Chapter 9 Vaylen
Vaylen
The Flametop Mountains rise black against the darkening sky as I squint into the distance. Hearthdale finally comes into view, nothing more than broken walls and shattered dreams. Even after a year, the wreckage remains untouched. No one wants to rebuild where so much blood was spilled.
“There,” I point out to Breezehart flying behind me as I stare at the spot where I last saw Rhealyn.
Wind tries to tear at my face as Fragor’s wings slice through the evening air, though I keep it back using Wind Wall. My stomach twists with each wingbeat, hope and dread fighting for dominance. What if Zephyros was wrong? What if there’s nothing to find?
We circle the spot. The rock looks ordinary now, no trace at all of what took her. I search for any sign—fresh breaks in the stone, disturbed earth, anything—but there’s nothing.
Goddess, was this false hope?
Fragor interrupts my thoughts with a mental image: the lake beyond the ridge, its surface gleaming like hammered steel in the fading light.
This time, I sense a certain reluctance from him.
Fragor has never approved of my fascination with Rhealyn or my sympathy for Zephyros as he mourned her absence.
At times, I feel these sentiments put me at odds with my dragon, but what do I know of dragon’s feelings? I may be interpreting them incorrectly.
I bank sharply, signaling Breezehart to follow. My heart pounds against my ribs as we soar over the ridge. I strain my eyes, searching the shore for any sign of movement.
“There!” Breezehart calls out, pointing.
A flash of silver catches the last rays of sunlight: Zephyros’s scales. And beside him, a small figure that makes my breath catch.
Rhealyn!
Alive. Truly alive.
The sight of her hits me like a powerful Wind Blast. After a year of trying to smother my hope, of carrying the weight of her confessions and my own conflicted feelings, she’s there, standing on the shore, looking up at us.
Fragor circles lower, and I can see her more clearly now. She’s thinner, her clothes hanging loosely from her frame, her dark hair wild around her face. But it’s her.
I can’t wait for Fragor to land. My body moves before my brain catches up, launching off his head into the open air. For one heartbeat, I’m weightless, then gravity snatches me, hurtling me toward the ground. The wind roars in my ears.
Faster. Need to get to her faster.
I push against the currents, bending them to my will, pulling them around me like reins to steer my descent. The shore rushes up to meet me. Rhealyn grows clearer with every second, those hazel eyes widening as she watches me plummet.
The ground looms dangerously close now. I gather the air beneath me, compressing it into a swirling column. Vortex Drop. The resistance builds, slowing my fall until I touch down a mere five feet from her, the tight whirlwind dissipating around my boots.
Fragor’s disapproving rumble echoes from above. Breezehart circles overhead, letting her dragon slowly maneuver her landing, giving us a moment, I suspect.
Rhealyn stands frozen, her face a battlefield of emotions. Shock, relief, wariness. She’s even thinner up close, cheekbones sharp against her skin, dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her clothes are torn and filthy, caked with dried mud. Her hands curl into fists at her sides.
Zephyros moves protectively closer to her, scales gleaming as he extends a wing between us. The massive dragon’s eyes never leave mine, filled with warning.
I take a step forward. “Rhealyn.”
A dozen questions crowd my tongue. Where have you been? What happened to you? How did you survive? But the words that come out are simpler, rawer.
“You’re alive.”
Zephyros blows air through his nose, the gust ruffling Rhealyn’s hair. What a genius observation, he seems to say as he folds his wing and turns away from us.
I ignore the dragon’s mockery. My world narrows to the woman standing before me. She’s dirty, exhausted, but gloriously, impossibly alive. Her gaze holds mine, guarded yet somehow vulnerable. The air between us feels charged, crackling with everything unsaid.
For a heartbeat, I’m paralyzed by indecision. The last time we stood face to face, she laid herself bare, confessed her darkest secrets, admitted to killing Cindergrasp, revealed her true nature as a Weaver. She gave me everything, and I gave her nothing in return but shock and confusion.
The responsibility has rested with me these twelve months. Expecting her to reach out first now would make me the worst kind of coward. My feet move before I can second-guess myself. One step forward. Then another. Slow, deliberate. Zephyros growls low in his throat, but doesn’t stop me.
“I started to think I’d never see you again,” I say, my voice rougher than intended. “I thought—”
Words fail me. How do I tell her about the sleepless nights? The way I’d wake up convinced I’d heard her voice? How I’d catch myself looking for her among the other Skyriders, in the training yard, around every corner?
Instead, I let my eyes speak for me. Let her see everything I’ve kept locked inside for a year, the worry, the regret, the longing that never faded.
Three more steps bring me within arm’s reach. Close enough to see the small cut above her eyebrow, the chapped state of her lips, the way her shoulders tremble slightly with exhaustion.
“I searched for you,” I whisper. “I tried but…”
Her breath catches. Something flickers across her face—surprise, perhaps, or disbelief. “Even after what I told you? Why?” Her voice is barely audible, rasped through a parched throat.
“Because none of it matters.” The truth rushes out of me like a breaking dam. “Not your secrets, not Cindergrasp, not the laws I’ve sworn to uphold. I tried to make it matter. I tried to remember my duty. But in the end, all that mattered was that you were gone, and I—“
I reach for her hand, slowly enough that she could pull away if she wanted. She doesn’t. Her fingers are ice-cold, trembling as they slide against mine.
“I missed you,” I finish simply. It’s nowhere near enough, but it’s the truest thing I’ve ever said.
She sways slightly on her feet. Exhaustion or emotion, I can’t tell. But my arms are already moving, ready to catch her, to hold her, to never let her vanish again.
Her fingers tighten around mine, and something breaks open inside my chest. Relief crashes through me like a tidal wave, washing away a year’s worth of doubt and despair. The feeling expands, filling every hollow space the grief carved out, until I can barely breathe with the force of it.
And beneath that relief—or perhaps wrapped around it—is something else. Something I’ve been fighting since I first saw her in that balcony at the Rite of Flight. Something I tried to deny when she stood before me just over the ridge, confessing her darkest truths.
Love.
The realization settles into my bones with the certainty of ancient stone. I love this woman. This impossible, rule-breaking, stubborn woman who turned my ordered world upside down. I’ve loved her through absence and uncertainty, through duty and conflict.
For twelve wretched months, I’ve risen each day with her name caught in my throat, gone to sleep each night with her face behind my eyelids.
Not once in over three hundred and sixty-five days did my thoughts free themselves from her.
Even as I performed my duties, led my Skyriders, upheld the laws I’ve sworn to defend, fought countless harpies, she was there, a constant presence in the chambers of my mind.
Looking at her now, thin and battered yet standing tall despite it all, how can I deny what my heart has known all along?
I believed I teetered on the brink of loving her when she vanished, but I’d already plummeted long before that moment, and even her disappearance couldn’t diminish the profound emotions she stirred within me.
I wrap her in my arms, gentle as if cradling something precious and broken. She feels smaller than I remember, all angles and bones where once there was strength. I breathe her in. Beneath the dirt and sweat lies something uniquely Rhealyn, something I’ve dreamed of for endless nights.
Her thin arms hang at her sides for several heartbeats before they slowly, hesitantly rise to encircle my waist. The touch is light, uncertain, nothing like the fierce woman who once challenged me at every turn.
Something cold settles in my stomach. I pull back slightly, studying her face. Her hazel eyes don’t shy away from mine, but they’re guarded, holding a shadow I can’t name.
“Rhealyn,” I whisper, suddenly afraid. “What happened to you?”
The question hangs between us, heavy with all that remains yet unknown. For a year she was gone, vanished into the mountain with that stranger who claimed her as his own. His words echo in my memory.
She is mine. A new era dawns.
I remember his terrible power, and the casual way he scooped her away. What did he do to her in those dark depths? What horrors has she endured?
My hands drop to her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length as doubts assail me from all sides. Has she been changed by whatever transpired? Is she even the same woman I’ve mourned for twelve months?
“You don’t have to speak of it now,” I say, seeing the exhaustion in her eyes. “But know that whatever happened, whatever was done to you—”
I falter, unable to finish the thought. How can I promise protection when I failed her so completely before? How can I swear vengeance when I know nothing of her captor?
Instead, I offer the only truth I have. “I’m here. And I will never leave you.”
RHEA
His arms around me feel both strange and familiar, like a dream I’ve forgotten. I should be throwing myself into his embrace, burying my face against his chest, letting out everything I’ve held inside. But something holds me back. A wall I can’t see or touch.
“I’m here. And I will never leave you,” he says.
The words catch in my chest, tangling with emotions I can’t name. Heat builds behind my eyes, but the tears refuse to fall. Why can’t I cry? Why can’t I feel the relief that’s written so plainly across Vaylen’s face?
“Don’t make promises you’ll regret, Stormsong,” I say, trying to inject a fire into the words that I don’t feel. “Once your relief wears off, you’ll remember what I am. What I did.”
Zephyros rumbles behind me, seeming to agree. He pushes gently against my mind, but I block him out. I need to face this now, before I let myself believe Vaylen’s promises.
“So tell me,” I challenge, chin lifting despite my exhaustion. “When you look at me now, what exactly do you see?”
Vaylen’s face falls, a flash of hurt darkening his eyes before he masters it. He takes a step back, studying me as if seeing both who I was and this hollow shell I’ve become. His lips part, but whatever he plans to say gets swallowed by the rush of wind above us.
I glance up, focusing for the first time on the dragon circling overhead. Not just any dragon, but Trueno, with his distinctive flight pattern and a broken horn, which was whole the last time I saw him.
The dragon makes a final graceful turn before gently touching down.
His rider wastes no time. Phoebe slides down Trueno’s side and leg with practiced ease, landing lightly on the ground.
Strands of her red hair whip around her face in the wind, but I can still see her expression, a mixture of disbelief and wild joy.
Vaylen moves closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only I can hear. “I never told anyone about Cindergrasp or what you are. Not a word.” His gaze holds mine, conveying the significance of his silence, ensuring I don’t say the wrong thing in front of Phoebe.
Before I can process much of anything, she’s racing toward me. No hesitation. No wariness. Just pure, uncomplicated relief.
“Rhea!” Phoebe crashes into me, wrapping her arms around my body so tightly it’s hard to breathe. “You’re alive, you’re actually alive!”
Her embrace is fierce and warm, nothing like Vaylen’s careful touch. She’s laughing and crying all at once, her tears dampening my filthy jacket. Something breaks inside me—a tiny crack in whatever wall has been holding me together.
“Phoebe,” I manage, my voice rough. My arms go around her, returning her embrace with what little strength I have left.
Her honest tears make me wonder what’s wrong with me. Why I stand like a statue carved from cold stone, unable to wholly break. Unable to simply feel.
I glance at Vaylen over Phoebe’s shoulder.
His jaw is tight, his eyes narrowed despite the softness in them when they meet mine.
We’ve always been this way, haven’t we? Two people fighting against what pulls us together.
Hiding in shadows, stealing moments between duties.
Pretending our touches were accidents, our lingering glances mere coincidence.
The King’s paranoid eyes were everywhere, watching for weakness, for traitors, for Weavers like me. Would we have been different without that? Would Vaylen have smiled more freely, taken my hand in public, kissed me under open skies instead of hidden caves?
I wonder how it might have felt to walk alongside him without looking over our shoulders. To let desire flow between us like the wind currents we ride, natural and free. To build something honest instead of this fragile, secret thing we constructed in darkness.
Perhaps that’s why Phoebe can cry while we remain dry-eyed. She never learned to hide parts of herself away, never had to.
Some lessons are too deeply learned to unlearn in a single moment of reunion.
Goddess, what will happen now?