Page 101 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
I snort into my porridge, oddly comforted by this slice of normalcy amidst my chaotic life.
Caspian clears his throat, his eyes fixed on his bowl. “I never got to thank you properly, Rhea. For what you did in Hearthdale. You saved my life.”
“Aww, look who’s getting all sentimental,” Adelaide teases, reaching over to pinch his cheek.
Caspian’s face turns the color of a sunset, spreading from his neck to his hairline. The poor man looks like he might combust.
“You should’ve heard him after they got back,” Nate adds, grinning. “Wouldn’t shut up about how Rhea took loads of Screechclaws down. Man was practically writing ballads.”
“He was devastated when you vanished,” Adelaide jokes.
“All of you, shut up,” Omari snaps, her jeweled eyes flashing. “You weren’t there like Caspian and I were. You didn’t see it.” Her voice drops. “One minute Rhea was standing there, the next she was swallowed by a mountain. Most horrifying thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
The table falls silent.
I cringe at the sudden heaviness and jump in to dissipate it. “Hey, no worries. Now I’m back to make your lives a living hell.All seven of them, actually. I’ve got a schedule. Mondays we visit the Tide hell, Tuesdays the Forge...”
Nate bellows with laughter. “Seven hells? Your ugly face is punishment enough!”
“Says the man who scares dragons with his ugly mug,” I shoot back.
Adelaide shakes her head. “Remember when Nate tried to impress Phoebe by doing a backflip off his dragon?”
“And landed face-first in horse manure!” Omari wheezes. “Now that was an ugly face.”
The table erupts in chaotic laughter, drawing glares from across the hall. At this moment—ridiculous and loud—I crave for what I’ve never had, a normal life.
RHEA
I keepmy eyes forward as Vaylen moves down the formation, my spine a ramrod. The weight of dozens of stares presses against me from all sides. Some curious, some hostile. All wary. Eleonora’s gaze burns hottest, drilling into the side of my face with enough venom to drop a Screechclaw mid-flight.
Let her stare. She can have Vaylen. They can play at forbidden love for all I care.
Phoebe shifts beside me, her shoulder brushing mine in silent support.
Vaylen steps forward, his stance wide and commanding. “Skysinger Wyndward has been cleared of all accusations. By order of King Craven himself, she returns to active duty, effective immediately.”
Whispers ripple through the ranks, riddled with the sameaccusations I’ve heard since I got back. Vaylen’s eyes flash, cold as a winter storm. The murmurs die instantly.
“Any questions about this decision can be directed tome. Privately.” His voice drops an octave on the last word, promising consequences if there is gossip.
I fight the urge to smirk. At least Cragmere won’t bother me again. Apparently, the Commander sent him back to Emberton and told him not to come back.
With that out of the way, Vaylen approaches our section of the line, his face an impenetrable mask of professionalism. His eyes slide over me without a flicker of recognition, as if last night’s heated confrontation never happened. As if he didn’t promise I’d come crawling back to him, desperate with want.
Arrogant asshole.
He inspects Braylen Mistwalker first, then moves to Phoebe, checking their uniforms with meticulous precision. When he reaches me, he pauses fractionally longer, his gaze sweeping from my boots to my hastily knotted hair. The air between us crackles with tension thick enough to choke on.
“Your jacket is improperly fastened, Skysinger Wyndward,” he says, voice cool and detached. “See that it’s corrected.”
My fingers clench at my sides. “Yes, High Prime,” I reply, the formal address delivered coldly, meant to clash against his own frigid treatment.
A muscle jumps in his jaw, the only indication that the man from last night still exists beneath this indifferent exterior. For a heartbeat, I think he might say something more, but he moves on to the next rider.
This is better,I tell myself.This distance. This cold formality.
So why does it feel like someone’s carved a hollow in my chest with a dull kitchen knife?
