Rhea
We fly toward Ashwalker’s Gorge, a massive gash along the border where ancient lava flows once cut through solid stone.
Now, it’s a perfect hiding place for Screechclaws, the black, jagged rock formations providing countless shadowy perches.
Legend claims the gorge was created when two fire dragons fought to the death, their elemental powers scarring the land forever.
I keep stealing glances at Vaylen as we patrol. This is the second time he’s assigned himself to my group. Not that I’m complaining. Having him nearby soothes the anxiety that assaults me when he’s out of sight.
After hours of circling the gorge and finding nothing but dust and shadows, Vaylen signals for us to land on a wide outcropping.
My legs ache as I slide from Zephyros’s back.
The dragons stretch their wings, clearly as tired as we are.
We’re a group of eleven, including Vaylen, Dakar, Cliffbecker, Phoebe, Adelaide, Nate, Silas, Omari, Caspian, Robert Silverin, and me.
We’re heavy on the wind elementals because two of our Skysinger allies are here.
I suspect Vaylen may want to pull us aside and talk about his plan.
Vaylen gestures to Caspian. “Stay airborne. Watch the horizon.”
He nods, climbing back onto his brown dragon without complaint. I respect him for that, always ready, never questioning. Sometimes I wonder if my life would be easier with less fire in my blood.
“I’ll trade places with him for the second watch,” I volunteer.
“Trying to impress the High Prime with your work ethic, Wyndward?” Dakar asks as he sits on a rock to drink from his canteen.
“Is that a problem, Cloudwalker?” I shoot back. “Scared I’ll outwork you?”
Dakar chuckles, but Vaylen glances my way, something softening in his gaze. It’s a look that makes my stomach flip, admiration wrapped in something deeper, more dangerous.
“Wyndward’s always had impressive... stamina,” Silas cuts in, his voice dripping with insinuation. “And I wonder if that is the quality our High Prime finds so captivating.”
The air suddenly feels charged, like before lightning strikes. Vaylen’s head snaps toward Silas, his relaxed posture vanishing instantly.
“What exactly are you implying, Pyrewing?” Vaylen’s voice is deceptively quiet, but I recognize the maelstrom brewing beneath.
Phoebe, Nate, and the others come closer.
Silas straightens, grinning like he’s been waiting for this confrontation. “Only what everyone whispers about, High Prime. Your special treatment of certain Skysingers.” His eyes flick to me. “Certain disgraced ones.”
“Careful, Pyrewing.” Vaylen steps closer. “That’s borderline insubordination.”
“Is it insubordination to question why a murderess gets special assignments while better riders clean stables?” Silas’s face starts flushing red. “Why you always go wherever she goes? Or why, for a year, you mopped around like a lost puppy.”
I’ve never seen Silas this belligerent. There’s something wrong. This isn’t just his usual arrogance.
“That’s enough!” Vaylen’s hands curl into fists.
“Everyone knows you’re fucking her!” Silas shouts, sounding as if he’s jealous, then lunging forward with his arm pulled back.
Without thinking, I thrust myself between them. “Stop—”
Pain explodes across my jaw as Silas’s fist connects. My vision blurs, blood filling my mouth as I stagger backward. Vaylen catches me before I fall, his touch gentle despite the fury radiating from him.
Blood coats my teeth as I blink, trying to right the world. Everything swims. Rocks, sky, faces… they all blur together like wet paint on canvas. My jaw throbs with every heartbeat, each pulse sending spikes of pain through my skull.
My vision splits. Two Silas shapes appear before me, wavering, doubling then merging like reflections in disturbed water. His blond hair catches sunlight, then seems to absorb it. One moment he’s Silas with his hateful sneer, the next—
My breath catches in my throat. The features of the Silas on the right shift, flow like melting wax. His hair lengthens into precise white braids. His gray eyes burn into amber, and sharp cheekbones emerge where Silas’s softer features had been.
“Tahranis,” I whisper, horror crawling up my spine like ice water.
He smiles, that same knowing smile I’ve seen in my nightmares.
Zephyros’s roar rips through the air.
—What is happening? His concern floods our bond, but I’m paralyzed between realities.
—Can you see him? I manage, my thoughts fragmenting like broken glass.
—I see only your Stormsong and that arrogant Pyrewing. Nothing that... His confusion shifts to alarm. Wait. Something is wrong. Your mind… someone else is in there.
—Omneira, Tahranis lips form the word without sound.
Fear turns to volcanic rage in an instant. I lunge forward, my fingers curling like claws.
“You don’t get to take anything else from me!” I scream, wind whipping around my body as my power surges, uncontrolled.
Hands grab me from behind. Dakar’s, not Vaylen’s. Someone shouts. The figure flickers, Tahranis becoming Silas again, looking confused and alarmed at my reaction. But I saw him. For that moment, I saw him. And the terror in my heart tells me he’s coming for me again.
—No need to be afraid, Tahranis’s voice speaks inside my mind.
I wrench myself out of Dakar’s grip, my feet barely touching the ground as I launch toward Silas. Vaylen is already in motion, but rage propels me faster. My vision tunnels until all I see is Silas’s face morphing again.
“You’re dead!” I scream, wind whipping dust into a frenzy around me. My fingers stretch toward his eyes, ready to gouge them.
Silas moves with unexpected speed, capturing my wrists before I can reach his face. I thrash against his hold, my knees seeking his groin, my teeth snapping at whatever flesh I can reach.
“Let me go, you bastard!” Blood from my split lip sprays with each word. The urge to do Breath Bind assaults me, but what if this is all in my head?
Vaylen is almost on us, his face a mask of cold fury I’ve never seen before. The air around him vibrates with power. Behind me, Zephyros’s roar splits the sky, the ground trembling beneath our feet.
Silas yanks me against his chest in a grotesque parody of an embrace, his mouth dropping to my ear. His breath feels wrong. Too hot, like steam from a forge.
“Wake up, Omneira,” he whispers.
The words hit me like lightning. My body goes rigid, electricity coursing through every vein, every nerve ending. My mind cracks open, and memories flood in. Not in fragments, but a torrent.
The sacred chamber beneath the mountain where they placed a robe on my shoulders and glyphs glowed like eyes.
Chanting.
Tahranis calling me Omneira as if it were my name.
Heratrix’s enormous sleeping form, her scales gleaming like opals.
A year of living among the people under the mountains being… happy.
Months and months of Tahr slipping into my bed, while I receive him with open arms.
Tahranis feeding me broth laced with something bitter.
Fern’s child-like hands holding my head as I vomit.
And the truth…
…the undeniable truth.
All of it.
I wrench myself away from Silas, gasping as though breaking the surface after nearly drowning. My mind reels with the returning memories. They’re visceral, overwhelming, intimate. I stare at the man before me, my entire body trembling as he begins to transform.
“It all begins today as I promised.” Silas’s voice distorts, deepening, becoming velvet and smoke.
His body stretches upward, gaining inches of height.
Blond hair bleeds to white again, flowing into those precise braids I know too well.
Gray eyes ignite with amber fire. His features sharpen, becoming achingly beautiful, inhumanly perfect.
The face that haunted my dreams, the man who filled my bed is here.
“Tahr,” I whisper, the name sticking in my throat like a fishbone.
He wears black leather pants that cling to his muscular thighs and a fur-lined coat that drapes below his knees. It’s open in the front, revealing no shirt underneath, but an expanse of alabaster muscles chiseled to perfection.
For a heartbeat, I think I’m hallucinating, that only I can see him. Then Dakar steps forward.
“Who the fuck are you?” he snarls, wind coalescing around his fingers.
“Get away from him, Rhea,” Phoebe warns, but I don’t move.
Wind Spears form instantly in both Dakar’s and Vaylen’s hands, glowing with deadly intent. Vaylen’s face has gone deathly pale, his eyes locked on the man before us.
Robert Silverin doesn’t waste breath on questions. Daggers slip from sheaths at his waist, hovering in mid-air like metal hornets, their points aimed at Tahr’s heart and eyes.
Tahranis merely smirks, satisfaction radiating from him like heat from flame. He doesn’t look at any of them—only at me. His gaze holds mine, a possessive claim that makes my stomach lurch.
“Hello, my Omneira,” he says softly. “Have you enjoyed the game so far?”
“You’ve been Silas since… the Matron,” Vaylen growls.
I want to scream, to run, to bury a Wind Spear in Tahr's throat, but I’m paralyzed by the ongoing flood of memories as his hands move over me, his voice guiding me through dark passages, the warmth of acceptance wrapping around me.
My breath catches as everything locks into place like tumblers in a vault.
It’s as though I’ve been living with half a mind, and now the missing piece slams into me with staggering force.
I volunteered to come back. I starved myself and faked injuries so no one would distrust me.
Goddess, it was all my idea!
King Craven had been growing desperate, his paranoia reaching fever pitch. With every passing day, he became more certain that the prophecy his ancestors had passed down from generation to generation was at the brink of coming true. So he sent spies to Hearthdale.
Tahr and I captured them.