Chapter 26 Rhea
Rhea
Vaylen takes my arm, not roughly but firmly. A message to Cragmere and everyone watching. I’m completely in Sky Order custody now.
“This way,” he says, leading me toward Commander Voltguard.
Cragmere’s anger follows us. “This is an outrage! A perversion of justice!”
I bite back a retort about his personal definition of justice. No point antagonizing him further when I’m being led away from his clutches.
Voltguard gives us a curt nod before turning on her heel and heading back inside the tower. Vaylen hesitates at the entrance, and I realize he’s not sure if he should follow.
“You too, High Prime,” Voltguard calls over her shoulder, not breaking stride.
Relief flickers across Vaylen’s face, so subtle I doubt anyone else would catch it. His shoulders drop a fraction of an inch, the tightness around his eyes softens. He’s as terrified as I am about what’s happening, but he can’t show it.
Two Claws pull the heavy doors closed behind us with an ominous thud.
—I am right here with you, little one, Zephyros rumbles in my mind. If they try anything, I will tear this tower apart stone by stone.
—Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, I respond, though the thought of Zephyros demolishing Fort Ashmire is oddly comforting at the moment.
Inside the Commander’s office, I expect King Craven himself, but there is no royal figure waiting, only a Bolt officer standing at attention before some contraption perched atop a wooden cabinet.
The officer is young, red-headed, sharp-jawed, his dark-blue uniform too stiff on his narrow frame, as if he’s still growing into it.
The machine draws my eye immediately. A brass case housing a complex arrangement of tiny gears and springs, connected to a roll of thin parchment that spools through metal guides.
A slender stylus—trembling with barely contained energy—hovers over the paper.
Small crystal vials of black ink line the back of the device, connected by copper tubes to the writing mechanism.
“What in Heratrix’s name is that?” I ask, stepping closer despite myself.
The stylus suddenly jerks to life, tapping against the parchment with a sound like insect legs skittering across stone. Blue-tinged sparks dance around the metal parts as the message forms.
“Boltgram,” the Commander says. “Direct line to Castle Stonefall.”
So King Craven isn’t here in person, but his words are traveling across leagues to reach us. Somehow, that feels more ominous than if he were standing before me. Why didn’t he come?
Perhaps he’s afraid of what might happen here after a verdict is reached.
King Craven Stonefall is a coward as paranoid as the seven hells.
Of course he wouldn’t come if he suspected trouble.
In fact, it struck me as strange when Cragmere claimed the King would attend my trial.
The man never ventures this close to the front lines, not when Screechclaws could attack at any moment.
The stylus continues its frantic dance across the parchment, the sound grating on my already frayed nerves. I cross my arms, hiding trembling hands. I refuse to show fear in front of Voltguard and her perfect posture.
“So His Majesty decided to stay safe behind his castle walls after all,” I mutter, earning a sharp look from Vaylen. “What? We’re all thinking it.”
The Bolt officer shifts uncomfortably but keeps his eyes forward. Even mentioning royal cowardice feels like treason, but wyrm’s rot, I’ve already been accused of murder. What’s a little treason to add to my list of crimes?
I take a step toward the Boltgram, curious what messages have already passed between Voltguard and the King.
I peer at the strip, my eyes narrowing at the unintelligible pattern of dots and dashes snaking across the parchment.
Of course it’s encoded. I learned about that at the Academy.
Only trained Bolts can translate these cryptic messages.
Stupid of me to think I could just read the King’s words directly.
The Bolt officer waits with practiced patience until the stylus stops its frantic tapping, then tears the strip free with a practiced motion. His eyes scan the markings, face betraying nothing as he decodes the royal message in his head.
“Well?” Commander Voltguard demands, her fingers drumming against her desk. “What does His Majesty command?”
The Bolt clears his throat. “His Majesty, King Craven Stonefall, orders that the accused, Rhealyn Rose Wyndward, be brought immediately to Castle Stonefall.”
My stomach plummets. The King wants me in his castle? What in all the hells for?
“That’s it?” Voltguard’s voice cuts through the silence. “Nothing about why?”
The Bolt officer shakes his head apologetically. “That’s the complete message, Commander.”
“Send for clarification,” she orders, gesturing impatiently at the machine.
The Bolt places his hands on two copper discs embedded in the Boltgram’s side.
His eyes close in concentration as blue lightning crackles from his fingertips, dancing across the metal surface.
The machine hums, gears whirring as the stylus twitches expectantly against fresh parchment. The scent of ozone fills the air.
Minutes pass. The stylus remains motionless.
“Well?” Voltguard demands.
“No response available, Commander.” The Bolt’s forehead glistens with sweat. “The channel is closed from their end.”
The Commander dismisses the Bolt. He leaves, closing the door with a quiet click that echoes in the tense silence. Commander Voltguard paces, her boots striking the stone floor firmly. Voltguard stops pacing, her weathered face unreadable.
“Earlier today,” she says, “I received a Boltgram requesting an open channel to His Majesty. The King asked for an update on the situation here. I provided one. He was particularly interested in Wyndward’s missing year.”
I frown and exchange a glance with Vaylen.
“He pressed for details. What you remembered, where you’d been.” Her eyes narrow. “He seemed... intrigued when I told him you recall nothing, which he already knew from my initial report, making his insistence curious.”
Vaylen looks confused. “So why isn’t the King here? Why did he change his plans?”
“Apparently,” Voltguard says, her mouth tightening into a thin line, “His Majesty never told Cragmere he was coming at all.”
I blink. “Wait, what? But Cragmere said—”
“Cragmere said many things,” Voltguard cuts me off. “But the King never confirmed his attendance. I found it peculiar when Cragmere announced it. In all my years here, Craven has never visited.”
I laugh bitterly. “So he lied to create a spectacle? Is that it?”
Commander Voltguard nods. “It seems that way.”
“Why would the King want me in Emberton?” I ask, shaking my manacled wrists, which feel heavy and awkward even if the chain is broken. Shouldn’t he be terrified I’ll turn his precious castle into ruins? Unless there’s something else going on.
Commander Voltguard shrugs, her face a practiced mask of neutrality. “The King’s motivations are anyone’s guess. He’s unpredictable at best, irrational at worst.”
“Maybe,” I say bitterly, “he just wants the pleasure of executing me himself.”
“Unlikely,” the Commander says.
Vaylen gestures toward the door. “What do we do with Cragmere, his judge, and his circus out there?”
Commander Voltguard straightens her already perfect posture. “Dismiss all Sky Order members immediately, High Prime, then escort the Inspector here. I’d like a word with him about his creative interpretation of royal commands.”
“And what about Skysinger Wyndward?” Vaylen asks, his voice carefully neutral though I catch the concern in his eyes.
“Take her to the chamber next door where she’ll wait.” Voltguard gestures impatiently at my bound wrists. “And for Heratrix’s sake, remove those manacles. She’s already broken the chain.”
I smirk. “And here I thought you enjoyed seeing me in chains, Commander.”
Voltguard’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Don’t push your luck, Wyndward. You’re still accused of murder.”
Vaylen’s hand closes around my upper arm, steering me toward the door.
“Come on,” he mutters. “Let’s go before you talk yourself into execution regardless of the King’s orders.”
I bite my tongue, though the taste of unsaid retorts is bitter. As we leave, I wonder what game the King is playing, and why I’m suddenly a piece on the board.
Vaylen ushers me into the sparse chamber, just a table, some chairs, and a narrow window high on the wall. He gestures for me to sit, then kneels before me, producing a small iron key from his pocket.
“Let me get these off you,” he says, voice low as he works the lock.
His fingers brush my wrist, warm against my skin. The touch sends little sparks through me, complicating the whirlwind of emotions already raging inside. The manacles fall away with a heavy clank against the stone floor.
I rub my wrists, searching for words. My mind conjuring the vision of Tahranis instead. What the fuck?!
“Did you have a chance to think?” I finally ask.
Vaylen looks up, still kneeling. “Hardly,” he says, enough bite in his voice to let me know I shouldn’t have asked. He studies my face. “Why does trouble seem to follow you everywhere, Rhealyn? It’s like you’re a lightning rod for chaos.”
The words hurt, make me feel like the stalwart High Prime would rather have a proper, quiet lady to contend with, and not me. Vicious anger leaks into my veins, the cold kind.
Leaning forward, close enough to see the yellow motes in his blue eyes, I say, “Would you prefer me boring and predictable, High Prime? Because if that’s what you want… well, I can assure you I’ll never oblige.”
Vaylen stretches to his full height, towering over me, his own anger flaring now. “There doesn’t seem to be much you will oblige, does it? Not even the loyalty you once promised.”
I stand too, refusing to be looked down upon. “That’s unfair and you know it.”
“Really?” His voice cuts like ice. “Because the fact that you can’t remember you cheated doesn’t mean you didn’t do it. Or that while you were doing it you still remembered that I existed, that I was waiting for you, and that didn’t stop you.”
The accusation hits me hard. My mouth falls open as I process his words.
“Cheated?” I step closer, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I don’t properly remember a damn thing from that year, Vaylen.
Not one moment. But I’m supposed to feel guilty about something I can’t even recall?
I woke up in the dirt, half-dead, with crows waiting to pick at my corpse, and now you’re accusing me of betraying you?
What if they brainwashed me? What if they kept me drugged all the time? Have you considered that?”
A furious silence fills the space between us. My chest heaves with rage and hurt. The accusation cuts sharper than any sword.
“You made me promise to tell the truth,” I hiss, voice shaking. “You demanded honesty from me. For what? So you could treat me like dirt the moment things got complicated?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. The pain grounds me, keeps me from striking him or worse… crying. The unfairness of it all makes my eyes burn.
“Fuck off,” I spit, “and go suffer in all the levels of hell, High Prime Stormsong.”