Page 25 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
The silence between us grows sharp, stretched so tight it might snap. Vaylen doesn’t move. Phoebe doesn’t breathe. Their restraint bites worse than any question, like they think if they shift too fast I’ll explode or vanish back into the stone.
That thought drives my gaze skyward before I can stop it. The peak glares down, black against a round moon. My chest caves as the soundless memories lash me again: the shudder of rock splitting, the pull of a stranger’s hand. A whimper slips out of me, ugly and small, before I can catch it.
Both of them notice. Of course they do. Concern etches furrows into Phoebe’s pale face. Vaylen’s features harden, not in anger but worry. Worry for me.
Dragon’s Breath. They must think I’m mad. Broken and raving.
The heat on my face isn’t from the fire anymore. My fists ball in the dirt, nails biting my palms, and I bark a laugh to cover the sound still choking in my throat. “Look at me. Wyndward, best in the Aerie Academy, a bonded Skysinger, reduced to a startled rabbit at a pile of stone.”
Nobody dares argue. Their silence scorches.
I spit into the fire, watching it hiss and twist. “If you’re waiting for me to faint into your arms, don’t hold your breath.”
But my gaze betrays me, dragging back to that cursed peak, and the tremor in my gut won’t stop. Could a year buried alive strip the marrow from my spine? The thought gnaws at me, and the truth I fear most burns in my chest. I don’t know if my courage is gone. And that terrifies me more than any mountain-born fiend ever could.
Vaylen’s voice drops low and steady, each word shaped like a promise he thinks can carry me. “We’re here for you.”
The certainty in his tone grates worse than doubt. My skin prickles, heat rising like a wildfire caught beneath my rib cage. He makes it sound so simple, as though I can just step neatly back into the world and everything will stitch itself together.
Phoebe leans closer, her eyes soft with the light reflected in their depths. “Do you mean you don’t remember what happened?”
I shake my head once, sharp enough to make the ends of my hair whip against my cheeks.
“Nothing at all?” she presses, still gentle, too gentle.
The heat in my chest erupts. My voice lashes before I can cage it. “By the Goddess, how many times must I spit it out? Nothing! Not a scrap, not a fucking whisper. There’s nothing there.” They flinch, but I don’t stop. I lean forward, hands curled tight into fists.
“So stop picking at me like vultures. Leave it. Leave me. I don’t remember anything, and all these questions won’t fucking change that. I’m back now. I know I must have fought to escape, and that’s all that matters.”
Phoebe’s lips press tight, and Vaylen’s jawline twitches harder with every syllable I utter. My awful outburst burns on my tongue. I know they don’t deserve it. They only wantanswers I can’t claw out of myself. But the thought of their pity makes my skin itch.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, shame putting a scrape in my voice. I turn and leave, the fire snapping behind me, and aim for the shadows crowding the ridge. Cool air slaps my face, a welcome sting.
Zephyros’s soothing touch whispers across my mind, and I welcome the touch.
Bootsteps follow, light, deliberate. Not Vaylen’s heavy stride. Phoebe’s. He probably sent her with new instructions. I brace for another round of questions as she sidles up beside me, eyes catching the moonlight like lantern glass. But instead of digging, she exhales slowly, voice quieter than I’ve ever heard it.
“I’ve missed you, Rhea.”
My head jerks toward her, suspicion riding the air between us like a storm. That’s what she led with? No more interrogation, no more demands. Just that.
“I’m not easy to miss,” I mutter, trying to bury the knot in my throat with humor.
Her lips twitch, not quite a smile. “You are, when you’re gone.”
“Good one.”
Phoebe hugs her arms tight against her chest, shoulders tucked like she wants to vanish inside herself. “It hasn’t been easy… making friends in our clutch.”
I glance sideways at her. Shy little Breezehart, hiding behind her notes, stammering when anyone looks too long. Of course it hasn’t been easy. I should’ve remembered that instead of throwing barbs in her direction.
“You always had your books,” I mutter. “They never talked back.”
Her mouth quirks again, but she doesn’t rise to it. She keeps her gaze fixed straight ahead.
“What about Nate?” I ask.
Phoebe’s shoulders pull in tighter. “It’s been… a hard year. Screechclaw raids almost every week. They just keep coming. Five dragons fell. Almost a record.” Her voice cracks at the number, though she swallows it fast. “Nate and I barely see each other outside of skirmishes. There’s hardly room for anything else.”
