Page 23 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
RHEA
His armsaround me feel both strange and familiar, like a dream I’ve forgotten. I should be throwing myself into his embrace, burying my face against his chest, letting out everything I’ve held inside. But something holds me back. A wall I can’t see or touch.
“I’m here. And I will never leave you,” he says.
The words catch in my chest, tangling with emotions I can’t name. Heat builds behind my eyes, but the tears refuse to fall. Why can’t I cry? Why can’t I feel the relief that’s written so plainly across Vaylen’s face?
“Don’t make promises you’ll regret, Stormsong,” I say, trying to inject a fire into the words that I don’t feel. “Once your relief wears off, you’ll remember what I am. What I did.”
Zephyros rumbles behind me, seeming to agree. He pushes gently against my mind, but I block him out. I need to face this now, before I let myself believe Vaylen’s promises.
“So tell me,” I challenge, chin lifting despite my exhaustion. “When you look at me now, what exactly do you see?”
Vaylen’s face falls, a flash of hurt darkening his eyes before he masters it. He takes a step back, studying me as if seeing both who I was and this hollow shell I’ve become. His lips part, but whatever he plans to say gets swallowed by the rush of wind above us.
I glance up, focusing for the first time on the dragon circling overhead. Not just any dragon, but Trueno, with his distinctive flight pattern and a broken horn, which was whole the last time I saw him.
The dragon makes a final graceful turn before gentlytouching down. His rider wastes no time. Phoebe slides down Trueno’s side and leg with practiced ease, landing lightly on the ground. Strands of her red hair whip around her face in the wind, but I can still see her expression, a mixture of disbelief and wild joy.
Vaylen moves closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only I can hear. “I never told anyone about Cindergrasp or what you are. Not a word.” His gaze holds mine, conveying the significance of his silence, ensuring I don’t say the wrong thing in front of Phoebe.
Before I can process much of anything, she’s racing toward me. No hesitation. No wariness. Just pure, uncomplicated relief.
“Rhea!” Phoebe crashes into me, wrapping her arms around my body so tightly it’s hard to breathe. “You’re alive, you’re actually alive!”
Her embrace is fierce and warm, nothing like Vaylen’s careful touch. She’s laughing and crying all at once, her tears dampening my filthy jacket. Something breaks inside me—a tiny crack in whatever wall has been holding me together.
“Phoebe,” I manage, my voice rough. My arms go around her, returning her embrace with what little strength I have left.
Her honest tears make me wonder what’s wrong with me. Why I stand like a statue carved from cold stone, unable to wholly break. Unable to simply feel.
I glance at Vaylen over Phoebe’s shoulder. His jaw is tight, his eyes narrowed despite the softness in them when they meet mine. We’ve always been this way, haven’t we? Two people fighting against what pulls us together. Hiding in shadows, stealing moments between duties. Pretending our touches were accidents, our lingering glances mere coincidence.
The King’s paranoid eyes were everywhere, watching forweakness, for traitors, for Weavers like me. Would we have been different without that? Would Vaylen have smiled more freely, taken my hand in public, kissed me under open skies instead of hidden caves?
I wonder how it might have felt to walk alongside him without looking over our shoulders. To let desire flow between us like the wind currents we ride, natural and free. To build something honest instead of this fragile, secret thing we constructed in darkness.
Perhaps that’s why Phoebe can cry while we remain dry-eyed. She never learned to hide parts of herself away, never had to.
Some lessons are too deeply learned to unlearn in a single moment of reunion.
Goddess, what will happen now?
10
Rhea
The fire crackles between us, a tiny sun contained in a circle of stones. Vaylen and Phoebe move with the practiced efficiency of Skyriders accustomed to making camp in hostile terrain. No wasted movements. No unnecessary words. Just the quiet rustle of canvas tents being unfurled and stakes driven into hard ground.
I watch them through the haze of my own exhaustion, feeling strangely disconnected from the scene. As if I’m observing strangers performing a ritual I once knew but have since forgotten.
“Eat,” Vaylen says, offering me a strip of dried meat and a handful of nuts. “Slowly.”
My stomach growls audibly at the sight of food, reminding me I haven’t eaten in... a day? A year? The gap in my memory yawns like an abyss. I snatch the rations from his hand, then force myself to nibble rather than devour. Something tells me I’ll just bring it back up if I rush.
The salt of the meat stings my cracked lips. Every swallowfeels like glass scraping down my throat. Still, it’s the most exquisite pain.
Breezehart’s spare leathers hang off my frame like I’m playing dress-up in someone else’s life. Each buckle needs an extra notch punched through. The jacket slouches at my shoulders, a reminder of how much of me has vanished. Still, I’m clean. Some of the grime of whatever hell I crawled from washed away in the lake a moment ago. I feel almost human again.
