Page 30 of Swift Wings Shadowed Heart
“He is. Just a little banged up, but he’ll be fine.”
“Good.”
Zephyros blows air through his nose.
I look at him sideways. He can’t possibly want me to wish ill on Trueno. I didn’t even wish Gilbert dead. Not really.
“That was…” Vaylen thinks for a moment. “I’ve never heard of anything like that happening before. Two dragons wanting to bond with the same rider.”
“Wait, did you saybond?”
Vaylen’s thick eyebrows go up as he cocks his head to one side as if in reprimand for not remembering my lessons. “Yes,bond. That’s why they fought. Otherwise, they could have come to an agreement.”
I glance toward Zephyros. He flicks his eyes to one side, acting self-important as if he would never do such a lowly thing as bonding with a human.
Something happens to my body and my legs give out. I fall to my knees and stare at the ground, sinking into the incredulity that washes over me.
I didn’t only get a dragon... I’ll be bonded to one! I’ll be like Vaylen—one of the most powerful Skyriders in all of Embernia.
Today is undeniably the best and worst day of my life, all at the same time.
15
Rhea
The next day, my arm is slightly sore. A Tide and a Dune medic worked on it and healed it almost completely. They are trained to use their water and earth skills on the body. The Dune can shape the minerals in the bone while the Tide can increase blood flow to promote healing. They said it’s fully healed, and I’m ready for Sky’s Edge intensive training before we’re sent to Fort Ashmire in Cinderhold.
Today, we have a free day and are back in Emberton. The sky is dreary, a dark gray bruised by darker clouds. Cold wind blows across the street of my neighborhood, stirring the fallen leaves in my path. They hiss as they tumble. I wrap my black coat more tightly around my body. Underneath, I wear my formal uniform, black trousers and jacket, gold-embroidered scales in the cuffs. Father will be shocked when he sees it. I don’t expect him to be glad my dream came true, but shocked? Perhaps.
He never believed I would get this far, and when he hears I’ll bebonded,a Wind Blast will blow his mind.
Bonded to a dragon that can speak inside your mind, Rhea, an ominous voice whispers in my ear. I still haven’t allowed myself to process what this could mean. I have enough to worry about as it is, and denial about my Weaver powers has never been in short supply.
The further I go, the more decrepit the houses get. By the time I turn the corner onto Usher Road, my mood feels as worn as the crumbling facades I pass. This was once a nice neighborhood with trimmed lawns and freshly painted doors. My mother cared for the flowering bushes out front, singing sweet tunes while I played nearby.
I stop in front of my home’s fence, once threaded with bright green ivy.
Suddenly, my mother is there, her back to me, kneeling on the fertile ground, wearing a flowing dress that looks entirely too big for her.
My body goes cold. My ears ring.
It’s not real. It’s not real.
She climbs to her feet with difficulty. Once standing, she places her hands on her waist, and bends backward to stretch her lower back. She starts to turn, pushing a black strand of hair behind her ear.
My heart pounds. She’s turning to face me, I can’t look. I can’t! My head jerks to the side, eyes snapping shut. I’m frozen for several minutes, counting each breath, telling myself she isn’t really there. When I look again, I’m relieved to find her ghost is gone. I see her sometimes. I see things I don’t want to see. This house is haunted, and it always makes things worse.
The small gate groans as I open it, one corner scraping the bricked path that leads to the front door. A raven lands on a scraggly tree in the corner of the yard and caws. He looks down at me with one beady eye, appearing distrustful. Perhaps it’s a new resident in these parts and thinks I don’t belong. I haven’t visited my father in many weeks. I’m here now only because my next leave won’t be for another six months. That’s if I don’t perish on the front lines.
I pull the key from my coat pocket and unlock the door. The hinges whine as I enter. The place is drafty and gloomy, not one oil lamp or candle lit to push away the shadows. I take off my coat and hang it on the rickety rack.
On a Saturday morning, my father will be in the kitchen. I pass his office, frown at the piles of documents on his deskandfloor. The last time I was here, the mess hadn’t yet traveled to the threadbare carpet. How can he find anything?
I press forward, the click of my boots announcing my presence. At the threshold, I stop and look into the small kitchen. As I expected, he’s huddled near the wood stove, nursing a cup of tea.
“Good morning, Father,” I say.
He hums in greeting, barely sparing a glance my way. He doesn’t even notice my uniform. “Want some tea?”
