Chapter 22 Rhea #2
I slump back against the pillows, my fury and despair cooling into something more useful.
Resolve. I got myself into this mess. My own arrogance is partly to blame.
I've always seen myself as untouchable, especially after bonding with Zephyros.
So powerful. So capable. I sneered at rules, questioned everything, acted like I knew better than everyone else.
But how much of that was bravado? Just posturing to hide my fears?
Now I'm at the mercy of someone considerably more adept than myself.
Tahr possesses hundreds of years of experience twisting thoughts, passed down to him by a succession of people descended from Heratrix's rider at the time of her curse.
In a concerted effort, they preserved the Weaver knowledge securely and transmitted it from one generation to the next, which means Tahr has been playing this game far longer than me.
Oh, what a foolish brat I have been.
—You are not alone in this fight, Zephyros reminds me.
I breathe deeply, swallowing the storm of emotions that threatened to engulf me moments ago. Zephyros's steady presence calms me, the warmth of our bond a gentle touch to my mind.
—I will be patient, I promise him, my resolve like steel, then add, If only I could skim through the memories quickly, like flipping pages.
—Strategies take time. Make a list. Prioritize.
Yes, uncovering the truth will take time. It'll be a slow unravelling through the tangled threads of my mind. One by one, each will need painstaking evaluation. But Zephyros is right. I need to be strategic.
Jumping from the bed, I grab parchment and quill, left by some unseen servant. The idea of making a list is solid, a chance for me to bring clarity to chaos, just one little shred of hope to grasp in this dizzying situation.
—What should we try first? I ask, quill poised above the empty page.
Zephyros considers. —The breakfast with Tahr, he replies. We need to determine if he is still able to manipulate you. If he cannot, we will not need the Strepitus.
A great idea indeed. I bounce back to the bed, parchment discarded as I settle on the bed.
—What are you doing? he demands.
—I need to know.
—And the list?
—Later.
—Whatever happened to not being rash anymore?
—Emberton wasn't built in one day.
Zephyros releases a tired sigh, but I'm already falling into the twilight state.
A breath, another, deeper by the second.
This time is different. More confident, maybe.
With purpose. Wrapped in the comforting cloak of Zephyros's consciousness, I let the memory surface, and there it is…
the sunlit room with Tahr sipping tea, breakfast spread before us.
I manifest that parallel truth, following emotional currents rather than visual ones, seeking snags or contradictions. His presence was intense there, too, but the further I look, I find only ordinary conversation.
I sit up abruptly, huffing in frustration. "Damn waste of time."
—The list would not have been a waste of time, Zephyros puts in.
—Yes, all-mighty, all-knowing dragon.
—At last, you give me the respect I deserve.
I frown and scratch my head. —When Tahr was teaching me Weaver skills he said the mind is complex, unpredictable, and that we can't keep changing things at a whim. Apparently, each alteration creates ripples we can't entirely control.
I pause, hand smoothing the bedsheet. He'd been teaching me how to navigate Craven's thoughts, explaining why we needed to plan the King's manipulation so meticulously.
—He said it's like building a house of cards, I continue. Change one support, and the whole structure might collapse. That's why skilled Weavers use mind manipulation as little as possible. Only when absolutely necessary.
And yet somehow, that careful approach still resulted in King Craven announcing our betrothal without warning. Was that truly an accident? Or another of Tahr's calculated moves? Something to add to my list for sure.
—So, Zephyros begins, breaking me from my musings, if Tahr approached your own manipulation with the same caution he preached about Craven's, he would have planned it carefully, changing only small things.
—Which could mean, I continue his train of thought, I won't find obvious tampering in most memories because there simply isn't any.
—Exactly. He would not need to rewrite everything, just key moments. He must have made meticulous alterations to redirect your course like a river diverted by a few strategically placed stones. Zephyros lets out a frustrated grunt.
—What?
—What if he did not so much manipulate you, but… he pauses …but mostly and simply lied to you.
"Dammit!" I mutter, pressing my palms against my eyes. "This is going to be even harder than I thought."
I really do need to be more methodical. More patient. I must look not only for altered memories—the stones set to redirect the river of my life—but for the ordinary lies too.
—Fine, you were right. I should work on the list. I swing my legs off the bed and walk back to the small writing desk, snatching up the abandoned parchment.
—Of course, I was right.
—Smug dragon.
—Stubborn baby.
I roll my eyes but dip the quill in ink. My hand hovers over the parchment before I begin to write.
When/how I agreed to return to the Sky Order.
Craven's betrothal announcement.
Omneira prophecy.
Abrupt departure from the Sky Order.
Ritual under the mountain.
Nights alone with Tahr.
Zephyros suggests additions, and I grudgingly add them. The list grows to over fifty items once broken down in more detail. The search will take hours, possibly days, but I need answers as soon as possible. The clock in the hall chimes four times. I yawn. Sleep tugs at my eyelids, but I resist.
—You need rest to think clearly. Sleep for a few hours, Zephyros suggests.
—If this situation gets me killed, I'll have plenty of time to sleep then.
—That is not amusing.
—It wasn't meant to be.
I stare at my chicken-scratch writing, squinting to make sense of my own words. My slanting letters smear together. I've never been one for neat penmanship. Numbers next to each memory indicate priority. The most critical ones sit at the top.
I slap my cheeks, hard. The sting jolts me awake for a few precious moments. "Focus, Rhea."
This reminds me of those endless nights at the Academy, hunched over wind current charts and dragon anatomy texts. Nights when my biggest worry was passing an examination on flight patterns or memorizing standard equipment lists. How simple everything seemed then.
How clear the path.
Before I killed Cindergrasp. Before I discovered I killed my mother. Before Tahr.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes. I push them away. No time for self-pity. Not with Embernia's future hanging in the balance.
"I can figure this out," I whisper to myself. "I'm still powerful. I'm still clever."
Zephyros's warmth pulses in agreement.
But that's not enough anymore, is it? Power and cleverness brought me here, manipulated, betrothed to a monster, and separated from the only man I've ever truly loved.
I've learned something valuable, however. Something Zephyros has tried teaching me all along. Experience matters. Patience matters. Thinking before acting matters.
My fingers cramp from gripping the quill, but I don't stop. I number memories, draw connections between them, sketch timelines until my fingertips are stained black with ink.
What Tahr doesn't realize is that he didn't just take my memories. He took my choice. And no one takes what's mine without paying the price.