Chapter 15 Rhea
Rhea
Apounding at my door rips me from uneasy sleep. Before I can properly open my eyes, the door flies open and a flood of strangers invades my bedchamber.
"What in all the hells—?" I scramble upright, tangled in silken sheets, pulse speeding, dagger in hand.
Four people I've never seen before burst in like they own the place. The leader, a short woman with graying hair and spectacles perched on her nose, waves a tape measure like a weapon. Behind her, three younger women stagger under expensive piles of fabric, ballgowns in every shade imaginable.
I slip the dagger under my pillow and leap from the bed, barefoot and disoriented. My mouth opens to tell them to get out, but the short woman interjects.
"Stand straight, my lady!" she orders, stalking toward me as if I’m her quarry. "Arms out!"
Tahr appears in the doorway, looking insufferably amused at my confusion. His white hair is perfectly braided despite the early hour.
"What is this?" I snap, backing away from the approaching women.
"For tonight's ball, darling," Tahr purrs. "By order of King Craven."
The little woman lunges for my waist with her tape measure, and I swat her hand away. "Touch me with that thing again and you'll lose your fingers."
She narrows her eyes, completely unfazed by my threat. "I'm Madame Steelshroud, royal seamstress for thirty years." She straightens her spine, barely reaching my shoulder. "You might command wind and dragon, Lady Wyndward, but in this chamber, I command the needle."
She steps closer, voice dropping. "I've survived three royal tantrums this week alone. King Craven had a servant flogged for bringing lukewarm tea yesterday. You think I fear your threats when I have his displeasure hanging over my head? Now lift your arms before we both regret it."
The woman's audacity stuns me into compliance. I raise my arms mechanically while her assistants buzz around me like insects, draping fabrics against my skin.
Tahr leans against the doorframe, grinning. "The King expects perfection tonight. Every noble house will attend."
"And your finery?" I ask through gritted teeth as Madame yanks the measuring tape around my waist.
"Already prepared in my chambers." He offers a lazy smile. "Imagine my shock. Me, who has always lived under a mountain."
I glare at him, but he simply winks and saunters away, leaving me to my fabric prison.
As the seamstress tugs at my hip, my mind clears and last night's discovery floods back… Tahr sneaking through darkened hallways, the bottles, the poison. My skin prickles with anger and sudden urgency.
"That's enough." I bat Madame Steelshroud's hands away, stepping back decisively. "Do you have what you need?"
She stares at me, appalled. "We've barely got the measurements. We need to match—"
"Any dress will do." I move toward the door. "Pick whatever you think best."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "I need at least another hour to properly go over materials and exact fitting."
I pause, forcing myself to breathe. Antagonizing the royal seamstress won't help me catch up to Tahr.
"Madame Steelshroud," I say, softening my voice, "you've dressed princesses and duchesses for thirty years, right?
I'm just a leather-wearing, unsophisticated Skyrider who wouldn't know silk from satin.
" I gesture at the mountain of fabrics her assistants clutch.
"I trust your expert judgment completely. "
The flattery hits its mark. Her stern expression relaxes a fraction. "Very well. I'll select something appropriate for your... uncommon figure."
Uncommon? I guess she's not used to dressing women who sport as much muscle as men. I bite back a retort, nodding instead. The moment she turns to her fabrics, I slip out the door after Tahr. I need answers about those bottles. Now.
I search for Tahr in his chambers and discover them empty, but I quickly find him at the end of the hallway in a small sunroom bathed in morning light.
The space is intimate but elegant. It has a vaulted glass ceiling, hanging plants, and a small table laden with fresh bread, honey, berries, and what smells like perfectly brewed Firethorn tea.
Potted orange trees line the walls, their blossoms perfuming the air.
He sits back in a cushioned chair, one leg crossed over the other, sipping from a delicate porcelain cup. In the dappled sunlight, his pale features make him look almost ethereal. Almost trustworthy, the way I used to think of him.
"What a remarkable change for a cave dweller," he muses, not bothering to look up as I enter. He gestures around at the breakfast spread. "A man could get used to such comforts." His eyes finally meet mine, and he extends a hand toward the empty chair across from him.
"Join me, Omneira. The tea is exceptional."
My fingers twitch at my side. I could grab him by the throat and demand answers about those bottles. Instead, I force myself to breathe. Play along, give him a chance.
I slide into the opposite chair, trying to match his relaxed demeanor despite the tension coiling through my body. I take the cup he offers, watching his hands for any sleight that might slip something into my drink.
"How did you sleep?" he asks, pouring more tea.
"Like a baby," I lie with practiced ease, brushing hair from my face. "Deepest sleep I've had in ages." In truth, I barely closed my eyes after what I witnessed.
His mouth quirks up at one corner. "And your dreams? Pleasant, I hope."
"Very." I sip the tea, watching him over the rim. "How about you?"
He pauses, fingers drumming once against the table. I can almost see him weighing whether to match my lie with one of his own. Or at least I think that's what he's doing.
"I'm glad you slept well," he says finally. "You needed it." He leans forward, eyes glinting. "I slept well too, though I had to take care of something."
I nearly choke on my tea. "Of what? And why didn't you tell me about it?"
His expression softens, making him look sincerely concerned. "I wanted you to rest. You've been through so much lately."
I swallow hard, hoping it's the truth, so there's at least something for me to salvage after all my mistakes.
"I'm flattered you'd let me rest," I say, trying to keep my tone even. "But I…"
The words die in my throat as Tahr's face begins to change.
His smooth skin ripples and cracks, revealing scaled flesh beneath.
His perfect features contort, elongating into a reptilian snout while his teeth sharpen into gleaming fangs.
His amber eyes widen, irises splitting into vertical slits as flames lick around their edges.
Dragon horns sprout from his forehead, curving upward like obsidian blades.
The creature before me isn't Tahr anymore.
It's some hellish hybrid of man and dragon, snarling across the breakfast table.
My throat tightens with fear, and my muscles tense to spring and launch me across the table, hands aiming for his throat. I will kill—
—Little one, stop! It is not real!
Zephyros's voice cuts through my panic, a cool wave against burning horror. His presence hums through our bond, soothing the chaos in my mind.
I blink hard, and Tahr's face snaps back to normal. He's staring at me, head tilted, completely unaware of my near-murder attempt.
"Are you well?" he asks.
Swallowing thickly, I nod. "Fine."
I grip the teacup so hard I'm surprised it doesn't shatter.
I'm going mad. Cindergrasp, Heratrix, and Tahr did this to me.
They corrupted my mind. Doubt gnaws through me like acid.
If I can't trust my own eyes, how can I trust anything?
How can I be the Omneira, savior of Embernia, if I'm losing my grip on reality?
—You are not broken, Zephyros's voice steadies me. Your mind is strong. We will figure this out.
Tahr looks at me critically. I force myself to relax, reaching for a blood plum and biting into it, letting the sweet juice coat my tongue. The normalcy of the action settles me, anchors me to the present.
"So." I wipe juice from my lip with my thumb. "Are you going to tell me what you had to do last night that was so important?"
His mouth thins slightly before his expression morphs into something resembling pride. "I found Craven's Strepitus and made sure it won't work anymore."
I put the plum down. "His what? What in the hells is Strepitus?"
He leans forward, lowering his voice. "It's a draught he takes every day to cloud his thoughts." He taps his temple with one long finger. "That's why we can't enter his mind. It's specifically designed to counteract Weavers."
I reach for my teacup with deliberate slowness, fighting the urge to hurl it against the wall. The porcelain clinks against the saucer with a delicacy that belies the rage building in my chest.
"And you didn't think to mention this draught before?" My voice comes out tight, controlled. Barely.
He shrugs, unruffled by my obvious anger. "It didn't seem necessary to mention. It's such an old formula I didn't think it could still be in use."
—He is lying, Zephyros's voice slides through my mind, cold with certainty.
I glare at Tahr.
He considers me, face relaxing into an understanding smile that makes me want to slap it off his face.
"This is precisely why I didn't support your plan to return to the Sky Order without your memories.
" His voice is soft, reasonable. "Your mind and emotions have become too fragmented. I can see that you don't trust me now."
My teeth clench so hard my jaw aches. "Maybe I don't trust you because you're keeping secrets."