Chapter 29 Rhea
Rhea
Isecure the last of my leather straps tight around my supplies, painfully aware of the scorching glares aimed at my back. The armory, usually filled with camaraderie and easy banter, is a tomb of silence in my presence.
Dakar deliberately bumps my shoulder as he passes. I let it happen. I deserve worse.
"Traitor," someone whispers, just loud enough for me to hear.
I focus on my pack, mentally checking my inventory. Waterskin, dried meat, healing balm, flints... anything to avoid meeting those accusatory stares.
The air shifts, growing heavy, and the room instantly goes quiet.
I turn to find Tahr standing in the doorway, magnificent as always in his sleek black attire. I suppress my revulsion at his presence.
"Skyriders!" His voice cuts through the room. "Be ready to depart at first light tomorrow. We have a war to end."
He catches the eye of a young attendant who's polishing armor. "You there. See that Heratrix receives fresh meat."
Everyone seems tense, avoids eye contact, and moves a touch too quickly. The room begins to empty—not from any eagerness to follow Tahr's commands, but to escape his presence. I lower my head, desperate to slip away before he can corner me alone.
"There you are. I've been looking for you." His voice stops me before I can slip away with the others.
I turn slowly to face him, forcing my features into neutrality. "I've been preparing for tomorrow. There's lots to do."
"Be honest, you're avoiding me." His tone is cajoling, not angry.
"I'm busy, worried about the attack."
"Don't lie to me, darling."
Has Zephyros mental protection failed? Has he read my thoughts despite everything?
"You're still angry with me," he continues, reaching to touch my face. I resist flinching. "I think you've grown… distrustful because you've convinced yourself that I've manipulated your mind."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, but I fear there's a tremor in my voice.
"Don't you?" He smiles. "Then why are acting like I'm the enemy?"
I stare at him, wishing to escape his scrutiny. The armory suddenly feels too small, the air too thick to breathe.
He takes my silence as permission to continue, his eyes holding mine. "I've done some thinking about our last conversation. I want things to go back to what they used to be, darling. That's why I'm coming clean now."
My stomach twists as he steps closer, voice dropping to a seductive velvet tone.
"Yes, I did use my Weaver powers on you.
" He looks almost contrite, almost human.
"Twice. The first time we kissed… you were hesitant, and I.
.. pushed you. The second time was when I asked if you were in love with the High Prime.
" His jaw tightens slightly. "I needed to know where your heart truly lay. "
The confession should shock me, but it merely confirms what I've already discovered. What sickens me is how he's framing it, like a lover's mistake, not the violation it truly was.
"I'm not proud of it," he continues, fingers brushing my arm. I force myself not to recoil. "But I've never felt with anyone what I feel with you. Perhaps living secluded all my life affected my judgment, my social skills." His smile turns rueful. "That doesn't make me evil, Rhea."
Evil. The word hangs between us.
No, not evil. Just someone who took my choices away, who reached into my mind and rewrote my desires to match his own. Who's now standing here, expecting forgiveness while admitting to what may be only a fraction of his manipulations.
"Those were the only times," Tahr insists, his voice a smooth caress. "After that, I've respected your mind like a sanctuary. I swear it." His eyes gleam with sincerity so perfect it's terrifying. "I would never violate your trust again."
I nearly scream in his face. What about just an hour ago in the war council suggesting he would be a good king? But I contain my fury, burying it deep where he can't see it. My face remains a mask of uncertainty as I swallow the acid of my rage.
"Do you believe me, Rhea?" He tilts his head, studying me closely.
I can't bring myself to say yes. The lie sticks in my throat like a bone.
"Your silence speaks volumes." He steps back, a perfect portrait of wounded dignity. "It's fine. I understand your hesitation." His hand falls away from my arm. "I deserve it, after what I've done."
I still say nothing, waiting.
"There are ways, you know," he continues, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "for a Weaver to check if their mind has been tampered with. Techniques that can reveal any manipulation, no matter how skilled."
This catches my attention despite myself.
"I will teach you, when we have time after this is all over." He offers a tentative smile. "Then you'll see I'm not as bad as you now think me."
The irony burns like fire in my chest. He has no idea I've already learned those techniques, that I already knew he's invaded my mind.
I nod and lie to his face. "That would be… nice. I don't like our relationship being broken."
His face softens, relief flooding his features. His shoulders relax, and he steps forward, taking my hands in his. They're warm but—without his influence—don't ignite the fire Vaylen's touch always has.
"I promise you again, I will fix it." His gaze blazes with intensity. "We'll have what we had before. Better than before, because now there will be no secrets between us."
No secrets. I almost laugh.
"I need to ensure the preparations for tomorrow are going smoothly," he says, pressing a light kiss to my forehead that makes my skin crawl. "Take some time to rest, darling. Soon we'll change history."
He leaves, his confidence seemingly restored, while I stand surrounded by weapons, wondering if I should use them against him.
I wait until his footsteps fade before fleeing the armory, my skin still crawling from his touch. My chambers feel like the only safe haven left, though even there, I check every corner, behind every curtain before locking the door.
Kneeling beside my bed, I retrieve my list of memories from beneath the mattress, fingers trembling slightly as I unfold the parchment. A long list of moments written in my cramped handwriting, instances that feel important.
I lie back on the bed, taking deep breaths to center myself for the dreamscaping.
—Zephyros, I whisper through our bond.
—I'm here. I'll watch over you.
—Thank you.
I close my eyes, focusing on the memory Tahr mention, one that was already on my list. The day he asked me if I loved Vaylen.
The world shifts, colors swirling until I'm standing in the cave again, watching myself face Tahr.
He's studying me intently. "Are you in love with him? The High Prime?"
I stiffen at the question.
Methodically, I search for the dissonance in my memory, that telltale distortion that indicates Weaver skills.
It's there, but different—not the heavy-handed rewriting I expected, but something subtler.
A presence, listening, and I'm surprised to find out that Tahr didn't change my answer. He merely eavesdropped on my thoughts.
"No," I answer. "There's something between us, but... love? No, we've barely started."
It's the truth. I wasn't in love with Vaylen then. I was afraid, terrified after confessing I was a Weaver who killed her mother, certain he would reject me, turn me in.
I open my eyes, staring at the canopy above my bed.
Yes, in that moment, it was what I felt.
Yet, the realization doesn't make his invasion any less violating.
However, it forces me to confront a harder truth.
I ruined what I had with Vaylen all on my own because I was afraid that he would hate me after learning what I'd done, what I am.
So Tahr didn't manipulate my answer about Vaylen, and there's a twisted respect in that restraint, I suppose. He could have rewritten my feelings completely but chose to merely eavesdrop.
No. I shake my head firmly. This changes nothing.
Respect would have been asking the question and accepting my answer as the truth.
And it was his first lie, his first manipulation to kiss him that loosened my restraint to begin with.
He made me break the promise of fidelity I’d given to Vaylen, giving me one more reason to feel horrible about myself.
Besides, Tahr's still lying. He entered my mind this very day, and I'm sure he's done it other times too. I just have to find out when.
My eyes scan down my list until they catch on another critical moment. The day he first told me about the Omneira prophecy seems more crucial than ever after Phoebe's revelation. I lie back down on the bed, steadying my breathing.
—I'm still here, Zephyros reassures me.
I close my eyes and slip back into dreamscaping, colors shifting until I'm in the mountain cave again. Tahr stands before me, illuminated by torch light, his face earnest as he speaks of destiny.
"You are the Omneira, Rhea. The prophesied one."
I watch carefully, searching for the telltale shimmer of manipulation.
Searching every corner of the memory, I probe for any sign of his mental fingers reaching into my thoughts, but there's nothing.
No shimmer, no dissonance. He never entered my mind as he told me about the Omneira prophecy and the ritual that would complete my transformation. He simply told me a story.
No manipulation was needed. I had been so eager to think I was special, chosen, destined for greatness that I just believed him instantly.
After a lifetime of being blamed for my mother's death, of carrying the shame of being a forbidden Weaver, Tahr offered me purpose and redemption, and I took it because I was weak and broken.