Chapter 34
Rhea
As soon as the Commander marches past me toward the throne room, I walk down the hall, my head still pounding with aftershocks of whatever the King did to me. The royal guards flank me, their expressions blank as they escort me out. I want to punch something, preferably King Craven’s smug face.
—Zephyros! I project the thought forcefully, not caring who notices my wild-eyed expression. What in all the hells just happened? Did you see what I saw? The dragon under the mountain? Was that real? And why was the King able to do that to me?
—Slow down. What are you talking about?
—Our link was muffled somehow. You can look now.
I feel him inside my skull, absorbing everything that just happened. Once outside the castle’s back gates, I race to my dragon, pressing my forehead against his scaled muzzle, drawing comfort from his familiar scent of wind and storms.
—I… I do not understand, he sounds absolutely bewildered, a new one for him.
—Was that really Heratrix?
He hums in distress. —I do not know.
—How can you not know?
I sense a vast helplessness from him and sense as he searches his memory and finds nothing. How is that possible?
—You have no memories of her? This is incomprehensible.
—Something is terribly wrong, Rhealyn. For a thousand years I’ve always thought I remembered, but now that I try to really grasp the memories, they are not there.
—What are you saying?
—I think… I think my mind has been tampered with.
How in all the fucking hells could someone tamper with a dragon’s memory and why?
—And what about the King, I say, all those images and noise. What’s wrong with his mind?
Zephyros is quiet for a moment, his gaze distant and troubled.
—I don’t know what is wrong, he finally says, but I feel I should.
—What do you mean? I pull back, studying his face. The jagged scar over his right eye seems to pulse with old pain.
—Think about it. I am a five-thousand-year-old creature. Don’t you think I should know? His voice carries an edge of frustration I rarely hear. About Heratrix. About what happened to her. About these people who… guard her?
I consider this, dizzy with the unfathomable implications. —You really think someone messed with your memories?
—It would explain much. Zephyros says. Why none of us dragons ever talk about what happened to our queen. Why we accepted she simply... vanished.
—Dragon’s breath! I whisper, pacing now.
If that’s true, then whatever is going on…
the persecution of the Weavers, Heratrix’s disappearance, these strange people living inside mountains, it’s much bigger than we ever could’ve imagined.
Cold realization crawls up my spine. And the King knows something, thinks I should be part of it, thinks I should be his ally for fuck’s sake.
—Or he’s being used, Zephyros adds. His mind… was not right.
—Or maybe it was.
—What makes you say that?
—I don’t know. What if what I heard and saw was some sort of interference.
—Do you think he was blocking you?
I throw my hands up in frustration. —At this point, anything seems possible.
I glance back at Castle Stonefall, its thick wall as impenetrable to my mind as the King’s thoughts.
—Something strange is at play here, I say. Something stretching back centuries, and we’re caught right in the middle. We need answers.
—That we do. That we do. But how do we get them? he asks. Unless we start digging under the Flametop Mountains for a man no better than a mole.
—I think I have an idea.
I’m about to explain when Commander Voltguard strides out and marches directly toward me. Her face is carved from granite, jaw tight and eyes narrowed.
“What happened in there?” she demands without preamble. “What did the King say to you? Why has he suddenly dismissed your trial?”
My mouth opens, the truth balancing on my tongue. I could tell her everything, but something stops me. I reach for Voltguard’s mind, a delicate touch, just skimming the surface thoughts.
—Always the same with Craven, finding someone he can use. She seemed different. I actually believed her about Cindergrasp. But now, she’s a royal favorite overnight? She’ll be his puppet. I need to be careful.
I pull back, stung by the sudden shift in her perception. Just moments ago she’d offered me protection, and now I’m relegated to royal favorite and someone she needs to watch.
“He said I’m to return to active duty,” I say carefully. “That the Screechclaw threat is more pressing than a trial.”
“Did he now?” Voltguard studies me, her gaze harder than obsidian. “How convenient. And what did he ask of you in return?”
“Nothing,” I lie, the word bitter on my tongue. “Just service to Embernia.”
Voltguard’s laugh is sharp as a spearhead. “Craven Stonefall doesn’t gift pardons without expecting something in return. When you’re ready to tell me what that is, you know where to find me.”
I watch her march away, her back rigid with suspicion. I could tell her what she wants to know, but what would she think? That I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. Maybe everything that’s happened has finally cracked something inside me.
“What do I even know for certain?” I mutter to myself, pressing my temples where the pain still throbs. For all I know, I’m still under the mountain, living under an induced nightmare.
The Commander climbs onto Indrax without another word. With a thunderous crack of his tail, they launch skyward, never once looking back to see if I follow. So that’s how it is, huh?
—Seems we’re heading back to Cinderhold, I sigh to Zephyros. I was hoping for at least one night away from Fort Ashmire to clear my head, but that was too much to ask.
—We could always fly elsewhere, Zephyros suggests, his voice tinged with mischief. She never ordered you to follow. I hear some of the isles are lovely this time of year.
—You don’t give up, do you?
—It is a better option than what our missing memories suggest.
—We’re going back.
Resigned, Zephyros lowers himself, one massive leg bent to create a step for me. I leap up, using a small burst of wind to propel myself higher, running up his neck with practiced ease until I’m settled atop his head.
We launch into the sky, the ground falling away as we pursue Voltguard and Indrax. The Commander sets a punishing pace, never once checking if we keep up, not that it’s an issue for Zephyros.
—She could’ve been on our side, I say bitterly. But now the King’s poisoned her against me.
—Maybe. Maybe not. She’s a harsh woman.
Maybe it’s better this way. Alone again with just Zephyros. I’d already decided that friends, lovers, allies, they’re not for someone like me. A person who destroys everything she touches. A person who killed her own pregnant mother, who pushed away Vaylen when he offered everything.
Some people aren’t meant to be loved. Some people are pawn pieces, nothing more.
This time, the Commander flies straight to Fort Ashmire, no stops.
The sun bleeds across the horizon, painting the sky crimson as we finally approach the familiar silhouette of the fort.
Commander Voltguard doesn’t circle to land Indrax.
Instead, she executes a perfect Shield Drop onto the courtyard, never breaking stride as she stalks toward her tower.
With a sigh, I launch into a Vortex Drop, spiraling down on currents of my own making.
Zephyros circles overhead. —I will be in the hills if you need me.
I hesitate in the courtyard, uncertain what to do.
Nobody’s given me orders. Am I still under arrest?
Free to return to my quarters? Officially reinstated?
Voltguard clearly expects something, but wyrm’s rot if I’ll chase after her like a puppy.
Except that’s exactly what I’m doing as I hurry toward her tower, hoping to catch her before she disappears inside. What choice do I have?
As I approach the entrance, a familiar figure emerges from the shadows. Vaylen. He must have left orders to be notified the moment we returned. Our eyes connect, and something flickers across his face. Relief? His lips part as if to speak, but whatever words he planned die in his throat.
We stand frozen in painful silence, everything we’ve said to each other hanging between us like sharpen swords. My chest tightens. I want to reach for him, to explain everything—the new vision, the King, Heratrix, Zephyros’s mental gaps—but pride and resolve keep my arms at my sides.
I break eye contact first, brushing past him into the tower. Whatever we were to each other, it’s over.
I enter the Commander’s office with Vaylen close behind, my spine snapping straight as I stand at attention. Voltguard sits at her desk, already buried in reports, not bothering to look up.
“Permission to receive my orders, Commander,” I say, keeping my voice flat despite the gut wrenching turmoil inside me.
Voltguard glances up, annoyance flashing across her face. “I thought you got those directly from the King, Wyndward.”
The insinuation stings, but I keep my expression neutral. Years of hiding what I am have made me practiced at wearing masks.
Vaylen stops beside me, his presence both comforting and infuriating. He stands mirroring my stance, his voice carefully controlled. “Commander, I’m surprised you’ve returned so quickly. I thought—“
“You should be glad to have this Skysinger rejoin your Clutch, High Prime,” Voltguard cuts him off. “Rhealyn Wyndward has been declared innocent by the King himself and is to return to full duty effective immediately.”
Vaylen’s confusion radiates off him in waves. I can almost hear the questions racing through his mind, but he asks none of them. “Understood, Commander.”
The Commander’s mouth tightens, and she returns to her reports. “You’re both dismissed.”
We remain frozen for only a heartbeat, then pivot sharply in unison and march out of the office. Anger seethes in my chest, but this is what I wanted, wasn’t it? So why do I feel so awful?