Chapter 33 Rhea
Rhea
Ipull into the door recess, hidden in shadows where the torchlight can't reach me.
The courtyard is finally quiet after hours of chaos.
Saddlebags loaded, weapons sharpened until they gleamed, bandages and remedies prepared for the inevitable wounds.
The armory doors never stopped swinging as leather was oiled, blades tested, and arrows counted then recounted.
Even Commander Voltguard abandoned her office to personally inspect the preparations and to ready her own supplies. She's coming with us.
Now only silence remains. That and an unbearable tension that seems a living thing emanating from the barracks.
My fingers trace the rough stones behind me as I recline, finding a small imperfection. I worry at the spot, remembering how Vaylen pressed me against this very wall, his breath hot against my neck. The memory scorches through me, a fire that burns as sharp as ever.
We had two meetings in this secluded corner. Two moments when everything seemed possible between us. Now he's gone, maybe dead, and I stand on the precipice of a war I helped engineer but no longer care about.
From somewhere in the darkness beyond the fort's walls, Zephyros's gentle reassurance flows through our bond, making me ache even more.
I pull away from the wall with a sharp inhale. Memories won't help me now, not when I need clarity more than ever. A guard patrols the courtyard, his boots scraping against the stone in a slow rhythm. I slip along the shadows, past the stables and supply rooms.
My feet seem to have their own direction, leading me toward the old armory where Vaylen and I—
No.
I veer left, avoiding that particular doorway and the memories it contains. The feel of his hands, the sound of his breath, the way our bodies—
Enough.
I find a deserted spot near the eastern wall and summon wind energy from deep within. The Vortex Lift comes easily, propelling me upward and over Fort Ashmire's confines. The night air feels clean against my face as I drift down to land in the clearing beyond.
But even here, I can't escape him. Our voices echo in the air, the fear I felt that day.
“I'm afraid. I’m afraid I’ll hurt you again. Break your heart when everything comes back to me.”
“It’s possible. You’ve broken my heart more than once already. But you’ve also put it back together. Every time. Sometimes better than it was before.”
"How can you still want this? Want me?"
“I’m yours. Yours to be remade into whatever you need.”
“That’s not fair. You shouldn’t give yourself so utterly to anyone. Especially not me.”
“Since when do you think I have a choice?”
We made love in this clearing. We lay in the grass afterward, and I felt so happy. Dammit! Is there anywhere in this cursed place that isn't saturated with memories of him?
I spin at a noise from the shadows, instinct flaring as my hands shape a Wind Spear. The energy tingles through my fingertips, coalescing into a deadly shimmering point aimed at the darkness.
—What is it? Zephyros's voice cuts through my mind, alert and ready.
—Someone's here, I respond, tracking movement among the trees.
My breath catches as a figure emerges from the gloom. Not human. A Screechclaw steps into the clearing, moving with deliberate slowness, her clawed hands raised palm-out in what can only be a gesture of peace.
The Wind Spear wavers in my grip. This is madness. Every instinct screams to strike, to eliminate the threat, yet something holds me back.
This isn't the Matron who spoke in my mind beneath the earth. This harpy is smaller, her midnight feathers lacking the blood-red streaks of the Matron's plumage. Her movements are cautious, almost... frightened?
She stops several paces away and bows her head in submission.
"Omneira." The word emerges from her throat in a guttural rasp, but unmistakably clear.
What the fuck?! They talk!
"He await you," she adds.
"What? Who waits?" I demand, voice steady despite my racing heart.
"Other half." She points northeast. "High Prime lives."
My heart seems to tremble. The Wind Spear dissolves into nothing as my concentration shatters.
"Vaylen is alive?" My voice breaks, disbelieving. "Where is he?"
The Screechclaw tilts her head, avian-like. "Beyond border. Blighted Arcs. With Matron."
I reach for her mind instinctively, but she recoils, stepping back with a hiss.
"No mind-touch," she rasps. "Message only. Come alone. Blighted Arcs."
Zephyros's voice floods my consciousness. —It's a trap.
—But what if it's not? What if Vaylen truly lives?
—Then it's still a trap, he counters.
My throat constricts. "I won't fall into whatever trap you've laid. The Matron tried this before."
The Screechclaw makes a strange clicking sound that might be frustration. "No trap." Her clawed hands move slowly toward her chest, deliberately unthreatening. "Proof."
From beneath her coat of feathers, she extracts something that catches the moonlight. A thin silver chain dangles between her claws, swinging gently.
My heart stops.
It's my mother's ring. The black onyx gleams like a dark eye, the intricate silver swirls surrounding it unmistakable. The ring I wouldn't wear until I'd avenged her. The ring I gave to Vaylen for safekeeping because I'm not worthy of it.
"Where did you get that?" My voice is barely a whisper.
The harpy extends her arm, letting the ring sway hypnotically. "His neck. High Prime alive."
I reach out with trembling fingers but stop short of touching it.
Vaylen wore this around his neck, close to his heart, even after everything I've done?
I study the Screechclaw. We should be trying to slaughter each other.
Yet, here stands one of our mortal enemies, delivering a message rather than attacking.
—Tahr plans to march the Sky Order into Screechclaw territory at dawn, I tell Zephyros. If Vaylen's there...
The Screechclaw shifts impatiently. "Decision, Omneira. Now."
"I'll come," I say, feeling reckless hope surge through me. "But not alone. My dragon flies with me."
She nods once, unfurling leathery wings. "Follow."
I watch the Screechclaw retreat back into the shadows, quiet as a ghostly shadow. My mind races with possibilities, suspicions, but most of all that wild hope. Is this truly a path to Vaylen? Or am I walking into a perfectly baited trap?
—This is unwise, Zephyros cautions as I summon him through our bond.
—Since when have I been known for wisdom? I reply, scanning the skies for his silver form.
—You realize we are abandoning our position on the eve of the most momentous battle.
—I know, but I have to go. For Vaylen.
Pacing, I wait for my dragon. My breaths come in staccato beats, and I keep second-guessing my decision to leave.
Except the ring brings me back to my fear for Vaylen and my desperation to find him.
A sound breaks my concentration. My head snaps up as I squint at the darkness.
I wonder if it's the Screechclaw again, but the sound came from the opposite direction.
I wait, holding my breath, watching. Nothing.
I'm about to investigate when Zephyros appears above.
He lands beside me, his silver gaze fixing on me with concern that transcends words. —Everything all right?
I nod, dismissing my worries, and climb onto his head.
—Are you sure about this? Zephyros's concern flows through our bond like a tide of ice water. This could be suicide.
I watch the spot where the Screechclaw disappeared. My fingers tighten around my mother's ring, the metal cool against my palm.
"I know," I whisper aloud. A realization hits me suddenly. I'm asking Zephyros to fly into enemy territory based on nothing but a trinket and desperate hope. "It's not fair to ask you to come with me."
A rumble of displeasure vibrates through his scales.
—I would follow you to all seven hells, little one.
That has never been in question. I am only worried for you, not for myself.
And I fear this is all an elaborate lie.
Why would they have Vaylen? What possible reason would the Screechclaws have for keeping him alive?
—A better question, I say, why do Screechclaws suddenly talk and control elemental powers?
Zephyros shakes his massive head in frustration, the motion sending me stumbling sideways. I instinctively throw out my Tethers, wind energy springing from my fingertips to stabilize me against his scales.
Through our bond, I feel his confusion, an obscured tangle of memories that he reaches for but cannot grasp. Like trying to capture smoke with bare hands. Something buried deep, something important.
—So many pieces missing, he admits. When I try to remember the time before the war, before Heratrix slept... it feels wrong. Like looking through clouded glass.
His frustration burns through our connection. The dragon who remembers five millennia of history, unable to recall crucial details of his own past.
—Perhaps the Matron knows something I have forgotten, he finally says, resignation and curiosity mingling in his thoughts. Perhaps this Omneira business is the missing piece.
I nod. —Yes. It's strange that the Screechclaws know about it, too. I look to the sky. So we go?
—We go. This is something we must investigate, Zephyros concedes, unfurling his massive wings. For Vaylen. For truth. For whatever we have forgotten.
With a powerful downstroke, we launch into the night sky, going west toward the Blighted Arcs.
—How will we find him? Zephyros asks.
—I have a feeling there'll be a sign.