Page 15 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
I look at Breezehart.
Her face is alight with the same dangerous emotion I refuse to entertain. “What could it mean?” she asks.
“It means nothing until we know more,” I say firmly, but my body betrays my words as I turn and stride toward the lift, Breezehart’s hurried footsteps following close behind.
As we enter, I grab the blue cord hanging from the ceiling and pull it three times in rapid succession—the signal for urgency.
“Perhaps Zephyros sensed some change,” Breezehart suggests, her voice carrying the excitement I dare not express.
“Speculation serves no purpose,” I say.
The lift jolts as the Bolts begin operating the pulleys. Breezehart falls silent, but her eyes speak volumes. She thinks the same thing I do, the very thought I’m fighting with every fiber of my being.
We ascend, slow and steady. I focus on the rough texture of the stone walls through the accordion door, the creak of cables, anything but the growing pressure in my chest. Yet as we rise toward the surface, toward that roar of whatsounded like joy rather than grief, I can’t help but think:What if?
No. I must remain in control. I straighten my spine and set my jaw. Whatever awaits above, I will face it with resolve, lest life dashes my hopes again.
But by the four winds!My heart refuses to listen.
The cabin lurches to a stop, metal joints groaning with the strain. I push past the door before it fully opens, nearly catching my jacket in my haste.
“High Prime!” Breezehart calls from behind me, but I’m already scanning the sky, turning in a full circle, seeking silver scales against the cloudless blue.
Nothing.
Then I notice everyone standing at the western edge of the plateau, their faces upturned and bodies still. I follow their collective gaze and spot him… Zephyros, his massive form already diminished by distance, wings beating with fierce purpose. Not circling in grief as he has for a year, but flying with intent, with direction.
“West,” I murmur. “He flies west.”
West toward Hearthdale. West toward the mountains that took Rhealyn.
I turn to find Fragor landing at the edge of the plateau. Reaching through our bond, I search for insight, for confirmation of what I dare not name. A surge of emotions floods through me—urgency, anticipation, recognition. Fragor knows something. He felt it too.
She lives. Rhealyn lives. That has to be it!
The thought threatens to buckle my knees, but years of discipline keep me upright, my face an unreadable mask despite the tempest inside me.
“High Prime.” Prime Isolde Emberstone approaches, her copper-tipped braids swaying with each purposeful stride. TheSkyblaze Prime rarely shows surprise, yet it’s written plainly across her angular features. “I think he’s headed to Hearthdale.”
I can’t reply. My throat is tight.
Her brown eyes hold mine steadily. “I don’t think Zephyros would leave unless?—“
“We can’t be certain,” I interject, though the words ring hollow even to my ears.
All around us, riders murmur and point to the speck diminishing against the horizon. I should order them to mount. We should head to Cinderhold as we’re supposed to do and report to Commander Voltguard.
Instead, I find myself calculating flight times to Hearthdale, cataloging options, judging consequences.
“High Prime?” Emberstone presses. “Your orders?”
The question hangs between us, weighted with significance. If Rhealyn has returned, if she truly lives, what then? She’s still a Weaver. Still a confessed killer. Still my duty to bring to justice. And still the woman whose absence has haunted my every waking moment for a year.
I clear my throat, pushing down the storm of emotions that threatens to overwhelm my reason. I know what I want to do. I want to jump on Fragor’s back and follow Zephyros, chase this sudden hope that has bloomed in my chest, the thought of finding Rhealyn alive, of wrapping her in my arms, and?—
Emberstone studies me, her gaze uncomfortably perceptive. Over this past year, I fear she and Dakar have somehow discerned that my concern for Rhealyn transcends my responsibility as her Prime. They’ve never spoken of it directly—such is the courtesy they’ve offered me—but the knowing look in Emberstone’s eyes right now makes me wonder if she suspects the full truth.
She takes my arm and pulls me away from Breezehart, who takes the hint and heads toward her dragon, Trueno.
