Chapter 26 Rhea
Rhea
The war room buzzes with arguments that lead nowhere. Commander Voltguard's voice cuts through the chamber as she points at the map, countering Tahr's strategy with her own. They've been circling the same points for over an hour.
I attempt to soothe King Craven's mind again, sending gentle thoughts of patience. His agitation ebbs momentarily, then surges back stronger. Each time I reach for his consciousness, I find it harder to influence him.
Craven sighs dramatically, tilting his head back to stare at the ornate ceiling.
His crown sits askew, and his fingers drum an impatient rhythm against the polished table.
The longer the debate continues, the more his boredom transforms into irritation.
At least he hasn't intervened, which means my suggestions are taking hold. But for how long?
I watch the tension build like a storm. Tahr leans across the table toward Commander Voltguard, his gaze sharp as a blade.
He speaks, his voice smooth as silk, "We need an aggressive first strike. None of you can begin to comprehend Heratrix's power and the difference her presence will make during battle. With the Goddess we can easily triumph if you just—"
"No!" Commander Voltguard's fist slams against the table, rattling the miniature markers representing our forces. "We've been over this."
Tahr's smile spreads slowly across his face. He's been needling her for the past hour, and he's finally broken her composure. Satisfaction tips his mouth in a smirk.
"I'm the leader of the Sky Order," Voltguard snaps, gray hair escaping her tight bun as she leans forward. "I know the current situation better than anyone in this room. We can't have someone who's lived like a mole for who knows how long leading the flight."
The vein in her temple pulses visibly. Every eye in the room fixes on her outburst.
Tahr straightens, his beauty hardening to something dangerous as his hands form into fists. Being called a mole seems to have struck a chord.
"I'm Heratrix's rider," he says, voice dropping to a near whisper that somehow fills the entire chamber. "You and others like you have only been borrowing my rightful position while the Goddess slept."
The room falls silent. Even King Craven stops fidgeting with a golden button in his jacket to stare.
Commander Voltguard's laughter pierces the room, a sharp sound that vibrates through the air. "Borrowing your position? Really, Lord Flarebane? We've owned it and fought tooth and claw for Embernia while you've been tucked away in shadows. It's our blood that stains this land, not yours."
Her words slice through the tension, driven by that conviction and fiery spirit she's known for. I feel the pulse of her energy, drawn in like the pull of a storm.
Tahr leans back, an exaggerated display of patience stretching across his features. "A remarkable job indeed," he mutters with sarcasm. "Everything in shambles, dragons massacred left and right. What a testament to your mediocrity."
I sense Zephyros stir, an echo of indignation vibrating through our bond.
His memory conjures images of fallen dragons, their scales dull and lifeless against scorched earth, a grim reminder of losses suffered.
None of this destruction spawns from neglect, though Tahr would have everyone believe otherwise.
Tahr’s gaze locks onto Voltguard, a molten intensity simmering there. "I did what I had to, played my part, protecting the Goddess, a mandate from centuries past. But now she's back, and I finally have the freedom to set things right."
His declaration hangs heavy over us, challenging what we failed to protect. The room absorbs the weight of his claim. Beneath it lies an unspoken promise, a chance to end the cycles of war and bring life back to Embernia's skies.
A slow, sharp clap cuts through the tension like a blade. King Craven rises to his feet. His eyes—usually darting with paranoia—fix steadily on Tahr.
Right on time.
"This!" He points dramatically at Tahr. "This is the kind of conviction my kingdom needs.
" His gaze sweeps across the chamber, lingering on Commander Voltguard with practiced disdain.
"Not all this dithering and cautious planning.
I've been sick of hearing about this war my entire life.
" His voice grows louder, more theatrical with each word.
"The war, the war, the war. It's been the same refrain since I was a child.
It's damn time we annihilate the Screechclaws once and for all. "
My stomach tightens. I've felt his bloodlust when probing his mind, but now—thanks to me—it spills freely into the open air.
His lips curl into a thin smile. "Perhaps the Sky Order needs someone with fresh vision in command."
Tahr straightens, preening like a dragon displaying its scales. He inclines his head in false humility, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in anticipation.
"In fact," Craven continues, his gaze traveling around the room before landing on me, "I believe my future wife would make an excellent commander."
My mouth drops open. This isn't what he's supposed to say. He's supposed to give the position to Tahr, whose face freezes, the smugness shattering into fragments of disbelief. Commander Voltguard looks as though she's been slapped.
"Your Grace," I stammer, "I don't—"
The room explodes in protests. Commander Voltguard, Dakar, and Prime Emberstone look at me as if I've morphed into the Matron herself and each would like to personally gut me. They think I did this, that I gave myself command of the Sky Order.
"The Sky Order will never follow her," the Commander speaks between clenched teeth, her face a mask of barely contained fury. "Not a traitor."
Every syllable strikes like a Wind Blast. I've earned this contempt, but not for the reasons they believe.
I didn't put this insane idea in Craven's head.
I glance at Tahr, whose expression has transformed from shock to suspicion, but he was in Craven's mind with me.
He knows I didn't plant this suggestion.
"How dare you!" Craven's face flushes an alarming shade of purple. "Guards! Arrest Commander Voltguard for insulting the future queen!"
The royal guards hesitate, exchanging uneasy glances as lightning begins to crackle around Voltguard's clenched fists, tiny blue-white arcs jumping between her fingers. The air in the chamber grows heavy with ozone.
"Your Majesty," I say quickly, placing my hand on Craven's arm. "The Commander speaks from loyalty to the Sky Order. I respect that."
Dakar stands, tattoos rippling across his muscled arms as he leans forward. "This ain't right. High Prime's missing, and now you're tryin' to steal command?"
"I'm not," I insist, feeling my control of this situation slipping away. "I didn't ask for this."
"Yet here we are," Prime Emberstone says coldly. "How convenient for you."
I'm tempted to slip into Craven's mind again and give him a renewed order, but I hold back. The man is acting erratic enough already. Another intrusion might push him further into chaos.
Instead, I lean close, keeping my voice low but urgent.
"Your Grace, please call back the guards.
If they attempt to arrest the Commander, there will be bloodshed right here in your war room.
" I glance meaningfully at the lightning dancing around Voltguard's fingers.
"You wouldn't want violence to erupt in your presence, would you? "
Fear flickers across his face. The prospect of being caught in a skirmish between elementals makes his complexion pale.
"Guards, stand down," he says, his voice slightly higher than normal.
I feel a shift in his mind, like pieces sliding into their original positions. The fog clears from his eyes as the suggestion I'd planted earlier resurfaces.
"I've reconsidered," Craven announces, straightening his crown. "Lord Flarebane will assume command of the Sky Order until the war's end."
Tahr's expression brightens with triumph as Craven continues.
"He's Heratrix's chosen rider. Who are any of you to question the will of the Goddess herself?" His voice rises with newfound conviction. "Any objection to Lord Flarebane is an objection to the Goddess. And that, my subjects, would be blasphemy."
The room falls silent. No one dares challenge him now, though hatred radiates from Voltguard.
Tahr sweeps into a deep bow, the movement fluid as water over stone. "Your Majesty, I thank you for your steadfastness and determination. Embernia has a good king, and many more generations of Stonefalls will sit upon the throne for centuries to come."
Craven's face blooms with satisfaction, the flattery feeding his starving ego.
A strange look passes between the two men—something subtle but unmistakable, like a secret handshake performed in plain sight.
As the Goddess's rider, Tahr's lineage has been sworn to protect Stonefall kings. Undoubtedly, that agreement persists.
Commander Voltguard's eyes burn into mine across the table. My chest aches with the weight of her hatred, sharp as dragon's teeth.
Tahr rises from his bow, eyes gleaming. This is what we planned. I stare at him as several of those present address him. He turns to accept congratulations from bootlicking opportunists, his smile never faltering.
Slowly, the pieces slot into place like a lock clicking open. All this time, I've been so focused on the war—on saving Embernia—I thought that was what Tahr wanted too. But watching him now, preening under the attention, I see what I've been blind to.
This was never about ending the war. That's just a means to an end. This is really about what comes after. The Goddess's rider. Commander of the Sky Order. Each step bringing him closer to the throne itself.
Has Tahr been manipulating my mind to block this conclusion? Or have I been willfully ignorant, so desperate to believe in our cause that I overlooked the obvious? It has to be the former because I can't possibly be that stupid.
He catches my gaze across the room and his smile shifts, becoming something more intimate, more personal.
Something that sends ice through my veins.
I force myself to return it and study him as his shoulders set proudly and his chin lifts.
Perhaps his ambition isn't entirely selfish.
Maybe Embernia does need someone like him instead of a paranoid, cruel king like Craven.
My mind flashes to those awful memories I found in Craven's consciousness, and I shiver. The throne room has seen centuries of Stonefall rule, and what has it brought us? Nobility gorging itself on excess despite our endless war, all while those in border settlements suffer.
—Would Tahr's rule be so terrible?
The thought slithers into my consciousness like smoke through a keyhole. It feels familiar yet alien, a whisper that doesn't originate from my own consciousness. I freeze, every muscle tensing as I recognize the intrusion.
Tahr is in my head.
—Tahr! Zephyros exclaims an instant later. He is in your head.
I send a nod of quiet acknowledgement, keeping my expression neutral as I coyly observe Tahr. I sensed it too. Something within me seems to finally be able to fight back.
He stands tall, accepting their praise with practiced humility. Not a flicker of concentration shows on his perfect features, no indication that he knows I've discovered him.
I sense a nod back from Zephyros. It's working. I don't need the Strepitus.
Smiling back, I let Tahr believe I'm still his puppet while my rage builds quietly beneath the surface. Another intrusion. Another violation I'll make him pay for.
I continue watching his graceful movements, the confident way he commands attention. The room bends toward him like flowers following the sun, but it must be his influence.
The Commander's face transforms through a spectrum of emotions—shock, rage, betrayal—as she stares at Craven.
For a terrifying moment, I think she'll unleash lightning across the war room, striking down the King where he stands.
The air crackles with her elemental power, small blue-white arcs dancing around her.
Then something shifts. Her jaw tightens, her breathing steadies. I watch the deliberate process of her gaining control, the lightning dimming as she reins herself in. The weathered lines of her face harden into a mask of cold professionalism.
"Dakar," she says quietly, never taking her eyes off Tahr.
Dakar's knuckles are white against the table. He looks like a storm about to break, ready to vault across and wrap his hands around Tahr's throat.
"Dakar," she repeats, firmer now. "Stand down."
"This wyrm-shit ain't right, Commander," he growls, dark eyes burning with fury. "These snakes have something to do with Vaylen's disappearance. I'm sure of it."
Commander Voltguard places a steady hand on his shoulder. "That's enough."
Logic overrides emotion in her features. She's a strategist first, a warrior second. Getting herself thrown into the dungeons or dismissed from service entirely would leave the Sky Order truly vulnerable. Tahr may have gained command for now, but the loyalty of the riders still belongs to her.
"Very well, Your Majesty," she says, each word precise as a blade. "If this is your decree, the Sky Order will adjust accordingly."
Her eyes meet mine briefly—not with hatred now, but with something more complex. A dangerous judgement. A promise that this isn't over.
My thoughts pull away from this place, toward Vaylen. I can't help but wonder what he would think if he were here. I can almost see the cold fury in his blue eyes, the sharp lines of his face. The conjured image sends a terrible ache through my chest, a longing to run and find him.
Zephyros feels my pain, the depth of Vaylen's absence gnawing on my insides. My dragon hums through our bond, sending waves of assurance that tame the storm within.
—Did you ask Fragor? I ask.
His silence stretches, heavy with meaning. The absence of his usual sardonic words sends a chill through me.
—Zephyros?
His anger crashes through our connection, making my heart race. —Yes. I asked him.
—And? Where's Vaylen?
The hesitation that follows makes my heart stutter. —He does not know. Fragor broke the bond between them.
The world tilts beneath me. Dragons don't break bonds with their riders. It's unheard of. Bonds are known to be lifelong connections, sacred and unbreakable except in death.
—Why? Why would he—?
—He would not say. Zephyros's mental voice rumbles with fury. I demanded answers, little one. He told me it was his business who he bonded to and none of mine.
My knees weaken. If Fragor severed their connection, then Vaylen is… alone. Or worse?
Goddess, I begin a prayer, then shake my head. If Heratrix is anything like her rider, if she's part of this manipulation—which she must be—I have no business praying to her.
There's no one to rely on. Only myself.