Chapter 27 Rhea
Rhea
Tahr wastes no time assuming command, outlining a massive assault on Screechclaw territories. The Commander's face reveals nothing as she listens, carved from stone. Only the slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth betrays her fury when he brings up his plans for land troops again.
Dakar's chair scrapes against the floor as he rises abruptly.
"Permission to be dismissed," he growls at the Commander, ignoring Tahr entirely.
She gives him a slight nod. His dark eyes find mine as he turns, burning with such hatred I nearly flinch.
The accusation is clear: this is your doing.
The door slams behind him, punctuating his disgust. I deserve his contempt.
Everything falling apart around me bears my fingerprints, even if Tahr pulled the strings.
The meeting concludes with preparations to depart for Fort Ashmire at dawn. I fell ill at the thought of returning there.
"Commander Stonevein," Tahr says, "send Boltgrams to all ground troops near the border. They must be ready."
Darion Stonevein nods curtly, his mustache twitching with displeasure. The Land Order leader has remained mostly silent, but his eyes hold the same calculation as the Commander's.
I watch them all file out of the chamber. Stonevein with a stiff bow, Voltguard without a single glance my way, royal council members muttering amongst themselves. Even my supposed betrothed, King Craven, doesn't spare a backward look for his darling bride. In the end, I'm left alone with Tahr.
The moment the door closes, his perfect posture relaxes. He leans against the war table, running a finger along the miniature dragon pieces scattered across the map.
"You've done brilliantly with Craven," he says, a pleased smile playing across his features.
A bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "Brilliantly? Is that what you call it? He announced our betrothal without warning and nearly handed me the Commander's position instead of you."
Tahr's smile vanishes as he straightens. "It would have been no problem if you'd been named leader. Our plan wouldn't have changed. We want the same thing. The war's end. Embernia's peace." His gaze burns with conviction. "That's all that matters."
I stare at the map, at the jagged line marking Embernia's western border with the Blighted Arcs. Countless riders have died defending that border.
"I thought you said we would need Omneira to end this war," I say.
He sighs. "Regrettably, I haven't found any information on the ritual in Craven's archives. I'm starting to fear the knowledge has been lost, but I'm sure we can manage."
Liar, I want to shout, but manage to keep my mouth sealed.
Omneira doesn't exist. It was some made-up tale to tempt me with the kind of power I always wanted at my disposal to ensure no one ever hurt me or my loved ones ever again.
Once more, I've been proven a fool. I just don't understand why he needed me at all.
Despite my fury, I keep calm and ask, "Are you certain the Sky Order will be able to handle the Screechclaws with Heratrix by their side?"
"Losing hope already?" His voice drops to a silken tone.
I shrug, careful to keep my expression neutral. Let him think my doubts are only about the war.
His fingers catch my chin, turning my face toward his.
I resist the urge to pull away. "Darling, you doubt because you haven't witnessed Heratrix's true power.
" His thumb traces my jawline. "But you will.
Her fire alone could level mountains. With her leading our forces, the Screechclaws will soon be nothing but ashes scattered on the wind. "
The certainty in his voice chills me. I've seen the Screechclaws fight, seen their ferocity, their strange resilience. And despite everything, I remember the Matron's eyes, the intelligence there. Her strange warning. Fuck! I can't keep any of this straight.
"Total annihilation," Tahr continues. "That's how we'll have peace."
I nod, considering my next words carefully, weighing their effect. Then I realize there's no point in restraint. With as many times as Tahr must have invaded my thoughts, he surely knows my feelings for Vaylen.
"Where is Vaylen?" The question cuts through the tension between us.
Tahr blinks, what appears to be genuine surprise crossing his perfect features. "What should I know of the High Prime's whereabouts?"
"Did you do something to him?" I step closer, studying his face for any flicker of deceit.
His eyebrows rise. "Why would I bother with Stormsong? He's irrelevant now."
"Fragor says he ended his bond with him." The words taste like ash in my mouth. "A dragon doesn't just sever a connection with their rider."
His eyes narrow slightly. "Perhaps their bond wasn't as strong as he'd have everyone believe."
"Or perhaps someone interfered with it." I lock eyes with him, refusing to back down.
"I don't interfere in dragon's affairs. I know better."
"If I learn you've hurt him—" I begin.
"You'll what?" His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Remember what's at stake, Rhea. The fate of Embernia. The dragon eggs. Our future."
I say nothing, letting him feel the weight of my unspoken threat hanging between us. He studies me, that perfect mask of confidence slipping just enough to reveal something unexpected. Pain.
His expression turns sad, his shoulders dropping slightly. "I should have never allowed you to return without your memories." He shakes his head, white braids swaying. "I never thought you would fall for Stormsong. I thought—" His voice catches. "I thought you cared for me."
He steps closer, and I force myself not to retreat.
"All those nights we spent together, your passion..." His voice drops to a whisper. "I thought you were totally mine, but I underestimated the High Prime, didn't I?"
The hurt in his eyes seems so genuine that for a moment, I almost believe he has true feelings for me. Perhaps beneath all his manipulation and schemes, there's something real, after all.
But it doesn't matter. Whatever feelings he has, I don't want them. He violated my mind, shaped my memories to his will, took away my choices. He's everything Vaylen isn't—a manipulative asshole without honor, something Vaylen has in spades.
"We need to focus on the mission," I say finally, refusing to acknowledge his emotional display. "Like you said. The war. The eggs. That's what matters."
He studies me for a moment longer, resignation settling across his features. Then, like clouds parting after a storm, he smiles a devastating smile and straightens his shoulder.
"You're right, of course." His hand brushes mine as he reaches for a figurine on the map. "The mission comes first."
He moves the miniature Heratrix to hover over the Blighted Arcs, his fingers lingering on the piece. When he looks up, determination has replaced the hurt in his eyes.
"But know this, darling," his voice is velvet and smoke again, "I will win your heart back. Whatever it takes." He places the piece down with finality. "What we had was real, Rhea. You may not remember it clearly now, but you will."
I turn away, unwilling to let him see how his words affect me. The worst part is, I don't know what was real, what I did of my own volition. At least not yet, but I soon will. I have a list of memories to examine.
Mumbling about preparations for tomorrow's journey to Fort Ashmire, I leave the room. His eyes follow me, burning holes in my back, but he doesn't try to stop me.
Once out of sight, I hurry down the corridor toward the military wing where visiting Skyriders are quartered.
The guards nod respectfully as I pass—the future queen, according to Craven's ridiculous announcement.
When I peek inside the common area, I notice only Nate hunched over a game of cards with two others I don't recognize.
"Shit," I mutter, backing away before they notice me.
What was I thinking? There's only one place Phoebe would spend her precious time in the palace.
I have no idea where Craven's private archives are, but when I ask one of the servants, they tell me without hesitation. The King's betrothed commands immediate respect, it seems, a fact I'll use to my advantage if I can.
I make my way through the labyrinthine corridors of Castle Stonefall, eyes constantly scanning for prying eyes, especially Tahr's. Every shadow makes me tense, every echo of footsteps quickens my pulse. I don't need to call his attention to Phoebe. I need to keep her safe. She's my only ally.
The doors rise before me, ornately carved with dragon egg motifs. Two guards flanking the entrance straighten and bow deeply.
"Lady Wyndward," they murmur in unison, stepping aside.
An attendant hurries forward, also bowing. "Lady Wyndward, how may I assist you today?" he asks with reverence.
It seems news of who I am has traveled fast through the palace.
"That won't be necessary," I reply, and he bows again before retreating.
The scent of paper and leather bindings washes over me.
Towering shelves stretch toward a vaulted ceiling where golden light filters through small, high windows.
The wealth of knowledge here is staggering, scrolls and tomes dating back centuries, a collection accessible to royals and those with their permission.
I find Phoebe pacing along a wide table buried under open books and unfurled scrolls.
Her pencil taps against her chin as she mutters to herself, deep in thought.
Diagrams and hastily scribbled notes cover every inch of parchment surrounding her scattered research.
She jumps when she notices me, nearly dropping her pencil.
Her green eyes widen, darting to the door behind me as if expecting someone else to follow.
"Rhea! What are you…? Is he with you?"
I shake my head, glancing back at the door. "I'm alone. Tahr thinks I'm packing for tomorrow's journey to Fort Ashmire." The next words tumble out before I can stop them. "Fragor ended his bond with Vaylen."