“You are all those things, too.” I wobble under the strain of wielding but keep my balance, keep the power flowing into the stone. “You didn’t have to hide. You could have told me.”
“If you didn’t figure it out, you weren’t worthy of knowing.” She huffs. “I waited six hundred and fifty years to hatch. Waited until your eighteenth summer, when I heard our elders talk of the weakling daughter of their general, the girl forecasted to become the head of the scribes, and I knew. You would have the mind of a scribe and the heart of a rider. You would be mine.” She leans into my hand. “You are as unique as I am. We want the same things.”
“You couldn’t have known I would be a rider.”
“And yet, here we are.”
A thousand questions go through my head, none of which we have the time for, so I give her exactly what I wanted—to be seen for who and what she is. “You are not a black dragon, or any of the six that we know of. You’re a seventh breed.”
“Yes.” Her eyes widen in excitement.
I suck in a quick, steadying breath. “I want you to tell me everything, but our friends are dying, so I need to ask if you are willing to breathe fire for the stone.” Sweat pops on my forehead as my temperature rises, and yet I pull more and more power, my arm trembling with the effort to keep it leashed, keep it trickling instead of striking.
“It is why I was left behind.” She cocks her head to the other side. “At least from what I remember. It has been centuries.”
“Nice to see you, Cam. Your father’s been looking for you.” I hear Mom’s voice from the other side of the stone.
“I’m a bonded rider. There’s nothing he can—”
“Don’t really care. It holds power?”
Mom? What the hell could she be doing here? She should be on the battlefield. “Fly,” I order Andarna, my voice weakening. “I don’t trust her to see you.”
“It holds power,” Brennan replies.
Andarna hesitates, then launches, flying for the top of the chamber. My fingers scrape across the stone as I slowly make my way around the side.
“You are pushing the limits,” Tairn warns, distress tightening his tone.
“I have no choice.” Taking a few staggered steps, I reach for Xaden lightly, not to distract but just to feel— His shields are up, blocking me completely out.
“He fights,” Tairn says, and my vision darkens momentarily before clearing again…with a view of the battlefield. I’m seeing through his eyes just like I had Andarna’s last year.
A swath of gray blocks out the world a second before the sky appears again, red flowing against the clouds in a stream, and then Tairn glances beneath him, watching the wyvern fall with a burst of satisfaction before he scans the ground, spotting Xaden near the edge of the ravine.
My heart beats erratically as I watch the Sage easily block each of Xaden’s shadows with blasts of blue daggers of fire, then stops completely when the dappled sunlight catches on two blades imbedded in the ground behind the staff-wielding venin.
Xaden must have thrown his daggers and missed. I know he carries a third, but will he get to use it? Because the Sage isn’t losing territory. He’s gaining on Xaden, coming closer step by step, backing Xaden against the edge of the ravine.
Green fire streams from overhead, and Tairn jerks his attention upward to Sgaeyl and the three wyvern moving in to attack, one blasting cherry-red fire. Oh gods, there are even more breeds than we know about. Terror floods the pathway, and my vision darkens again, my ears ringing as if I’ve just been hit.
I blink and breathe deeply, forcing air through my throat as it constricts, and the chamber comes back into view. Stumbling one step, then another and another, I drag my hand along the slowly warming stone as I turn the corner to the front of the wardstone chamber, catching sight of Mom, Brennan, and Aaric in the middle of a conversation I can’t hear over the ringing in my ears.
The power not only burns but scorches my veins, my muscles, my very bones.
“You’re burning out,” Andarna warns, her voice pitching high with worry.
The next breath I take singes my lungs.
“Silver One!” Tairn roars.
The wards have to go up. “You both have to live. Promise me you’ll choose to live.”
Because I’m starting to realize the price of imbuing this wardstone in time to save everyone I love, and it’s my life. My power feels so insignificant to a stone this size. It would take all of Tairn’s power—his very life—and I won’t give that. But I can give enough that the riders who make it can finish the job.
I fall to my knees, but I don’t lose contact. I pour and pour, opening my Archives door and taking on the full force of Tairn’s power, shaking with the effort to keep it controlled, focused, constructive instead of violent.
“Violet?” Brennan’s voice sounds from far away.
Heat surges through me in waves as I push power into the stone, and my world narrows to pain, heat, and my racing heartbeat.
“Violet!” Mom rushes to me, her eyes wide with fear as she reaches for my free hand, then gasps, drawing back a red, blistered palm.
The ground rises toward my face, and I throw that hand out to catch myself against the stone floor and keep channeling. So what if my skin sizzles, my fingers redden, my muscles give out, and I surrender to the fire? Nothing matters beyond imbuing this stone, raising the wards that will save my friends, my siblings, Xaden.
“What’s your signet?” Mom shouts, but I lack the strength to lift my head.
“You can’t do this,” Andarna argues in a shriek.
“You have your purpose.” Even my mental voice is a whisper. “Maybe this is mine.”
“Hasn’t manifested,” Aaric answers in a panic.
“What about the others out there?” Mom’s voice rises.
He starts to answer the ones he knows of, and I tune him out to stay focused on control, on lasting long enough to be the most use.
Brennan hits the ground to my left, crouching a few feet away, his lips moving, but I close my eyes and reach for more of the power that’s slowly killing me.
“You will cease!” Tairn orders.
“I’m so sorry.” The muscles in my arm lock from exhaustion. Finally. Now I won’t have to hold it in place. I’m entering the final stages of burnout, just like I had on top of the mountain with Varrish. “You shouldn’t have to lose two riders this way.”
Forcing my eyes open, I stare at the pattern of rock beneath my fingers, and I get it. I finally understand why someone would turn to stealing magic. All of the power in the world is beneath my fingertips, and if I channel, if I take from the earth instead of from Tairn, I’ll have enough power to save—
“You must save yourself,” Tairn demands. “I chose you not as my next, but as my last, and should you fall, then I will follow.”
“No.” Steam rises from my skin.
“Let go,” Andarna pleads, and the rush of air in the chamber paired with the slight tremble of the ground tells me she’s landed.
“I won’t do it!” Sloane’s shout echoes off the walls and breaks through the haze.
Inch by painful inch, I force myself to raise my head, just in time to see Brennan’s eyes widen and Mom’s boot rising toward my shoulder. She makes impact softly, and before I can open my mouth, she kicks with her full strength, sending me sprawling across the chamber floor and breaking my hold on the wardstone.
Power flies into the air with the crack of lightning as I hit my back, and a scream tears from my throat, the sound echoed by Brennan as his face fills my vision and he grasps my hand. Cool relief streaks up my arm, the burn fading, my muscles mending from the strain and releasing.
If I don’t cut the power, he’ll die. He can’t mend me that fast over and over, and the next wave of heat pushes forward—
I shove the Archives door closed with the last of my mental strength, and the power cuts off. The relief from Tairn and Andarna is instant, but all I taste is the sour bite of defeat as I lie there, my brother kneeling next to me as he mends the body I’ve been so reckless with.