Page 117 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
I laugh, the sound brittle. “Scared? I’ve faced Screechclaws, the Matron, I survived a year as a prisoner?—“
“And yet you’re terrified. For us. Forhim. That means you shouldn’t do this alone.”
Recoiling from the inconvenient truth, I grip the sheet as ifI could strangle it, then turn away, blinking rapidly. “You don’t know the half of it, Phoebe.”
“Then tell me.”
I shake my head. “I can’t”
“Why not?”
“Because you would… hate me.”
“I wish I knew what makes you say that, so I could prove you wrong.”
I laugh bitterly. I’ve never invaded her thoughts, but the moment she hears I’m a Weaver, I’m sure it’s the first thing she’ll worry about. There are some truths much more lethal than any lie.
“Fine.” I sigh, the fight draining out of me. “I’ll think about what you said, all right?” I soften my tone at Phoebe’s hopeful expression. “I’m not promising anything, but... I’ll consider it.”
She nods, satisfied with the small victory. “That’s all I’m asking.” She gathers her notebook and stands, hesitating at the edge of my bed. “Get some rest. Sandtide will murder me if she thinks I’ve kept you up too long.”
As she walks away, I’m struck by the thought that arguing with Phoebe is like trying to fight a gentle breeze, pointless and exhausting. She’s already won more than she realizes. A hairline crack has formed in my fortress of thorns. Now the question is… Do I patch it up? Or do I let it grow?
Phoebe’s footsteps fade, leaving me with only the night’s silence and my racing thoughts. She’s right, damn her, and I hate it. This fortress I’ve built isn’t protecting anyone if I don’t even know what we’re facing, if what awaits is much bigger than all of us.
—Zephyros?I reach for our bond, feeling his immediate response.
—Little one?His consciousness brushes against mine, alert and ready for anything.
—We need to try again. Vaylen will assume I’ll be resting tonight, so it’s the perfect time to do it.
Hesitation ripples through our connection.—Are you sure you’re ready?
—More than ever. With the Screechclaws acting this way, and if there’s truly a Goddess and thousands of eggs waiting... we can’t afford to stumble around in the dark anymore.
—Then we meet at dawn.
—I’ll be there.
39
Rhea
Islip out of bed and leave the infirmary, wincing as my shoulder protests, though it already feels much better than this morning. Sandtide applied her Tide magic all night, increasing blood flow to the wound, and it worked wonders.
The fort sleeps as I focus my power, wind swirling beneath my feet. The Vortex Lift launches me from the courtyard over the wall.
I land in the grass, grateful for the silence around Fort Ashmire. The clearing waits ahead—and with it—answers about Tahranis, Heratrix, and thisOmneirabusiness, I hope.
“Going somewhere, Wyndward?”
I freeze mid-step. Vaylen leans against a tree at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed over his chest, looking annoyingly composed for this ungodly hour. His mouth quirks up in that half-smile that still makes my stomach flip despite everything.
Zephyros swoops down from above, his shape gleaming in the pre-dawn light. He hovers, assessing the situation, then banks away with an exasperated mental sigh.
—I will return when you have sorted things out with your mate.
—He’s not my—But Zephyros is already gone, the traitorous lizard.
