Page 17 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
I settle atop Fragor’s massive head, feeling the familiar chill of his scales through the soles of my boots. With practiced ease, I draw forth my power, creating invisible Tethers that secure me to my dragon. The bonds are firm yet flexible, an extension of my will.
“Fly true,” I murmur to him, our minds connecting in that intimate space only a bonded dragon and rider share.
As Fragor’s powerful wings unfurl, I cast my thoughts westward, beyond the horizon, toward the mountains that took her from me.
Hold fast, Rhealyn, if you’re there, if you can hear me, I’m coming for you.
8
Rhea
Iwake to a world spinning too fast. Sky bleeds into earth, clouds race overhead like they’re fleeing something terrible. Everything hurts. My skin feels like it’s been scraped raw and left to bake under this merciless sun.
Where am I?
I try to lift my head and pain shoots through my skull, sharp enough to make me cry out. The sound that comes from my lips is unfamiliar, cracked and dry like old parchment. How long have I been here?
“Water,” I croak, though no one’s there to hear. My tongue feels swollen, too large for my mouth.
Memories flicker like dying embers. Vaylen’s face. His fingers reaching for mine. A man—was there a man?—emerging from stone. The mountain opening like a mouth to swallow me whole. What in all the hells? Maybe I’m dead, trapped in Weaver Hell—the worst of all seven—where nightmares claw through your mind for eternity.
I roll onto my side, vision swimming. The ground beneath me is hard-packed dirt, covered in brittle grass. In the distance,I see something that might be trees or might be shadows. Everything’s blurry, warped by heat and thirst.
“Zephyros,” I whisper, reaching out with my mind. The bond feels strange, stretched thin but vibrating with intensity. Is he coming? Can he feel me?
I push against the ground, willing my limbs to cooperate. For a moment, I’m upright, swaying like a sapling in a strong wind, before my knees buckle and I crash back down. The impact sends fresh waves of agony through my body.
“Wyrm’s rot,” I spit, tasting blood on my lips. “Get up, Rhea. Get. Up.”
But my body refuses to obey. Time slips and slides around me. The sun crawls across the sky, then plummets toward the horizon. How many hours have passed? Has it been days? I can’t tell anymore.
“Help,” I mumble, though I’ve never been good at asking for it. Except pride doesn’t matter much when you’re dying of thirst in the middle of nowhere.
I close my eyes against the fading light, feeling consciousness slip away again. In the darkness behind my eyelids, I see Vaylen’s face once more. The hurt in his eyes when I told him everything.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to the empty air. “I should have told you sooner.”
This must be my punishment. Life is finally catching up to me for what I’ve done, what I am. A murderess. A Weaver. A liar. Dual powers in one body—an abomination by Embernia laws.
A harsh cawing cuts through my delirium. I force my eyelids open, vision swimming. Black shapes circle overhead, silhouetted against the brutal sky. Crows. Death’s messengers. They know when something’s about to become a feast.
“Not yet, you bastards,” I rasp, but my threat lacks conviction. My lips crack further with each syllable.
The birds dip lower, their wings beating a death drum. One lands nearby, its beady eye fixed on me with terrible patience. It knows I’m not going anywhere.
I laugh, the sound scraping my throat raw. So much for my grand ambitions. So much for becoming the greatest Skysinger the kingdom had ever seen. I didn’t even make it a full month. All that time at the Academy, all that training, all those years hiding what I am, lying to everyone, and here I’ll die—food for crows in this wasteland.
Another bird lands, bolder now, hopping closer. I try to wave it away, but my arm feels impossibly heavy. The crows multiply in my blurred vision—three, five, a dozen. Their caws sound like laughter.
“You’ll have to wait your turn,” I growl at them, summoning what little defiance I have left. I won’t go quietly even as they peck at my eyes.
The sun slides further down, shadows lengthening across my broken body. Night will come soon. Will I survive until morning? Do I even want to?
“Damn you all,” I whisper to the empty sky, to the Goddess, to Vaylen, to everyone who dares listen. “I’m not finished yet.”
But the darkness at the edges of my vision suggests otherwise.
The largest crow spreads its wings, growing impossibly large against the darkening sky. My vision swims, reality bending as fever grips me tighter. The bird’s feathers melt away like wax, revealing leathery skin stretched taut over bone. Its beak elongates, teeth glinting in the fading light.
