Chapter 15 Rhea #2
"Rhea," he says, leaning forward to take my hand.
I yank it away. He exhales, then goes on.
"Your loyalty shouldn't be split between me and Stormsong.
We all want the same thing. To save Embernia.
We had a plan. A purpose. And I think you're right, being romantically involved with the High Prime and me…
it has made everything more complicated.
It's not what I wanted. I shouldn't have sought you as I did, but I couldn't help myself. You… captured me."
Like last night, his words trigger a rush of memory, hot and visceral.
The mountain's cool shadows, Tahr's hands sliding across my bare skin, his mouth at my throat, each kiss igniting something primal within me.
I remember his fingers tangling in my hair, pulling just hard enough to expose my neck, his teeth grazing my pulse point.
Our bodies pressed together against rough stone walls, his heat contrasting the cave's chill.
The way his voice dropped to a whisper when he told me I was destined for greatness.
How I believed him, how I melted into his touch, surrendered to the way he made my body sing.
I remember his wild scent as he moved inside me, my nails leaving crescents in his alabaster skin.
The way he'd look at me after, gaze full of reverence.
The memory burns through me, unwanted yet undeniable. My body responds traitorously, cheeks flushing. But none of it is real, is it?
"I can be patient." His eyes hold mine, steady and undemanding. "I've waited my entire life to get here, Rhea. I can wait for you."
The contrast becomes stark. Where Vaylen's judgment cuts deep, Tahr offers understanding. Why? Why isn't it the other way around?
"I don't blame you," he continues, voice like velvet against my raw emotions. "Your task isn't easy. Being Omneira, balancing these responsibilities... it's a lot."
His words wash over me, soothing the jagged edges of my doubts.
For a moment, I want to believe him, to sink into the comfort he offers, but that feeling vanishes as quickly as it comes.
This gentleness might be another form of manipulation.
He might be playing me like a harp, plucking exactly the right strings to make me dance to his tune.
Either way, I can play along.
I soften my expression, letting my shoulders relax. "Thank you for respecting my wishes," I say, infusing my voice with gratitude I don't feel. "For removing yourself and the complications you bring."
Tahr's smile is a little too satisfied, like a cat who's finally cornered a mouse. I don't trust it. I don't trust him. I silently reach for Zephyros through our bond, feeling him wrap his consciousness protectively around mine like armor.
—I will not let him in, little one. He has not tried.
"It's settled then," Tahr says, rising from his chair with that smoothness of his, yet another weapon in his arsenal. "We should prepare for our meeting with Craven."
I take another sip of tea, watching him closely.
He straightens his fur-lined coat. "Planning our attack on the Screechclaws is our priority." His eyes flash with excitement. "And without the Strepitus clouding Craven's mind, it should be easy for you to... guide his thinking."
On that we can agree. We need to crush our monstrous enemies and finally liberate Embernia from their threat.
I don't like that we must manipulate the King, but he isn't the man needed at this crucial point.
Besides, Craven himself has no qualms about using me as his weapon.
I'm sure he eventually intends to use my Weaver powers for his own gain. Too bad I won't oblige.
Tahr's eyes glitter with anticipation. "And we can also find out where the King's archives are kept, so you can finally become Omneira."
He's talking about the ritual. The key to unlocking my full power. The secret to becoming Omneira—the weapon Heratrix needs to help end this war—lies hidden in the royal archives, old scrolls that detail the exact steps to unleash what sleeps inside me.
When the bygone dragon prophesied the coming of Omneira, he didn't just forecast my arrival. He also provided instructions—a blueprint for creating the most powerful Skyrider Embernia has ever known.
Yet the Stonefall king who ruled at the time, gripped by a paranoia not unlike Craven’s, insisted that such dangerous knowledge remain in royal hands. Therefore, all records were shared with Heratrix's keepers under the mountain except for how to unlock Omneira's powers.
For a while, I've been avoiding thinking about the ritual. What it might involve. What it might do to me. The truth is, I'm afraid. I fear that every step I take toward becoming this Omneira takes me further from the woman I used to be.
When I first became a Skyrider, I felt powerful and free, in control of my destiny for the first time.
The wind was at my command. Zephyros was beneath me, and the sky was endless and mine to claim.
I chose that path. I fought for it. But this?
This prophecy, this destiny... it feels like I'm being molded into something else. Something I never asked to become.
Am I just a tool now? A weapon to be wielded by the Goddess?
The thought makes me shudder but, clenching my teeth, I banish the doubt. Liberating Embernia from the Screechclaws has always been my purpose. If becoming Omneira is what it takes to end centuries of bloodshed, then I'll face whatever awaits.
We leave the sunroom, Tahr to go check on Heratrix while I return to my chambers.
My reflection in the corridor windows startles me—wild hair, shadowed eyes, rumpled sleep clothes.
Some legendary Omneira I am. I need to make myself presentable before meeting Craven. At least I can control that much.
When I turn the next corner, I freeze. Phoebe stands there, her slim figure blocking my path.
My first instinct is to rush forward, throw my arms around the one friend who might understand what I'm going through, but the look on her face stops me.
Her green eyes—usually warm and curious—are distant glaciers.
Her stance is rigid, notebook conspicuously absent.
"Rhea," she says with a formal nod.
Something in my chest cracks. I've lost Vaylen, and now Phoebe too? The unfairness of it burns through me. But what else did I expect?
"Can we talk?" she asks. Her voice is gentle, but guarded.
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Phoebe, I—"
"Not here," she interrupts, glancing down the corridor. "Somewhere private."