Page 122 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
I consider this, the pieces refusing to align. “Did he give any reason?”
“No.” She absently traces the pattern of a bruise on the back of her hand. “Why would he? Kings don’t explain themselves to subjects. Besides, he assumed I already kneweverything from the memories he unlocked.” Her eyes narrow as she stares into the distance. “But Zephyros thinks I fought back and broke free from whatever trance he put me in before all the memories could surface.”
I study her face, searching for signs of deception or confusion. The pragmatic part of my mind—the part trained to assess threats and vulnerabilities—can’t ignore the possibility that none of this is real. What if her mind created these elaborate scenarios to cope with whatever truly happened to her?
“Rhealyn,” I begin carefully, “is it possible these visions aren’t memories at all? They could be hallucinations, or...” I hesitate, not wanting to cause her pain, “manifestations of trauma.”
She stiffens beside me. “You think I’m mad.”
“No.” I take her hand firmly in mine. “But I’ve seen warriors after battle create stories to make sense of things too terrible to face directly.”
“This is real, Vaylen.” Her voice carries a dangerous edge. “The mountain opened. You were there, and… and…” She stands and begins pacing. “Wyrm’s rot!You’re really going to think I’m crazy when I tell you what I did manage to see in those memories.”
“Whatever it is, I’m with you.”
She takes a deep breath, her hazel eyes darkening with memory. “That man… Tahranis.”
My blood runs hot at the name. I despise him. The man who took her from me, who may have touched her, held her, claimed her body while I mourned her as dead. I’ve turned his name over in my mind since she first mentioned him, each syllable a knife twisting in my gut.
I force myself to shut these thoughts away. I can’t bear to imagine Rhealyn with him—her lips on his, her body yielding. It’s a torture worse than anyScreechclaw could inflict.
“Tell me about him,” I say instead, my voice unnaturally controlled as I swallow the jealousy threatening to consume me.
Her voice drops to barely a whisper as she sits again. “He led me through tunnels deep under the mountain. I saw glimpses of people. I think they live there. I’m almost convinced the missing Hearthdale woman and children are down there, but not just that, I think they are the same people.”
“The Hearthdale sheep farmers and the people under the mountain?”
She nods. “That sword you found had the same glyphs I saw down there. The villagers… those people… must’ve been using it to fight the Screechclaws.”
“I guess it’s possible.” Yes. This is rational. It would explain the sword’s presence. I lean closer, studying her face. “But why are they there?”
“To guard something.” Her demeanor grows impossibly more somber. “Vaylen, I saw a dragon underground just like Phoebe’s story says.”
“What?” I nearly fall off the log.
“It was a dragon unlike any I’ve ever seen. It looked… female.” Rhealyn’s voice trembles with conviction. “And behind it, there were thousands of dragon eggs preserved somehow, waiting.”
My mind races through the implications. If true, this changes everything—our understanding of history, the war, perhaps even the future of Embernia itself.
Rhealyn swallows audibly, then adds, “Tahranis said he had to show me who I really am, and he said that the dragon… that it was… Heratrix.” Her eyes meet mine, fierce and desperate. “I swear I’m not mad, Vaylen. I saw it. I saw it.”
I rise from the log, unable to sit still with these revelationschurning inside me. Pacing the small clearing, my eyes rove over the ground, my mind struggling to make sense of what Rhealyn has told me. The Goddess, Heratrix, alive? Thousands of dragon eggs hidden beneath a mountain? It seems impossible, yet...
“If what you say is true...” I begin, then stop myself. No, I must not doubt her. “If Heratrix truly slumbers beneath that mountain, this changes everything.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming. The implications are staggering.
“What were you and Zephyros planning to do?” I ask, turning back to face her. “How does all this connect to your dawn escapades?”
Rhealyn’s gaze drops to the ground. “Zephyros has been helping me search my mind. He’s done it before, unlocked memories I’d buried deep.” Her voice grows quieter. “He saw what happened with my mother, before I even remembered it myself.” Pain flickers across her face.
I kneel before her, taking her hands in mine. “It wasn’t your fault. You were just a child.”
She shrugs. “Anyway, if anyone can help me remember, it’s him.” Determination hardens her features. “I need to know what happened to me, Vaylen. I need to understand why the King wants me as his spy, and what connection I have to Heratrix.”
I understand her need to uncover the truth. The mysteries surrounding her abduction, these memories, and the King’s strange behavior… they’re all pieces of a puzzle we must solve. Something gnaws at me… the possibility that Tahranis isn’t the villain of this story, for how could he be if he’s heralding our Goddess’s return?
Pushing that terrible thought away, I say, “We need to getback. Formation begins shortly, and questions will arise if we’re both missing.”
