Chapter 47 Rhea
Rhea
Dawn creeps through the fortress windows, painting the stone walls in soft gold. My body still hums with the memory of Vaylen’s touch as I hurry toward the mess hall. I need food before formation and daily assignments. Soon, I’ll be rotating to the night shift.
I round the corner near the mess hall when a shadow detaches itself from behind a column. I nearly jump out of my skin, hand instinctively forming a Wind Dagger.
“A bit jumpy this morning, Skysinger?” Lieutenant Fellstorm’s smug face appears, those pale eyes regarding me with thinly veiled disdain.
“You seem to have a death wish.” I lift the Wind Dagger so he can see it, then let it dissolve.
He pretends to ignore the shimmering weapon, but I don’t miss his throat bobbing up and down. “From His Majesty.” His thin lips curl slowly into a satisfied smirk. “The King isn’t pleased.”
I snatch the Boltgram from his hand, fighting the urge to tear it open right here. “I’m devastated.” I put a hand to my heart in mock anguish.
“I’d watch that tongue if I were you. Even those the King seems to favor can fall quickly.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Sometimes, they fall hardest.”
He turns to leave, his self-importance radiating off him like stink from a cesspool. Before I can stop myself, I flick my fingers, sending a small Wind Blast at his back, just enough to make him stagger forward, arms pinwheeling.
“Clumsy today, Lieutenant?” I call after him, wishing I could have blown him clear across the courtyard instead.
I slip into a quiet alcove before the bustling mess hall. The seal breaks under my fingernail, the paper inside crisp and foreboding.
“What in the seven hells was that report?” The message reads. “I need to know if the Commander and High Prime are ready. Will they fall into line?”
My stomach drops. The words blur as I read them again, heart hammering against my ribs. My stupid report was a mistake.
“Wyrm’s rot,” I whisper. The missing pieces of my memory aren’t just inconvenient, they’re potentially lethal.
I press my forehead against the cool stone wall, trying to calm my racing thoughts. If I don’t give Craven what he wants, what will he do? Send his personal dragon guard after me?
Zephyros brushes against my mind.
—You are troubled.
He looks into my mind and finds the reason.
—What do I do, Zephyros? I ask.
—You stop fearing that maggot, that’s what. We will squash him if he dares try anything against you.
Not a helpful response, but certainly an option. I straighten my back, shove the message into my pocket, and go into the mess hall, wondering if a vague Yes, they’ll fall into line would suffice.
Inside the mess hall, my eyes go directly to Vaylen, who sits at the Prime table along with Emberstone and Wavecaller. The other three primes are still out with the night patrols. I grab a bowl of porridge with honey and dried berries and nuts, forcing myself to eat despite my churning stomach.
I catch Vaylen’s eye across the hall and tilt my head slightly toward the door, raising my eyebrows. His expression doesn’t change, but I notice his almost imperceptible nod. Message received.
I shovel down my breakfast, burning my tongue in the process, and slip out before the morning rush intensifies. Five minutes later, Vaylen finds me outside, out of earshot from anyone else.
“Something’s wrong,” he says immediately.
I pull the crumpled letter from my pocket. “The King isn’t pleased with my report. What he wants to know is if you and the Commander will fall into line? Whatever in the seven hells that means.”
He takes the letter, his brow furrowing as he reads. “Fall into line with what exactly?”
“That’s what I’d like to be able to remember.” I snatch the paper back, anger and frustration stirring. “What do I tell him? If I don’t give him something, he might drag me back to Emberton.” My skin crawls at the memory of his mental invasion.
“I guess the only option is to tell him what he wants to hear. It’ll buy us time to go to Hearthdale.”
“A simple they’ll fall into line won’t be enough,” I say, shaking my head. “I need to say enough to satisfy him without revealing I don’t remember shit about his plans. One wrong phrase and he’ll know something’s off.”
My fingers curl into fists as I imagine the King’s smug face when he realizes I’m fumbling. I hate being caught between ignorance and pretense.
“What if...” I stop suddenly, a thought striking me. “What if I simply don’t respond?”
Vaylen raises an eyebrow.
“Think about it. If I were gathering intelligence as he wants, I’d need time.
I could claim I was being thorough, waiting to give him something substantial and to make sure you and the Commander are onboard.
” The idea takes root, growing more appealing by the second.
“Or maybe Fellstorm never delivered the message. Or I was injured on patrol. There are a dozen excuses I could make up later.”
He considers this. “It’s risky, but responding with incorrect information is potentially more dangerous.” He nods slowly. “This buys us time. Maybe more memories will come to you with time.”
“Exactly.” Relief floods through me.
“It’s our best option,” he agrees. “For once, doing nothing is actually doing something.” He smiles, then winks.
“Any ideas how we’ll make it to Hearthdale without arousing suspicion?” I ask.
“Yes. I have a plan. Let’s just hope the Commander likes it.” With that, he heads over to the courtyard where everyone is starting to line up.
I take my place in line with the other Skysingers, the morning sun glinting off the pins attached to our breasts, our wings. Phoebe slips in beside me, her red hair still damp, her expression sour.
“You could have waited for me,” she mumbles.
“You take too long. If you keep spending half the morning in the showers, you’ll sprout gills and turn into a toad. Or worse, the Commander will hunt you down for wasting water.”
Phoebe rolls her eyes but can’t suppress her smile. “I was reading. I don’t have much free time.”
“Reading? In the shower?” I shake my head in mock disbelief. “You’ve reached new levels of obsession.”
“Shut up,” she hisses as Vaylen approaches our line.
He walks with that infuriating confidence, inspecting each of us with critical eyes. When he reaches me, his gaze lingers a heartbeat longer than necessary. I feel heat rise to my cheeks despite myself, remembering his hands on my body just hours ago.
“Wyndward,” he says, voice professionally cold. “Your collar is crooked.”
I straighten it with a slight smirk. “Better, High Prime?”
He moves on without answering.
The assignments come next. I listen for our names, and when we’re called with Dakar’s patrol group, my stomach drops as I hear Silas Pyrewing’s name in the same breath.
“Wyrm’s rot,” I mutter under my breath. “Not again.”
Phoebe gives me a sympathetic glance. “Try not to kill him? Or rescue him.”
“No promises... on the former.”
“At least Nate is coming too,” she says happily.
I watch Silas across the courtyard, his blond head held high, that perpetual sneer on his face. Our gazes connect and he gives me an odd grin. I crack my knuckles, already dreading the day ahead.