Total pages in book: 295
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
“You should be—” I start signing to Jesinia, then drop my hands when I realize there’s nowhere safe for her to be.
She grasps my elbow with her free hand and pulls me into the archway, under the portcullis. Leaving the journal within the robes, she pulls her other hand free to sign. “I think I found the difference between the two, but I think Lyra’s journal is the lie.”
“What did you find?” I sign, keeping my back turned toward Melgren and raising my shields, blocking everyone out, even Tairn and Andarna.
“I think it’s a seven.” She lifts her brows at me. “But it can’t be.”
“I don’t understand.” I shake my head. “Seven what?”
“That’s the only difference between the two journals. I thought at first maybe it meant runes, that we’d mistranslated that part, since there are seven runes on the wardstone in Aretia,” she signs, two lines furrowing in her forehead. “But I’ve checked and double-checked.”
“Show me.”
She nods, then pulls Lyra’s journal free and flips to the middle, tapping a symbol in the middle of the page and handing it to me, freeing her hands. “That symbol there, it’s a seven. But Warrick’s says six, remember.”
My heart sinks, and I nod slowly.
She has to be wrong.
“This reads, ‘The breath of life of the seven combined and set the stone ablaze in an iron flame.’”
Shoulders drooping, I sigh. Seven dragons is impossible. There are only six dens: black, blue, green, orange, brown, and red.
I hand her the journal. “Then maybe it’s not a seven. Maybe you mistranslated?”
She shakes her head, flipping to the very first page of the journal, then gives it back. “Here.” She taps the symbols, then lifts her hands. “‘Here is recorded the story of Lyra of the First Six.’” She taps the six, then turns the pages to the previous spot in the middle. “Seven.”
My lips part. Shit. Shit. Shit.
“They’re close,” she signs. “But that’s a seven. And there are seven circles on the wardstone in Aretia. Seven runes. Seven,” she repeats that last word, as if I could have possibly misunderstood.
Seven. Thoughts spin in my head too quickly to grab ahold of just one. “This journal has to be…wrong,” she signs when I remain silent.
I close the book and hand it to her. “Thank you. You should go to the infirmary. Sawyer is there, and if we—”
She shoves the journal into her robes and begins signing before I finish. “Why is Sawyer in the infirmary?” Her eyes fly wide.
“A wyvern took his leg.”
She inhales swiftly.
“Go. If we evacuate the wounded, Maren said she’d watch over him, so if we evacuate, that’s the safest place for you to be. She’ll get you both out.”
Jesinia nods. “Be safe.”
“You, too.”
She picks up her robes and sprints across the courtyard, cutting toward the southernmost door.
My head swims as I turn toward leadership gathered at the end of the archway and begin walking.
Could it mean a gryphon? Is that what it meant by six and the one? No. If a gryphon contributed to the wards, flier magic would work within the boundaries. But there aren’t seven breeds of dragon—
I stumble, catching myself with a hand along the stone wall, while my brain trips down the path that makes the only sense. Even if that path is ludicrous.
But…
Holy shit.
I immediately shut the thoughts down before anyone connected to me can break through my shields and catch me thinking them.
“Absolutely not,” Xaden snaps at Melgren, who stands between two of his aides.
I put myself in the middle of my mother and Xaden.
“You think cadets will be able to defend all this?” Colonel Panchek gesticulates wildly at the air as a Green Clubtail—
My heart seizes as Teine takes down the last remaining wyvern in their sector. The gray carcass tumbles from the sky and lands somewhere to the northeast, behind the line of dragons.
“What are you doing here?” Mom asks me as my gaze drifts upward to the line of wyvern hovering in the distance. Up until now, we’ve been wounded, but they’re undeniably the kill shot, and in the center of their line rests a gaping hole, as if they’re waiting for someone.
“She’s never far from him,” Melgren quips.
Those wyvern are waiting just like the dark wielder implied, and my stomach churns at the thought of who they’re waiting for.
“We’re not taking Tairn and Sgaeyl to defend the Vale,” Xaden announces, folding his arms over his chest. “They already have First and Second Wings, plus every unbonded dragon.”
Sgaeyl and Tairn land to the right, near the tower that leads to Parapet, and all I can do is hope Andarna isn’t hiding over there with them, since I don’t dare lower my shields to check. For the first time, I’m the one holding what might be the ultimate secret.
“You’re the reason I can’t plan effectively,” General Melgren snaps at Xaden. “You’re the reason I didn’t even see this battle occurring.” He tries to look down his hawkish nose at Xaden, but he’s at least an inch shorter.