Chapter 19 Vaylen
Vaylen
The cold air hits my face like a slap, jarring me from the heated fog of what just happened.
I've wandered blindly through the castle, taking stairs I don't remember climbing, ending up in a high tower, until suddenly…
stars. Thousands of them, scattered across the night sky like dragon scales on black velvet.
My breath forms clouds in front of me. I inhale deeply, trying to clear the scent of her from my lungs. It doesn't work. Rhealyn clings to me still—her taste on my tongue, her warmth on my skin, the feel of her legs wrapped around my waist.
What kind of High Prime behaves like a rutting animal? Taking a woman against a wall, on the floor, like some base creature with no control? The shame burns hot, but not as hot as the anger still coursing through my veins.
Betrothed. To Craven. All while still aligned with Tahranis.
My fist slams into the stone balustrade. Pain shoots up my arm, but I welcome it. Better than the other pain, the one lodged beneath my ribs that refuses to subside.
The worst part isn't what I did to her. It's how desperately I want to do it again. I ache to march back downstairs, find her, and claim her until she forgets everyone else, until she thinks of no one but me.
I lean against the cold stone, looking up at the indifferent stars. They've witnessed a thousand years of human folly and will witness a thousand more.
"I wish you all the happiness in the world," she said.
As if happiness exists in a world where she belongs to someone else.
A quiet scuff behind me breaks the silence. I peel away from the wall, every muscle tensing at once.
Tahranis Flarebane steps from the shadows, white braids swing as he approaches with languid steps.
"Evening, High Prime." His voice carries on the night air. "These royal affairs are dreadfully dull, aren't they? I came seeking a moment's reprieve."
His eyes flick over me, taking in my disheveled appearance, the bruised knuckles. The corner of his mouth lifts in a knowing smile.
"Instead, I found... entertainment." He stops a few paces away. "The walls of this castle carry sound rather well."
Ice floods my veins. He knows. He heard Rhealyn and me.
"Her Majesty-to-be has quite the... passionate nature." Tahranis's smile widens, showing teeth too sharp to be fully human. "Though I hardly need to tell you that, do I?"
I stare at Tahranis, my blood boiling beneath my skin. The wind responds to my rage, swirling around us in tight eddies. He's trying to provoke me, watching with that self-satisfied smirk, like a cat toying with a wounded bird.
And dammit, I want to give him what he wants and wipe that smug expression from his perfect face with my fist. The image of his blood staining the castle's stonework is almost worth the satisfaction.
Almost.
"You're not worth my time, Flarebane." I turn away, forcing each step toward the doorway. "Enjoy your empty victory."
"Empty?" His velvet voice trails after me. "Oh, I wouldn't call the nights with your precious Rhealyn empty."
I keep walking, but then images assault my mind. Rhealyn's naked body arched beneath his. Her mouth on his skin. Her eyes, half-closed in pleasure as he—
The intrusion is violent, invasive, and I realize these aren't memories, they're weapons aimed straight at my heart.
Something inside me snaps.
I whirl back, fist already flying toward his face. Too late, I see the metallic glint in the moonlight. Too late, I realize I've fallen into his trap.
Sharp, cold pain pierces my side. The world slows as I look down at the ornate dagger handle protruding from between my ribs, Tahranis's hand still wrapped around it.
"That was too easy," he whispers, twisting the blade, still smirking. "Almost disappointing."
My knees tremble. Warm wetness spreads across my shirt as he pulls the blade free.
"Nothing personal, High Prime. You're simply in my way."
Tahranis grips my shoulders and holds me steady. My body already feels cold and impossibly heavy. The stars blur above me as he pushes me backward toward the balustrade.
"She might mourn you for a bit," he murmurs, voice intimate as a lover's. "But grief will pass quickly. I'll make sure of that."
I try to summon wind, but my power slips away. I reach for Fragor, but something seems to slam shut, and suddenly I can't feel the bond. My mouth fills with copper.
"Embernia's throne will be mine," he continues, gaze glowing unnaturally bright. "Along with the queen Craven chose. He isn't totally deluded, you know. It has always been part of my plan to make her queen."
Craven chose her? Maybe I was—
The small of my back hits the stone railing. I clutch at Tahranis's wrists, but my strength is fading fast. Blood drips between us, pattering on the stone like rain.
"She was always meant for greater things than you, Stormsong."
My vision darkens at the edges. I see Rhealyn's face, not as she was tonight—flushed and resigned beneath me—but smiling, wind in her hair as we flew together on our dragons.
Tahranis leans close, his breath hot against my ear. "The Omneira belongs at my side."
With one powerful shove, he pushes me backward. The stone edge digs into my lower back for an instant, then vanishes.
I'm falling.
The castle wall rushes past in a blur of gray stone. Wind whips my hair, tugs at my clothes. I reach for my element, desperate instinct overriding logical thought. Nothing responds. The air itself rejects my command.
My dragon's name forms on my lips, but Fragor isn't there, the bond is gone, and the pain that scorches through me at the knowledge is worse than the wound Tahranis inflicted.
Perhaps it's better this way.
No more watching Rhealyn with another man. No more duty forcing me to stand guard while my rival's vision becomes true. No more torn loyalty between what I want and what Embernia needs.
The ground rushes up to meet me, and in that final moment, I find a strange sort of peace.