Onyx Storm (The Empyrean Book 3)

It is hereby suggested strongly that neither bonded dragon nor gryphon shall be allowed to land or hunt in a one-mile vicinity of the village of Chantara in order to sustain the endeavors of our sheep herders through this surge of demand.

—Posted Bulletin, Village of Chantara Transcribed by Percival Fitzgibbons

“Arrogant, are we?” His flash of an undeniable smile is there and gone before I can fully succumb to its knee-wobbling effect. “Let’s see how you do in the dark.”

Shadows fill the mat and devour every ounce of sunlight, leaving me in complete and total darkness in every direction I look. Challenge accepted.

“This is playing dirty.” I lift the conduit to just above my shoulder and release a steady flow of power from my left hand. The orb crackles, catching the tendrils of lightning as it imbues the alloy at its center and illuminating the area directly surrounding me.

“You already have the upper hand,” he replies, and a strand of shadow caresses my cheek but doesn’t take form any closer to the conduit. “I’m just leveling the playing field.”

I walk forward, catching a glimpse of him before he fades into darkness once more.

“Strike,” he orders.

“And chance actually hitting you? I think not.” My left arm heats, and I grit my teeth against the strain of sustaining the power flow. It’s so much easier to strike than trickle.

“Use our pathway to track me down.” His lips brush the back of my neck, and a jolt of awareness races down my spine, but when I spin, he’s already gone.

“That’s cheating.” I walk left, then forward, then turn around again, completely lost as to which direction I’m facing.

“It’s using every tool at your disposal,” he points out. “Come on, Violence. Live up to the nickname. I could have killed you a dozen times over by now because you’re reluctant to strike.”

“And I could kill you with a single, non-hypothetical strike.” I open my senses, but it’s impossible to concentrate on our pathways while my body channels continuously. Fuck it. It’s not like I can see through this anyway. Lowering my arm, I cut the flow of power from my fingertips, and shadows rush over me, cooling my heated skin.

I focus on our connection, on the bond, and obey the subtle, barely perceptible tug that comes from my right.

“Good.” The bond strengthens when he talks, and I change directions slightly, following the connection. “I can wield from anything that casts a shadow, but no one knows the strongest threads are always my own. If you can sort through them, feel their difference, you’ll be able to track where I am in the darkness.”

“Is that really what you need me to learn?” I run my hands through shadow, but it all feels the same.

“You have to learn the difference for both our sakes.” The bond surrounds me in the same instant that he wraps his arms around me from behind, and a stronger shadow—his—tilts my chin toward my shoulder and up. “Only you.”

His mouth finds mine in the darkness and he kisses me long and slow, like we’re the only people in the world, like our time is infinite and there is nothing more important than hearing my next sigh. It’s utterly decadent, thorough, and only makes me want more. My pulse leaps, racing faster with every stroke of his perfect tongue.

“Strike,” he demands, his fingers sliding down my stomach and slipping under my waistband. “Or someone might think I’m taking it easy on you.” He nips my bottom lip.

“Easy is the opposite of what I want from you.” Power rises, humming through me with insistent demand, and I lift my right hand, aiming my palm toward the sky of the open amphitheater.

Xaden vanishes from behind me a second before I release the strike.

Light flashes, illuminating the arena as lightning streaks upward, through the barrier of the wards and into the clouds above, and I hear the other cadets’ collective gasps before the darkness descends again.

“You’re astounding,” he says, already one of the shadows.

“Why only me?” I ask, turning endlessly to find him.

“You need to be able to find me.” Shadows rush against my skin, and less than a breath later, they’re gone, leaving me stumbling near the front of the mat, staring at Xaden’s retreating back as he climbs the stairs. “Class is over. I expect you all to come prepared next session,” he says over his shoulder.

“Why only me?” I repeat, more than aware of the other cadets staring as I find my balance, studying me as if hoping to discover a mark, since Xaden walked away unscathed. “Xaden!”

He doesn’t so much as pause his ascent. “Because you’re the only one capable of killing me.”

• • •

“And then there’s Violet,” Ridoc says the next afternoon, waving his mug of ale as we sit at the corner table of the Six Talons pub in Chantara. “Scaring off the professor with a lightning strike. He got the fuck out of there and left her stumbling around in the dark.”

Sawyer laughs. Really, truly laughs, and I don’t care if it’s from his second mug of ale or if Amari herself dragged it out of him, I’m just relieved to hear it. For a second, it feels like we have him back, like we’re all…us.

The door opens across the room, and snow blows in before someone manages to shut it against the insistent wind. The noisy pub is crowded with villagers and cadets looking for a Saturday escape. I spotted Dain at the bar earlier, trying his luck with a second-year healer, and Ridoc has already fought off three separate attempts to pilfer the three chairs we’ve saved across the table for the fliers.

The group of us visited a few temples after lunch, but the fliers have been gone for hours worshipping. If they’re not back soon, we’ll miss the last wagons back to campus.

“Riorson had my own dagger at my throat,” Rhi says, shaking her head like she still can’t believe it. “I always knew he was powerful, but I never realized he could…” She drifts off.

“Kill everyone in the room without getting up from his seat?” I finish for her, lifting my lavender lemonade to take a sip. And he thinks I need to know how to kill him.

The normally sweet drink tastes bitter in my throat.

Maybe he slipped on the border, but he isn’t gone. One mistake does not equal losing your entire soul.

“Exactly.” She nods. “Have you always known that?”

“Yep.” I set my mug down. “Well, not always, but definitely after he busted into my room and killed Oren and the others during our first year.”

“What are we discussing?” Cat asks, setting a mug down on the table and taking the seat directly across from me. She shrugs out of her snow-covered jacket as Maren and Trager do the same.

“Riorson’s ability to wipe out…well…everyone,” Ridoc answers, taking his coat off Maren’s seat as Sawyer moves his crutches to lean them against the wall behind him.

“Ah.” Maren settles in next to Cat and looks her way. “That’s…kind of new, right?”

Cat stares down into her mug. “He wasn’t as powerful when we—” She cuts herself off and takes a drink.

“Our signets can grow,” I say to fill the awkward silence. “We spend our lives honing them and figuring out our limits. A third-year is way more powerful than a first, just like a colonel can wipe the floor magically with a lieutenant.”

“And he never scares you.” Cat stares at me over the table. “That’s what you said yesterday. He never scares you.”

“I get scared for him, but I haven’t been scared of him since Threshing.” I run my finger along the top of my mug.

“Because your lives are connected.” She tilts her head, like she’s trying to understand.

“Because he’d never hurt me.” I take another drink. “He had his reasons for wanting me dead, and instead taught me how to strike a death blow on the mat—and that was way before Threshing.”

“Speaking of signets, I’m starting to worry.” Rhi quickly changes the subject. “Sloane is a siphon. Avalynn began wielding fire last week, and Baylor has manifested farsight.”

Like Liam.

“But Lynx and Aaric haven’t manifested yet, and the clock is ticking,” Rhi finishes.

“What happens if they don’t manifest on your timeline?” Trager asks.

“The magic builds up and we kind of…explode.” Ridoc makes the correlating motion with his hands. “But it’s the end of January. We have months before it gets dangerous. Vi didn’t manifest until what? May?” Ridoc asks me.

I blink, remembering the first time Xaden kissed me against the foundation walls. “It was actually December. I just didn’t realize it.”

“That doesn’t comfort me,” Rhi says, frowning over her mug. “The last thing we need is Lynx or Aaric exploding on us.”

My chest tightens.

“Remind me not to stand next to either of them in formation,” Cat drawls.

“Better than one of them manifesting as an inntinnsic,” Ridoc mutters. “Could you imagine executing—”

“No,” Rhi snaps, then shudders. “I can’t. And neither should you.” She glances at Maren. “So. How was temple?”

“Our offerings were received,” Maren answers with an easy smile. “I believe Amari will watch over my brothers in Aretia. I really can’t thank your family enough for taking them in, Rhi.”

“Are you kidding me?” Rhi waves her off. “My mother loves kids, and my dad is thrilled to have two little boys running around the house. I’m really sorry that they couldn’t stay here with you, though.”

Maren drops her gaze. “Me too, but Basgiath isn’t exactly friendly for raising kids.”

Cat rubs her shoulder.

“Your temples to Malek and Dunne are disproportionately large compared to the other gods’ here,” Trager notes, leaning back in his chair. “Except Amari, of course.”

“It’s a regional thing,” Sawyer answers, pushing up on the arms of his chair and readjusting his weight. He seems more comfortable wearing the new wood-and-metal prosthesis he’s been working on but hasn’t been up for discussing it, so we haven’t pushed. “This close to Basgiath, war and death are on most minds.”

“So true,” Ridoc agrees.

“Your scribes don’t pray to Hedeon for wisdom?” Trager asks me, leaving his ale untouched long enough for Cat to reach over and steal it with a sly smile.

“Knowledge and wisdom are two different things,” I answer. “Scribes are careful not to ask for what should be earned.”

“So you weren’t a frequent patron when studying to enter that quadrant?” He scoots his chair in when some drunk cadets try to squeeze past behind him and side-eyes Cat for stealing his drink, but there’s a tilt to his lips.

“My mother was never temple-minded, which is odd, considering you’d think she’d favor Dunne. And I preferred to spend what worship time I had in Amari’s temple.” I glance down at my nearly empty mug. “And then once my father died, I frequented Malek’s, though I probably spent more time yelling at him than praising.”

“I personally prefer Zihnal,” Ridoc adds. “You can get through any situation with luck.”

“And ours must have run out, because here comes the wingleader,” Rhi notes with a quick glance my way.

The fliers look over their shoulders, and we all quiet as Dain waits for a group of cadets to walk by before reaching the corner of our table.

“Vi.” He still has that flat, tortured look in his eyes, and I hate that I can’t take it away.

“Dain?” My hands tighten on my mug. I’d rather he be a dick again, even obnoxious in his certainty, over this hollow version of himself.

“Can I talk to you?” His attention sweeps over the others at the table. “Alone?”

“All right.” I push away from the table, leaving behind my lemonade, and follow Dain into the dim, deserted hallway that leads to the pub’s private rooms. My stomach clenches as he pivots to face me.

“I’ve spent the last few days reconning the security on Dad’s quarters, and there’s no way to sneak other people in without getting caught.” He slides his hands into the pockets of his flight jacket.

My heart sinks. “You won’t help me.”

“I told you I would, and I will.” His mouth tightens. “It’s just going to require you to trust me enough to let me retrieve the research and bring it out myself. Preferably tomorrow night, since my father will be gone.”

Shit. All he’d have to do is hand that research over to his father and Dain would be back in his good graces. My only assurance that wouldn’t happen had been going with him. The history between us, both good and bad, thickens the air.

“It’s up to you,” he says with a hint of a shrug. “Either you trust me or you don’t.”

“It’s not just that,” I rush. There are so many ways this could go wrong. “If they catch you with it, or the cadets who constantly follow Xaden and me spot you handing something over secretively—”

“I’ve got that figured out,” he interrupts like I’ve insulted him. “What’s your choice?”

I weigh the pros and cons in less than a heartbeat, then sigh. “There’s a secret compartment under my father’s desk in the study. The latch is in the far back of the center drawer of my mother’s.”

He nods. “You’ll have it by Monday morning.”

For better or worse, my fate rests in the hands of Dain Aetos.