Page 129 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
My thoughts scatter when the Matron speaks.
Her mouth opens, emitting horrible guttural sounds worthy of nightmares. But something impossible happens. Theharsh clicks and screeches transform into words inside my mind.
—You… come, Om-neira. We… waken. Time… near.
My knees nearly buckle. How can I understand her? And that name! Why is she using the same name Tahranis called me?
“What the fuck is she saying?” Vaylen whispers.
I take a step forward. Vaylen’s arm extends to block me. I push it aside.
“You understand her?” he asks, shocked, then after a pause, he whispers, “Rhealyn, what does she want?”
The Matron’s burning gaze stays locked on me, and her thoughts push into my mind like unwelcome fingers.
—She… stirs. Curse lifts. Slow… lifts. Fog… lifts.She gestures toward her head.
My heart hammers against my ribs. This creature is speaking directly into my thoughts, which means… she’s a Weaver, just like me. A Screechclaw Weaver. The impossibility of it staggers me.
“How are you in my head?” I demand aloud, ignoring Vaylen’s increasingly alarmed expression. “What do you know about me?”
—We… waited, Omneira.
“Stop calling me that!” I shout, my hands trembling with rage and fear. “What in the seven hells is happening to me?”
She ignores me and continues, —Mountain opened. He… spoke. You walked… dragon mind. Alert… us. Triggers.
“What’s she saying?” Vaylen presses, his voice tight with tension.
I shake my head, unable to comprehend the choppy words flooding my mind. The Matron’s thoughts come in disjointed fragments, like trying to catch raindrops in a storm.
“You make no fucking sense,” I shout, my voice echoingagainst the cavern walls. The fire in her palm flickers, her face flashing more monstrous still. “What do you want from me?”
Her head tilts, burning eyes narrowing. She nods as if this is precisely the right question, the corner of her cruel mouth lifting in what might be satisfaction.
—Om-neira make... right choice...Her thoughts splinter in my mind, incomplete and jarring.—Time comes... choose... path.
She raises one bony hand to her chest, tapping directly over her heart, the gesture oddly human. The meaning seems clear even through the broken communication. The right choice lies there, within me.
—Her-a-trix... cursed...
My breath catches. “What curse?” I demand, stepping closer despite Vaylen’s attempt to pull me back.
—Eggs... danger…
Frustration boils over. “Stop with the riddles! Just tell me what’s happening!”
Her wings unfurl with a snap, spanning the width of our underground prison. The flame in her palm intensifies, bathing everything in blood-red light. Frustration boiling, she screams.—War... Her-a-trix… KILL…
The flame in her palm explodes outward, lashing like a whip toward my face. I throw myself backward, crashing into Vaylen as heat scorches the air inches from my skin.
The Matron’s face contorts into that same mask of pure hatred I saw at Hearthdale, so savage. Terror freezes my spine even as sweat beads on my forehead from the intense heat.
“You murdered them,” I snarl, wind gathering around my fingertips. “You’re nothing but killers, all of you.”
Her eyes cloud, and a deafening screech ricochets off the walls, piercing and disoriented.
“Rhealyn!” Vaylen shouts, pulling me backward as theflames grow. “Whatever she’s saying, we need to get out of here!”
