A War Of Wyverns Quotes

Translation translates, but does not necessarily preserve.

The war in the heavens did not relent. Jets sent rockets into wyverns. Wyverns responded with bolts of electricity that ripped metal into flaming debris. Valkyries did battle with choppers and gryphons. And the catastrophic magics of the maddest of mages did not relent across the sky.

It’s not just her. My brother, my husband, my friends who have become my family. Wyverns, wild beasts who only understand the barest meaning of the war. Warriors who deserve to see old age with their loved ones, raise children…” “This is why you are a good king,” Larianna said gently. “Come dawn, you shall give a speech, then you will send them into battle. Even as they start to die, you shall still be a good king because you know the worth of their lives…and their deaths.

There is not a single part of you or your body that I do not find exquisite. Not a single thing that I wouldn’t happily drown in. I have kissed every inch of your body before, and I will do it again. Over and over for the remainder of my existence. Because you are mine. Those scars are nothing but a reminder of how strong you are. How resilient and powerful you have become. Regardless of the outcome of this war, you are my queen. From now until my dying breath.

I shook off a sudden longing to be one of their number, and not only for the chance to be close to the bright-haired, fearless Omega. These would make worthy war-brothers.

Hold your fire!” Rowan bellowed from half a dozen ships away, at the archers who had trained their few remaining arrows on the golden-haired witch closest to Abraxos, her pale-blue wyvern shrieking a war cry.

Because that’s what we’re offering. The luminary is useless here, but we’ll put it to use supplying your drifts with the weapons they need for the venin you can’t capture.” Hopefully the details of how they managed to catch that one are in the book. “Weapons are a good start,” Tecarus agrees with a nod, his gaze sliding to Cat. “And you take the hundred flier cadets I’ve given shelter to after their academy was destroyed back to Aretia with the luminary.” I’m sorry…what the fuck? “And what would you like us to do with your cadets?” Xaden asks, tilting his head slightly. “Gryphons don’t fare well at altitude.” “They’ve never been given the chance to adjust,” Tecarus argues. “And I want you to educate them just as I assume you are doing with the rider cadets. Keep them safe, teach them to work together, and we might have a chance of surviving this war. We’ve seen riderless wyvern patrolling the skies, no doubt reporting what they see instantly to their creators, in the last few weeks. Our reports say they’ve ventured as far west as Draithus. It won’t help the fliers to stay safe here in the south—not when they want to fight. And who better to teach the fliers how to kill wyvern than dragon riders?” Train with gryphon fliers? Take Cat back to Aretia? I would rather face down a dozen venin. Unarmed. Without Tairn or Andarna. “There’s no way to fly them into Tyrrendor,” Mira points out. A muscle in Xaden’s jaw flexes. “There is. But there’s no guarantee they’ll survive it.” “We’ll take the chance,” Syrena answers. “It’s the cadets’ best shot at living long enough to fight the dark wielders.” “This is my offer. Take it or leave it,” Tecarus demands. There’s no way— “Done,” Brennan answers. “As long as each flier we take brings a crossbolt with them.” I’m going to throttle my brother.

The knight of the plumes reached for his comrade’s hand, and slipped off the wyvern’s back with the grace of a tray of silverware dropped onto a tile floor. Silence, eventually, followed. The knight of the plumes found his feet on the third try. They were somewhere north of his head, which had been the earlier trouble. “Unaccustomed orientation,” said the knight of the plumes. “Deuced inconvenient. Should have a word with someone. Who, do you think, would be the relevant authority, Sir Geoffrey?” “Gravity, milord.” “The trouble with your universal whatsits,” began the knight of the plumes— “Constants, milord.” “—is that they are a challenge to remonstrate withal. Given the lack of local habitation and et cetera.

Second languages, dialects, slang . . . they come naturally to those who inhabit the poorest corners of society, where people take care of each other, where community is made by talking and cultural melting pots give birth to new words in the wink of an eye. The Third Class—discarded by the Empire because they are not educated, wealthy, or white—are linguists in their own right.

You don’t know who you are without the labels other people give you.

She blinks. “I’m still hoping that missive at Athebyne was really about the War Games. Do you think there’s any chance we just happened to end up in the middle of a wyvern attack at that outpost?” “That definitely wasn’t an accident