Onyx Storm (The Empyrean Book 3)

If I’m to be court-martialed for helping Braxtyn defend his people, then I shall welcome the trial. All who channel from dragon and gryphon alike should flourish under the wards, and now Aretia will be that haven should one of the others ever return.

—Journal of Lyra of Morraine

—Translated by Cadet Jesinia Neilwart

“Iwant to be on the quest squad,” Ridoc whispers at my side as we cross the enclosed bridge to the Healer Quadrant, my heart strangely steady considering what we’re about to do.

“For the last time, there’s no quest squad,” Rhi hisses at him as the bells announce midnight’s arrival, muffling the sound of rusty hinges as Imogen opens the door ahead of us. “There’s a very small, very skilled group going with Violet to find Andarna’s kind.”

“Sounds like a quest squad to me. Given Riorson’s recent promotion, he should be able to pull some strings with Grady, right?” Ridoc checks over the daggers sheathed along his right side, like he’s afraid he might have missed one. Hopefully we won’t need them. “What do we all think?”

“I think you should shut the hell up before you get us caught and killed,” Imogen says over her shoulder, walking into the mage-lit tunnel.

Ridoc rolls his eyes and glances in my direction as we cross into the Healer Quadrant. “Still sounds like a quest squad.”

“If I had a say, I’d take you,” I promise, pulling the door shut once we’re all inside.

The tunnel is empty—all the beds have been cleared since yesterday morning’s attack, which feels like a decade ago. We find the darkest stretch between mage lights and lean against the wall just out of sight of the infirmary doors.

“Now we wait,” Rhi mutters, drumming her fingertips on her folded arms.

It isn’t long before we spot Bodhi and Quinn making their way toward us from the opposite direction with Maren in their wake, pillow lines etched on her face.

“You ready to do this?” Bodhi asks me, keeping his voice down as he reaches us. “You really want to do this?”

“No second thoughts,” I assure him, lifting my chin. “Whatever it takes.”

He nods and glances over our party. “Everyone know their assignment?”

“I don’t,” Maren whispers, looking at us like we’ve lost our minds. “Is this some kind of hazing ritual?”

“It’s best you don’t know until we need you.” I pull the vial of concentrated, purple valerian root tincture from my left pocket. “It’s for your own safety—and plausible deniability—that you trust us. For now, just stay here with Imogen.”

Maren glances at each of us as if deciding, then nods.

“Then let’s go.” Bodhi gestures toward the infirmary, and I take the lead.

Gods, I hope I’ve thought of everything. If one thing goes wrong, we’re fucked.

The five of us approach the infirmary doors, and I knock lightly four times. Please be here.

“Remind me how you know this guy?” Bodhi whispers.

“I saved his life during navigation last year,” I answer, then hold my breath as the right door opens silently.

Dyre pops his head out, his brown eyes crinkling as he smiles. “I did everything you asked. Come on in.” He holds the door open, and we all slip inside as quietly as possible.

“Thank you for taking the extra shift on quick notice and helping us.” I hand him the vial. “Here’s another dose in case you need it. The other healers have to stay asleep until we bring him back.”

“Understood.” He takes the vial. “But you know I can’t do anything if someone comes out of the critical care chamber.”

“It’s a risk we have to take.” We leave him standing watch at the door and silently make our way down the row to Sawyer’s bay, mage lights casting multiple shadows as we pass the sleeping injured.

Sawyer’s sitting upright but doesn’t say a word as we pile into his brightly lit bay, just lifts his eyebrows and sets down his pen and parchment on the bedside table.

Bodhi closes the curtains and throws out a line of blue energy that encapsulates us in a bubble. “Sound shield is active. You feeling up to a trip across campus?” he asks Sawyer.

“Took one earlier today as part of rehab. I can make it for the right reason.” Sawyer nods. “Is this why Dyre told me to stay awake?”

“We need you to help with that plan we discussed.” I take the seat near the head of his bed. “Mira found a way. It involves altering the very material a rune is tempered into without destroying it.”

He leans back against his headboard. “Then you’re fucked, because I can’t think of a single rock or earth wielder in our history.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s mostly iron,” I say slowly.

His mouth falls open and hangs there for a few seconds. “No.” He shakes his head, then looks to Rhi. “Find someone else. There are at least a dozen metallurgists in our ranks.” He folds his arms over his black shirt.

“Not here.” Ridoc moves to the other side of the bed, then rummages through a set of drawers. “They’re all stationed on the border with just about every other rider we have right now.”

“Then wait for them,” Sawyer argues. “I’m…I’m not good enough for something like that.”

“You have to be.” Rhi sits at the foot of his bed.

“Sliseag won’t even…” He shoves his hand through his unruly brown hair. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can.” I lift my brows and look pointedly at the mug on his bedside table that bears his handprint.

“I am not the rider you want for this, Vi. Not sure I’m even a rider anymore. Wait for someone else.”

“Waiting won’t matter,” Bodhi says beside Rhi.

Sawyer’s shoulders sag. “Leadership doesn’t approve.”

I shake my head. “If we don’t do this tonight, the negotiations are done. Fliers will be escorted to Aretia tomorrow.”

“They’re going to tear our squad apart?” Sawyer’s gaze jumps from me, to Bodhi, to Rhi, as if hoping one of us will correct him.

“Not if you do something about it.” Ridoc tosses Sawyer’s uniform top on the bed. “Now, I love you like a brother, and I get that you lost your leg, and we respect however you’re feeling about that, but you’re still one of us. You’re still a rider, with all the benefits and shit that come with wearing black. So with all the love in my heart, put your fucking uniform on, because we need you.”

Sawyer picks up his uniform and rubs his thumb over his metallurgy patch, then down across his Iron Squad one. My heart counts out the long seconds it takes for him to nod. “Someone hand me my crutches.”

A few minutes later, five of us walk out of the infirmary, including Sawyer.

“Where’s Quinn?” Maren asks, pushing off the wall.

“Making sure no one notices he’s missing,” Bodhi answers.

“Good to see you dressed appropriately,” Imogen says to Sawyer. “It’s a long way, including two sets of intentionally difficult stairs, so if you need help, we’ve got you.”

Sawyer glances down to where Ridoc tied up his empty pantleg to the knee. “Noted,” he says with quiet determination. “Let’s go.”

We make our way up the spiral steps into the main campus, then down the hallway to the northwest turret, narrowly missing one guard patrol in infantry blue by ducking into a healer classroom midway, and then another in scarlet tunics by piling into the stairwell as they turn the corner.

“It’s busy out here,” Sawyer remarks between quick breaths, his back pressed against the stone wall. Sweat beads his forehead, and he’s lost a little color.

“You good?” I ask him as we near the three-minute mark.

He nods, and we keep going.

“Every noble on the Continent is in residence,” Maren notes. “Maybe you should have done this with Riorson. He would have been able to lend some shadow aid.”

“He’s not exactly aware of what we’re doing,” I tell her as Imogen walks down a couple of steps in front of us. “Any chance he shows up?” I ask Tairn.

“They are out of range,” he answers. “He will not be your problem tonight.”

“Give me sixty seconds to knock out the guards, then come down,” Imogen orders, disappearing around the first curve.

“Do I get to know yet?” Maren asks.

“No,” Bodhi and Ridoc answer simultaneously.

“And how does the Empyrean feel about this?” I tap my fingers on my thigh, counting out the seconds.

“You have the full support of the Aretian riot. We will find out how the others feel in the morning.”

So we’re begging forgiveness instead of asking permission. Understood.

We start down the steps, Bodhi and me taking lead. “Xaden’s going to be pissed,” I whisper so the others don’t hear.

“Which is why you’re going to be the one to tell him when we pull it off,” he answers with a grimace. “He won’t kill you.”

We wind our way down, keeping a pace Sawyer seems comfortable with, and my chest grows tighter with every step. There should only be two guards on tonight, which is absolutely no challenge for Imogen, but the anxiety doesn’t let up until she comes into view, waiting for us on the bottom step with her arms folded.

“We have a slight problem,” she says, her mouth tensing as she steps aside. “I wasn’t sure you’d want me knocking out this particular guard.”

Mira walks into the center of the chamber and tilts her head at me in an uncanny imitation of our mother.

My stomach hits the floor. “Shit,” I mutter.

“Shit is about right.” Mira puts her hands on her hips. “And to think, I figured I was overreacting when I dismissed the guards and took their place.”

“How did you know?” I meet her in the middle of the tunnel, noting that she stands between me and the entrance to the wardstone chamber.

“Because I know you.” She levels a withering look on me, then glances over my shoulder. “You pulled that rider from his sickbed?”

“I’m the one who gets to say how ‘sick’ I am,” Sawyer counters from behind me.

“Right.” She swings her attention back to me. “You shouldn’t do this.”

I lift my chin. “Are you going to stop me?”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “Can you be stopped?”

“No.” I shake my head. “You were there when we gave our word that the fliers would be educated with the riders. If Navarre wants us, then they take all of us.”

“And you’re willing to risk the wards our mother gave her life to power to keep your word?” She lifts her eyebrow.

“You’re the one who told me this can be done.” I skirt the question as the others move to stand beside me.

“Which is something I’ll have to live with.” She looks at each rider. “You’re all aware that if we fail, the wards could fall? And if we succeed, there’s every chance we’ll be charged with treason and executed by dragon?”

“That’s not happening,” Tairn assures me with a low growl.

“I’m sorry, what?” Maren looks down the line from the right.

“Relax.” Imogen knocks her with an elbow. “Your only job is to wield. You’ll be clear of the rest.”

“We know the risks,” I tell Mira. “If the wards fall, then it looks like there’s a mass migration to Aretia, and I’m truly on a ticking clock to find Andarna’s kind. But they won’t, because you found the solution, and you’re never wrong. So I’m asking you again: Are you going to stop me?”

She sighs and drops her arms at her sides. “No, but only because I know you’ll just try again, and I might not be here to make sure it works next time. You have the best shot with both of us.” She pivots on her heel and disappears through the entrance to the ward chamber.

With Bodhi keeping watch, the six of us make our way into the narrow passage, Maren and me holding Sawyer’s crutches as Rhiannon and Ridoc shuffle sideways with Sawyer’s weight braced between them.

Only when we enter the massive chamber housing our kingdom’s wardstone do I fully comprehend what Mira had meant by us.

“This little venture tells me you’ve been hanging out with Riorson too long,” Brennan says, waiting beside Mira in front of the massive iron pillar and its eerie black flame.

Guess this is now a family affair. The corners of my mouth rise. “You’re the one leading a revolution with him. Maybe you rubbed off on me.” I keep my gaze on my siblings, ignoring everything else about the chamber in the name of self-preservation.

“And to think, you could have been wasted on the Scribe Quadrant.” He flashes a smile, but it falls quickly as he gets serious. “Henrick, you’re with Mira. She’ll help you through the process. Flier—”

“Maren Zina,” she corrects him.

“Great. Zina, you prepare to wield whatever lesser magic you’re most comfortable with. You three”—he points at Rhi, Ridoc, and me—“don’t touch anything.”

“And you?” I ask.

“I’m here in case it all goes to shit.” He glances back at the stone. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve mended it.”

I hand Sawyer his crutches, and all of us sit in one long line to begin the nail-biting process of waiting. The very future of this war will be determined in this room, just like it was a couple of weeks ago. I close my eyes to avoid the stone, but there’s no blocking the scent of the chamber or the memory of my screams.

I’ll get to see him soon. Her voice floods my head, breaking through every barrier I’ve thrown in grief’s way to keep from feeling it, and slicing into my heart like the rusty edge of a jagged blade. Live well.

“Vi?” Rhiannon wraps her arm around my shoulders.

“I couldn’t stop her,” I whisper, forcing my watery eyes open as Sawyer lifts his hands on the left. “She was right there, and I couldn’t stop her.”

“Your mother?” she asks gently.

I nod.

“I’m so very sorry, Violet,” Rhi says quietly, laying her head on my shoulder.

“I’m not even sure if I miss her,” I admit in a broken whisper, “or the chance we had at eventually…being something. Maybe not what you and your mom have, but something.”

“You can feel both.” She takes my hand in hers and squeezes, and my chest lightens as we watch a spot on the top line of runes differentiating Navarre’s wardstone from Aretia’s bubbling outward. It’s working.

Both our heads swivel right, toward Maren, and the flier stares down at the small rock in her palm, then shakes her head.

Well that’s disappointing.

“Onto the next,” Mira orders.

“Kind of wondering what protection we just took off,” Ridoc mumbles as Sawyer lifts his hands again, sitting to our left.

Sawyer’s arms begin to shake, and I continue squeezing Rhi’s hand. “Maybe we pushed him too hard,” I whisper to her.

The next line on the stone bulges outward, then splits for a terrifying heartbeat before melted metal oozes from the wound. Oh…crap.

“Gamlyn!” Brennan barks as Ridoc throws up his hands, hurtling a ball of ice toward the stone. It makes contact with a hiss, and Ridoc holds it there as steam bursts skyward, then fizzles and dies.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea—” he starts.

“Hey, everyone,” Maren says.

I whip my head in her direction so fast the room spins and find the stone twirling above her hand. My breath rushes out, taking the form of a relieved laugh.

“Mira?” Brennan asks.

My sister is already walking toward the wardstone, her hands splayed open. “They’re still intact. We need to be sure that Barlowe is still contained, seeing as he’s our only test subject, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure the protections against dark wielders are still in place.”

“We did it!” Ridoc bounces to his feet, throwing his fists in the air. “Fuck yes, Sawyer! Fuck you, Senarium—the fliers can wield! They can stay with their squads!”

I grin like a kid. In eight hours, the accord for the riot to stay will be signed, and we’ll be whole.

“What now?” Maren catches the rock.

“Now we stand trial for treason,” Sawyer manages between gulping breaths. But when our eyes meet, he’s smiling just like I am.

“No. We won’t.” My smile widens. “Maren, I need you to listen to me very carefully.”

• • •

The next morning, my heart races and the Battle Brief room buzzes with a mixture of excitement, trepidation, and outright fear as we take our seats. Rhi and Ridoc claim the spots to my right, while Maren holds a seat empty for Cat between her and Trager to my left.

“Keep an eye on him,” Rhi orders Aaric as he escorts Kai and the other first-years down the steps at the edge of the room.

Aaric nods, and I notice Baylor and Lynx covering their backs while Sloane and Avalynn lead the way, keeping Kai protected at every angle.

“I’ve never done this without a notebook.” I brush the dust off the desktop in front of me as Cat works her way down our row.

“I’m sure our things will be sent,” Rhi says. “At least I hope they will. Guess it depends on how the Assembly takes the news that Riorson didn’t heed their wishes for the riot to return.”

“He doesn’t have to heed their wishes.” Cat slides into the seat next to Maren and pulls her braid over her shoulder. “He’s not just the heir to Aretia anymore. He’s the Duke of Tyrrendor as of eight this morning, according to my uncle.”

Thank you, Amari, it’s signed. I shift my weight, looking for a position that takes a little pressure off my lower back, and breathe deeply to try and slow my heart rate.

“You all right?” Rhi asks, her eyes narrowing on a group out of Navarre’s Fourth Wing as they fill the seats ahead of us.

“Fine.” I roll my neck. “Just didn’t get enough sleep last night and now I’m paying for it.”

“—because you took my fucking pen!” the second-year ahead of us seethes, lurching over the seat of the girl next to him. “You always take it, and I’ve had it!” He snatches the pen and settles back into his seat.

I shoot a look at Cat’s smug face. “Don’t.”

“What? I was just testing things out.” She smothers a smirk. “You said we couldn’t tell anyone, not that we couldn’t play.”

Maren snort-laughs, and I can’t help but fight my own smile. At least she’s not fucking with me, and the Navarrians do kind of deserve it.

“Welcome to Battle Brief,” Devera announces as she descends the steps to our left, and the room falls quiet. “I understand you’ve been led by Colonel Markham in my absence, but that ends today.” She reaches the raised stage at the base of the room and leans against the table. “Even if we only have one day with our flier colleagues, we will be proceeding—”

“Professor Devera!” The auburn-haired professor of the fliers, Kiandra, all but runs down the steps, and our squad shares quick glances as she conveys something to Devera behind her hand.

“Excellent,” Devera says, smiling wide. “For everyone who doesn’t know, this is Professor Kiandra, and she’ll be leading Battle Brief with me from now on, given the news that our nobles are back in active negotiation for an alliance.”

A roar of approval overpowers the disgruntled Navarrians.

“When did you tell your uncle?” I ask Cat.

“About twenty minutes ago, just like you asked,” she answers. “He works fast.”

Which means we have a matter of minutes. I drum my fingers on the desk and stare up at the inaccurate map of Navarre. Everything’s about to change.

“With that in mind”—Devera raises her voice, and we quiet down—“let’s discuss structure. To keep it easy, you stay where you have always been. If you find it awkward to serve in a squad with those who made a different choice this fall, then feel free to lodge your complaint with Malek.”

“That’s not fair!” a third-year yells out behind us. “With the addition of the fliers, Third and Fourth Wings are considerably larger, which gives them an advantage during War Games.”

“Yes.” Devera tilts her head. “Get over it. We’re not playing games anymore; we’re preparing you for war.”

“Do you think they forgot what happened two weeks ago?” Ridoc whispers.

“I think it’s possible they forgot what they had for breakfast,” Rhi replies.

“First and Second Wings will only be smaller until the rest of the flier cadets arrive from Cygnisen,” Devera continues. “At which time you will welcome them.”

“Fuck.” The guy ahead of us sinks lower in his chair.

“Next issue: we have too many wingleaders among us,” Devera continues, and I glance over my shoulder at Dain, who stiffens in his seat a few rows back with the third-years. “It has been determined that leadership shall align with the wing’s…population.” She lifts her eyebrows. “Therefore, Iris Drue, you retain leadership of First Wing, Aura Beinhaven retains Second Wing, while Third Wing remains with Lyell Stirling, and Fourth Wing will be led by Dain Aetos.”

Thank gods.

The room explodes in applause and shouts of disagreement.

“This matter is not up for discussion!” Devera’s magically amplified voice shakes the desktop, quieting the room before she continues. “If you are unsure who you report to or if you’re still in command, a full list of cadet leadership will be posted in commons this afternoon.”

The briefing room door flies open and slams into the wall so hard I hear stone crack as we all turn to face yet another commotion.

“Violet Sorrengail!” Colonel Aetos shouts from the doorway, his face a mottled shade of red as his narrowed eyes search the briefing room.

“Here.” Bracing my hands on the edges of my seat to fight a sudden wave of dizziness, I rise to stand as four riders follow Aetos in.

“Vi,” Rhiannon whispers.

“No one say a damned thing,” I reply under my breath. “I’ll be fine.”

“You are hereby charged with high treason against the kingdom of Navarre!”

Maybe not.