Onyx Storm: Chapter 52

Dedicating oneself to temple work isn’t just a noble pursuit. Becoming high priest or priestess is the closest most of us will get to touching the power of the gods. The rest are riders.

—Major Rorilee’s Guide to Appeasing the Gods, Second Edition “

airn!” I scream, and my mouth floods with the bitterness of newfound terror.

“No!” Andarna yells.

We skid to a halt in the prairie grass, and I lift my head just in time to see Feirge fly after Theophanie’s wyvern, who’s taken to the sky. Dunne, no. As strong as Rhi is, even the two of us together aren’t a match for a Maven. And we aren’t together.

“Andarna! Tell Feirge not to chase!” Bone crunches beneath Tairn, and I draw a breath of pure fire. “Are you all right?” I ask him, fumbling the buckle at my waist so I can see how badly he’s hurt. Heat sears my lungs, and I reach for power in preparation to fight Theophanie. There’s no way she’s going to leave this field without getting what she came for, which I suspect is me. She’ll be back.

“Cut it off!” Tairn demands, and something else snaps beneath him. “You’ll burn out!”

“But Theophanie—”

Ice pierces through my shields like they aren’t even there. “Violet!”

Not ice. Xaden.

“I’m fine. Stay in control and don’t get distracted. Theophanie is here.” I slam the Archives door shut in my mind and breathe in the cold night air, extinguishing the flames licking the inside of my lungs. It was too much, too fast, but I’m not burned out, just a little singed.

“Get Tairn back to the wards as soon as you can.” The ice slides away.

“On it.”

“That wasn’t fine,” Tairn snarls and walks off the corpse of the wyvern, favoring his left hind leg.

“Says the one who’s wounded!” I counter as Feirge flies back toward us. “How serious is it?” Thunder booms to the east, and it’s not mine.

Oh shit, the storm. That’s how they got this far undetected.

“Its wingspur broke off in my leg. I will live. It does not.” He swivels his head toward Andarna and stalks her way, limping slightly. “Your inability to follow simple orders will get her killed, and I will not lose her as I did the one who came before!”

“I’m fine!” My temperature lowers with every breath, and high, intricately carved marble pillars come into view. “I didn’t burn out. I wasn’t even as close as I was the day—” The words die as Tairn stops, then lowers his head, clearing my field of vision.

Andarna stands in front of the steps of Dunne’s temple, flanked by a half dozen sword-brandishing attendants who look between us as if they’re not sure who to be more wary of—the reckless dragon beside them, the massive one in front of them, or the snarling Green Daggertail arriving to my left.

“What could you possibly be doing here?” I shout at Andarna, finally ripping my buckle free. I have to get that wingspur out of Tairn’s leg before Theophanie returns.

“The prince said to protect Dunne’s temple!” she argues, flicking her tail and knocking over a vat of burning coals that hiss as they hit the wet marble. The embers narrowly miss the twenty-foot-tall statue of the goddess, which looks almost exactly like the one in Unnbriel.

“Aaric said that to me,” I counter, moving to Tairn’s shoulder, but he doesn’t lower it. “Not you. And I denied his suggestion!”

“How are you angry? Princes do not make suggestions, and I am an extension of you.” Andarna marches forward, lowering her head in threat. “Am I not everything you wanted me to be? Am I not as fierce and courageous as he is? Is this not what I am supposed to do? Sharpen my claws on the scales of the enemy?”

The wind picks up, and something in my chest cracks.

“Your tantrum is ill-timed, Golden One,” Tairn growls.

“Do not call me a child.” Andarna’s scales shimmer but remain black.

“Do not act like one!” he snarls.

“What was that all about?” Rhiannon shouts from Feirge’s back. “We could have caught them!”

And died. “That was Theophanie,” I call back.

“And?” Rhi throws her arms up.

“And I couldn’t fly with you—Tairn’s wounded,” I reply. Does she have a death wish? “Let me down so I can get that thing out of your leg. Or I’ll just jump.” Tairn dips his shoulder with a grumble, and I dismount a few feet in front of Andarna. “I don’t need you to be anything but who you are.” I yank my flight goggles to the top of my head and look straight into her golden eyes. “Clearly we need to have a conversation when we’re not in the middle of a battlefield. You always say that you chose me, but I stood in front of you on that Threshing field. And I would do it again.”

She huffs a breath and we head for Tairn’s hind leg, keeping one eye on the sky.

I will never understand what goes on in an adolescent brain.

My stomach lurches as the wound comes into view. Holy shit, the wingspur is easily half my size and embedded in his thigh. There’s no way he can launch with it in, and even out, the wound might cause too much pain. Moonlight catches on his blood as it drips down his scales. How in Dunne’s name am I supposed to get that thing out? “I’m so sorry.”

“It looks worse than it is. Merely the tip is embedded.”

“How much pain are you in?”

“Mentally or physically?” he growls.

“Your sarcasm is ill-timed.” I reach to the full extent of my height but can’t come close to the wingspur.

“Where is he hurt?” Rhiannon asks, jogging over. Mercifully, she looks unharmed.

“There.” I point up at his thigh, and she gasps. “You should get back to the others. We’re vulnerable out here.”

“I’m not leaving. You don’t always have to do everything on your own.” She backs up a handful of steps and lifts her arms.

“Sometimes, I do,” I counter.

She shakes her head. “We can handle this.”

“Are you really—” I start, my eyebrows rising as she tenses.

A moment later, Tairn roars, and I flinch.

The wingspur appears in front of Rhiannon.

My mouth drops as she shoves it away, and the hooked piece of claw topples to the ground. “How did you just do that?”

“I practice.” Rhiannon grins and drags the back of her hand across her forehead, wiping away a sheen of sweat. “Though it’s the biggest thing I’ve ever retrieved.”

“Thank you.” I grab her into a quick hug, then look up at Tairn’s wound. “I can’t see much in the dark. We need to get you back to the valley.”

His head swivels toward us, and Feirge turns, too. “It is too late for that. We have minutes.”

Wingbeats fill the air, and I spot three wyvern on approach, a blur of more in the distance.

Rhiannon and I lock eyes for one telling second, and then we both run. She sprints toward Feirge, and I bolt underneath Tairn, racing toward his foreleg.

“Fly back, now!” I order Andarna.

“They’d be defenseless,” she argues, and my heart drops when I emerge under Tairn’s chest.

Dozens of white-haired temple attendants and their high priestess wait at the top of the steps behind Andarna, their attention focused on the night sky. “Get inside!” I shout. Some shelter is better than no shelter, right?

“So we can burn inside?” the high priestess asks, her voice eerily calm as the wingbeats grow louder.

Shit. There’s no time to argue, and I can’t abandon them. Andarna’s right—if we take to the skies, we leave them defenseless, and Tairn is already wounded.

But I don’t need to be mounted to wield.

“Tell Feirge to go,” I say down the bond, then run up the rain-slick marble steps for a higher vantage point, palming the conduit. “I’d ask you to go with her, but I know better.”

“And yet you still mentioned it.” Tairn slowly turns to face the incoming wyvern with Andarna and lifts his tail high. “Be warned. Should Theophanie appear, I will choose your life over the attendants’.”

Should Theophanie appear, we’re all fucked. If any venin report to the others that they’ve gotten this close to Aretia’s gates without being halted by wards, they’ll skip over the undrained territory of Krovla and come for our hatching ground.

We can’t afford to let a single wyvern escape.

“Will you at least consider taking cover?” I ask the high priestess when I reach the landing.

“We will not.” Her gaze assesses me in two seconds, then lingers on the silver half of my braid. “Do you use lye and the juice of the Manwasa flower on your hair as we do?”

My eyebrows hit my hairline. Does she realize how much danger we’re in? Now can’t be the right time to have this conversation. “It just grows like this.”

“Does it?” Her tattooed forehead crinkles. “You have journeyed far to come to our aid.” The priestess draws the shortsword sheathed at her hip. “Either Dunne protects us, or we meet Malek as her worthy servants.”

“Dunne isn’t going to appear and take up arms,” I argue, even though I know it’s pointless, then turn to stand at her side. Tairn has prowled to the left, giving me a clear view of the three approaching wyvern, while Feirge stands ready to fly to the right of the steps.

“Of course not.” The priestess scoffs, and the wind picks up. “She sent you.”

“Well, she’s never been revered for her judgment.” I add temple attendants to the growing list of thought processes I’ll never comprehend, and open my Archives door just enough to test. Power fills my veins like hot water poured over a sunburn, and I breathe in slowly, accepting the pain and setting my new baseline. “Why hasn’t Feirge launched?”

“The squad leader will not leave you,” Andarna replies.

Damn it. I lift my right hand—

“Let’s not do that,” a familiar voice says from my left.

My head snaps in that direction, and dread anchors my feet to the temple floor. I unsheathe both my daggers.

Theophanie.

Tairn’s head swivels, his growl rattling what’s left of the spilled coals, and attendants gasp all around us.

“Launch before she drains you,” I beg Tairn and Andarna, but true to their nature, they stay put.

“Lift a blade or a hand to wield, and I’ll kill you all. Come with me, and I’ll let the rest live,” Theophanie says from the base of the steps, her dark-purple tunic contrasting the pallor of her skin. The red veins beside her eyes pulse in time with a heartbeat as she offers a weary smile that’s all the more unsettling for its exhausted satisfaction. She cocks her head to the side. “Let’s not fight, Violet. Doesn’t all this violence tire you? Come with me. I’ll give you what you want most.”

“You have no idea what I want most.” My stomach curdles, and the high priestess sidesteps me.

“Heretic! You are not welcome here,” she shouts, her voice breaking with a rasp.

Heretic? My gaze darts between the two women as my mind races in time with my heartbeat. The faded forehead tattoo. Theophanie was a priestess of Dunne. Her silver hair matches the attendants’ on Unnbriel…matches mine—

My thoughts stall as the white-haired priestess raises her sword toward Theophanie with a trembling arm.

Oh shit. Power floods my body in a scalding rush of fire. There are too many people around for me to miss, and if she drains this close—

“Perhaps I am not welcome,” Theophanie muses, her feet planted in the grass, “but they are.”

Two more venin, men wearing red robes, walk through the grass behind her, and Andarna leaps over Tairn’s tail, blasting a stream of fire Theophanie’s way. The scents of ash and sulfur fill the air, but when Andarna lands at the base of the steps to my right, Theophanie still stands untouched.

“Why?” Andarna shrieks.

“Marvelous,” Theophanie says with a smile. “Did that make you feel bet—” Theophanie’s gaze rises to the sky behind me, and she backs away, her eyes widening. “Leave them and go!” she shouts to the approaching dark wielders and breaks into a run toward them. “Now!”

All three grasp hands, and the one in the center takes a single step and vanishes.

Just like Garrick.

“Incoming!” Tairn roars, and my focus swings east.

There’s no time to ponder what in Malek’s name just frightened Theophanie so badly that she fled. The four wyvern still on approach descend in a wing formation, one taking point with the others closely following. And they’re headed straight for us.

I lift my right hand again. Gathering more energy feels like I’m picking up the glowing coals Andarna scattered with my bare hands, but they’ll be here in less than thirty seconds.

“Any time now, Silver One,” Andarna prompts, moving back to Tairn’s side and stalking forward as Feirge crouches, ready to take the fight to the sky.

If darkness has thrown off my depth perception, if they’re flying faster than I estimate, we’re all about to be cooked. I target the lead wyvern and send up a prayer to Dunne. Then I wield, releasing a blast of energy and flicking my finger downward. No holding on this time. I learned my lesson.

Magic washes over me, prickling my skin in a familiar wave, and lightning strikes the first wyvern. It drops from the sky in a ball of fire, but we can’t celebrate with three still—

What the fuck?

They’re no longer flying toward us; they’re falling. My heart beats wildly as they plummet like projectiles. The ground shudders as the one on the right hits about sixty feet ahead, its momentum driving it into the dirt.

“Prepare!” Tairn shouts, leaping at the one on the left. Pain shoots down the bond as he knocks it off course, and dirt flies to the left of the temple when it lands.

Leaving one that rivals Feirge’s size still falling.

It slams against the ground twenty feet in front of Andarna, then skids toward us with all the grace of a battering ram. And it’s not stopping.

“Go!” Tairn orders, and fear clenches my chest as Andarna holds her position.

“It’s too big for you!” I shout.

Feirge takes a single step and swings her head like a mace into Andarna’s side, heaving her out of the wyvern’s path just before it careens across the very ground she’d been standing on.

The wyvern barrels toward us, eyes sightless, teeth exposed.

“Move!” I grab the high priestess’s elbow and pull, dragging her out of the way as the carcass crashes toward the marble stairs. Screams erupt as attendants scatter, and the wyvern’s shoulders take out the bottom portion of the steps at the same moment its head crashes into the intricately carved central pillar.

Oh shit.

The column explodes on impact, and chunks of marble fly. Throwing up my hands, I push with all the lesser magic I’m capable of, but there’s no stopping the claw-size pieces of rock hurtling in every direction, including ours.

But then they do just that…stop.

The one a few feet from my face hangs in midair, its flame-inspired etched edges suspended by a single black band of shadow.

Xaden.

Relief weakens my knees, and the remnant of the destroyed pillar slowly lowers to the ground, settling with a thunk. All around us, attendants scurry out of the way as the other pieces descend gently.

My head swings right, past the remaining pillars and the high priestess, following the retreating shadows to their wielder.

Xaden climbs the only intact section of steps two at a time, lowering his right hand while blood drips from the sword in his left. There’s no trace of red in his eyes, just determination and quickly fading fear as he glances down my frame, looking for injuries.

I do the same to him, and my heart jolts at the blood streaking the side of his face.

“It isn’t mine,” he says a second before he pulls me against his chest. I drop my forehead, breathing deeply to steady my heartbeat, and he presses a hard kiss to the top of my head. “And it is always you.”

There’s no benefit to arguing given the circumstances. “How did you get here so quickly?”

“You let this happen to him?” Sgaeyl snaps.

I step out of Xaden’s arms and find Sgaeyl’s narrowed eyes and sharp teeth unsettlingly close. “I’m sorry—”

“She bears no responsibility,” Tairn argues. Sgaeyl’s head whips in his direction, and a thick wall of shields immediately blocks our connection. Cue fight.

“She refused to hold her position once she felt the wound,” Xaden replies, surveying the temple. “And I’m glad, or it looks like we’d both be dead. We were almost here when the wards went up.”

The wards? My eyebrows rise. That explains the ripple of magic, the wyvern falling from the sky, Theophanie’s fear. “But how?”

The sound of a slide whistle screeches through my head, and both Xaden and I pivot, putting our backs to the temple.

To the left of the wyvern’s body, behind Tairn and Sgaeyl, darkness transforms. Scales the color of night ripple into a shade that’s not quite black or purple, forming the dragon whose horns carry the same swirling pattern as Andarna’s.

“It seemed necessary to fire your wardstone,” Leothan says.

My stomach bottoms out.

The irids have come.