Chapter 11 #2
The arrogance is breathtaking. Even now, with the world shifting beneath our feet, he thinks only of his precious crown.
I bite my tongue until I taste copper, desperate to tell him exactly how wrong he is about what's coming.
His eyes meet mine briefly, and I wonder if he can see the treason in my expression.
Commander Voltguard's hands clench. "Your Majesty, with all due respect, you've welcomed a mind-reader and an unknown elemental into your court without proper vetting. They could supplant you. Control you. Have you considered the danger?"
"Do you think me stupid?" Craven snaps, rising from his chair. "Do you believe I'd let myself be so easily manipulated?"
I study him, recognizing his confidence. He must definitely have a way to block mental intrusions.
"And how dare you question the Goddess Heratrix's own rider?
" Craven's voice rises, his finger jabbing toward Tahr.
"How dare you doubt my personal Weaver?" Now he points at me, claiming ownership I never granted him.
His attention shifts from us to the Commander and Vaylen.
Something dark passes over his face as he taps his fingers against the desk.
"Perhaps," he says slowly, "I should look in the opposite direction.
" His voice drops to a theatrical whisper.
"Perhaps it's not my Weaver or the Goddess's rider I should worry about, but those who command our armies. "
The room's temperature seems to plummet. Bastard!
"Lady Wyndward," Craven says, turning to me with sudden intensity. "Look into their minds. Tell me if the Commander and High Prime truly serve their king... or if they plot treason against me."
My mouth falls open. "What?"
—This is our chance, Tahr's voice slides into my thoughts. Say they do and remove their interference now. It will make everything easier.
My breath catches. He wants me to condemn them, to give Craven an excuse to strip them of rank or worse. I look at Vaylen, whose face remains impassive though I see the subtle tightening around his eyes. The Commander's expression has turned to granite.
I've done many things I'm not proud of, but this? Using my forbidden powers to betray the people who trained me, who trusted me?
—Get out of my head, Tahr, I snap back mentally. I make my own choices.
—Will they be the right ones?
I slam the mental doors shut on Tahr, feeling his presence retreat like a hiss. How dare he try to manipulate me like some puppet?
Craven's eyes bore into me, waiting. I have to make this convincing.
I step forward, my expression neutral as I turn toward Vaylen and Commander Voltguard. I extend my awareness outward, making a show of concentration, my fingers lifting slightly as if gathering invisible threads.
Vaylen's face doesn't change, but his eyes flicker with something. Resignation, perhaps? He thinks I'm about to betray him. Yet again.
After several tense seconds, I lower my hands and turn back to Craven.
"There's no treason in them, Your Majesty," I announce firmly. "Only loyalty to Embernia and genuine concern for your safety. The Commander fears outside influence on you, not because she covets your throne, but because she's sworn to protect it."
A flash of surprise crosses Vaylen's face—there and gone in an instant. What was he really thinking? Perhaps that he can't remain loyal to a king who calls a traitor his personal Weaver?
Craven's mouth twists like he's tasted something sour. His disappointment is palpable. He wanted a reason to remove them, and I've denied him that.
Tahr's displeasure radiates from him in waves, but I don't regret my choice. Not everyone is a piece to be sacrificed in this game. Voltguard and Vaylen will fight against the Screechclaws better than any other Skyrider ever could.
As he slumps back in his chair, Craven's entire posture deflates like a punctured bladder. He looks like a child who's been denied a favorite toy rather than someone who's made an unjust accusation.
"Well, that's terribly dull," he mutters, fingers drumming impatiently on his armrest.
His eyes rove the room restlessly, seeking some other amusement to replace the thwarted execution he was likely planning.
Suddenly, his expression brightens with the manic glow of inspiration.
He sits up straight, reaching for a small silver bell on his desk.
The clear chime pierces the tension, and within seconds, an attendant materializes at the doorway, bowing low.
"Your Majesty?"
Craven claps his hands together. "We must celebrate! The Goddess Heratrix has returned to Embernia after a thousand years. Such a momentous occasion demands proper recognition."
The attendant's eyes widen.
"Prepare a grand ball for tomorrow night," he continues, warming to his idea.
"Invite the nobility, the military commanders, diplomats, everyone of consequence.
Spare no expense! And ensure Lady Wyndward and Lord Flarebane have proper attire for the event.
" He waves his hand dismissively. "Make haste! "
The poor attendant scurries away, likely calculating the impossible task ahead.
I resist rolling my eyes. A ball? This man's priorities are as twisted as his mind. We should be planning our attack on the Screechclaws, not dancing.
Voltguard bows stiffly. "By your leave, Your Majesty."
Craven waves them away like pesky flies.
As Vaylen turns to follow his commander, his eyes finally—finally—meet mine.
What I see makes my stomach plunge to my feet.
Not coldness. Not anger. Pure, unfiltered hatred burns in those blue depths.
The kind reserved for enemies. For monsters.
He turns sharply and strides from the room.
Before I know what I'm doing, I'm moving after him, my feet carrying me forward without conscious thought.
"Rhealyn." Tahr's voice slices through the air, a blade of warning.
I don't look back. "I'll be along shortly," I toss over my shoulder, already halfway through the door.
Tahr's disapproval radiates behind me like heat from a forge, but I don't care. Some things can't be left to fester.
Even if they might already be beyond saving.