Page 21 of Swift Wings Shadowed Heart
“They say he didn’t only perform Cleansings butCullingstoo.”
“Dragon’s breath!” Adelaide presses a hand to her mouth.
Every year, children are evaluated across the realm. Authorized Neutros examine them and perform Cleansings only when necessary—at least that’s what parents are told. It’s all done for the safety of Embernia. These Cleansings have been performed since the Dual Blight, which happened shortly after Heratrix disappeared. I wonder what she would think of them. But sometimes, more than a Cleansing happens, and the child’s elemental skills are fully extirpated, leaving them powerless. The Cleansing Authority denies this ever happens, but I don’t believe them. Not for a second.
“Why?” she asks, puzzled.
Honestly, does she lack imagination? It’s not that hard.
Silas’s eyebrows rise, and his sideways look says it all. “Are you serious? I can think of several reasons. The main one… parents who don’t want their children to waste their time trying out for the Academy, for one.”
“No, they wouldn’t!” She looks outraged.
“Oh, they would,” I say. There are parents who do worse things to their kids.
“I would be lost without my powers,” she says, her mouth drawing downward.
She holds out her hand and snowflakes dance in her palm. No one would argue with her about that one. I can’t imagine who I would be if not this.
“I wonder how many children he culled like that?” she asks no one in particular.
“If it was one, it was too many,” I spit, venom thick in my voice.
I’m happier than ever that I took it upon myself to rid our realm of that vile man.
Silas stands at attention, his gaze focused on a spot over my head. I turn to find High Prime Stormsong there.
No. Not High Prime Stormsong. Vaylen, nothing else.
Even if only in my head, this will be my way to break down his barriers. For now.
He regards me with a frown. Did he catch that last bit of our conversation? If he did, he says nothing about it. Instead, he gives us orders.
“Go around and tell every new Skyrider to gather in that corner over there.”
“Yes, Sir,” we say in unison.
“Make sure it’s all eleven of you.” He whirls on his heel and walks toward Gilbert, presumably to give him the same instructions.
Five minutes later, we’re all gathered in a corner apart from the other guests, who are as restless as ants in a disturbed pile. We’re all trapped here since the Commander ordered all the doors be barred. If they figure out I’m responsible, there’ll be nowhere to run. Trying not to fidget, I watch the women as they chatter, fanning themselves uncontrollably. The men feign an air of composure, their expressions carefully blank, but the sweat on their brows betrays their agitation. A handful have lit noxious cigars, puffing on them as if their lives depend on it.
“Who do you think killed him?” James Ironscale asks. He’s a Forge. No, a Skyforge. He has control over metals. He’s the quiet sort, so I’m surprised to hear his voice.
“I wish it’d been me,” Silas quips. “Whoever did it is a hero, in my opinion.”
Nate elbows him in the ribs. “You shouldn’t say things like that, mate.”
“He’s a Pyrewing,” Gilbert says, mouth twisting. “He thinks he can say whatever the fuck he wants, but he’s soon going to learn he can’t, like his crippled brother did.”
Silas’s face goes red. “Take my brother out of your filthy mouth,you bastard.”
Gilbert is rumored to be the illegitimate son of Lord Jonathan Warren. I suspect that’s the reason for the dragon-sized chip on his shoulder.
Leaning toward Silas, Gilbert glares up at him, his frame several inches shorter than his opponent’s six-two wall of muscle. “I’m going to show you?—”
“Stop it, you two. High Prime Stormsong is coming,” Adelaide urges.
We all compose ourselves and look straight ahead. Vaylen stops in front of us, letting his piercing gaze rove over the group.
