Chapter 35 Rhea
Rhea
The next morning, I slam my tray down next to Phoebe with enough force to make the watery porridge slosh over the sides. Sleep evaded me all night, my mind replaying Vaylen’s words on endless repeat. Everyone whispers and points at me, incredulous that I’m back and roaming free.
“Morning, sunshine,” Phoebe chirps, too bright for this ungodly hour. When I got to the barracks last night, she and Adelaide were the first ones to hear what happened.
Before I can grunt a response, Nate’s massive frame blocks the light as he drops onto the bench across from us. Adelaide slides in beside him, her silver-streaked hair pulled into a tight braid.
“Adelaide told me,” Nate says. “A mandate from the King, huh?”
I nod.
“Good,” he says. “That Chief Inspector is a weasel.”
“You look like something a Screechclaw regurgitated,” Adelaide says, eyeing my disheveled appearance.
“Thank you for that vivid image before breakfast,” I mutter, shoving a spoonful of lukewarm porridge into my mouth.
Omari Reefsong approaches, the tiny blue jewels under her eyes catching my attention. I’ve always liked them, a custom of the Scaleborn people. Unexpectedly, Caspian Stonefist trails behind her.
They sit down, looking at me curiously, though not in an unfriendly fashion. Interesting. It seems the group expanded a bit in my absence. I approve of the additions. I like Omari and Caspian. However, when Robert Silverin slides onto the bench beside Caspian, I nearly choke.
“What in Heratrix’s name?” I blurt. “Shouldn’t you be licking Pyrewing’s boots somewhere?”
Robert’s face flushes. “Silas doesn’t own me. And shouldn’t you be on trial.”
“The charges were dismissed by the King,” I say, then add, “Since when aren’t you with Silas?” I challenge, remembering how quickly he became his shadow after Nate severed that toxic friendship.
He shrugs. “Shortly after you went missing.”
“What miraculous light illuminated your path?” I ask, arching an eyebrow. “Last I checked, you were practically sewn to his shadow.”
Robert shifts uncomfortably, pushing his porridge around with his spoon. “Didn’t take long to get tired of Silas and how full of himself he is. He doesn’t want friends, just boot lickers like you said.”
I narrow my eyes, not entirely convinced by his change of heart. I glance around the table.
“And we trust him now?” I ask no one in particular.
“Hells yeah,” Nate booms, slapping Robert on the back hard enough to make him cough. “Tell her about the Commander incident.”
Robert’s face turns crimson. “It wasn’t that big—“
“This idiot,” Nate interrupts, grinning, “caught Phoebe sleepwalking in the Commander’s quarters at midnight. She was reorganizing Voltguard’s strategy maps in her sleep! Robert scooped her up and carried her out before Voltguard returned from her night patrol.”
Phoebe buries her face in her hands. “I was exhausted from research...”
“Voltguard would’ve had her scooping horse stalls for a month,” Nate continues, wrapping an arm around Phoebe. “Anyone who helps my girl is my friend.”
I look at Robert’s earnest face and decide, against my better judgment, to give him a chance.
“Besides,” Nate adds, “he’s a badass with his daggers.”
Robert is a Skyforge, so he gets to carry all kinds of weapons on himself and on his dragon during battle.
“Fair enough,” I concede.
“Omari, whatever happened with your sister’s baby?” I ask suddenly. “You were hoping he’d be a Bolt like you, right? Is he showing any signs?”
Omari’s coffee-colored eyes widen. “You remember that? Wyrm’s rot, we talked about that day in Hearthdale.”
“For me it was just the other day,” I remind her with a shrug.
The table falls silent. Adelaide studies her porridge with sudden fascination. Nate’s perpetual smile falters.
“What?” I snap. “Stop looking at me like I’m some broken thing. A year of my life vanished. That’s just how it is.”
Omari clears her throat. “Actually, I got leave to visit home last month.” Her lips twitch upward, breaking the tension. “The little terror is a damn Tide like everyone else in my family. Not a spark of lightning in sight.”
“Another Tide?” Adelaide perks up, pressing a hand to her chest in mock offense. “What’s wrong with being a Tide? Some of us can create blizzards that freeze Screechclaws mid-flight.”
“Sure, if you want to waste ten minutes chanting and dancing around while the rest of us actually fight,” Omari retorts with a wicked grin.
Adelaide rolls her eyes. “I don’t do that! Yes, I sing in the shower sometimes, but you should all appreciate my talents.”
“We can hear you from the barracks,” Caspian mutters.
“What should I expect from musically challenged dolts?” Adelaide sniffs, tossing her silver-streaked braid. “Some of us have gifts beyond brute force.”
I snort into my porridge, oddly comforted by this slice of normalcy amidst my chaotic life.
Caspian clears his throat, his eyes fixed on his bowl. “I never got to thank you properly, Rhea. For what you did in Hearthdale. You saved my life.”
“Aww, look who’s getting all sentimental,” Adelaide teases, reaching over to pinch his cheek.
Caspian’s face turns the color of a sunset, spreading from his neck to his hairline. The poor man looks like he might combust.
“You should’ve heard him after they got back,” Nate adds, grinning. “Wouldn’t shut up about how Rhea took loads of Screechclaws down. Man was practically writing ballads.”
“He was devastated when you vanished,” Adelaide jokes.
“All of you, shut up,” Omari snaps, her jeweled eyes flashing. “You weren’t there like Caspian and I were. You didn’t see it.” Her voice drops. “One minute Rhea was standing there, the next she was swallowed by a mountain. Most horrifying thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
The table falls silent.
I cringe at the sudden heaviness and jump in to dissipate it. “Hey, no worries. Now I’m back to make your lives a living hell. All seven of them, actually. I’ve got a schedule. Mondays we visit the Tide hell, Tuesdays the Forge...”
Nate bellows with laughter. “Seven hells? Your ugly face is punishment enough!”
“Says the man who scares dragons with his ugly mug,” I shoot back.
Adelaide shakes her head. “Remember when Nate tried to impress Phoebe by doing a backflip off his dragon?”
“And landed face-first in horse manure!” Omari wheezes. “Now that was an ugly face.”
The table erupts in chaotic laughter, drawing glares from across the hall. At this moment—ridiculous and loud—I crave for what I’ve never had, a normal life.
RHEA
I keep my eyes forward as Vaylen moves down the formation, my spine a ramrod. The weight of dozens of stares presses against me from all sides. Some curious, some hostile. All wary. Eleonora’s gaze burns hottest, drilling into the side of my face with enough venom to drop a Screechclaw mid-flight.
Let her stare. She can have Vaylen. They can play at forbidden love for all I care.
Phoebe shifts beside me, her shoulder brushing mine in silent support.
Vaylen steps forward, his stance wide and commanding. “Skysinger Wyndward has been cleared of all accusations. By order of King Craven himself, she returns to active duty, effective immediately.”
Whispers ripple through the ranks, riddled with the same accusations I’ve heard since I got back. Vaylen’s eyes flash, cold as a winter storm. The murmurs die instantly.
“Any questions about this decision can be directed to me. Privately.” His voice drops an octave on the last word, promising consequences if there is gossip.
I fight the urge to smirk. At least Cragmere won’t bother me again. Apparently, the Commander sent him back to Emberton and told him not to come back.
With that out of the way, Vaylen approaches our section of the line, his face an impenetrable mask of professionalism.
His eyes slide over me without a flicker of recognition, as if last night’s heated confrontation never happened.
As if he didn’t promise I’d come crawling back to him, desperate with want.
Arrogant asshole.
He inspects Braylen Mistwalker first, then moves to Phoebe, checking their uniforms with meticulous precision. When he reaches me, he pauses fractionally longer, his gaze sweeping from my boots to my hastily knotted hair. The air between us crackles with tension thick enough to choke on.
“Your jacket is improperly fastened, Skysinger Wyndward,” he says, voice cool and detached. “See that it’s corrected.”
My fingers clench at my sides. “Yes, High Prime,” I reply, the formal address delivered coldly, meant to clash against his own frigid treatment.
A muscle jumps in his jaw, the only indication that the man from last night still exists beneath this indifferent exterior. For a heartbeat, I think he might say something more, but he moves on to the next rider.
This is better, I tell myself. This distance. This cold formality.
So why does it feel like someone’s carved a hollow in my chest with a dull kitchen knife?
A lanky Claw with a buzzed head appears at Vaylen’s side, presenting a folded piece of paper. Vaylen breaks aside to read it, his brow furrowing slightly before he hands it back to the boy, who scurries away like he’s been dismissed by a god.
Around us, the courtyard buzzes with energy as other Clutches receive their orders from other Claws. Skyblazes huddle around Prime Emberstone, her flame-red hair visible even from here. The Skydunes form perfect lines for their Prime, while the Skytides cluster in a loose formation.
Vaylen clears his throat. “Skysingers, listen up.” His voice carries effortlessly across the yard. “These are your assignments. The eastern ridge needs fresh riders. Nightsong, take Breezehart, Dawnwind, and Cloudchaser to relieve the squat there.”
Eleonora Nightsong nods sharply.
“The Emberflow Pass has reported increased activity. Airglide,” he points at Morwenna, I think, to distinguish between the twins, “take your usual team plus Truewind and Galeforce.”
Morwenna makes a fist and pumps it. It seems she likes going by this pass Vaylen mentioned. I wonder why.