Chapter 33
Rhea
Igasp awake on the cold floor, my lungs heaving like I’ve been underwater. An ornate vaulted ceiling stretches above me, gold and royal blue patterns swirling across its surface. What the hell?
My head pounds as I push myself up on trembling arms. The throne room. Castle Stonefall. It comes back in a rush… the King, his wolves, the strange pain that tore through me.
King Craven sits on his throne, looking utterly bored. His two wolf creatures remain motionless at his sides, their yellow eyes tracking my every move. When he notices I’m conscious, he blinks slowly, like a lizard waking from hibernation.
“Took long enough,” he sighs. “I was beginning to think we’d need to call the medics.”
I force myself to my feet, swaying as the room turns. My stomach lurches with nausea. I snarl, pressing my palm against my temple.
“What… did you make me see?” I ask.
The King’s lips curl into a hideous smirk that is like watching a corpse’s skin pull back from his teeth.
“Make you? I didn’t make you see anything, woman. I simply unlocked what was already there as agreed.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Now that you remember everything, let’s get to the important things.”
But there was nothing there. Zephyros looked and couldn’t find but a stain.
“What are you talking about?” I demand, fighting to stay upright as the room continues to spin. “What was already there? How could you possibly know about—” I stop myself before saying Tahranis’s name out loud. Something doesn’t add up.
The King clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Come closer.”
I stay rooted to the spot, glancing at the wolf creatures, their predatory gazes, and tense muscles.
“Now,” King Craven snaps, his scrawny frame straightening on the throne.
I take three reluctant steps forward, close enough to smell his cloying perfume, to see the pallor of his weak chin. His crown sits awkwardly, like it’s too heavy for his narrow head.
“Better.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I get it. Things are going to change in Embernia.” He sounds as if there’s nothing he’d like least. “Ancient powers stirring beneath our very feet, and all that.” He waves his hand in the air.
My blood turns to ice. Is he talking about Heratrix? About the thousands of dragon eggs I just saw in my... vision? Memory?
“I honestly never thought this would fall to me. What a nuisance! Why not Father? Or better yet… someone further down the line?” He sighs dramatically.
“Anyway, I need your eyes and ears in the Sky Order. I think Voltguard and that High Prime could be trouble, so make sure they fall into line. Read their thoughts and do your mind tricks.”
Read their thoughts?! The monarchy who’s had Weaver powers suppressed for centuries wants me to use them? Talk about unexpected. Except what throws me the most is… how in all the hells does he know what I am?
Moreover, what does he mean by make sure they fall into line?
“I’ve never trusted those two,” he adds. “Too much power, too much popularity with the people. I didn’t trust you either, but I didn’t know you would turn out to be my ally.”
His ally?
“I’ll need weekly Boltgrams. My man Arick Fellstorm can help with that. I need to know of anyone else who might become a problem and needs some… adjustments.” He circles a finger over his temple.
I fight to keep my face neutral while my thoughts race. Why would the King think I’d betray Vaylen and Commander Voltguard? What connection does he have to Tahranis? To Heratrix? And how does all of that involve me?
I stare at him, completely dumbfounded. His beady eyes expect recognition, understanding, even complicity.
A silent alliance of some kind, something I agreed to during my missing year perhaps?
But I don’t remember what he thinks I remember.
By the four winds! The King believes I’m loyal to him, to whatever scheme he’s hatched with Tahranis and the people under that mountain.
But if the King and Tahranis are with Heratrix, shouldn’t that simplify things? We’re all on the same side, right? The return of the Goddess could save Embernia and our dragons. Yet something coils in my gut like a serpent. Why the secrecy? Why turn me against the leaders of the Sky Order?
This is all so confusing. My mind races through possibilities. Play along? Demand answers? Run? Each option carries consequences I can’t fully predict. His wolves shift, sensing my hesitation. One licks its chops, the wet sound echoing in the vast throne room.
King Craven waits, expectant, like a child impatient for his demands to be met. The crown wobbles on his head as he shifts on the throne. This pathetic, paranoid man holds the power to order my execution. Yet somehow I’m caught in his web, a piece in a game whose rules I don’t understand.
Voltguard and Vaylen. He wants me to betray them, two of the people who’ve shown me genuine support. And for what? Some cryptic plot involving a supposed Goddess.
But the dragon was most definitely female. And the eggs… so many… what if they really are the future? If they can hatch? But if so, the King should be sowing unity, not division.
I clench my jaw so hard my teeth might crack. I stare at our pathetic excuse for a king. Loyalty only works one way with men like him.
“Um… what about my trial?” I ask, trying not to show how little I understand of what’s happening. “Inspector Cragmere seemed quite eager to see me executed for Cindergrasp’s murder.”
The King’s face twists with annoyance. He looks at me like I’ve just asked why water is wet or why dragons have scales.
“Trial?” He waves his hand dismissively through the air, the gesture of someone swatting away an insignificant fly. “There won’t be any trial. I’ll make it go away. Cragmere is an inconvenience I’ll handle.”
His casual disregard for justice—even when it benefits me—makes my skin crawl.
I want to scream that I killed Cindergrasp because he deserved it, because he murdered my mother, because he was a monster.
I want my actions to mean something, not be erased by royal decree.
I want to tell him that his Cleansing Authority is full of people who abuse their power and hurt children and their families.
But I hold my tongue.
The wolves watch me with hungry eyes, and I sense that behind the King’s bored expression lies something far more dangerous than his weak appearance suggests, something sinister that involves powerful people who live under mountains and hide Weaver powers that are supposed to be forbidden.
“How generous of Your Majesty,” I manage through gritted teeth.
Overwhelmed by all the unanswered questions, I make a conscious decision.
With the King staring at me, his expression wavering between smug and expectant, I reach out with my mind, extending my consciousness toward him, a careful tendril of thought seeking purchase.
For years I’ve shunned this power, the invasion it represents.
Though since my return, it seems to awaken and act on its own.
This time, however, it’s entirely on purpose. I need to know what I’m up against.
The moment I touch Craven’s mind, I tense.
Dragon’s breath!
Instead of coherent thoughts or even the emotional undercurrents I expected, I encounter a roiling, screaming jumble.
It’s like a thousand voices shouting at once, fragments of thoughts splintering and reforming without pattern.
Images flash too quickly to grasp: people making requests, pretty women simpering, a Claw polishing his boots, a young girl running from him.
The cacophony rises, a deafening mental noise that makes me physically wince. Is this what madness sounds like? No wonder his eyes dart about like trapped birds.
I yank my consciousness back, the mental equivalent of burning my hand on hot metal. My stomach churns, and my throat burns with bile as I struggle not to sway visibly.
“Something wrong?” King Craven demands, his thin lips curling. For a heartbeat, I wonder if he felt my intrusion.
“No,” I manage, swallowing hard. “Just... processing Your Majesty’s generosity.”
Whatever lives in King Craven’s mind isn’t anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s fractured, chaotic, and completely unreadable. Is someone else already in there? Has he been tampered with by another Weaver? By Tahranis? I have no idea.
The wolves growl softly.
I force my breathing to steady, to push away the chaos I just witnessed in the King’s mind. Whatever scheme this is, I need to survive long enough to unravel it, and going against what he wants isn’t the way to do that.
“I’ll report back to you as you wish, Your Majesty.” The words make me as sick as his mind, but I manage to sound convincing. “Weekly reports on Commander Voltguard and High Prime Stormsong and anyone else who… seems suspicious.”
The King nods and leans back, fingers drumming on the armrest of his throne. One of the wolves huffs, settling at his feet.
“Good, good.” He nods, the crown wobbling precariously. “Do you know when?”
Oh, Goddess. What does he mean?
“I… do not, Your Majesty.” What else can I say?
He huffs. “I hate being in the dark. Oh, why has this come to ruin my life?” He puts on a suffering expression that would make anyone think his life is full of woes. “At least, I don’t have to wonder anymore.”
A nagging question remains. “Your Majesty, what exactly am I supposed to tell Commander Voltguard about my trial? She expects me to be formally charged.” I gesture vaguely at the door. “Out there, half of Embernia thinks I’m a murderess.”
His face contorts with annoyance again. “Why do you concern yourself with such insignificant matters? The Commander will do whatever I tell her to do. Now go.” He points toward the door, suddenly bored with my presence. “Send her in immediately. She’ll hear my decision.”
I nod, not bow—I can’t bring myself to scrape before this madman—and back away several steps before turning.
My mind races, pain throbbing in my temples.
Whatever conspiracy links the King to Tahranis, I’ll figure it out, and if the King thinks I’ll betray the Sky Order or Embernia, he’s sorely mistaken.
I’ll play his spy, but the only person I’m loyal to is myself.
And perhaps, if I’m being honest, a certain High Prime whose heart I just broke to protect him.