The art of imbuing comes naturally to only a handful of signets, and automatically only to one: the siphon.
—A STUDY ON SIGNETS BY MAJOR DALTON SISNEROS
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Forty minutes later, the four of us are hiking down a steep, snow-covered ridgeline to a cave only accessible by foot in the sector our group has been assigned to, and Lucky Me is in the lead, which leaves Cat at my back.
At least Andarna’s there to protect it should the flier get any stabby ideas about how to get me out of Xaden’s bed.
“This is not what I had in mind when I said I wanted to fly with you.” Andarna huffs at the powdery snow, scattering a portion in a shimmering cloud of frozen misery.
“This is what the mission called for, and you need your strength to fly back,” I tell her, trudging forward through the knee-high layer of fresh hell and hoping I don’t fall through into any older strata.
The only one who isn’t struggling is Kiralair, Cat’s silver-winged gryphon, who walks at Andarna’s side. Only those two are light enough not to cause an avalanche on the nonexistent path.
“Anything?” Tairn asks as he flies to the next peak, his voice tense.
“We haven’t even made it to the cave you selected,” I respond, spotting the mouth of the cave about twenty yards ahead only because Tairn pointed it out under the camouflage of the snowy outcropping above. The riot left us at the only fully stable section of terrain, an outcropping of rock left bare by the vicious wind.
“I still find this plan lacking,” he lectures. “Leaving you on one peak to explore another for a possible energy signature leaves you in unacceptable danger.”
“From whom?” I tug my fur-lined hood closer to ward off the wind when it shifts, stinging the tips of my exposed ears. “Do you really think any wyvern could—”
“I’m coming back.”
“It’s entirely too easy to rile you.” I laugh, and the sound echoes off the snow-covered bowl, making us all take pause.
“For fuck’s sake, Sorrengail,” Cat hisses once it’s clear the snow around us is staying put. “Are you trying to get us buried in an avalanche?”
“Sorry,” I whisper over my shoulder.
Her eyes widen. “Did you just apologize to me?”
“I can admit when I’m wrong.” I shrug and continue forward.
“I’m fully present and capable of protecting her,” Andarna snipes at Tairn.
“You do not yet breathe fire.”
“Fire would only serve to melt the mountain,” she reminds him, and I glance back to see her carefully picking her path, her scales reflecting the snow in an almost silvery sheen in places. “I still wield teeth and claw should the aristocrat bare her vitriol.”
“Are you insinuating that I don’t?” Cat asks.
“Do you even think you’re wrong? Ever?” I ask, pushing forward. “I honestly think you might be worse than a dragon when it comes to confidence.”
“Arrogance,” Andarna corrects me. “The flier doesn’t have the skills to back up a word like ‘confidence.’”
I snort, but bite back the laugh before it can endanger us. Ten more feet and we’ll be at the cave. If Tairn locates a second while we’re retrieving the first, we’ll be ahead of Claw Section, who has already found three to our section’s two, according to Tairn.
Dragons are nothing if not competitive.
“What?” Cat asks.
“Andarna thinks you’re arrogant, not confident,” I tell her.
“She is,” Sloane agrees.
“Just because your brother didn’t like me doesn’t mean you know me,” Cat whispers at Sloane.
“No.” I turn to face Cat, making her pause in the footsteps I’ve carved in the ridgeline. “You want to pick a fight? You come at me.”
Cat cocks her head to the side and studies me. “Because you feel guilty for her brother’s death.” It’s not an accusation or even a dig. Just the truth.
“Because I promised him I’d take care of her. So, you can aim all that hatred right here.” I tap my gloved hand to my chest.
“He was wrong to ask that of you.” Sloane catches up, Visia close behind.
“Because Imogen would have been a more capable protector?” I ask, only able to hold her too familiar blue gaze for a heartbeat before looking away.
“No. Because you already carry the weight of protecting Xaden’s life. It was unfair of him to burden you with mine, too.” She huffs a breath into her cupped, gloved hands to warm them.
I blink as my eyes sting from something other than the wind, then turn to continue trudging through the snow toward the cave, whose entrance is nothing but a narrow, icy ledge. “It looks bigger than we thought from the air.” But still not wide enough for any dragon bigger than Andarna to squeeze into.
“There was a time my kind dwelled in every mountain of this range,” Tairn tells me. “That cave is undoubtedly part of the network of chambers that runs throughout this range for a wintering den. This entrance would have been inhospitable to any approach but direct flight—to protect the young…and the adolescent.”
“I heard that,” Andarna quips.
“Kiralair says our squad has another box in hand,” Cat tells us as I finally reach the cave’s entrance, stepping out of the wind.
“We’re so winning that pass.” Visia grins, and Cat walks out of the snow and onto the rocky floor of the cave.
“Does every gryphon have lair in their name?” I ask Cat, hoping the subject change might change the aim of her sharp tongue from Sloane.
“Of course not. Is every rider named Sorrengail?” She folds her arms and bounces back on her heels like she’s trying to stay warm.
“That right there is why I don’t like you.” Sloane crosses into the cave. “You’re—”
Visia slips and I lunge forward, catching her hand and tugging her into the cave as snow crumbles where she’d just been standing.
“You all right?” I ask, pulling her farther into the cave and scanning her startled face.
“Of course she is. You never seem to have a problem saving her,” Cat mutters.
“I’m fine.” Visia nods, dropping her hood and revealing the dragonfire burn scar down her hairline. “That’s going to make it hard to leave.”
I shoot Cat a withering look, but she’s too busy watching her gryphon, Kira, stretch across the hole in the path, then safely squirm her way in to notice.
“Reason number two.” Sloane holds up two fingers and walks past Cat into the dark cave. “Needless to say, there are no mage lights in here.”
And I’ve never been that good at producing them. Anything I wield with lesser magic is going to be swallowed up in this darkness. I rest my hand over my stomach as if that will help the instant rise of nausea from the smell of earth around us. At least it’s missing that damp scent from the interrogation chamber, but it’s close enough to make me pause.
“You ended the one who kept you prisoner,” Andarna reminds me, following Kira in, tucking her wings tight to fit through the opening.
“Fear isn’t always logical.” I glance at the other riders. “Any chance either of you is a fire wielder? Because I don’t think you want me wielding in here.” Keeping the energy strung between my hand and the conduit for fifteen feet puts me into a sweat every time, and I can only keep it going for a few seconds.,
“No signet yet,” Visia responds.
“Me, either,” Sloane answers, peering into the darkness.
“You brought a dragon.” Cat gestures wide, motioning toward Andarna.
“She can’t breathe fire yet.” I offer Andarna a smile. “But she will.”
“Remind her that I can sever her head with one bite,” Andarna growls, the sound higher than Tairn’s menacing rumble.
“I will not. What does Tairn tell us?”
“We don’t eat our allies,” she mumbles, but there’s a distinct tap of her talons against the rock floor.