Page 10 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
As the others prepare to depart, I watch Zephyros perched atop the rocky outcropping. He hasn’t moved. His massive form sits unnaturally still, like a sentinel carved from pure moonlight.
When everyone is ready, I give the order. “Mount up.”
I command the nearby air currents to form a Vortex Lift. The winds obey, spiraling beneath me and propelling me upward to my dragon’s head. Fragor rumbles beneath myboots, his scales vibrating as he senses my troubled mind. The others mount in my wake and position themselves.
We start north toward Cinderhold. My gaze remains fixed on Zephyros as we move away from the village. We clear the ridge and fly over it, but the dragon stays put!
This is unprecedented. A riderless dragon should be preparing to return with the rest, not maintaining a solitary vigil. I’ve witnessed the loss of Skyriders before… the dragons always retreat to seek solace in their kin. Always.
I whirl Fragor around, facing Zephyros directly. Gathering the wind between us, I shape it into a conduit for my voice.
“Zephyros,” I call, the currents carrying my words across the distance. “We must return to Cinderhold. You can’t stay here alone.”
The great beast doesn’t even acknowledge me. His eyes remain fixed on the mountain, unblinking, as though he can see through the stone itself.
Fragor shifts beneath me. He sends me a feeling of joy that brings to mind Rhealyn’s smile, which I saw many times as she trained alongside Phoebe, learning all of her maneuvers. Why is Fragor doing this? Is that what Zephyros sees? The possibility strikes me like lightning.
“Can you feel her?” I ask Zephyros.
He doesn’t even twitch a scale in acknowledgment of my presence.
There’s nothing I can do to compel Zephyros to follow us. Dragons answer to no human save their chosen riders. But his refusal to abandon this place kindles something within me.
Hope.
“High Prime,” Dakar calls from above. “It don’t look like he’ll leave without her.”
“It’s the bond between them,” I reply.
But what do I know of their connection? Her bond withZephyros is obviously different from mine with Fragor. She’s a Weaver, able to hear his thoughts. I can’t even begin to imagine all the conversations they must have shared.
“Maybe it means she’s alive,” Dakar says, and I know what he’s doing.
He can tell I need hope, and I’m grateful to him for adding fuel to the ember already alight in my chest.
I nod. “To Cinderhold.”
As we move to higher air currents in perfect formation, I cast one last look at Zephyros. His stillness speaks volumes about his dedication to Rhealyn. If I’m honest with myself, I envy the simplicity of his loyalty… uncomplicated by duty, rank, or even his vow to protect Embernia.
Despite the turmoil inside me, knowing Zephyros keeps vigil brings me a strange comfort. He’ll sense her presence, should she emerge, far better than any search party. For now, my duty calls me to Cinderhold, even if part of me remains behind—just as Zephyros does—watching, waiting, hoping.
5
Vaylen
ONE YEAR LATER
Istand at the edge of the plateau, my feet at the precipice where Sky’s Edge falls away to the world below. The wind plays in my hair, but I find no comfort in its familiar touch. Not anymore.
My fingers find the chain around my neck, drawing out the onyx ring that once adorned Rhealyn’s finger. The dark stone catches the light. I trace the intricate silver patterns cradling the black gem. Keeping this piece of her close brings a strange comfort—knowing she wore it, touched it, cherished it.
A full cycle of seasons has passed since Rhealyn vanished. Twelve moons have waxed and waned. The world has turned, battles have been fought, new riders have met their dragons, and still, she remains gone.
The hollow ache in my chest never diminishes. I believed time would dull this pain, but it merely transforms, shifting like her moods once did. Some days it feels like a dull blade pressed against my ribs. Other days, like today, it cuts sharp and clean, and I nearly fall to my knees.
My gaze drifts to the Dragon’s Teeth Range, where I firstmade her mine. Her skin beneath my hands, soft as moonlight. The way she trembled when I kissed the hollow of her throat. The fierce passion in her eyes when she pulled me closer, as if she could consume my very soul. Our bodies moved like wind and storm dancing as one, unable to resist the pull that drove them together.
No. Not mine. She was never truly mine.
