Page 142 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
She kisses me then, not with the desperate passion of before, but with something deeper, something that tastes of promise.
47
Rhea
Dawn creeps through the fortress windows, painting the stone walls in soft gold. My body still hums with the memory of Vaylen’s touch as I hurry toward the mess hall. I need food before formation and daily assignments. Soon, I’ll be rotating to the night shift.
I round the corner near the mess hall when a shadow detaches itself from behind a column. I nearly jump out of my skin, hand instinctively forming a Wind Dagger.
“A bit jumpy this morning, Skysinger?” Lieutenant Fellstorm’s smug face appears, those pale eyes regarding me with thinly veiled disdain.
“You seem to have a death wish.” I lift the Wind Dagger so he can see it, then let it dissolve.
He pretends to ignore the shimmering weapon, but I don’t miss his throat bobbing up and down. “From His Majesty.” His thin lips curl slowly into a satisfied smirk. “The King isn’t pleased.”
I snatch the Boltgram from his hand, fighting the urge totear it open right here. “I’m devastated.” I put a hand to my heart in mock anguish.
“I’d watch that tongue if I were you. Even those the King seems to favor can fall quickly.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Sometimes, they fall hardest.”
He turns to leave, his self-importance radiating off him like stink from a cesspool. Before I can stop myself, I flick my fingers, sending a small Wind Blast at his back, just enough to make him stagger forward, arms pinwheeling.
“Clumsy today, Lieutenant?” I call after him, wishing I could have blown him clear across the courtyard instead.
I slip into a quiet alcove before the bustling mess hall. The seal breaks under my fingernail, the paper inside crisp and foreboding.
“What in the seven hells was that report?” The message reads. “I need to know if the Commander and High Prime are ready. Will they fall into line?”
My stomach drops. The words blur as I read them again, heart hammering against my ribs. My stupid report was a mistake.
“Wyrm’s rot,” I whisper. The missing pieces of my memory aren’t just inconvenient, they’re potentially lethal.
I press my forehead against the cool stone wall, trying to calm my racing thoughts. If I don’t give Craven what he wants, what will he do? Send his personal dragon guard after me?
Zephyros brushes against my mind.
—You are troubled.
He looks into my mind and finds the reason.
—What do I do, Zephyros?I ask.
—You stop fearing that maggot, that’s what. We will squash him if he dares try anything against you.
Not a helpful response, but certainly an option. I straighten my back, shove the message into my pocket, and go into themess hall, wondering if a vagueYes, they’ll fall into linewould suffice.
Inside the mess hall, my eyes go directly to Vaylen, who sits at the Prime table along with Emberstone and Wavecaller. The other three primes are still out with the night patrols. I grab a bowl of porridge with honey and dried berries and nuts, forcing myself to eat despite my churning stomach.
I catch Vaylen’s eye across the hall and tilt my head slightly toward the door, raising my eyebrows. His expression doesn’t change, but I notice his almost imperceptible nod. Message received.
I shovel down my breakfast, burning my tongue in the process, and slip out before the morning rush intensifies. Five minutes later, Vaylen finds me outside, out of earshot from anyone else.
“Something’s wrong,” he says immediately.
I pull the crumpled letter from my pocket. “The King isn’t pleased with my report. What he wants to know is if you and the Commanderwill fall into line?Whatever in the seven hells that means.”
He takes the letter, his brow furrowing as he reads. “Fall into line with what exactly?”
“That’s what I’d like to be able to remember.” I snatch the paper back, anger and frustration stirring. “What do I tell him? If I don’t give him something, he might drag me back to Emberton.” My skin crawls at the memory of his mental invasion.
