Chapter 6 Vaylen
Vaylen
Ipush my Skyriders harder than I should, Fragor's powerful wings beating against the thin air.
Jagged peaks slice through low-hanging clouds below us, their summits like sharpened blades in the afternoon sun.
The valleys between them lie in shadow, deep green forests and silver ribbons of rivers winding through darkness.
Faster, I command with a hand signal, though the dragons already strain against exhaustion.
For a foolish moment, I imagine catching up to them.
In this absurd fantasy, we intercept Rhealyn and that man before they reach Emberton.
I picture her face when she sees me, regret washing over her features, realization dawning that she's made a terrible mistake.
She abandons Tahranis, repudiates him even, and returns to my side where she belongs.
A bitter laugh escapes my throat, carried away by the rushing wind.
What a fucking fool I am, still wanting someone who deceived me, manipulated me, and discarded me without hesitation. Longing for a woman whose touch I can feel on my skin even as she flies away with another man atop a creature of legend.
I shake my head, forcing these useless thoughts away. She made her choice. My duty lies elsewhere, with my Skyriders, with the protection of Embernia. With the oath I swore long before I ever laid eyes on Rhealyn Rose Wyndward.
The familiar towers of Fort Ashmire rise from the edge of Cinderhold, the gray stone walls cutting a stark silhouette against the afternoon sky.
My heart sinks as I calculate the distance between us and Emberton.
Even pushing at our current pace, we'll never catch them.
They have too much of a head start. Not even Fragor, who matches Zephyros's size, much less the others.
"She'll reach Emberton before nightfall," I mutter, the bitter truth scraping my throat raw.
I roll my shoulders, feeling the tension in my jaw spread down my neck into my shoulders.
I must report to Commander Voltguard first. Protocol demands it.
Yet, the loyalty I still feel for Rhealyn tugs at me, urging me to follow her, to save her from whatever madness this is.
I crush that impulse beneath the weight of her betrayal.
That softness has no place in my heart anymore. She made her choice.
I reach for Fragor through our bond, seeking the comfort of his presence, but find… nothing. My dragon feels closed off, his mind turned inward, emotions hidden behind barriers I've never encountered before.
"Fragor?" I say.
He offers nothing but a bare acknowledgment. His massive wings beat steadily, making a slight adjustment when I send him the image of Fort Ashmire as our destination, but something has shifted in him, sending ice through my veins.
Of course, Heratrix's return has affected him.
I squat and place my palm against his cool silver scales. What is the matter, old friend? A thousand years his queen has been missing—presumed dead by some—only to return in the most inexplicable way, and with Rhealyn as a precursor, no less.
"I understand your silence," I whisper, though the wind steals my words. "Take what time you need."
His massive eyes shift toward me, pupils contracting briefly. I catch a fleeting sensation through our bond. Confusion, longing, and something deeper. Anger, perhaps?
I raise my arm, signaling a course correction toward Fort Ashmire, though we're already heading there.
I try to ignore the creeping resentment that rises in me at Fragor's silence.
Since our bond formed, we've never been walled off like this.
First Rhealyn, now my dragon. A shadow passes over my heart, darker than any storm cloud.
This feels like an omen, as if losing her was merely the beginning of something worse to come.
Perhaps, it's only my fear of confronting the Commander.
She'll want answers, not excuses. I shiver as the foundations of my world threaten to crumble beneath my feet while all I can do is watch.
Commander Voltguard will know what to do.
She must. I cling to this thought like a drowning man to driftwood.
But even as the thought forms, doubt worms its way through my certainty.
How could anyone have answers for any of this?
The Queen of Dragons returns with a forbidden Weaver as her rider, and they both head toward Emberton with the woman I love.
Fort Ashmire's courtyard awaits below as we circle once, the weathered stone and iron structures both welcoming and ominous. I signal the landing pattern, guiding Fragor into position above the central yard.
I initiate Vortex Drop, drawing wind to my command.
The familiar swirl forms beneath my feet as I step off Fragor's back, then it carries me in a controlled descent.
My boots touch, and I start walking. The other Skyriders follow.
Dakar lands with his customary flair, spinning twice before touching down.
Phoebe's descent is methodical, precise.
Cliffbecker's is utilitarian, easy, as befitting his veteran status.
I hurry my step, headed to the Commander's tower.
"Stormsong!" Dakar's voice cuts through my focus. He catches up and blocks my path. "What's the plan? You can't just march in there without talkin' to us first. You've gotta tell us what you know."
I turn, facing not just him but all the others. Their expressions hold questions, accusations. Cliffbecker's features are particularly hard, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed.
"The plan is to report what we witnessed," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "The Queen of Dragons has returned. Commander Voltguard must be informed."
"And Rhealyn?" Cliffbecker's voice carries an edge sharp enough to draw blood. "And our… other plans?"
By other plans, he's referring to going to Hearthdale and finding Heratrix and the eggs—something we were meant to do with Rhealyn by our side.
Now, after plenty of time to think atop their dragons, they must have figured out Rhealyn and I didn't tell them the entire truth and dragged them into the heart of a major deception.
My throat tightens. I turn away, feeling like a coward for the first time in my life. "I must speak with the Commander now. We'll discuss everything after I've made my report."
I rush toward the tower, blood roaring in my ears. The Claw stationed outside straightens when he sees me approach.
"High Prime Stormsong," he says, his young face registering surprise. "Is the Commander expecting you?"
"No," I say, brushing past formalities. "Is she in?"
His eyes widen, likely at the silver light I know must be swirling in mine. He nods quickly, stepping aside without further question.
I pause at the heavy oak door, drawing a steadying breath before my knuckles rap against the wood.
"Enter," Commander Voltguard's voice calls, crisp and authoritative even through the thick barrier.
She sits behind her desk, gray hair pulled in a severe bun, quill in hand over a piece of parchment. When she looks up, her brown eyes narrow immediately, taking in every detail of my appearance.
"High Prime," she says, setting down her quill. "You look as though you've seen the ghost of the First King himself."
I open my mouth, but the words tangle in my throat. How do I begin? How do I tell her that everything we know has just shifted beneath our feet?
"Commander, I..." My voice falters. The confidence that has carried me through battles seems to have abandoned me. "Heratrix has returned," I blurt out.
Cora Voltguard stands slowly, her hands pressing against the desk. She studies my face, the way she might examine a cadet claiming to see spirits during night watch.
"High Prime Stormsong, take a seat and explain yourself," she orders, her voice steady but tinged with concern.
I shake my head, feeling suddenly trapped within these stone walls. The room seems to contract around me, the air growing thin. My eyes dart to the narrow window, to the door, anywhere but the Commander's piercing gaze.
"I can't sit, Commander," I say.
She watches me a moment longer before walking to an ornate oak cabinet against the wall. The hinges creak as she opens it, revealing rows of crystal decanters. She selects one filled with amber liquid and pours a generous measure into a glass.
"Dragonfire whiskey," she says, pressing it into my hand. "The strongest spirit in Embernia. Usually reserved for funerals or… coronations."
I take the glass, noting the irony—for this might well be both a funeral for what was and a coronation of what's to come. The liquid burns a path down my throat as I drain it completely, welcoming the heat that spreads through my chest. I set the empty glass on her desk with a decisive clink.
"Heratrix has returned," I repeat, my voice steadier now. "Rhealyn Wyndward rides with her, alongside a man named Tahranis Flarebane, a dual elemental with Weaver and wind abilities is my guess. They're heading toward Emberton as we speak."
"Are you serious, Stormsong?" Commander Voltguard's voice barely rises above a whisper.
I meet her gaze without flinching. "Dead serious, Commander."
She lowers herself into her chair, spine rigid as a sword, fingers splayed white against the dark wood of her desk.
The iron discipline that's made her legendary among the Sky Order doesn't falter, but I see the flicker of fear in her eyes—the same fear I've been fighting since I watched Rhealyn fly away.
"Tell me everything," she commands. "Leave nothing out."
Leave nothing out.
I stare at my hands, turning them over as if the answer might be etched into my calloused palms. How much should I reveal? The truth would expose not just Rhealyn but my own weakness as High Prime.
Since the moment Rhealyn Wyndward entered my life, I've been compromised. Each time I chose her over protocol, each secret I kept, each order I bent, they were all betrayals to the oath I swore to uphold. Love has made me blind to duty, deaf to reason.
"Stormsong?" Commander Voltguard prompts, her expression revealing nothing of her thoughts.
The words hover on my tongue. I could confess it all, how I knew of Rhealyn's forbidden abilities, how I protected her, how I planned to search for a lost Goddess and her eggs in secrecy. I could admit that love turned the most disciplined Skysinger in the Sky Order into a man I barely recognize.
Or I could shield her still, shield myself, and tell only what serves Embernia.
I draw breath, my decision crystallizing even as uncertainty churns within.