Page 123 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
Rhealyn stands. “What about trying again with Zephyros? I need to remember.”
“Tonight,” I suggest, helping her with the loose ties of her leathers. “After sunset, when the fort quiets. I’ll ensure no patrols disturb you.”
“You’d do that? Let me break the rules again?”
I cup her face in my hands, feeling the warmth of her skin against my palms. “I’d rather be part of your solution than the obstacle you need to overcome.”
Relief washes over her features, melting the last bit of her reserve. This is what I’ve longed for—not just her body, but her trust. I want no walls between us. Maybe it’s asking too much, but I want her to be fully mine. Though I know I’m getting ahead of myself. I don’t even know if she loves me.
“Thank you,” she whispers, rising to her tiptoes to kiss me.
I draw her closer, tasting the sweetness of her lips, savoring this moment of connection. Whatever darkness lies ahead, whatever trials await us, this feels right. She isn’t pushing me away anymore. She hasn’t locked me out of her heart as I feared.
Before we part, I rest my forehead against hers. “We face this together,” I vow. “Whatever secrets lie beneath that mountain, whatever the King wants… we stand united.”
41
Rhea
The flight east feels like resurrection. Wind pummels my skin as Zephyros glides through currents only dragons understand. My goggles dig into my flesh, but I don’t care—not when the world stretches beneath us, limitless and wild.
—This is where I belong.
—Enjoying yourself?Zephyros’s voice rumbles through my mind, amused and proud.
—Oh, yes.I spread my arms wide, letting the air rush between my fingers. After mucking stables and delivering supplies, this is bliss.
Below us, the verdant forests of Embernia rush past. Vaylen leads the group, which consists of Omari Reefsong, Henry Cliffbecker, James Ironscale, Joseph Longstream, and fucking Silas. They are a Skybolt, Skydune, Skyforge, Skytide and a Skyblaze respectively.
Zephyros banks sharply right, catching an updraft.
—Let’s hope we encounter some harpy scum. I am in the mood to tear something apart, he says.
I laugh, feeling the same savage hunger unfurling in my chest.—Bloodthirsty today, aren’t we?
—Always, he replies.It has been too long since we have properly fought together. Your claws have grown dull with all this waiting and worrying.
He’s right. Between recovering memories, avoiding Cragmere’s lingering hatred, the King’s schemes, and navigating whatever this is with Vaylen, I’ve forgotten what it means to simply be a Skysinger.
—Then let’s hope they find us,I whisper, scanning the horizon for any sign of our enemies.I could use the distraction.
Omari leans forward on her lightning dragon, a graceful harmony of rider and beast. James guides his metal dragon with barely perceptible movements, while even Silas—wyrm’s rot take him—handles his fire dragon with a confidence that is ninety-nine percent arrogance.
My mates have all grown during my lost year. They fly with practiced ease, their movements so instinctive they’re practically extensions of their dragons. Jealousy curls in my gut like acrid smoke.
“Keep formation, Wyndward,” Vaylen calls out, his voice carrying on the wind.
I make a correction, rolling my shoulder instead. Thankfully, the wound throbs only slightly now. If only Sandtide and her medics could heal whatever’s broken in my mind as easily as she mended my flesh.
—You seem troubled,Zephyros observes.
—Just thinking about tonight. Do you really believe you can break through whatever’s blocking my memories?
His confidence ripples through our bond.—I will.He sounds determined this time, and it gives me hope, which I’m sure is what he wants.
We cross the invisible line dividing Embernia from enemyterritory, and I nearly gasp. The Academy texts described the Blighted Arcs, but words fail to capture the stark reality. One moment we’re flying above forests teeming with natural life. The next, it’s like someone sliced the world in half with a sword.
The land turns skeletal beneath us. Trees stand as blackened husks, their bare branches reaching skyward like desperate, pleading hands. The ground itself appears scorched, cracked and barren where nothing grows. Even the air feels different, thinner, carrying a metallic tang that burns my nostrils, a scent of ancient, twisted magic.
