Chapter 3 Rhea
Rhea
The sound of Heratrix's wings thunders through my body, matching the steady rhythm of my heart.
Wind whips my hair as we soar above the clouds, higher than I've ever flown with Zephyros. I feel him following behind us, his presence familiar yet somehow distant.
I glance at Tahr beside me, his white hair dancing like silver flames against the sky. His fingers brush mine, sending a current through my skin.
For the first time in my life, fear doesn't grip my throat when I think about what's coming. Only certainty swirls in my chest, cool and bright as the wind power I command. Embernia has fought the Screechclaws for centuries, lost countless riders and dragons, wasted rivers of blood.
Beneath me, Heratrix rumbles, and her thoughts brush against mine.
—The war ends soon.
I smile and lean down to place my palm flat against her scales. The truth will hurt Vaylen. It already has. But when the Screechclaw war ends, when no more riders fall from the sky, he'll see I had no choice.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the memory of his face, the betrayal etched across his features when I mounted Heratrix with Tahr. The confusion in Phoebe's eyes. The horror on Dakar's face. It's not easy, but I can't let their pain weaken my resolve.
They'll understand eventually, I think, more to convince myself than anyone else.
The deception was necessary. King Craven had to be pacified, the impertinent idiot.
My sudden disappearance threatened his fragile ego, and then his paranoia led him to believe a coup was brewing.
He would have launched a full assault on Hearthdale, siccing the Sky Order on the Goddess.
And we couldn't have that, not as Heratrix was awakening and yet not ready to emerge.
I returned to play a role, to buy some time, to ensure the King didn't do anything catastrophically stupid while Heratrix recovered from her long slumber.
I nod to myself. I had to do it. Didn't I?
Closing my eyes, I inhale, feeling my certainty dim a little.
The burden of what I must do hurts now, but it always has.
All I can do is hope that when the war ends—when mothers stop losing children and our realm stops losing dragons and riders—maybe then Vaylen will forgive me.
Maybe then I'll forgive myself.
Beneath my palm, Heratrix's scales vibrate. Her thoughts brush against mine again, reassuring, validating.
Of course, I'm exactly where I need to be. Even if it breaks my heart. Yet, the plan seemed so much easier months ago. Didn't it? Didn't it?!
I frown. Where is all this doubt coming from all of a sudden?
A year ago, I was swept away by the enormity of Heratrix's purpose, by Tahr's flame-bright eyes and promises.
Distance dulled my memories of Vaylen—his touch, his scent, his rare smiles—and I convinced myself he would move on, even expected to find Eleonora wrapped around him, her long legs and battle-honed confidence finally winning what she wanted.
But dammit, I was wrong!
Instead, I found him wearing my absence like an open wound, clinging to the possibility that I would come back despite all his failed searches, looking at me like I was the wind beneath his dragon's wings.
And worse, I'd fallen for him all over again, harder this time.
I curl my fingers against Heratrix's scales, digging in until my nails ache. The pain grounds me, reminds me what's at stake. I can't let these doubts creep in.
"What troubles you, darling?" Tahr's voice slides over my skin.
I don't look up at him, can't let him see the unexpected conflict raging in my eyes. "Nothing."
Nothing except I… love two men? Nothing except I feel dirty and low and callous.
I shake my head and stand up straight on Heratrix's head, Tethered as we cut through the sky, my thoughts changing abruptly, my mind rebelling against all these thoughts.
This isn't about Vaylen or Tahr. This isn't about love or loyalty to a single person.
This is about something larger than all of us.
This is about destroying the Screechclaws, bringing peace to Embernia, and ensuring we don't remain under the rule of a paranoid, preening coward who calls himself king.
I've seen what King Craven is, a frightened child wearing a crown too heavy for his head, surrounding himself with sycophants who whisper poison in his ear.
His entire lineage has done nothing but prolong this war while dragons dwindle and riders die.
I didn't ask for any of this, but I'll be damned if I don't see it through to the end.
Power surges beneath my feet as Heratrix lifts her head toward Emberton. We are close, and I can't waiver.
Heratrix's massive body shifts beneath us as Tahr's Tethers pulse subtly, signaling her to descend. His Tethers are like mine, made of wind energy, though they shimmer strangely as the iridescent scales reflect off them.
He's a Skysinger and a Weaver like me, though others will likely assume he's more than that, considering the way Robert Silverin's daggers stopped in midair as they flew straight for the kill.
But it wasn't Tahr who stopped them. It was Heratrix, who can manipulate all the elements.
Just like it was she who split the mountain—even as she lay semi-dormant—the day Tahr took me in Hearthdale.
We spiral downward, Heratrix's hide a dizzying display that would steal my breath if I weren't already holding it.
She lands with no less grace than a smaller dragon, the ground barely trembling beneath her weight.
I scan the clearing, calculating our position.
We're only one hour from Emberton, so close to everything changing.
Zephyros alights several beats later, his face etched with exhaustion.
The scales on his chest stretch out with each labored breath, and his wings droop at his sides.
My stomach twists. He's pushed himself beyond his limits to keep pace with the Queen of Dragons, yet he hasn't complained once.
In fact, he hasn't spoken to me at all, not a single thought has crossed our bond since we left the others.
The silence between us makes me ache almost as much as the memory of Vaylen's face.
I slide down Heratrix's side, my feet hitting the ground with a soft thud.
"Zephyros…" I start walking toward him, my hand outstretched.
Descending behind me, Tahr catches my fingers, yanking me back to him. Before I can protest, his mouth claims mine. His kiss tastes like smoke and secrets. My body responds instinctively, even as my mind objects. I want to tend to my dragon.
I feel Zephyros watching, feel his hurt radiating across our bond.
Tahr's hands press against my back, holding me firmly against him while the dragon who has been my heart and soul since we bonded looks on, abandoned.
Tahr's tongue slips into my mouth, igniting a disused passion inside me.
The kiss deepens, and his hands slide downward, cupping my ass and lifting me against him.
My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me backward, pressing me against the rough bark of a tree.
His hardness pushes against me through our leathers, hitting my center. A moan escapes my lips before I can stop it. My body remembers his touch perfectly, and it's intoxicating.
"I've missed you," he breathes against my neck, his teeth grazing my pulse. "Have you missed me, darling?"
His hand slides between us, cupping my breast through my top. My nipples harden instantly, body arching toward his touch as his thumb circles the sensitive peak. Heat floods between my thighs, and I rock against him, seeking friction.
Belatedly, his question cuts through my haze of desire. I turn my face away, guilt and frustration mixing with lust.
"How was I supposed to miss you when I didn't even remember you?" I snap, my voice suddenly sharp for some reason. Strangely, the heat coursing through me turns to cold at the speed of fingers snapping. "Heratrix hid all my memories so masterfully that not even Zephyros could unearth them."
Tahr's hands still as Heratrix's massive head swings toward us.
One enormous eye focuses on me, her pupil contracting slightly.
I feel her studying me, measuring something within me before her gaze shifts toward Zephyros.
Her chest rumbles with what sounds like satisfaction, scales vibrating with hidden power.
Then she turns, each deliberate step shaking the earth as she lumbers in Zephyros's direction.
Are they communicating? Is she explaining everything to him so he can understand and forgive my deception?
Tahr pulls back, amber eyes searching mine. The hunger in his gaze doesn't diminish, but a flicker of something else—regret, perhaps—crosses his features.
"I apologize. That was a stupid question." He releases me slowly, letting my feet touch the ground again. His frown deepens as he regards me. I shift from foot to foot, a strange feeling tingling across my body as if the skin I wear isn't really mine.
Anger burns in my veins, flaring on its own, causing words to tumble out. "In fact, I forgot you so thoroughly that I… reconnected with Vaylen." I meet his gaze, chin lifted, hands shaking. "Not just reconnected. I slept with him. I fell for him all over again." So much deeper than before.
I saw jealousy transform Vaylen, saw it twist his face in pain when I mentioned my visions of Tahr.
His features disfigured with possessive rage when I admitted I might have slept with Tahr during my missing year.
So I brace myself for Tahr's fury too, for his gaze sharpening like a blade, for his velvet voice to turn to steel.
But his expression remains unchanged, calm where I expected a storm. His thumb traces my cheekbone gently.
"I don't like it," he says finally, his voice low but steady. "Not one bit." His hand drops to my shoulder, squeezing lightly. "But I understand what had to happen. Your memories were sealed for a purpose, to protect our mission, to ensure your return would seem genuine."
My breath catches in my throat. "You're not angry?"
"How can I blame you for something beyond your control?" A smile touches his lips, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "We serve a greater purpose, you and me. What lies between us—between you and Stormsong—these are just ripples on the surface of something vast and ancient."
I search his face for any hint of deception, any crack in his composure, and find none. Either he truly understands, or he's mastered hiding his emotions better than Vaylen or I ever could.
Stepping away, I study his face, my insides twisting strangely. "So that's it? I tell you I've been sleeping with another man, falling for him, and you just... accept it?"
He tilts his head, confusion flickering across his perfect features. "What would you have me do? Challenge him to some primitive duel?"
"I don't know! Something!" I throw my hands up. "Get angry, be hurt, show me it matters!"
Vaylen's face crumpled when I'd admitted far less. He'd looked gutted, raw, like I'd carved out something vital. His jealousy was ugly, painful, but real. So painfully real.
Tahr's eyes narrow slightly. "I thought you would appreciate my maturity."
"Maturity feels a lot like indifference from where I'm standing."
But why am I asking about these things? Do I even care? A hot flush creeps up my neck. What am I doing? Why am I pushing him to be jealous when I…? When I…? I don't know what. My mind and feelings are such a jumble.
Tahr steps closer. "You mistake control for lack of feeling." His voice drops lower. "If you wish to see how deeply I care, I can demonstrate in ways that would leave no doubt."
The threat—or promise—in his words sends a shiver down my spine.
I shake my head, stepping back. "I need to check on Zephyros."
Taking deep breaths to calm myself, I walk away, needing distance from his controlled, perfect responses that make me feel like I'm an irrational oaf. My boots crush twigs and dried leaves, the sounds unnaturally loud in the charged silence.
Then I stop dead.
Zephyros stands mere feet from Heratrix, his silver hide dull against her splendor. Their massive heads are level, eyes locked in silent communion. Neither moves. Neither blinks. The air between them seems to shimmer with invisible energy.
My breath catches. Should I interrupt? No.
This isn't my moment. I won't intrude, so I just stand there, wondering.
What memories flow between them? What thousand-year secrets pass in their silent exchange?
Does she explain why his mind was altered?
Why he was left to believe she'd abandoned their kind?
I can't fathom the answers, can't even begin to comprehend what these timeless beings share. Zephyros has lived five millennia. Heratrix even longer. Their history stretches back to the beginning of Embernia itself, to times before humans dreamed of riding dragons.
With a shiver, I wrap trembling arms around myself, suddenly feeling small and terribly young and immature, and I simply wait, doing my best to settle my emotions and thoughts.
This isn't me. I need to regain my center, so I can act with a clear head as I reconcile what happened under the mountain with what happened after my return.