Chapter 43 Rhea #2
A shaft of sunlight suddenly pierces through, striking my face with blinding intensity. I squint against it, my heart leaping at this promise of freedom. I look at Vaylen. Sweat streaks paths through the dust coating his face.
“There!” A distant voice—Cliffbecker’s—calls out. “I can feel their air pocket!”
More stone shifts away. Our barrier expands slightly, allowing us to straighten our bent spines. The relief is so intense I nearly sob.
“Just a little longer,” I say, willing my exhausted arms to hold.
With a final groan of shifting earth, the remaining weight lifts away. Above us, Cliffbecker’s lean form appears, silhouetted against the sky.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he calls down, his mouth stretching into a relieved smile. “Need a hand?”
The moment we’re free, I almost collapse from exhaustion, my legs quivering beneath me. Wasting no time, Zephyros creates a Vortex Lift, wrapping us both in gentle winds that carry us from the depths. His gaze locks onto mine as we rise, his thoughts flooding my consciousness.
—I heard everything. The Matron spoke to you... as a Weaver.
Relief for my well-being pours through our bond alongside his utter bafflement. His mind churns with confusion, attempting to make sense of what he witnessed.
—These portents scare me. His admission rattles me because if he’s scared, what hope does anyone else have?
Letting my eyes adjust, I squint, taking in the scattered bodies of Screechclaws and the worried faces of our mates. Cliffbecker rushes to Vaylen, examining the deep gashes in his leg.
“Hold still, High Prime,” Cliffbecker mutters, getting strips from his first-aid kit to stanch the bleeding.
My gaze drifts across the clearing until it lands on Silas fucking Pyrewing.
He stands casually against a dead tree, looking supremely unconcerned despite sporting a few superficial scratches on his face and arms. The bastard should be dead after that fall, but the branches must have caught him like a mother cradling her precious child.
“Quite the adventure, Wyndward,” he calls, his voice dripping with mock concern. “Trapped with our High Prime in a dark hole. How terribly unfortunate for you both.”
“Go fuck yourself, Silas,” I snarl, too exhausted for cleverness. “While you were getting beauty scratches, we were fighting for our lives.”
His eyes narrow. “And yet here you are, miraculously alive. How fascinating.”
The implication slithers between us like a venomous snake. I step toward him, fingers already curling into fists, hand slick with blood.
Zephyros’s calming presence floods my mind. —Let the worm crawl back to his hole. We have greater concerns than his petty quarrels.
I exhale, letting go of my rage toward Silas. The Matron’s impossible fire, her broken words about choice and curses, these things are more important than Silas. Yet, as we soar back to Fort Ashmire, I can’t shake the feeling that I missed something monumental.
RHEA
Sandtide’s final warning about staying put this time fades as she exits the infirmary. The sharp scent of antiseptic hangs in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. Mine and Vaylen’s.
I sit up against the pillows, wincing as the movement pulls at the freshly stitching in my arm.
Vaylen limps toward my bed, his face a patchwork of cuts and bruises.
The Matron’s talons did a number on his thigh, though Sandtide’s and her staff’s magic repair the worst of it.
That along with intermittent Tide magic applications to increase blood flow will speed up the healing process, and he’ll be as good as new quickly.
He eases himself onto the edge of my bed, his weight creating a dip that slides me slightly toward him, our bodies now separated by mere inches rather than the professional distance he usually maintains around others.
“What did you tell Voltguard?” I ask, my voice raspy from dust and screaming. She was here earlier, talking to Vaylen behind his drawn curtain.
His eyes flick to the door before returning to mine. “I lied to her,” he admits, his voice low.
“You? Breaking rules?” A small smile tugs at my lips despite everything. “What’s next, dancing naked under the full moon?”
He doesn’t return my smile. “I couldn’t exactly tell her the fucking Matron herself grabbed you, then chatted directly into your mind, could I?” His fingers find mine on the bed sheet. “Not without understanding what in the seven hells is happening first.”
I tense at the memory of that alien presence in my mind, but avoid going there. Instead, I ask, “So what exactly did you tell her?”
“That we encountered regular Screechclaws. That they tried to collapse the tunnel on us.” His thumb traces small circles on my hand. “Now you need to tell me what the Matron said to you. All of it.”
The intensity in his blue eyes pins me in place.
I spill it all, explaining about the cracked syllables, the half-formed phrases, the name she hissed inside my skull like burning acid… Omneira. Some sort of awakening. Curses. Choices.
My chest tightens with each memory. I can’t hoard this poison and face it all by myself, so it drips from me raw, unbearable, too wide and heavy for my shoulders alone.
This is much, much bigger than me. Phoebe was so right.
I need help. It was ludicrous to think I could face this alone.
Still, it doesn’t mean I’m not afraid of speaking the truth.
Lies have served me well in the past, but if I don’t tell Vaylen then who?
I watch his face as I finish speaking. His brows furrow, and he rubs his temple with his fingertips, closing his eyes for a long moment. The silence stretches between us like a taut wire.
“You’re going to hate what I’m about to say,” he finally murmurs, eyes opening to meet mine.
“What?” Dread curls in my stomach.
“We need allies, Rhealyn. We can’t face this alone.”
“No.” I jerk my hand away from his. “Absolutely not. Telling you was enough. More than enough.”
“Rhealyn—”
“Do you have any idea what you’re suggesting?
” My voice rises sharply. “I’m already walking on the thinnest ice here.
I killed a Neutro. I’m a Weaver. The King wants me to spy on the Sky Order.
Silas is spying on me. And now the fucking Matron is calling me Omneira and talking about some awakening!
” I’m nearly shouting now. “Let’s involve more people! Brilliant plan!”
“Silas is spying on you? What?”
I wave a hand in the air. “It’s the least of my worries, but yes. His father has access to Sky Order reports, and they were aware of my struggles with Wind Spear. They hate me, and I can’t risk them finding out any of this.”
Vaylen grabs my wrist, his grip firm but gentle.
“Listen to me. We’re talking about ancient powers, a sleeping Goddess, a Screechclaw with elemental powers, a whole mess we really don’t understand, and—I’m pretty sure—the fate of Embernia.
We can’t do this alone. We need people we trust,” he insists.
“Phoebe’s research skills. Dakar’s tactical mind. Cliffbecker’s experience.”
“And when one of them turns me in?” My heart hammers at the possibility. “When they decide a Weaver can’t be trusted?”
“They won’t. You know Phoebe. She’ll stand by you, and I have loyal friends who owe me their lives.” His eyes bore into mine. “Some battles can’t be won alone, and I think we’re really facing the coming of a… new era.”
New era.
My stomach twists violently, bile rising in my throat as Vaylen repeats Tahranis’s words.
I stare at Vaylen’s bruised face, my pulse thundering in my ears, and my anger ripples.
But it’s stupid because didn’t I just finish admitting I couldn’t face this alone?
That this burden is too heavy for one person alone?
The contradiction of my feelings tears at me.
I need the help but I’m afraid of what that help might cost. Can I trust others with the entire truth? Can I let them in?
—If they betray you, I will eat them alive, Zephyros says.
I nearly let out a hysterical laugh. —Letting them in feels like cutting my own throat.
—I know.
But beneath my fear another version of me whispers something else. What if the fate of the realm truly rests on what we do next?
I look away from Vaylen’s intense gaze, my fingers clenching the sheets. For once in my life, I’m paralyzed by indecision, trapped between ingrained instincts and the menacing uncertainty unfolding ahead.
My gaze drifts to the infirmary window. Outside, dragons circle the fort’s perimeter, vigilant after the attack to the fort. I think about the Matron’s burning eyes, the impossible fire curling from her clawed hand, the way she invaded my mind, and wonder at her connection with Heratrix.
“What if we’re wrong?” I finally say, turning back to Vaylen. “What if we bring others in and it makes everything worse?”
“What if we don’t and everything falls apart anyway?” he counters, sounding so much like Phoebe.
I let out a frustrated breath. “I hate it when you’re reasonable.”
The corner of his mouth twitches upward. “I know.”
Something inside me cracks. Not breaking, but shifting. My entire life has been spent guarding secrets and surviving alone. But this is different. This risks more than only my life. It risks Embernia.
“Fine,” I say, the word feeling like surrender and strength simultaneously. “But I have final approval, and the moment anyone looks at me like I’m a monster that should be locked away, I’m done.”
Vaylen’s hand finds mine again. “Fair enough.”
“I must be losing my mind,” I mutter. “Or maybe it’s the pain medicine.”
“No,” he says softly. “I think it’s called personal growth.”
I swat at him. “Fuck you.”
He laughs, glances all around, and plants a quick kiss on my lips. A jolt of pleasure shoots to my core. And as he limps back to his bed, he gives me a look of hunger that promises ecstasy the next time we have some privacy.