Page 143 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
“I guess the only option is to tell him what he wants to hear. It’ll buy us time to go to Hearthdale.”
“A simplethey’ll fall into linewon’t be enough,” I say, shaking my head. “I need to say enough to satisfy him without revealing I don’t remember shit about his plans. One wrong phrase and he’ll know something’s off.”
My fingers curl into fists as I imagine the King’s smug face when he realizes I’m fumbling. I hate being caught between ignorance and pretense.
“What if...” I stop suddenly, a thought striking me. “What if I simply don’t respond?”
Vaylen raises an eyebrow.
“Think about it. If I were gathering intelligence as he wants, I’d need time. I could claim I was being thorough, waiting to give him something substantial and to make sure you and the Commander are onboard.” The idea takes root, growing more appealing by the second. “Or maybe Fellstorm never delivered the message. Or I was injured on patrol. There are a dozen excuses I could make up later.”
He considers this. “It’s risky, but responding with incorrect information is potentially more dangerous.” He nods slowly. “This buys us time. Maybe more memories will come to you with time.”
“Exactly.” Relief floods through me.
“It’s our best option,” he agrees. “For once, doing nothing is actually doing something.” He smiles, then winks.
“Any ideas how we’ll make it to Hearthdale without arousing suspicion?” I ask.
“Yes. I have a plan. Let’s just hope the Commander likes it.” With that, he heads over to the courtyard where everyone is starting to line up.
I take my place in line with the other Skysingers, the morning sun glinting off the pins attached to our breasts, our wings. Phoebe slips in beside me, her red hair still damp, her expression sour.
“You could have waited for me,” she mumbles.
“You take too long. If you keep spending half the morning in the showers, you’ll sprout gills and turn into a toad. Orworse, the Commander will hunt you down for wasting water.”
Phoebe rolls her eyes but can’t suppress her smile. “I was reading. I don’t have much free time.”
“Reading? In the shower?” I shake my head in mock disbelief. “You’ve reached new levels of obsession.”
“Shut up,” she hisses as Vaylen approaches our line.
He walks with that infuriating confidence, inspecting each of us with critical eyes. When he reaches me, his gaze lingers a heartbeat longer than necessary. I feel heat rise to my cheeks despite myself, remembering his hands on my body just hours ago.
“Wyndward,” he says, voice professionally cold. “Your collar is crooked.”
I straighten it with a slight smirk. “Better, High Prime?”
He moves on without answering.
The assignments come next. I listen for our names, and when we’re called with Dakar’s patrol group, my stomach drops as I hear Silas Pyrewing’s name in the same breath.
“Wyrm’s rot,” I mutter under my breath. “Not again.”
Phoebe gives me a sympathetic glance. “Try not to kill him? Or rescue him.”
“No promises... on the former.”
“At least Nate is coming too,” she says happily.
I watch Silas across the courtyard, his blond head held high, that perpetual sneer on his face. Our gazes connect and he gives me an odd grin. I crack my knuckles, already dreading the day ahead.
RHEA
We flytoward Ashwalker’s Gorge, a massive gash along the border where ancient lava flows once cut through solid stone. Now, it’s a perfect hiding place for Screechclaws, the black, jagged rock formations providing countless shadowy perches. Legend claims the gorge was created when two fire dragons fought to the death, their elemental powers scarring the land forever.
I keep stealing glances at Vaylen as we patrol. This is the second time he’s assigned himself to my group. Not that I’m complaining. Having him nearby soothes the anxiety that assaults me when he’s out of sight.
