Chapter 8 Vaylen
Vaylen
Tension weighs heavy across my shoulders as Commander Voltguard's steely gaze fixes on me. Her office feels like a confessional box, with me the sinner awaiting judgment.
How much to reveal of my failure as High Prime? Of Rhealyn's secrets? Of the feelings that clouded my judgment? I should tell her everything, but shame burns through me at the thought of admitting how thoroughly I was deceived. By love. By my own blindness.
Now here I am, torn between truth and self-preservation.
I begin slowly. "I need to be sure that… what I'm about to tell you remains confidential," I say, watching Commander Voltguard's face carefully. Her expression remains neutral, fingers laced before her on the polished oak desk.
"You question my discretion, High Prime?"
"No, Commander. I question my own judgment." The admission tastes bitter. "Rhealyn Wyndward is… a Weaver."
There. The truth I should have reported months ago.
The Commander's eyes widen. The iron-willed woman who's faced Screechclaw attacks without flinching looks genuinely stunned. Yet, she sits motionless, processing what I've just revealed.
I go on. "I discovered this the night she disappeared last year, yet I failed to report it."
The silence in the room becomes its own presence. I can't read her thoughts behind those calculating eyes. Has the confession about Rhealyn's forbidden ability shocked her into silence? Or is it my betrayal of everything the Sky Order stands for that leaves her speechless? I have no idea.
"You're certain?" she finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper as she focuses on the revelation and not my insubordination.
I nod once, firmly. "I've witnessed her abilities firsthand."
Her fists clench on the desk as she thinks, then comes to the correct conclusion. "So her Cleansing failed, and Neutro Cindergrasp performed it, did he not?"
"Yes, Commander."
"And now he's dead. By her hand," she says sharply.
Not a question. The Commander has always possessed a keen tactical mind, connecting points others miss. I remain silent, unwilling to lie further but unable to confirm what would condemn Rhealyn.
"She killed her mother during the failed Cleansing," Commander Voltguard continues, piecing it all together. "Then murdered Cindergrasp in retribution."
My jaw tightens. "The King pardoned her."
"Because he doesn't know what she truly is." The Commander's gaze locks with mine. "A Weaver who can manipulate thoughts."
"But he does know. Craven is fully aware of what Rhealyn is."
"Have you lost your mind?"
The question hangs between us like a drawn sword. Her eyes narrow, searching my face with the precision of a hawk spotting a weak target. I watch as understanding dawns across her features, the terrible realization that I've withheld not just one truth but many.
The disappointment in her gaze scorches me. I've served under this woman for five years, earned her trust through blood and battle, and now I stand before her as something lesser. The skin across my face burns as though it might peel away under her scrutiny.
"What else?" she asks, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "How many times have you left me in the dark, Stormsong?"
Words fail me. Dishonor seems to constrict my throat. Just as it should.
Commander Voltguard rises slowly from her chair, circling the desk to stand before me. She studies me as one might examine a map before battle, identifying vulnerabilities, assessing damage.
"Your desperate search of the Flametop Mountains," she says. "Your constant patrols at her side." Each statement lands like a blow. "Your unusual defense of her at Chief Inspector Cragmere's accusations." She stops, mere inches from me now. "You're in love with her."
The truth of it crushes through me. I was a fool to think I might keep that truth hidden, when it colors every decision I've made.
"Yes," I confess, the word barely audible.
Disgust shapes her features. "I put all my trust in you," she says like an accusation.
Her disappointment cuts deeper than the curved blade of a Screechclaw.
Not for the first time since getting entangled with Rhealyn, I think of all I've risked, what I stand to lose.
The Sky Order is all I have. My home when I had none, my purpose when I was lost, my identity when I was nothing but an orphaned child with wind in his blood.
Without it, what remains of Vaylen Stormsong?
I stare at the floor, unable to meet her gaze. How many times have I stood here and received orders, promising absolute loyalty? And now…
Dishonorable discharge. Court martial. The possibilities I've refused to consider now loom before me like storm clouds. I deserve it.
The Commander turns her back with a huff of anger, shoulders rigid beneath her obsidian uniform.
"Enough about your romantic failures. What's this nonsense about Heratrix?
Did you strike your head Dropping from your dragon?
" Her bitter laugh echoes off the stone walls.
"Next you'll tell me there are hatchlings raining from the sky. "
I sit straighter, forcing steel into my voice. "Commander, I witnessed it myself and so did others. The Goddess has returned. Heratrix lives."
Her laughter dies instantly. She pivots to face me, searching for deception in my eyes.
"Rhealyn's missing year under that mountain, she was with Heratrix," I continue, "where the Goddess slumbered. And there's more. Rhealyn claims thousands of dragon eggs rest in stasis beneath that range."
"Thousands?" she whispers, the color draining from her face.
"Yes, and the man, Tahranis Flarebane, he seems to be Heratrix's rider."
"Seems to be?"
I shrug. "He formed Tethers to the dragoness as he and Rhealyn flew away."
Her eyebrows go up in confusion. "And Zephyros?"
I open my mouth to answer, but she cuts me off.
"Don't tell me. He went after them."
I nod.
She sits back down, appearing exhausted. She pinches the bridge of her nose, the gesture making her seem older than her fifty-seven years. The weight of my revelations presses down on both of us.
"If what you say is true..." she begins.
"The war could end," I finish for her, a possibility so tantalizing it feels dangerous to hope for. A thousand years of bloody conflict with the Screechclaws, all potentially resolved by the return of our Goddess.
The Commander's lips twist into something between a grimace and a smile. "I suppose. But when have things been that easy? I fear what King Craven might do." Her eyes find mine again, sharper now. "And Weavers. How can we trust them? They need to be Cleansed for a reason."
I want to leap to Rhealyn's defense, to swear she never used her powers against me. But a question lodges in my throat like a blade. Did she? Those moments when my resolve weakened around her, when my duty faltered in her presence… Was that her influence? Or merely my own weakness?
And even if she never tampered with my thoughts, she's given me plenty of other reasons to distrust her. To hate her, even. For what else can I call this burning sensation roiling in my chest? This awful ache where honor and love used to reside?
I think of her astride Heratrix, flying away without a backward glance, choosing Tahranis, choosing deception. I remember her lips against mine, promises whispered in darkness, all while she'd planned to do this to me. Her disloyalty tastes like ash on my tongue.
I swallow thick, throat tightening around words that need saying. "Commander, I understand my actions constitute a severe breach of trust. Whatever punishment you deem appropriate, I will accept it without protest."
Voltguard studies me coldly as seconds tick by like hammer blows.
"You should be stripped of your dragon and your post as High Prime," she finally declares, each word a slap.
My heart plummets into despair. Without Fragor, without the Sky Order, without her…
What else is left? These things have been my entire existence.
The room seems to darken at the edges as the weight of the Commander's judgment presses down on me.
All I've worked for, all I am, gone in an instant.
Yet, I square my shoulders, accepting the verdict with what little dignity I have left.
Her eyes never leaving mine, Voltguard says, "Before I decide your fate, Stormsong, answer me this one question, and do not dissemble." She pauses, her gaze piercing through me. "Where does your loyalty lie now? With Rhealyn? Or with the Sky Order?"
The question scrapes at the raw wound of my love for Rhealyn, yet brings the clarity I've needed. A memory surfaces—my first flight on Fragor, the wind singing through my soul as we soared over Embernia's villages and forests. I swore then to protect these lands with my dying breath.
"Rhealyn," I begin, my voice steadier than I feel, "holds part of my heart that I may never reclaim.
For that, I erred, but not once did I disregard the realm's safety.
My loyalty..." The words catch momentarily as I reach for absolute truth.
"My loyalty has always belonged to Embernia and the Sky Order. "
Something shifts in Voltguard's expression—not softening, but recognition.
"When I took my oath," I continue, "I pledged to serve not just in times of glory, but in moments like this, when my personal desires war against my duty." I straighten, meeting her gaze unflinchingly. "I will always choose Embernia. Even against Rhealyn, if necessary."
I wonder silently if I would say the same had Rhealyn not just abandoned me. Would the loyalty I proclaim waver then?
Whatever the case, the reaffirmation brings with it a strange peace. The awful betrayal sent me adrift, but this pledge, it offers salvation. The Sky Order has always felt like a true north, even when my heart tried to steer me elsewhere.
Regaining some of my conviction, I stand and salute, fist to shoulder. "I stand with the Sky Order, whatever comes."