Page 46 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
Vaylen drops onto Sandtide’s stool with a heavy sigh. His shoulders slump, and a strand of hair with that distinctive gold streak falls across his forehead. Myfingers twitch with the impulse to brush it back, to trace the line of his brow. I clench my hands tighter around my knees.
“Wanna talk about it?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
He runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up in unruly spikes. “New Ferro. Been trying to root out Screechclaws for three days straight.”
“Oh, I guess that’s why you haven’t—“ I catch myself. “What’s happening there?”
“They’ve changed tactics,” he says, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “They’re hiding in abandoned buildings, striking in small groups and stealing supplies, then disappearing before we can mount a proper response.”
I frown. “Stealing supplies? That’s new.” That I know of, Screechclaws only care about killing dragons and riders.
“Exactly.” His blue eyes, despite the exhaustion clouding them, fix on mine with unsettling intensity. “Something’s changed. We lost two riders trying to flush them out of the western quarter.”
My heart squeezes. “Who?”
“Dawnblade and Morningtide. Good people.” His voice drops. “We got four of those bitches, but the rest scattered like dogs.”
I don’t know these names, but the knowledge still hurts.
“Any… dragons?”
Vaylen shakes his head, which is a relief.
“I’m sorry about the riders,” I say, my voice dropping low. My throat tightens as I think of lives lost while I’ve been lying in bed. After a moment’s hesitation, I reach for Vaylen’s hand, my fingers trembling slightly.
His eyelids flutter when our skin touches, something vulnerable passing across his face. He interlaces his fingers with mine, and for a moment, we’re just two people holding on to each other in a quiet bubble.
Vaylen takes a deep breath and when he lets it out, he seems to drop half his load. His shoulders relax, his grip softens.
“I wish we could figure those bitches out,” he says, staring at our joined hands. “Last year’s attack on Hearthdale was nonsensical. We never found out why all the women and children were gone from the village. Or where the sword I found came from. And now this.”
I pull my hand away, suddenly restless, swinging my legs over the bed’s edge.
“What sword?” I ask.
Vaylen watches, brow furrowed. “We found an ornate weapon after the attack. It had strange markings, unlike anything our blacksmiths forge. Definitely not Screechclaw made either.”
The wordmarkingstriggers something, a glowing flash, the sensation of being dragged through earth.
“Show me,” I say, my voice sharp. “I need to see it.”
“Rhea, you’re still recovering?—“
“I’ve been lying here for three days while people are dying!” The words tear from my throat, all the frustration of confinement bursting forth. “I’m not broken, Vaylen. And if there’s even a chance this connects to what happened to me...”
I grab the folded leathers that sit on the night table. An apprentice delivered them yesterday along with a pair of boots.
“If there’s a connection between my disappearance and that weapon, it might jog something in my memory. Besides, keeping me in this dragonforsaken infirmary is wasting time we don’t have. They could send me to trial at any minute.” I straighten, meeting his gaze with fire in mine. “So either help me or get out of my way.”
Vaylen stands, towering over me. For a moment, I thinkhe’ll force me back to bed. Instead, his features rearranging into something almost resembling pride.
“Sandtide will have my hide for this,” he says, offering his arm for support.
“Let her try,” I mutter, waving his arm away. “I’ve got a year’s worth of fight stored up.”
Vaylen steps out of the circle of the curtain while I change, then we slip out. He takes me through corridors I’ve never seen before, narrow passages barely wide enough for his shoulders, dimly lit by oil lamps that flicker as we pass. He moves with the confidence of someone who’s memorized every inch of Fort Ashmire, occasionally stopping to listen before leading us down another twisting hall.
“Where exactly are we?” I whisper as we descend a narrow spiral staircase.
