Chapter 22 Rhea
Rhea
Ifall into a deep sleep, my body finally surrendering to exhaustion, and find myself somewhere else entirely.
Strong arms cradle me against a warm chest. I look up to see Tahranis carrying me effortlessly through a dimly lit cavern. His eyes gleam like molten gold in the flickering torchlight, reflecting hunger that should terrify me.
Instead, I feel... comfortable. Safe.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice sounding strange to my own ears, lighter, almost playful.
“Somewhere private.” His voice resonates deep in his chest where my cheek rests. “Somewhere worthy of you, Omneira.”
The name doesn’t jar me as it should. Now, it feels right, familiar.
Tahranis approaches an alcove where furs—rich and soft—are piled high on the ground. He lays me down with unexpected gentleness, the furs caressing my skin like a thousand feathers.
He looms above me, bare-chested and magnificent.
His skin gleams like polished alabaster in the low light, muscles rippling beneath, smooth and free of tattoos—unlike Vaylen’s.
His white hair, elaborately braided at the sides, falls forward as he braces himself above me, creating a curtain that shields us from the world.
“You’ve always been meant for me,” he whispers, his breath warm against my lips.
My hands rise to touch his chest. His skin burns hot beneath my fingertips, like touching fire without being consumed.
“I know, Tahr,” I hear myself respond, the nickname rolling easily off my tongue. My lips curve into a smile that feels both foreign and utterly natural. “I think I’ve always known.”
He lowers himself, his weight pressing me into the furs. His teeth flash in a feral smile that sends electricity racing through my veins. Not fear… anticipation.
As his face descends toward mine, something shifts. The angular planes of his face shift, blur, reform. White hair darkens, braids unraveling into short brown locks with golden streaks.
Amber eyes flicker, fighting to maintain their hold before blue with yellow motes push through.
“No,” I whisper, confused by the transformation and my own reaction. “Wait—”
But the dream won’t obey. Tahranis’s features continue their battle with Vaylen’s, neither fully taking control, both men somehow occupying the same space above me, fighting for dominance even as their lips descend toward mine.
I jolt upright, my scream tearing through the barracks.
“NO!”
My heart hammers against my ribs like it might break free. Sweat slicks my skin. The barracks stand empty, no curious faces peering from bunks, no Phoebe asking what’s wrong.
Sunlight floods through the windows, bright and insistent. I squint against the glare. How long have I slept? The angle of light suggests mid-morning, maybe later.
“Dragon’s breath,” I mutter, scrambling from bed. I yank on my leather trousers, nearly toppling as I hop on one foot. My fingers fumble with belts and buckles, still trembling from that dream—that horrifying, confusing dream where Tahranis became Vaylen, where I wanted...
I shake my head violently. “Get out of my head.”
I splash water on my face from one of the basins at the back of the room, which are kept replenished with clean water by Claws. Droplets scatter like tiny crystals across the wooden floor.
The fort’s strange silence presses against my ears as I step outside. The training yard lies abandoned. No clashing practice swords, no shouted commands from instructors, no dragons circling overhead.
“Where is everyone?” My voice echoes across the empty space.
More unsettling is Zephyros’s silence. Shouldn’t he have sensed my panic? The nightmare felt so real, so visceral. I reach through our bond, searching for his familiar presence.
—Good morning, he rumbles.
—Where is everyone? And why didn’t you check on me? I was… I swallow hard. I had a nightmare.
—Was I in it? He sounds almost amused.
—No. But you didn’t feel anything? My fear?
—I did not. Perhaps you were shielding your thoughts from me.
That doesn’t make sense. I haven’t been trying to shield myself from Zephyros, not since my first day back. On the contrary, leaving our bond open to communication gives me comfort, grounds me in a world that’s become increasingly unstable since my return.
—Something troubles you, Zephyros says, his mental tone shifting to match my unease.
I press my palm against the rough stone wall of the barracks, steadying myself.
—I had a strange dream. About... him. The man that took me.
—Show me, Zephyros demands, his curiosity rippling through our connection.
I hesitate for only a moment before opening my mind completely, letting the dream flow between us. Tahranis carrying me, the strange comfort I felt in his arms, the furs, his body above mine, and then the disturbing transformation into Vaylen. The conflicted desire. The confusion.
Zephyros’s presence in my mind turns sharp, analytical, sifting through the details with uncomfortable precision.
—Do you think... The question sticks in my throat, but I force it out. Do you think I slept with that man? During my missing year?
A growl rumbles through our connection. —It was merely a dream, he responds, but his tone carries a current of unease beneath the certainty.
—No. I shake my head fiercely, pacing the empty yard. It’s different. It felt real, like the visions while I’m awake.
—Memories? His presence in my mind sharpens.
—Yes. Haven’t you sensed…? I stop, then start again. You didn’t sense my panic in the tavern or when I saw that sword or when I was sitting with Vaylen and the others at the tavern. I was terrified, drowning in memories, but I never noticed you didn’t sense any of it.
Why didn’t I notice this before? How could I miss something so fundamental to our bond? Am I unconsciously blocking him? Or is something else severing our connection during these moments? The thought chills me more than any nightmare. Our mental bond has been strong since the first day.
—Little one, Zephyros’s concern flows me, nothing is wrong with our bond.
—Are you sure?
Zephyros falls quiet. I feel him moving through my thoughts, a familiar presence slipping through corridors of memory, examining doorways, testing walls.
—Everything feels normal from my perspective, he finally says. If I am not sensing you during these episodes, it can only mean you are blocking me. There is no other explanation.
—Maybe I’ve been blocking you somehow, I admit, rubbing my temple. Sandtide insists I have some kind of head trauma. Could be why my memories are fragmented and our connection cuts out.
The thought terrifies me. What else might be broken inside my mind that I haven’t discovered yet?
—I’ll check our connection throughout the day, I say. Every hour. If it drops, we’ll know something’s wrong.
Zephyros rumbles agreement, but I sense his unease matching my own. Having our bond compromised feels like missing a limb.
—Look deeper, I urge, opening my mind fully. See the other visions too. The sword, the ritual, all of it. Maybe you’ll notice something I missed.
I close my eyes as Zephyros’s consciousness sweeps through mine, his presence both gentle and invasive as he examines each fragment of returned memory.
It’s like having someone rifle through my most personal possessions, but I don’t care.
I need answers more than privacy. Besides, this Zephyros. No secrets exist between us.
When he finally withdraws from my mind, his presence lingers like a cool shadow, hesitant to fully retreat.
—Well? I demand, pacing the empty yard. Does any of it mean anything to you? That man, Fern, the glyphs? Any of it?”
—Nothing I recognize, Zephyros replies, but I sense hesitation.
—What is it? I kick a small stone, sending it skittering across the packed dirt. What aren’t you telling me?
—Nothing. I simply... wonder.
—Wonder what? Wyrm’s rot, Zephyros, don’t hold back on me now!
—If these are truly memories or something more insidious. You are… seeing things again, the shifting faces.
My stomach drops. —You think I’m making it all up? My voice cracks. That I’m delusional?
—I said no such thing.
—But you’re thinking it! I slam my fist against the barracks wall, welcoming the sharp sting of pain.
Maybe I am crazy. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve twisted reality, would it?
I hid my mother’s death from myself for years.
Created a whole fantasy about what really happened.
My breath comes in short, sharp bursts. What if I’m doing it again?
What if there was no Tahranis, no Fern, no Omneira?
What if I just... broke? Wandered off and lived in some cave eating rats for a year?
Zephyros’s growl vibrates through our connection, fierce enough that I feel it in my bones.
—Stop this. You are being unfair to yourself.
—Am I?
—You were abducted. This is fact, not delusion. Many saw you taken into the mountain.
His certainty wraps around me like a shield.
—Half of Embernia would not have survived what you have endured, he goes on. You are strong, Rhealyn. Stronger than you know.
I exhale slowly, letting his faith seep into the cracks of my doubt.
—We will discover the truth, he continues, gentler now. As we did before.
I nod, wiping angrily at the moisture gathering in my eyes.
—We will, I repeat, the words a vow between us, then start wondering through the fort. When I’ve calmed down, I ask, Where’s everyone?
—The Screechclaws are massing near the western ridge. Commander Voltguard ordered nearly everyone to the frontlines before dawn. Only skeleton staff remains here.
My stomach knots. —Everyone? Vaylen? Phoebe? Adelaide?
—All of them. The situation is dire enough to warrant a full deployment.
“Wyrm’s rot!” I curse out loud. This doesn’t sound like a simple skirmish. The Screechclaws are acting so erratically. Why?
—You wish to join them.
It’s not a question. Zephyros knows me too well.
—Of course I do! I should be there, not stuck here like some invalid while my friends risk their lives. My fists clench. Damn the Commander.
I pace faster, imagining Vaylen leading his contingent against those winged bitches, Nate trying to protect Phoebe, Adelaide making those impossibly precise Ice Spears of hers that I only saw during our training in Sky’s Edge.
And here I am. Useless. Hidden away. I stop abruptly.
—No. I’m not wasting this day feeling sorry for myself.
—About time.
—Hey.
Zephyros chuckles to himself.
Determined to be productive, first, I head to the communal showers, where I scrub until my skin turns pink, washing away the night’s sweat and confusion. Then at the mess hall, I grab bread, cheese, and dried fruit, wrapping them in a cloth napkin.
“Research,” I mutter, heading toward the study hall. “If I can’t fight today, I’ll read those old scrolls until my eyeballs bleed.”
If there’s a connection between my abduction and the Screechclaws or the Goddess, I’ll find it.