Chapter 38 Rhea
Rhea
The medics carry me through the infirmary doors. Sandtide stands waiting, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised as they bring me in.
“Back so soon?” she asks.
I open my mouth to reply, but exhaustion crashes over me in a wave. The fire that kept me going has drained away, leaving nothing but bone-deep weariness and throbbing pain. My throat feels like I’ve swallowed sand.
“Get her on bed three,” Sandtide instructs. “Kaela, you stay in case there are any torn muscles or broken bones.”
The medic with the Dune patch on her shoulder nods as I move to the bed. The transfer sends fresh pain shooting through my shoulder. I wince.
“I don’t think anything’s broken,” I mutter through gritted teeth.
“We’ll be the judge of that,” Sandtide replies, cutting away what remains of my torn clothes with a pair of sharp scissors. “Let’s clean this. Harpy claws are filthy. Even shallow wounds can fester if not properly treated.”
Kaela shifts from foot to foot, nervous energy practically radiating off her. “Commander Voltguard said she wants a full report on her injuries.”
Sandtide only grunts. Kaela walks to a cabinet then comes back with a tray full of medical supplies. Sandtide takes a good look at my shoulder wound, prodding the edges with careful fingers. Each touch sends lightning bolts of pain through my body.
“That’s deep,” Sandtide says, “tore to some muscle for sure.” She nods to Kaela. “Give her the numbing agent.”
I try to look at my own shoulder but can’t see much beyond angry red flesh and blood. “How bad?”
“Bad enough that you’ll thank me for this,” Sandtide says, cleaning blood from around the wound with a damp cloth. “Hold still.”
Kaela approaches with a syringe containing cloudy liquid. I instinctively pull back.
“It’s just a local analgesic,” she says. “Trust me, you want this before we start digging around in there.”
“Fine.” I resign myself. “Just do it quickly.”
The needle stings, but it’s nothing compared to the Screechclaws’ talons. Within moments, a curious heaviness spreads through my shoulder. The sharp edges of pain begin to blur and soften.
“There we go,” Sandtide murmurs, continuing to clean blood from my skin. “We’ll give that a minute to work before we start.”
The room tilts slightly as a wave of wooziness washes over me. My thoughts start to swim, slippery and hard to grasp.
“Is it supposed to make me feel drunk?” I ask, my tongue strangely thick in my mouth.
“Yes,” Sandtide says, her voice sounding far away. “Just relax.”
—Let them work on you, Rhealyn, Zephyros chides.
Vaguely, I feel their hands on my shoulder, though the sensation is distant, dreamlike.
The numbing agent has turned everything hazy.
Through half-lidded eyes, I watch Kaela hovering her palms above my wound.
A faint golden glow emanates from her fingertips and dances between her hands and my torn flesh.
“Hold her steady,” Sandtide murmurs. “I need to redirect the blood flow.”
“Her muscle fibers are completely shredded here,” Kaela says, her light intensifying. I know from my training that she’s using her Dune power to manipulate trace minerals in my muscles and smooth the torn fibers over.
I try to lift my head. “Can you fix me?” The question comes out slurred.
“Shut up and lie still,” Sandtide snaps. “We’re literally reweaving your muscle tissue.”
A strange heat pulses through my shoulder, followed by the sensation of something moving beneath my skin—like worms writhing under dirt. I want to scream, to pull away, but my body limbs weigh a ton each.
“Almost done,” Kaela says. “The fibers are aligning.”
The heat grows, then suddenly breaks like a fever. Sandtide wipes sweat from her brow before threading a curved needle.
“Lucky,” she mutters, stitching my skin with quick, practiced movements. “Two inches to the right and those talons would have severed an artery.”
When they’ve repaired my shoulder, they work methodically down my body, checking ribs, testing joints, dabbing antiseptic on a dozen cuts. Each touch sends new waves of dizziness through me.
“No broken bones,” Sandtide announces. “Just this shoulder and surface wounds. Stupid girl. Facing three Screechclaws alone.”
I try to form a cutting reply, but I think my tongue has turned into a fat, useless sausage.
RHEA
My eyes flicker open to the warm glow of candles. Night has fallen while I’ve been unconscious. As my vision clears, I notice two figures beside my bed—Phoebe’s slight form and Vaylen’s broader silhouette.
I push myself up, wincing at the dull throb in my shoulder. It’s nothing compared to the searing pain from before, but still enough to remind me I nearly became harpy food.
“You’re awake,” Phoebe says, her smile genuine with relief. She reaches for a water cup and passes it to me.
Vaylen stands with arms crossed, expression hardened. His face is all stern lines and rigid control, but his eyes betray him. The concern there is unmistakable.
“So did they figure out how the Screechclaws got past the patrol?” I ask, then down the water in greedy gulps.
Vaylen’s expression darkens. “We think they followed a lightning dragon returning alone from patrol and used the electrical disruption to mask their approach.”
“Clever.” I hate admitting it.
Phoebe leans forward, her red hair catching the candlelight as she tucks it behind her ear. “Do you really think they were trying to abduct you? Not kill you?”
I nod, wincing as my shoulder protests the movement. “They had plenty of chances to tear me apart.”
“Tell us exactly what happened,” Vaylen says, his tone that of the High Prime. “Every detail.”
I recount everything: the first screams, the Claw I saved, the way the harpies attacked me right after that. I describe how they grabbed me, their talons digging into my flesh as they lifted me skyward.
“They were carrying me away,” I finish. “If Zephyros hadn’t been there…” I let the sentence hang.
Vaylen paces the narrow space beside my bed, his fingers steepled against his lips. “Yes, from the sounds of it, it really seems they singled you out. What is happening?” He shakes his head. “More unusual behavior from the Screechclaws.”
He stops, fixing me with those cerulean eyes. “It must be connected to your first disappearance. Maybe our theory that the man and the Screechclaws are working together is correct.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I haven’t seen any Screechclaws in my visions?”
“It’s too much of a coincidence. It has to be related.” Vaylen stops pacing and focuses all his intense attention on me. “Have you remembered anything else?”
His question snaps me back to reality. What am I doing? I’m supposed to be handling this alone. Letting Vaylen—anyone—back in only puts them in danger.
“No,” I lie, the word bitter on my tongue. “Nothing new.”
Vaylen and Phoebe exchange a look that speaks volumes. They don’t believe me.
He shrugs, his shoulders stiff with forced casualness. “Well, if you do, let me know.” He steps away from the bed. “I’m glad you’re all right. Get some rest.”
As he walks out without looking back, I swallow the urge to call after him, to tell him everything. Instead, I clench my fists until pain blooms in my shoulder.
Phoebe remains after Vaylen leaves, fidgeting with her leather-bound notebook. I recognize that look. She’s gathering courage.
“What?” I snap, more harshly than intended.
Phoebe opens her notebook and turns to a page marked with a pressed flower.
“When I was researching Heratrix, I found something else. An old parable.” She clears her throat. “It’s called ‘The Fortress of Thorns.’”
“I’m sorry, Phoebe, but I’m not in the mood for bedtime stories.”
She ignores me and continues, her voice growing stronger. “There was once a woman blessed with fire magic who lived in a village plagued by beasts. She fought these creatures relentlessly, becoming the village’s greatest defender. But with each battle, she grew more frightened.”
Phoebe’s words tug at something in me, and I lean forward despite myself. Maybe she has found something that can help me figure out the truth.
“Go on,” I say, more gently.
“She grew frightened not of the beasts, but of her companions being harmed.” Her fingers trace the flower pressed between the pages.
“So she built walls around herself—first of stone, then of thorns—pushing away everyone who tried to help her. She believed fighting alone meant no one else would suffer.”
I snort, falling back against my pillows. “Seriously? That’s where you’re going with this? A bit too obvious, don’t you think?” Yet, she’s got me all figured out.
Phoebe’s cheeks flame red. She snaps her notebook closed. “I’m sorry. I’m terrible at this. I just… I can see what you’re doing, Rhea. It’s the same as the woman in the story.”
“Did Vaylen put you up to this?” The words come out sharp, accusatory.
“No!” She looks genuinely shocked. “I wouldn’t—he wouldn’t—” She shakes her head vigorously. “This was my idea. I thought maybe if you understood that we’re all worried about you, then maybe—”
“I don’t need anyone worrying about me,” I say. “Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Then help me understand.” She reaches for my hand. It looks pale on top of mine.
“I can’t. That’s the whole point.”
“Because you think you’re protecting us?” Phoebe’s voice grows unexpectedly firm. “Building your very own fortress of thorns?”
I roll my eyes, amused despite myself. “Fine. Maybe I’ve been prickly most of my life. But it’s worked for me, hasn’t it? It’s not just about protecting others. It’s about protecting myself too.”
The words come out before I can stop them, more honest than I wish. Something about Phoebe’s earnestness breaks through my defenses in ways Vaylen’s intensity can’t.