Page 115 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
Phoebe leans forward, her red hair catching the candlelight as she tucks it behind her ear. “Do you really think they were trying to abduct you? Not kill you?”
I nod, wincing as my shoulder protests the movement. “They had plenty of chances to tear me apart.”
“Tell us exactly what happened,” Vaylen says, his tone that of the High Prime. “Every detail.”
I recount everything: the first screams, the Claw I saved, the way the harpies attacked me right after that. I describe how they grabbed me, their talons digging into my flesh as they lifted me skyward.
“They were carrying me away,” I finish. “If Zephyros hadn’t been there…” I let the sentence hang.
Vaylen paces the narrow space beside my bed, his fingers steepled against his lips. “Yes, from the sounds of it, it really seems they singled you out. What is happening?” He shakes his head. “More unusual behavior from the Screechclaws.”
He stops, fixing me with those cerulean eyes. “It must be connected to your first disappearance. Maybe our theory that the man and the Screechclaws are working together is correct.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I haven’t seen any Screechclaws in my visions?”
“It’s too much of a coincidence. It has to be related.” Vaylen stops pacing and focuses all his intense attention on me. “Have you remembered anything else?”
His question snaps me back to reality. What am I doing? I’m supposed to be handling this alone. Letting Vaylen—anyone—back in only puts them in danger.
“No,” I lie, the word bitter on my tongue. “Nothing new.”
Vaylen and Phoebe exchange a look that speaks volumes. They don’t believe me.
He shrugs, his shoulders stiff with forced casualness. “Well, if you do, let me know.” He steps away from the bed. “I’m glad you’re all right. Get some rest.”
As he walks out without looking back, I swallow the urge to call after him, to tell him everything. Instead, I clench my fists until pain blooms in my shoulder.
Phoebe remains after Vaylen leaves, fidgetingwith her leather-bound notebook. I recognize that look. She’s gathering courage.
“What?” I snap, more harshly than intended.
Phoebe opens her notebook and turns to a page marked with a pressed flower.
“When I was researching Heratrix, I found something else. An old parable.” She clears her throat. “It’s called ‘The Fortress of Thorns.’”
“I’m sorry, Phoebe, but I’m not in the mood for bedtime stories.”
She ignores me and continues, her voice growing stronger. “There was once a woman blessed with fire magic who lived in a village plagued by beasts. She fought these creatures relentlessly, becoming the village’s greatest defender. But with each battle, she grew more frightened.”
Phoebe’s words tug at something in me, and I lean forward despite myself. Maybe she has found something that can help me figure out the truth.
“Go on,” I say, more gently.
“She grew frightened not of the beasts, but of her companions being harmed.” Her fingers trace the flower pressed between the pages. “So she built walls around herself—first of stone, then of thorns—pushing away everyone who tried to help her. She believed fighting alone meant no one else would suffer.”
I snort, falling back against my pillows. “Seriously? That’s where you’re going with this? A bit too obvious, don’t you think?” Yet, she’s got me all figured out.
Phoebe’s cheeks flame red. She snaps her notebook closed. “I’m sorry. I’m terrible at this. I just… I can see what you’re doing, Rhea. It’s the same as the woman in the story.”
“Did Vaylen put you up to this?” The words come out sharp, accusatory.
“No!” She looks genuinely shocked. “I wouldn’t—he wouldn’t—” She shakes her head vigorously. “This was my idea. I thought maybe if you understood that we’re all worried about you, then maybe?—”
“I don’t need anyone worrying about me,” I say. “Look, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Then help me understand.” She reaches for my hand. It looks pale on top of mine.
“I can’t. That’s the whole point.”
