Chapter 14
Vaylen
The night's chill has seeped into my bones after hours of walking through Emberton's streets.
I make it to the Brightscale district, the silence that reigns matching my own dark mood.
My body is sore, but the physical pain is welcome, anything to distract me from the restless ache in my chest. I should have tried harder to find Fragor and flown, but he remains distant, somehow changed by Heratrix's presence.
The Ember Crown Hotel's polished marble floors reflect the chandeliers' glow as I approach the front desk. A clerk with impeccable posture straightens at my arrival.
"A room," I say, voice rough with pent up anger.
He slides an ornate key across the counter. "Third floor, east wing. Finest view in Brightscale, High Prime."
I nod my thanks, but my feet carry me to the bar instead of the stairs. Sleep feels impossible with my thoughts churning like storm clouds.
"Something strong," I tell the barkeep, settling onto a stool.
He places a tumbler of amber liquid before me. "Dragonfire whiskey, sir. Aged twenty years."
The first sip burns satisfyingly down my throat. I survey the empty tables, seeking distraction from memories of hazel eyes and broken promises.
A shadow shifts in the corner. The rigid posture and severe bun are unmistakable even in this dim light. Commander Voltguard sits alone, nursing what appears to be her third drink, judging by the empty glasses.
Duty tugs at me, insistent as ever. I should report. I should maintain decorum. I should be the High Prime she expects. Instead, I drain my glass and signal for another.
At last, I take my fresh glass and push away from the bar, boots silent against the plush carpet as I approach the Commander. Her uniform looks as pristine as ever, though her eyes carry the weight of a long day.
"Permission to join you, Commander?" I gesture to the empty chair.
She nods, the movement sharp and efficient even in this informal setting.
We sit in silence, both staring into our drinks as if they might hold answers to questions neither of us wants to voice. The perturbing events of this evening hang between us like a tempest, waiting to fall.
"You couldn't stay in the palace either, I see," she finally says, the observation lacking her usual crispness.
I shrug, swirling the liquid in my glass. Words seem inadequate for the fury raging inside me.
Commander Voltguard studies me, her face unreadable in the low light. "Wyndward seems to believe she's doing the right thing." She takes a measured sip. "What do you make of that? Do you believe her?"
My grip tightens around my glass as images of Rhealyn—her passion, her conviction, her lies—flash through my mind.
I nearly laugh, the sound dying in my throat before it can escape.
Asking me what I believe? What a joke. The bitterness coats my tongue like poison.
I risked my position and the trust of my riders for her.
Any opinion of mine regarding Wyndward should never be trusted.
"I'm the last one you should ask." I place my empty glass on the table, unable to meet her eyes.
"There's likely no one who knows her properly.
She's built her entire life on secrets and half-truths.
Though Breezehart seems to think Rhealyn would never betray us.
" I shake my head, recalling Phoebe's passionate defense earlier.
"She believes there must be more to this than we understand. "
Commander Voltguard's expression remains impassive, though her eyes sharpen with interest.
"She requested to continue her research," I say, rotating the glass between my fingers. "She believes there could be something in the records that would help us understand what Wyndward's doing."
The commander's eyes narrow thoughtfully. "Perhaps it's not a bad idea to let her continue this research."
I raise an eyebrow, surprised by her agreement.
"Whatever is happening here is too old and too deep for our immediate comprehension," she continues. "A Goddess asleep for centuries suddenly reappears with a rider at her command, controlling one of our own Skyriders and speaking of prophecies..."
Her words trail off as she takes another measured sip. I notice the fine lines around her eyes, deeper tonight than I've ever seen them.
"What troubles me most," she continues, "is that Craven expected this.
Not only that, but he has fully embraced this notion.
The most paranoid man in Embernia trusting a complete stranger and a bonded Skysinger whose dragon has a mind of his own.
" She shakes her head. "There's only one explanation…
Craven grew up with this knowledge, believing it was his insurance.
And such knowledge… it doesn't simply manifest from thin air.
" Voltguard's voice hardening. "Information like this passes through generations.
And how else would that be accomplished if not through written accounts? Breezehart has the right idea."
I lean forward, glad to see that her sharp mind can see beyond the apparent, that she's thinking clearer than me, whose judgement and emotions have been compromised for so long.
She goes on, "The Stonefall lineage must hold secrets they've guarded all along."
The whiskey's warmth spreads through my chest as my thoughts align with the Commander's.
If she's right and there are records, we must find them.
If there are truths hidden within dusty tomes and forgotten scrolls, we must uncover them.
I stand abruptly, purpose replacing the lethargy of whiskey and regret.
"Commander, with your permission, I'd like to send a Boltgram to Breezehart immediately. Order her to come to Emberton tonight with whatever research materials she's already gathered."
Commander Voltguard's gaze sharpens. She gives a curt nod. "Granted. The sooner we understand what we're facing, the better our chance of protecting Embernia. Send for Dakar and Emberstone too, and whoever else you deem necessary."
"Thank you, Commander." I bow slightly, already turning toward the door.
I stride from the bar with renewed focus.
If we must uncover truths buried for centuries, so be it.
If I must trade my Wind Spears for scrolls and my battle tactics for scholarly tomes, I will do it without hesitation.
I'd rather blow Castle Stonefall into a pile of rubble, but this beats sitting idle.
I can forge my pain into purpose. I've done it before.
And in the end, I may have a blade that will cut through whatever deception Tahranis has woven, if that's what this is.
The answers must lie somewhere in forgotten histories, and I swear by all six elements that we'll find them before any evil comes to fruition.