Page 16 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
“You should go,” she says quietly, glancing around to ensure no others hear.
“And what would I tell the Commander?” I keep my voice steady despite the war raging within me. “I can’t abandon my duties based on a crazy dragon’s behavior?”
“Commander Voltguard will understand. Wyndward belongs to your Clutch. This is a lead you must follow.” Her eyes flash with an intensity I rarely see.
“She’s wanted,” I remind her. And what I leave unsaid, that Rhealyn is a Weaver, brings a bitter taste to my mouth.
“You can worry about that later. If Zephyros sensed something and she’s back, she may be in need of help.”
Emberstone is right.
“She hasn’t been proven guilty,” she adds, leaning closer. “That little weasel Cragmere overreaches himself. What proof does he truly have beyond conjecture?”
Cragmere figured out that Rhealyn had motive, and that she lied about the identity of her Neutro, but he has no concrete proof.
What Emberstone doesn’t know is that Rhealyn confessed the truth to me. She did kill Cindergrasp. Yet, as I stand here, none of that seems to matter. The rules, the laws that have governed my entire existence… they all fade against the possibility that Rhealyn lives.
Duty demands I bring her to justice if she’s returned. Honor requires I follow the laws of our realm. But my heart... it needs to know if she’s alive. Not to mention that, for her, I’ve broken rules and laws indiscriminately, starting from the night I first kissed her in that hotel room in Emberton, continuing through the day I learned the entire truth about what she did and who she is, up until today, when I still keep her secretsas if they were treasures guarded by a hoarding dragon of legend.
“I’ll take responsibility with the Commander,” Emberstone adds. “Go. Before Zephyros gets too far ahead.”
“You’re right. I’ll go,” I say, decision made. “I leave you in charge. Alert Commander Voltguard, tell her I will report to Cinderhold as soon as I can.”
Fragor lets out a low rumble of agreement. Through our bond, I feel his willingness to fly, to follow.
“Take Breezehart with you,” she adds. “You shouldn’t go alone.”
Hearthdale and what happened there remains shrouded in mystery. The village—or what remains of it—haunts me still. Unlike other Screechclaw attacks, this one made no tactical sense. The enemy struck with savage precision, remained only until we challenge them, then left—never taking women or children with them again.
For months after Rhealyn’s disappearance, we dispatched riders to survey the ruins. Nothing. No enemy patrols, no signs of occupation. Just ash and stone, growing cold beneath an indifferent sky. Totally nonsensical.
What connection could exist between the strange figure who emerged from the mountain and our ancient foe? Their timing can’t be mere coincidence, yet the puzzle pieces refuse to form a coherent whole. Hearthdale is a conundrum, a place every member of the Sky Order now sees with fear and superstition. The very mention of the village sends a chill through the ranks, like a winter wind raking their backs. Even hardened veterans avoid flying over its charred remains, whispering that the spirits of the fallen linger there, trapped between worlds.
I’ve pored over reports until my eyes burned, searching for clues, for some explanation that would satisfy both logic and instinct. The Screechclaws have never behaved this way before—striking without apparent purpose, withdrawing without pressing their advantage. They are brutal predators, yet at Hearthdale, something changed. Something drove them to such focused destruction, then pulled them back like a receding tide.
Of course Emberstone doesn’t want me to go alone.
I nod, grateful for her understanding. “Thank you, Emberstone.”
“Don’t mention it. It’s the right thing to do.”
She meets my gaze, and something in her eyes speaks volumes beyond her words. Sheknows. The realization settles like a stone in my gut. All this time, I thought my actions could be explained and my true feelings locked away, yet she sees through the fortress I’ve built.
“How long have you known?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper.
A small smile plays on her lips. “High Prime, Vaylen… You’re good at hiding your feelings, but I’ve known you for a long time. I first noticed when you seemed a bit distracted during her training.”
I straighten my shoulders. “My personal attachments are irrelevant to my duties. I always give my best. My all.”
“Of course.” Her knowing smile remains. “I don’t think anyone would ever doubt that. Certainly not me.”
I nod, relieved, because I know she’s telling the truth. I know her well too. I turn away, signaling Fragor with a sharp whistle. He bends his knee, creating the perfect slope for my ascent.
“Breezehart!” I call. “You’re coming with me. We’re following Zephyros!”
Breezehart’s surprise flashes across her face for only a heartbeat before determination hardens her features. She nods sharply, a spark lighting her green eyes.
“Ready when you are, High Prime,” she calls, already climbing Trueno. There’s no hiding her eagerness to find her friend. That loyalty, at least, I understand all too well.
