Chapter 17 Rhea
Rhea
Later that afternoon, I step from the shadows, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin as Vaylen’s beckoning gesture pulls me into view. The morning sun cuts across Fort Ashmire’s courtyard, illuminating the faces of dozens of Skyriders gathered there.
“As you’ve no doubt heard,” Vaylen says, his voice carrying across the silence, “Skysinger Rhealyn Wyndward has returned to us.”
The weight of their collective stares feels like a hand on my throat. I’ve never been one to shrink from attention, but this feels different. Their eyes crawl over me, hungry for explanations I don’t have.
In the front row, Nate’s massive frame practically vibrates with excitement, his face split in a grin that threatens to crack his weather-worn features.
Beside him, Adelaide’s pale eyes shine with unshed tears, her smile genuine and warm.
The sight of them—familiar, unchanged—lodges something painful in my throat.
Then my gaze catches on Silas. His expression sours like he’s bitten into something rancid. The shorn hair of a new recruit has grown back to his usual long style. His gray eyes narrow to slits, and if looks could bury someone, I’d be six feet under the Blighted Arcs right now.
I stare back at him, letting my lips curl into the slightest smile. Still here, Pyrewing. Deal with it.
“Some of you studied at the Academy with Skysinger Wyndward and battled in Hearthdale by her side prior to her disappearance,” Vaylen continues. “She’ll be resuming limited duties while recovering her strength.”
The whispers start, rippling through the crowd. I catch fragments—murder, missing, Neutro—and my fingers twitch with the urge to summon wind and scatter them like a handful of dirt.
Instead, I step forward. “I don’t remember where I’ve been,” I announce, cutting through the murmurs. “But I remember who I am. A Skysinger of Embernia. And I’m ready to fight alongside you again.”
Vaylen starts to speak, but Silas’s voice scorches the air between them like a flash of fire.
“Are we truly being forced to fight alongside a murderess?” Spite drips from every syllable.
“Someone who vanishes for a year and returns with convenient memory loss? Who knows what else she’s done, what she’s become.
Her disappearance can’t mean anything good for anyone.
” His lips curl into a sneer. “Will we need to watch our backs when she’s around now? ”
I refuse to flinch or react to the heat that flushes through my body. I’m dying to give him a piece of my mind, but it seems my sense is back, and I’m able to reign in my temper. Instead, I let the High Prime take care of the nuisance.
Vaylen draws himself up, his broad shoulders squaring as he turns to face Silas. The three inches he has on him suddenly seem like several feet as he looms over.
“I don’t recall giving you permission to speak, Skyblaze Pyrewing,” Vaylen says, his voice deceptively calm. The kind of calm that precedes a well-aimed Wind Blast. “Interrupt again, and you’ll have a week of stable duties.”
Silas’s jaw works, a muscle twitching beneath his pale skin. His hands clench and unclench at his sides as he visibly struggles to swallow his vainglorious attitude. Good. Let him choke on it.
“As I was saying before being rudely interrupted,” Vaylen continues, his gaze still boring into Silas, “Commander Voltguard awaits instructions from Emberton regarding Skysinger Wyndward’s full reinstatement and any other matters requiring resolution.
Until then,” Vaylen’s voice hardens further, “no one is permitted to fling accusations before there’s a proper trial.
” His eyes flash as he stares pointedly at Silas.
“No one is to spread baseless rumors among the ranks. The Sky Order is not a newssheet drama full of nagging idiots, is it, Pyrewing?”
A few stifled laughs ripple through the gathered Skyriders. My lips twitch. Watching Vaylen publicly dress down Silas is surprisingly satisfying.
Silas’s face goes crimson, spreading from his neck to his hairline like wildfire. “No, High Prime,” he grits out through clenched teeth, looking like he might spontaneously combust.
“I’m glad we understand each other,” Vaylen says.
I catch Adelaide’s eye, and she gives me the tiniest of winks. It feels good to have allies. Nate doesn’t bother hiding his amusement, a broad grin stretching across his face as he watches Silas, his once friend, squirm.
Vaylen takes a step back, his gaze sweeping over the assembly like a hawk scanning for prey. “And that goes for everyone. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir,” comes the unified response.
“Now, spread the word to those who are out on patrol, and return to your duties.” Vaylen’s command breaks the formation, sending bodies scattering across the courtyard.
I notice Nate and Adelaide lingering at the edges, uncertainty painted across their features. My heart twists. These people were my friends before the mountain swallowed me whole, before a year of my life vanished like morning mist.
“Can I talk to them?” I ask Vaylen, nodding toward the pair. “Just for a minute.”
His eyes soften at the edges. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”
I cross the courtyard with hesitant steps. Before I can even open my mouth, Nate sweeps me up in a bear hug that lifts my feet clean off the ground. His massive arms practically crush my ribs, but the pain feels good—real—anchoring me to this moment.
“Can’t breathe,” I wheeze, smacking his shoulder.
He sets me down with a rumbling laugh. “Sorry. Just making sure you’re not a ghost.”
Adelaide’s greeting is more restrained—a mock punch to my shoulder that still carries enough force to rock me back on my heels. “Next time you decide to vanish, take me with you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, rubbing my arm. Her silver eyes study me with uncomfortable intensity.
“You look like crap,” she observes bluntly.
I snort. “Thanks. You’re as charming as ever, Icesurge.”
The conversation stutters to a halt, the weight of unsaid things pressing down between us. What do you say to people who thought you were dead? Who’ve lived a year you can’t remember?
“I need to go,” I say, jerking my thumb over my shoulder toward Vaylen. “But we should catch up properly.”
Nate’s face brightens. “Tonight at the tavern. Your one tankard is on me.”
I remember the Commander has given express orders that Sky Order members are only allowed one beer every night—orders no one dares break, not even the tavern’s owner.
“I’ll be there,” I promise, though I have no idea if Vaylen will allow it. I nod farewell and return to his side, feeling the pressure of stares—both friendly and hostile—boring into my back.
“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Vaylen asks as we leave the courtyard behind, his voice light with forced optimism.
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Oh sure, nothing like having my dark past dragged out and examined like a carcass at the butcher’s block. Particularly enjoyed the part where Pyrewing called me a traitor.”
I’m still simmering with anger from Silas’s not-so-veiled accusations. The fact that Vaylen put him in his place helps, but doesn’t erase the sting completely. The whispers, the stares… they’ll continue regardless.
“You handled it well,” Vaylen says, his voice softening. “Better than I expected, actually.”
“What, did you think I’d throw him across the courtyard with Wind Blast?” I ask, only half-joking.
Vaylen’s lips twitch. “The thought may have crossed my mind.”
I just shrug, not trusting myself to say more. The truth is, I’m exhausted from standing in that courtyard for ten minutes. My body still feels like it’s made of flimsy sticks—fragile and ready to shatter at the slightest pressure. But I’d rather swallow broken glass than admit that weakness.
Vaylen leads me through several corridors into a large study hall lined with bookshelves. Long tables stretch down the center, a few scattered with open tomes and papers. The smell of old parchment and leather bindings hits me, oddly comforting.
“Now, it’s time to go see Phoebe,” Vaylen says, nodding toward the far corner where a familiar redhead sits hunched over a mountain of books.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. I survived my public reintroduction. I survived Silas’s accusations. I can survive whatever research project Phoebe has cooking, even if all that squinting might drive me to jump out the nearest window before the day is through.
Phoebe looks up from the large tome in front of her, blinking owlishly as if she’s forgotten there’s a world beyond the yellowed pages.
Her bloodshot eyes take a moment to focus on us.
Her hair is pulled into what was probably once a neat bun, but now resembles a bird’s nest with strands escaping in every direction.
“Find anything useful?” I ask, dropping into the chair across from her.
Vaylen remains standing, taking in Phoebe’s disheveled appearance with a frown. “How long have you been here, Breezehart?”
She shrugs, her fingers still tracing lines of text. “What time is it now?”
“Almost midday,” Vaylen says, his frown deepening.
“Oh.” Another noncommittal shrug. “A while, then.”
I snort. “That’s specific.”
Vaylen crosses his arms. “You came back from patrol last night. Have you slept at all?”
Phoebe’s gaze drifts back to her book. Another shrug. By the Goddess, if she shrugs one more time, I might shake her until her teeth rattle.
“Breezehart,” Vaylen’s voice takes on that High Prime commanding edge. “You can’t exhaust yourself like this. We need you battle-ready, not half-dead because you don’t know how to take care of yourself. You’re playing with your life in case you don’t realize it.”
“Understood, Sir. I’ll do better,” she replies, her cheeks turning as red as her bloodshot eyes.
I lean forward, snatching the book from under her nose. “What’s so fascinating that you can’t catch some sleep?”