Chapter 31 Rhea
Rhea
Istand beside Tahr in the palace courtyard, my face carefully arranged into an unreadable mask.
The morning sun glints off the dragon wing pins attached to Sky Order's riding leathers as they face us.
There is Commander Voltguard, her spine rigid as steel.
Dakar, barely restraining his fury. Isolde Emberstone, evaluating with calculating eyes.
Nate, shoulders tensed like he's preparing to charge.
Phoebe, whose gaze occasionally meets mine with questions I can't answer.
And many others, all watching me with distrust.
Standing off to the side—neither with the other riders nor fully with us—Silas lounges against a column, his posture deliberately casual.
Tahr nods in his direction, a subtle acknowledgment that makes my skin crawl.
The other riders' expressions darken when they glance at Skyblaze Pyrewing, hatred burning almost hotter than what they direct at me.
Yet, his face holds a satisfied smirk, like he's enjoying their contempt.
When did he and Tahr become friends? Dammit!
There are more pieces to this puzzle I still need to figure out.
At least, he won't be coming. I heard two Skyblazes murmuring to each other, saying Ignemara refuses to be his dragon. Small blessings.
Tahr steps forward, preening in his newfound authority. The sight of him presiding over these proud warriors makes me want to scream.
"The attack begins tomorrow at dawn," he announces, voice dripping with satisfaction. "There's no reason to tarry. Today, we fly to Fort Ashmire. Your dragons will follow Heratrix's lead."
"And if we refuse to follow?" Dakar challenges, his accent thickening with anger.
Tahr's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Then you'll be relieved of your dragons. The King has approved this measure. Heratrix can enforce it."
I see it in their faces, the white-hot rage, the disgust, the barely contained violence. Yet they hold their positions. As I do. Because until we have proof that our goals no longer align, we have no real reason to revolt.
The Skyriders aren't fighting for Tahr or the King or even for Heratrix. They're fighting to destroy our monstrous enemies, for their loved ones, for those they lost. And so am I. For now, that's enough to maintain this fragile alliance. Once this is over, a war of a new kind may begin.
Tahr crosses his arms over his chest, posture radiating arrogance. The sunlight suddenly dims as Heratrix's massive form appears above. I clench my teeth, feeling ill at ease.
A powerful Vortex Lift forms beneath Tahr's feet, swirling air propelling him upward until he lands gracefully atop the Goddess's head. She banks west without hesitation, ready to lead this reluctant army.
—Let's go, I whisper to Zephyros. The familiar rush of wind magic surges through me as I create my own Vortex Lift and rise to settle between Zephyros's obsidian horns. The connection between us strengthens, his thoughts brushing mine with concern.
The others rise one by one, Dakar with visible reluctance, Commander Voltguard with the same discipline as ever, Isolde Emberstone with practiced grace, a dozen dragons in tight formation behind us.
The sight should fill me with pride, but all I feel is dread.
We're heading to war with a leader we don't trust and comrades who might rather see us dead.
The only certainty is the dragon beneath me and the growing conviction that something about this entire mission is terribly wrong.
I'm worried about so many things, including Zephyros. He's protecting my mind, but who protects his? He suffered alterations too, which only Heratrix could have performed. Is he still in danger? I watch her flying ahead, so massive I feel like a flea in comparison.
—Does that make me a dog then? Zephyros interrupts my grim thoughts with an attempt at humor. I rather do not like this comparison.
—A horse then, I suggest.
He huffs, —I eat those for breakfast, which put the fleas in my stomach, I suppose. Want to jump in there, little flea?
—No, thank you. Not if the entrance is your foul mouth. I've been in there, remember?
—Ungrateful, human. I should have eaten you that day. Instead, I went and bonded you. What was I thinking?
I shake my head, remembering that day with fondness—minus Gilbert flying off Sky's Edge with a flick of Zephyros's tail, of course.
After a long minute, Zephyros's consciousness brushes against mine again, warm and reassuring. —Do not worry for me. I have taken precautions. And I have warned the others to do the same.
The vast landscape of Embernia unfurls beneath us, the capital and the surrounding fields becoming patchwork quilts as we climb higher.
I frown. —What precautions? And how come they didn't work before?
A pause. Wind rushes past the small Wind Wall that serves as my shield in place of goggles. The tension in Zephyros's thoughts feels like storm clouds gathering.
—I cannot answer that fully. I have wondered the same thing myself. His mental voice darkens. But I suspect someone we were meant to trust did it.
The implication settles cold in my stomach. —Still suspect Vestra?
—I suppose.
—What is the mood of the dragons? I ask, my thoughts quiet against the rushing wind.
—They have all spoken with Heratrix. They are cautiously hopeful.
I take a knee and stroke his silver scales. Below us, the landscape transforms from rolling hills to craggy uplands.
—Hopeful? Even with Tahr leading us?
—Dragons measure threats differently than humans, he explains. They sense Heratrix's power and believe that with her, we finally have a chance to win this endless war. And the promise of eggs... they are a balm on our wary souls.
His thoughts grow wistful, tinged with longing.
—Many are uneasy, he continues, but most see no reason to act rashly. Dragons understand that Tahr may have his own ambitions, but that has always been the way with humans.
I catch a glimpse of ancient memory… humans and dragons forming their first bonds, each seeking to harness the other's strength.
—Once, we needed humans to increase our strength against the land dragons, Zephyros adds. Now, we need you to destroy the Screechclaws.
The pragmatism in his thoughts unsettles me. —So the dragons don't care if Tahr becomes king? If he manipulates all of us?
—They care about survival, Rhealyn. About ending this war. About the future of our kind. But I do care because you are my rider, and we are bonded.
I fall silent, watching Heratrix's massive form leading our formation. For centuries, dragons have been allies with humans, but I guess our goals have never truly been theirs.
By mid-day, Cinderhold appears on the horizon, a jagged line of ruined buildings and hastily constructed barricades that have weathered countless Screechclaw attacks. As our formation descends, citizens emerge from their homes, their faces upturned in bewilderment.
Then someone points at Heratrix, her massive iridescent form impossible to mistake. "The Goddess! The Goddess!"
The cry sparks a wildfire. People pour into the streets, abandoning market stalls and repair work. A woman falls to her knees, hands clasped in prayer. Children dance and wave. Their jubilation echoes across the broken city, a sound Cinderhold hasn't known in generations.
I should feel something. Pride, hope, validation. Instead, my chest tightens with foreboding.
We bank toward Fort Ashmire, the imposing structure looming at the western edge of the city. I expect the same fervor there, the same blind faith and celebration.
What greets us is anything but.
The courtyard is filled with Skyriders, arranged in perfect formation.
Not a single face tilts upward in wonder.
Not a single cheer rises to meet us. Their discipline is impeccable, their silence deafening.
Have they received instructions from the Commander?
No, I don't think she would stoop to that.
As we descend into the courtyard, we execute Drop maneuvers with practiced precision. The Skyriders' expressions remain carved from stone, their eyes fixed straight ahead.
Marching forward, Emberstone takes her position at the front of the Skyblazes, her sun-kissed skin glowing even in the shadow of the fort walls.
Nate is right behind her. Following their lead, Dakar and Phoebe do the same, the former taking position before the Skysingers, his stance highlighting the empty space where Vaylen should be.
The absence feels like a wound, and I have to inhale deeply to keep it together.
Tahr steps forward, cutting through the stony silence. His confidence seems misplaced among these warriors who've fought and bled together.
"I am Tahranis Flarebane, rider of Heratrix and your new commander by royal decree." His voice rings with authority across the courtyard. "Tomorrow, we end the Screechclaw war forever."
Not a single head turns toward him. Every Skyrider's gaze remains locked on Commander Voltguard, who stands with perfect posture, her gray hair severe and tight in her bun.
Tahr draws himself taller. "Perhaps you don't understand. I ride the Goddess herself."
Still nothing. No acknowledgment. No deference.
I admire their solidarity, even as I stand apart from it.
The Commander's mouth twitches with what might be pride in her riders.
Whatever Tahr expected—awe, fear, respect—he's received none of it.
His jaw clenches, face darkening with displeasure.
He turns to Commander Voltguard with a sharp gesture.
"Commander, perhaps you could verify my appointment for your riders."
The Commander steps forward, her brown eyes cold as winter stone.
"Skyriders of Fort Ashmire," she announces in a dry, clipped voice.
"By royal decree, Lord Tahranis Flarebane has been appointed to lead tomorrow's battle against the Screechclaws.
You will follow his orders in combat as you would follow mine. "
Her words hang in the air like frost. I catch the subtle emphasis on in combat, the careful boundaries she's establishing.
"Will you comply with this order?" she asks.
The response comes as one thundering voice: "Yes, Commander Voltguard."
Not a single rider acknowledges Tahr's presence. Not a single head turns in his direction. Their loyalty remains undivided and unmistakable.
Tahr's mouth curves into what might pass for a smile, though his eyes remain hard. "I admire your loyalty to your commander," he says, voice carrying across the courtyard. "It speaks to the honor of the Sky Order. I'm glad to know I'll be fighting alongside warriors of such conviction."
He moves to stand right in front of the Commander to blot her presence. "Tomorrow, we face our enemy together. When the Screechclaws lie defeated and this thousand-year war is finally ended, perhaps you will see me as just another Skyrider who loves this realm."
The silence that greets his words is answer enough. These riders may follow his commands in battle, but they've made it clear where their true allegiance lies and give no signs of extending it to anyone else.
A pointed silence descends as Prime Rockshield steps forward, her gaze fixed firmly on Commander Voltguard—pointedly ignoring Tahr as she does.
"Commander, I've noticed the High Prime's absence. Are we to fight without him?" The concern in her voice carries across the assembly.
A muscle tightens in Commander Voltguard's jaw. "The High Prime is missing, Prime Rockshield." Her voice remains steady, but I detect the anger simmering beneath. "Authorities in Emberton are conducting an investigation into his disappearance."
My heart pounds against my ribs. I desperately want to speak up, to demand answers, but I'm trapped in this precarious position—neither trusted by the Sky Order nor truly allied with Tahr.
Prime Wavecaller steps forward, his tall frame imposing as he breaks ranks.
"So foul play is suspected?" He's the first to look directly at Tahr, his gaze cutting like a blade, the accusation unmistakable.
I watch Tahr carefully, noting how his fingers twitch at his sides. I'm not the only one who notices.
Zephyros's voice brushes my mind. —They suspect him of harming Vaylen.
—He will pay if he did. I reply, a deep well of pain threatening to crush my chest.
"As concerning as the High Prime's disappearance is, the Goddess—our Goddess—will prove more than enough to end this battle without him," Tahr announces with certainty that borders on arrogance.
I scan the faces of each Skyrider in the ranks, searching for some flicker of devotion or reverence for the deity they've prayed to all their lives.
Instead, I find nothing but suspicion and hard-eyed wariness.
There's no awe, no faith, no hint that Heratrix's return has moved them in the slightest.
It's strange. These warriors have spent their lives invoking her name before battle, whispering prayers during storms, offering thanks for their wellbeing.
Yet now that she stands before them in scales and flesh, they seem unmoved.
Perhaps deities serve us better when they remain in the realm of the mystical.
The leader these riders know—the ones they've bled beside and followed into battle—are easier to trust than some abstract figure they've only worshipped from afar.
—She is too real to remain a deity, Zephyros says. She is my kind's queen. Only humans have ever truly considered her a goddess. And if she is a goddess, I suppose that makes me a god.
—You? A god? I snort so loudly several nearby Skyriders turn to stare. I think your lungs aren't the only thing that's inflated.
Zephyros's mental voice vibrates with amusement. —You have never seen me during mating season.
I choke back a laugh despite the tension surrounding us. Trust Zephyros to try to cheer me up with humor in this impossible situation. Even now, with war looming and Vaylen missing, his desire to make me happy remains intact.
—What would I do without you? I ask, gratitude flooding through our connection. After everything I've done, all the ways I've betrayed you... you're still here. You never left my side.
He hums, the sound resonating through my mind. —Little one, you are hardly more than a babe. Do you know how many mistakes I made in my first hundred years? Or my second? Or my fifth? I was insufferable for millennia before I achieved perfection.
I press my lips together to suppress my smile.
—As for the Stormsong whelp... Zephyros continues, his mental voice gentling. We will find him. Something tells me he is alive and well. Dragons have instincts about these things.
—How can you be sure?
—Because if someone had killed that stubborn human, the entire realm would know it. No, little one. He is out there somewhere. And if I know anything about him, he's figuring out how to ruin someone's plans right this moment.
—I hope you're right, Zephyros. I hope you're right.