty minutes and I need to talk to you before then.”

“Good morning, Brennan,” I call out, slipping my arms into my flight jacket.

“Hey, Violet,” he answers.

“I have a patrol,” Xaden says.

“He does,” Garrick adds from somewhere behind Brennan.

“How many people are out here?” I duck under Xaden’s arm, and my brows rise. The hallway is packed. Brennan, Garrick, Lewellen, Bodhi, and Imogen are all waiting. The days of negotiation have worn on both Lewellen and Brennan, darkening the circles under Brennan’s eyes and thickening the salt-and-pepper stubble on Lewellen’s strong jaw, as though he’s been too tired or too busy to shave. “Did someone die? Why didn’t any of you knock?”

“Because she’s mean.” Garrick nods toward Imogen, who’s leaned up against the wall to my right.

“She needs to fucking sleep.” She cocks her head to the side at him. “Given how rested you look, I’m guessing you got plenty of that in Nina Shrensour’s bed last night. How disappointing for her.”

“Damn.” Bodhi fights to smother a laugh.

A slow smile spreads across Garrick’s face, and a dimple pops in his left cheek. “Careful, Imogen. You sound a little jealous.”

“Who the hell would be jealous of a flier?” Her pointed glare promises a quick death.

“Right.” Brennan rubs the bridge of his nose, and Lewellen walks away, shaking his head. “Look, we just need Riorson.”

“Seriously, figure your shit out, kids. We’re in the middle of a war,” Mira says from the end of the short hallway, her cheeks red and goggle lines still fresh in her skin.

I instantly grin. “You made it!” Thank you, Amari, we have forty-eight hours and a shot.

“I thought you were due back tonight at the earliest.” Brennan raises his reddish eyebrows.

“Teine was feeling spry.” Mira’s smile could cut glass, but at least she’s trying. It took her months to let him back in after she found him alive. Who knows how long she’ll need to get over losing our mother on what she considers to be Brennan’s watch. “I bring news and a few missives.”

I need everyone to leave now so I can know exactly what that news is.

“Thank you,” Brennan says to Mira, then turns to Xaden. “This is more important than patrol.”

Xaden’s hand skims my lower back as he walks into the hall, then follows Brennan to the main hallway, where Lewellen waits, Garrick close on his heels.

“Anything I should know about?” Bodhi asks, two lines appearing between his brows as Mira slings her pack from her shoulder.

“We’re good,” Brennan assures him as the foursome turns the corner and disappears.

“Good to feel needed,” Bodhi mutters, stepping closer as Mira completes our own huddle. “Guess we’ll be taking the patrol, Imogen.”

“Did you figure it out?” I ask Mira, unable to take another second.

“First, Felix sent a gift.” She retrieves a conduit from her bag and hands it to me with a smile.

“Oh, thank the gods.” I sigh with relief as my fingers curl around the metal-rimmed glass orb that gives me a semblance of control over my signet.

“And then there’s this.” That little spark of hope behind my ribs fans straight into a flame when Mira pulls a wooden, runed practice disk from her satchel. “Trissa’s a genius.”

My jaw drops. There are three runes tempered into the disk, one for levitation in the middle, then two in overlapping layers for what appear to be sound-shielding and warmth. The outermost line—warmth—is broken by a small green shoot of new growth. “How did you do it?” It’s almost impossible to keep my tone down.

“After being nearly blown up and hurled like a projectile”—a smile lifts the corners of her mouth—“we altered the material the rune is tempered into without destroying it, truly changing its form. Turns out Kylynn is an agrarian,” Mira says.

“Battle-Ax is a plant wielder?” I whisper.

“You don’t have to whisper, Vi.” Mira grins. “The sound shield is still active even though we nullified the warmth rune. It should cover us to almost the edge of the hall.”

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“I’m sure. It’s cool to the touch, and…” Mira places a gold coin over the center of the levitation rune, and it floats. Nullifying a rune is mind-blowing. Figuring out how to do it without affecting the others? Incredible. “We’ve got it. It’s not without risk, but we can do it.”

My heart starts to pound. “We can save the negotiations.” The fliers will stay, and I can keep my deal with Tecarus.

“If they agree,” Imogen says slowly, “which you know they won’t.”

“Incoming,” Bodhi announces, tilting his chin toward the hallway. Brennan slowly makes his way toward us, his gaze focused on the floor like he’s deep in thought. “We’re heading out.”

“Don’t tell the others yet,” Mira rushes, shoving the disk in her pack at her feet. “We have to give the Senarium a chance to do the right thing, and the fewer people who know, the fewer people who are executed for treason.”

Bodhi and Imogen both nod, and I blink as they start walking away. “Hey, what did you need? Why were you waiting?” I ask Imogen.

Bodhi crams his hands in his pockets and continues walking, and Imogen glances sideways at Brennan as they pass. “Just wanted to make sure you were…getting some sleep,” she calls back as they turn the corner and disappear.

Bodhi. Garrick. Imogen. My stomach tightens. They were checking to make sure Xaden hadn’t killed me.

“You look like shit,” Mira says as Brennan reaches us.

“I feel like shit.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Poromish politics are nothing like ours. I only have a few minutes before I need to get back in there and beg Cygnisen to stay at the table. Neither side speaks the language of middle ground.”

“I would think not wanting to be killed by venin would encourage them to learn quickly,” Mira states, tilting her head just like our mother, which tightens my throat.

“You would think.” He shakes his head. “The only thing everyone can agree on is that the fliers will be allowed to tour the quadrant today with their squads’ first-year riders—apparently they’re not as threatening—and the task force going with you,” he says to me.

“Where exactly is she going?” Mira snaps, moving to my side.

“We’re being sent to find the rest of Andarna’s kind,” I answer for Brennan.

“You what?” Her eyes widen to impossible proportions.

“Andarna wants to. I should have told you before you left, but the Empyrean hadn’t approved it yet.” Guilt thickens my throat at her stricken expression. “She was always going to go. At least Andarna was able to make some demands this way.”

“You let this happen?” She glares at Brennan.

“Mira—” I start.

“Quiet, cadet, the officers are speaking,” she snaps.

Rude.

“Beyond our needs, Queen Maraya hopes the seventh breed might know how to defeat the venin, given the age of Andarna’s egg.” He’s not far off from our own train of thought. “Mira, that hope is all that’s keeping Poromiel at the table, and we’re still negotiating for flier safety and conferencing with Navarre for the Aretian cadets to stay. You know, behind the functioning wards. This is more complicated than it looks.”

Mira bristles. “Simple question: Did you tell them over your dead body is our sister flying through what’s likely enemy-controlled, wyvern-filled territory on a fool’s errand?”

“They should worry more about what will happen when we do find them,” Tairn growls. “If a den of our kind chose to leave—chose to hide—they will not welcome our intrusion.”

“You don’t know that.” Hurt laces Andarna’s argument.

“You are naive to assume otherwise.” His tone sharpens, and Andarna slams our pathways shut. “She needs to prepare herself,” he says. “And so do you. There’s every chance this mission will kill us.”

Or it could save us all. Freaking pessimist.

“He couldn’t say no.” My grip tightens on the conduit. “Aretia needs another of Andarna’s kind to fire their wardstone.”

Mira whips her face toward mine, horror widening her eyes before they quickly narrow back on our brother. “Is that why you sent me off to evaluate the status of the wards? So you’d know how long you have before using our sister like a gaming chip?”

“That is not how it happened.” His jaw ticks. “I’m trying to support what she wants.”

“It’s not happening. We have six months, Brennan!” She digs into her pack and retrieves a bundle of missives, then shoves them at his chest, hitting him right next to his Aisereigh name tag. “Given the rate they’re diminishing, I calculate six months before total collapse if we’re lucky. Finding Andarna’s kind could take decades. By the time she finds them—if she finds them—Aretia’s gone. You’d be risking Violet’s life for nothing.”

My stomach hits the floor. Six months? I figured we’d at least have a year or two before the wards gave out. That path’s timeline just got complicated, but I’ll be damned if Xaden loses his home twice.

“Six months.” Brennan’s gaze darts between Ridoc’s and Rhi’s doors as if he’s performing calculations in his head.

“No. This is the kind of mission riders don’t return from.” Mira draws back, studying our brother like he’s a stranger.

Well, that’s comforting.

“This is bigger than the three of us. Hundreds of thousands of civilians are under attack in Poromiel.” He shoves the missives into his chest pocket and sighs. “Of course I don’t want her in danger, and they won’t let me go with her. I already asked.”

“Find another way.” Mira shakes her head. “You can’t trade Violet’s life for strangers’.”

“Now you sound like Mom.” The words fly from his mouth, and to his credit, he immediately winces when both Mira and I gasp. “Shit.” He hangs his head.

“You dare mention our mother when you won’t even wear it?” She grabs the runed disk from her pack and throws it at our brother, smacking him square in the chest. He fumbles to catch it. “Look at what I’ve been doing this week, Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh. Not sure Mom would approve.”

Crap. This is not the cool, calm plan we discussed presenting to our brother.

His brows knit as he studies the disk. “I don’t understand.”

“We found a way to keep the fliers at Basgiath safely,” she says.

He keeps looking at it, and I see the moment the truth hits him. The blood drains from his face, and his mouth slackens. “You want to—”

“Yes. And you should find a mirror,” Mira interrupts, earning his attention. “Sacrificing members of our family for what’s considered the greater good is a weapon straight out of Mom’s arsenal.” She walks away without another word.

I pat his shoulder. “Take it to the Senarium.”

“They’ll never agree.”

“You and I both know it’s the only way to forge this alliance.”

He nods. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”