Chapter 5 Rhea
Rhea
Zephyros's accusation stabs into me like a hot poker. His gaze, usually warm when it meets mine, gleams with hurt and anger.
—I never… The words dry up in my throat. What? Never meant to lie to him? Use him? Lead him into this impossible situation?
My head throbs with a dull ache. The memory blocks that Heratrix placed, then removed just hours ago, have left tender spots in my mind, like bruises I can't stop pressing. It makes me wonder if parts of me were scraped away during the process, little fragments of who I was before all this started.
—Tell me why, Zephyros insists, his voice rumbling through my bones. After everything we have been through.
I press my fingers against my temples, trying to steady myself as the world tilts sideways. Dragon's breath, I'm so tired. I feel hollowed out, and this is far from over.
—Because there was no other way. My voice is barely above a whisper. The war has to end. A thousand years of bloodshed. And now we have the power to stop it.
His massive head lowers further. —By betraying everyone who trusted you?
The accusation hits its mark. I straighten my spine, anger flaring hot and welcome.
—Trust? I spit the word. They'd have killed me if they knew what I truly am.
—Not Vaylen, Zephyros growls. And you shredded him to pieces. He will never forgive you. I hope you know that.
My legs wobble, sudden weakness washing through me. I take a deep breath to steady myself and stare at the ground.
—You don't understand, I whisper, voice cracking. No one does.
Six months ago, locked beneath the mountain with Tahr's voice weaving through my thoughts, the decision had seemed clearer. Simpler. When I wasn't looking into Vaylen's eyes, remembering his touch, his promises.
Dammit! I move closer and press my forehead against Zephyros's cool scales, breathing in his familiar scent of wind and storm clouds.
—You're right. The words catch. I wish I'd thought of another way.
But wishes are for children and fools. The image of the eggs nestled beneath the mountain flashes through my mind.
Dragon eggs, thousands of them preserved in stasis, waiting for the right moment.
The future of dragonkind. What's one heart compared to that?
Even if it's mine. Even if it's his. I straighten, squaring my shoulders.
—It doesn't matter what Vaylen thinks of me now. It doesn't matter what any of them think. This isn't about me or him or even you. It's about Embernia. It's about the dragons that will never be born if we don't act. My voice hardens. Some things are bigger than forgiveness.
—Does that mean you do not care about mine?
—You know I was referring to Vaylen.
—I hope you do not live to regret those words.
—It doesn't matter.
—She told me about Vestra. Zephyros tips his head in Heratrix's direction.
I nod. —She's to blame for all of this.
—Is she? So how did all the eggs come to be with Heratrix? How come I, and all other dragons since, forgot about the Queen's daughter? And please explain how humans found her and even provided her with a rider?
I swallow hard, meeting his intense gaze.
—You want answers? Fine. My voice comes out sharper than intended. I don't have all of them, but I know enough.
I pace in front of him, gathering the scattered pieces of the ancient memories Tahr related to me, memories passed down from countless of his descendants.
—As I'm sure you can guess, when Heratrix disappeared, her rider didn't just shrug and move on. He searched for her, like countless others who never even met her have done for a thousand years. I stop, stepping back to meet his gaze. But unlike them, he knew exactly where to look.
Zephyros's head tilts slightly, his attention fully captured.
—That's because he had help. Fragor told him about Vestra, and the disruptions she'd been causing. My hands clench into fists. When he finally found Heratrix, there was no sign of the younger dragon, just evidence of a battle. He feared the worst.
The wind picks up around us, mirroring the turbulence in my thoughts, and I have to force myself to stop with a slow, deep inhale.
—Can you imagine what went through his mind?
I go on. A rider finding the Queen of Dragons unconscious, possibly dying?
I continue. He couldn't tell anyone, not with Vestra nowhere to be found.
If she could challenge Heratrix herself, who might she have corrupted?
Which dragons or riders might have already fallen under her influence?
Zephyros's tail lashes against the ground, sending dust clouds into the air.
—So he kept her location secret. He created an entire order dedicated to protecting her while she slept.
And the eggs, Zephyros. He believed they belonged with her.
He and his followers spent years finding every single one they could, transporting them to rest beside the Goddess during her unnatural sleep. To wait for the right moment.
Zephyros's eyes rove over the clearing as he processes the new information. I let him think, waiting for his final judgment. Coward that I am, I hope he'll have no questions, but of course he does.
—And what of this Tahr? he asks, eyes narrowed in his direction, who sits by Heratrix waiting for me.
I feel through our bond that Zephyros doesn't like Tahr one bit, but he didn't like Vaylen either at first. Maybe he'll change his mind. After all, we have to work with him.
—Tahr is... complicated, I say, twisting a strand of hair around my finger.
—That is not an answer.
—Fine. I draw in a breath. Tahr is the last in a line of keepers, descended from that original rider.
The Flarebanes have guarded Heratrix for generations.
He's the culmination of centuries of selective breeding, ensuring the strongest possible Weaver abilities.
They had no Cleansing Authority under the Flametop Mountains, so they didn't destroy my kind.
Zephyros huffs, smoke curling from his nostrils. —So he is a prized stud horse now?
Despite everything, I laugh. —Something like that.
—And what exactly is your role in this grand scheme? His broodmare?
My laughter dies. —No. I'm something else entirely as you well know. Tahr believes I'm Omneira. I hesitate, still unsure the moniker belongs to me after all of Heratrix's and Tahr's reassurances.
Zephyros inclines his head, waiting for more.
—He thinks I'll fulfill a prophecy that predicts the coming of a Skyrider capable… capable of wielding all the elements.
—All the elements? Zephyros echoes, a huff of air pushing through his nostrils.
His massive head shakes slowly, scales glinting in the sunlight.
In all my five thousand years, I've witnessed rare riders controlling two elemental powers.
However, most Duals have been Weavers. But someone wielding all six? That's...
He trails off, unable to find the words. I don't blame him. I have no comeback for him. It seems impossible to me too. Controlling fire, water, air, earth, metal, and lightning? That power… it would be unstoppable.
—I know, I say, voice barely above a whisper. I thought the same when Tahr first told me. I still do, I guess.
A sudden breeze lifts my hair, carrying the scent of pine and cold mountain air. I inhale deeply, trying to ground myself.
—But then again, I add, a dragon sleeping for a thousand years sounds just as impossible, doesn't it?
I gesture toward Heratrix. Yet, there she is.
Living proof that impossible things happen.
I place my palm against his scales. And regardless of whether I'm truly this.
.. Omneira, we have to think of the eggs, Zephyros.
I saw them with my own eyes. They're real.
My voice grows stronger, conviction returning.
They're the future of your kind. That alone is worth fighting for, isn't it? Worth any sacrifice?
Zephyros's gaze shifts to Heratrix again, something unreadable passing through his eyes.
—I suppose.
A flutter of hope stirs in my chest at his grudging acceptance. I open my mouth to say something, a smile playing on my lips.
—Do not get ahead of yourself, little one, Zephyros cuts in, his voice rumbling through our bond. I have not forgiven you. Not by a long shot. I have more questions before I am all right with any of this... scheme.
My smile fades. Of course it wouldn't be that easy. Nothing ever is.
—Fine. Shoot your questions at me. I cross my arms, bracing myself.
Zephyros huffs. —This prophecy business. How in the seven hells could anyone predict this Omneira? Seers have always been fancy fairy tales for children's bedtime stories.
—Damn, you sound exactly like me, I say with a short laugh. I asked the same wyrm-rotting questions. Over and over until Tahr probably wanted to throw me off the mountain.
I pace in tight circles, unable to stay still as memories of those early days beneath the mountain flood back. The disbelief. The rage. The desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, I'd found a purpose bigger than revenge.
—He said a long-dead dragon with the ability to peer into the ether itself glimpsed fragments of what might be.
Zephyros stomps a talon. —Convenient tales that cannot be proven now that they are all dead.
—I know how it sounds! I snap, frustration getting the best of me. You think I just swallowed this whole? That I'm some gullible fool who believes whatever pretty story someone whispers? Come on, you know me better than that.
—Yet, it seems there is much we must simply accept on faith, he rumbles. Heratrix's daughter whom I don't remember. Ancestral prophecies. Your supposed destiny. I do not like it. It is too much to trust. His tail lashes against the ground. How did you come to believe so easily?
I bark out a laugh, harsh and bitter. —Easily?
It wasn't easy. My voice drops, tension draining suddenly.
It took months. Months of fighting and questioning and demanding proof.
And like I said, I don't know if I believe the prophecy.
It's the rest I couldn't deny. The eggs.
Not prophecies or promises, but those eggs. I kept coming back to that.
Something shifts in his gaze, not belief yet, but another crack in his certainty.
—If you saw them... if you felt their life force... I swallow hard, remembering the first time I stood among them, feeling the dormant power pulsing from each shell. All your doubts would vanish. I'm sure of it.
Zephyros lets out a massive exhale. Warm air rushes over me, rustling my hair like a summer wind. His enormous chest deflates, scales shifting and settling with the motion. I recognize the gesture. It's the same bone-deep weariness I feel gnawing at my insides.
"Any more questions? Or are you finished interrogating me?" I ask out loud, trying for lightness but landing somewhere near defensive.
He studies me for a long, uncomfortable moment. —When will I be able to see these eggs you keep talking about?
The question catches me off guard. Not accusation but curiosity. Maybe even the tiniest seed of belief taking root.
—Soon, I promise, stepping closer to rest my palm against his snout. First, we have to go to Emberton.
—Why not straight to the mountain? If these eggs are so precious.
—Because if we don't handle this right, there won't be any future for those eggs or anyone else.
We need to see the King. Let the people witness Heratrix's return.
Give them back their Goddess, their hope.
But it's more than that. Craven must be managed.
He's a paranoid lunatic who'd send his entire Sky Order to burn Heratrix to ash even when he knew of the prophecy all along.
—He did?
I nod. —His entire bloodline has guarded this secret, twisting it to suit their needs.
My laugh is sharp enough to cut. Why do you think he was so quick to pardon me for Cindergrasp's murder?
Not out of the kindness of his shriveled heart.
He recognized what was happening and tried to use me for his paranoid games.
He has never trusted anyone with power. The Commander and Vaylen terrify him.
—I would venture to guess he's more terrified of you.
—Perhaps, I shrug. But he thinks I'm on his side, and I guess I would be if he weren't an incompetent fool or if I could stand him.
That wyrm-rotted coward spies on his own Sky Order, distrusts his most loyal soldiers, and would sacrifice every dragon egg if it meant keeping his pitiful crown secure on his tiny head.
—I do not doubt that.
My fists clench at my sides. —He's bad for Embernia.
Bad for dragons. Bad for everyone. And I won't let him intervene with what must be done to set Embernia right again.
I glance up and meet Zephyros's gaze. So yes, we go to Emberton.
But not to bow. We go to manage a king who's outlived his usefulness.
Zephyros frowns. The scales above his eyes ripple together, creating deep furrows across his brow.
—And what does that mean exactly? This plan to manage a king who's outlived his usefulness.
He peers at me more closely. Does it mean that you and Tahr are to govern Embernia by making its king a puppet?
I bristle at his tone, heat rushing to my face. —And what if we do? You think that idiot Craven deserves his throne? You think I—or anyone with half a functioning brain—couldn't do better?
—I did not say that.
—Then what are you saying? I snap, throwing my hands up. Because you seem to be implying I'm power hungry when I only want what's best for Embernia.
Zephyros says nothing, but his gaze shifts past me to where Tahr waits by Heratrix. The distrust in his eyes speaks volumes. I take a deep breath, trying to rein in my frustration. This is Zephyros, my partner, my friend. He deserves better than my anger.
—Look, I say, softening my tone. I know this is a lot to process. Six months ago, I felt exactly like you do now. I was suspicious and angry. Give it time. If you can't trust Tahr yet, at least trust me. Just a little longer, until you can see for yourself that we're on the right path.
Zephyros thinks for a long moment, then nods his great head once. Relief washes over me.
—So does that mean you forgive me?
—Do not push it, he grunts, but I detect another crack in his armor.
With a smile, I turn to Tahr. "Let's talk then. Emberton awaits."