Chapter 19 Rhea #2
Madeline’s smile fades, her expression hardening to match her twin’s. The sudden shift is jarring—her identical face switching from warmth to ice to pair with her sister’s perfectly. Their matching emerald-studded chokers catch my attention as they both straighten in a united front.
I suppress a shiver. There’s something deeply unsettling about how their features mirror each other, down to the angle of their raised eyebrows and the curl of their disdainful lips.
“Do you have any notion,” Morwenna says, leaning forward with precise, measured movements, “how this appears to the rest of us? You’re the second of only two bonded Skyriders.
You stand accused of murdering Neutro Cindergrasp.
You vanished beneath a mountain for a full rotation of seasons and returned with no recollection whatsoever.
” She ticks off each point on her long, elegant fingers.
“What precisely are we supposed to do with all of that?”
The question hangs in the air, genuine beneath the condescension. I could lie, deflect, or joke again, but something in her tone catches me. She’s not just being bitchy… she’s actually asking.
“I don’t know,” I admit, surprising myself with my honesty. “I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”
Dakar sets down his tankard with a heavy thud, amber liquid sloshing over the rim. His face, all harsh angles in the tavern’s dim light, softens unexpectedly.
“Look here,” he says, voice rough as sandstone. “Vaylen vouches for you, and in my book, that’s alright. It’s all I need.”
I blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift. My fingers tighten around my tankard.
“Besides,” he continues, “Rhea can fight. Saw her powers on display in Hearthdale myself.” A glimmer of respect becomes visible beneath the initial hostility. “What’s more, you saved Vaylen after he fell into that lake with the Matron wrapped ‘round him like a yoke.”
The memory flashes vivid and terrifying. Vaylen dragged beneath dark water, the Matron’s midnight, red-streaked feathers disappearing under the surface. My heart racing as I dove in without thought, frigid water nearly filling my lungs.
“Saw it with my own two eyes,” Dakar continues, nodding slowly. “Anyone who’ll risk their life like that is a worthy member of our Clutch.”
Heat rises to my cheeks, not embarrassment but fierce pride. I saved Vaylen that day. I’d do it again in a heartbeat, consequences be damned.
“I’d do the same for any rider,” I say.
Dakar’s lips quirk into a knowing half-smile. He raises his tankard and knocks it against mine. The sound rings like a bell, clear and definitive.
“To fallen comrades and returned ones,” he says. “May we all live to see the end of this wyrm-shit war.”
I lift my drink, something unfamiliar and warm unfurling in my chest. Not belonging, not yet, but its tentative beginning.
The tavern door swings open, letting in a gust of cool night air.
Conversation momentarily falters as Vaylen steps through, his commanding presence drawing every eye.
Even off-duty, he carries the unmistakable authority of the High Prime.
My heart does an embarrassing little leap that I try to squash immediately.
“Stormsong!” Eleonora calls out, her voice suddenly honey-sweet. She shifts slightly, making space beside her on the bench. “Join us!”
Vaylen’s eyes find mine across the way. Something electric passes between us, a look that lasts only a heartbeat but feels like forever. Heat coils in my belly. His gaze doesn’t just communicate want, it’s raw hunger, barely contained. It seems he’s been thinking of me as I’ve been thinking of him.
He crosses to our table, and the group shuffles to accommodate him.
Somehow he ends up exactly where Eleonora intended, wedged beside her on the bench, their shoulders almost touching.
She leans toward him as conversation resumes, her hand casually brushing his forearm when she laughs at something Madeline says.
My fingers tighten around my tankard.
Dakar watches this display with a deepening frown, eyes darting between Vaylen, Eleonora, and me. His expression suggests this isn’t the blonde’s typical behavior, or at least, it wasn’t before I disappeared.
Were they together while I was gone? The thought sends a spike of jealousy through me so intense I almost growl. I have no right to feel this possessiveness. A year is a long time. I vanished without a trace. What did I expect?
Vaylen stands abruptly, cutting Eleonora off mid-sentence. “Need a drink,” he mutters, stalking toward the bar.
When he returns, tankard in hand, he drags over a chair from a neighboring table. He spins it around and straddles it backward, effectively placing himself at a neutral point between Eleonora and me. The deliberate distance he’s created between himself and Eleonora isn’t subtle.
A small, mean part of me feels triumphant.
I fight to keep my expression neutral, but inside I’m simmering with questions.
How close did they get during my absence?
Did he seek comfort in her arms while searching for me?
Does she know about us? Or at least suspect?
If not, why would she act as if she’s trying to stake a claim on him?
I shouldn’t feel this way. I really shouldn’t. But watching her eyes track his every movement, I can’t help the territorial surge that floods through me.
Mine, something primal inside me growls. He’s mine.
Once more, jealousy surges through me, so sudden and powerful it’s like being hit by a Wind Blast. I gasp, the sound drowned by tavern noise. The room tilts, colors blurring, sounds distorting. I drag my hands under the table and clench my fists.
Not here. Not now.
But it’s too late. The tavern dissolves around me, reality peeling away like shed dragon scales.
I’m sitting at that cold stone table again, my limbs heavy with drugged lethargy. The chamber’s walls pulse with light, those same symbols from the sword glowing, shifting, alive. Dozens of figures surround me, their faces hidden in shadow as they chant in perfect unison.
“Omneira. Omneira. Omneira.”
The word echoes through the chamber, vibrating in my bones.
I try to move, to run, but my body refuses to obey.
Someone approaches from behind, draping something heavy across my shoulders—a cloak that weighs me down like armor.
When I manage to glance down, I see it’s made entirely of overlapping, iridescent scales with rainbows trapped within.
They shift with each shallow breath I take.
Once more the man stands across from me, his gaze burning into mine with hypnotic intensity. The crowd bows, reverence in their movements. They place an identical scale cloak around his shoulders, the material seeming to come alive against his skin.
He steps closer, towering over me. His presence fills the chamber, commanding and ancient. His voice reverberates as clear as crystal, impossible to ignore.
“I am Tahranis Flarebane, and you’re mine, Rhealyn Wyndward. Together, we will bring a new dawn to Embernia and destroy our enemies once and for all.”
His words invade my mind. I want to scream, to fight, but my body remains frozen, a prisoner in my own skin. His amber eyes fill my vision, consuming everything until there’s nothing else.
“You are the key. You are Omneira.”
The chanting grows louder, pressing against my skull like a physical force. Tahranis reaches for me, his fingers nearly touching my face—
“Wyndward? You still with us?”
Dakar’s voice slams me back into the present. The tavern materializes around me, faces swimming into focus. My heart pounds against my ribs like it wants to escape, and cold sweat trickles down my spine.
“I—” My voice catches. I set down my tankard with shaking hands. “Need some air.”
I stand so abruptly my chair topples backward, crashing to the floor. The noise draws every eye in the tavern, conversations halting mid-sentence. Without looking at anyone—especially not Vaylen—I stride toward the door, shoving it open with more force than necessary.
The cool night air hits my face, but it doesn’t clear the fog from my mind or the name that echoes there like a curse.
Tahranis Flarebane. Tahranis Flarebane. Tahranis Flarebane.