Page 136 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
I take a deep breath. No turning back. My mouth opens toconfess, but Vaylen’s hand rises, cutting me off. His palm faces me like a shield.
“Let me explain this,” he says, his tone shifting into the unmistakable cadence of the High Prime. This isn’t a request. It’s an order.
For once in my life, I’m grateful to be silenced. The confession sticks in my throat like a foul morsel, and I swallow it back down. Let him bear this burden for a moment. Let me breathe. I nod.
Vaylen squares his shoulders, his presence expanding to fill the cramped armory. “You two remember the night at Hearthdale,” he begins, addressing Dakar and Cliffbecker, who were with us that day. “When Wyndward was taken.”
Phoebe and Nate weren’t there, but Vaylen doesn’t seem worried about them. Perhaps he thinks they’re young enough to control, that his High Prime status will keep them from betraying him.
The room shifts. Bodies tense. Eyes dart to me, then away.
Vaylen’s voice drops lower. “Given what you witnessed at Hearthdale—the mountain splitting open, the raw power of the man who took Wyndward—would you be surprised to learn that something bigger is coming? Something that may determine Embernia’s fate?”
The room stills. I can almost hear their heartbeats quicken.
Dakar’s face alights with a strange energy. “Hells, after that night, I thought Heratrix herself was gonna come back and rain fire on us all.” He shakes his head, red loops swinging in his ears. “Then a year passes with nothin’ but dead Skyriders and screamin’ harpies. And then you appear outta nowhere, Wyndward, lookin’ half-dead and rememberin’ nothin’.” He waves his hand dramatically. “At this point, I’d believe anythin’. Heratrix is under that mountain havin’ tea with theharpies. Cindergrasp’s ghost rides the winds. The King’s actually a woman with a fake dinglebar.”
“Dinglebar?” Phoebe says, frowning.
Nate shakes his headnoat her, his eyes begging her not to press the issue.
Cliffbecker sighs, rubbing his forehead.
From the sounds of it, Phoebe wasn’t the only one with the idea of finding Heratrix under a mountain. Maybe they won’t think I’m crazy. Well, at least it seems Dakar won’t.
Vaylen’s shoulders straighten as he continues. “It’s not just Hearthdale. The Screechclaws also tried to take Wyndward.”
I fold my arms across my chest, hating how my pulse quickens at the memory of those talons digging into my flesh.
“Everyone seems mighty interested in you, Wyndward,” Dakar says, his eyes glittering with curiosity. He glances sideways at Cliffbecker. “Don’t you think? Weren’t you sayin’ that the other day on patrol it also looked like they were trying to kidnap her again?”
Cliffbecker’s face tightens. “Yes,” he admits reluctantly. “They were carrying her away. That’s not something those bitches do.”
I watch Dakar’s subtle nod toward Cliffbecker, the way he’s guiding the old veteran to our side without seeming to. Clever man. No wonder Vaylen trusts him. And Vaylen himself, the way he’s layering the revelations like a careful craftsman, not dumping everything at once like I wanted to. Maybe there’s something to this wholethinking before speakingapproach.
My fingers twist into fists, then release. I’m vibrating with the need to just scream it all out, but this is better.
Vaylen takes a deep breath, his eyes finding mine briefly. “There’s something we haven’t told anyone. Not even Commander Voltguard.” His voice drops. “When we weretrapped underground, it wasn’t just any Screechclaw we encountered.”
The room goes still.
“It was the Matron.”
Dakar’s mouth falls open. “The Matron? The bloody Matron herself?” He looks between us, searching for signs of a joke. “That’s not possible. You’d be dead. Both of you. Shredded like fresh meat.”
“Fucking fiery hell!” Nate curses.
Phoebe’s green eyes widen in horror, locking with mine. Her expression melts from shock to something raw and personal.I could have lost you,her eyes seem to say.
“Here’s the real surprise,” Vaylen tells them, his voice steady as stone. “The Matron spoke to us.”
I do a double take, my mind spinning. Spoke tous? I give Vaylen a questioning look, searching his face. He returns the smallest shake of his head, a silent plea not to contradict him. My heart stutters with sudden understanding. He’s not going to tell them I’m a Weaver. When did he decide that? The weight I’ve been carrying—the fear of rejection, execution, hatred—lightens so suddenly I feel dizzy with it.
“Spoke?” Cliffbecker’s mouth contorts in disbelief. “Screechclaws don’t speak. They screech. That’s the whole cursed point of their name.”
“This time she did,” Vaylen insists, never breaking eye contact with me.
Relief floods through me. My friends don’t have to know. These other Skyriders I barely know don’t have to know. I can keep this secret buried right where it belongs.
