Page 24 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
Above us, Zephyros, Fragor, and Trueno perch on rocky outcroppings, their scales beautiful in the moonlight. They protect us against any threat that might emerge from the growing shadows. The last time we were all here, Screechclaws descended from those same peaks, and a thief broke out of the mountain.
When I look down, I find they’re done setting everything up and have sat in front of the fire across from me. They’re both watching me with identical expressions, cautious hope mingled with fear. Like I might bolt into the wilderness or shatter into a thousand pieces if they speak too loudly.
“So...” Phoebe’s hands twist in her lap as she forces a bright smile. “The weather’s been unusually mild this season. And the migrations came early. And... well, the usual things happened at Sky’s Edge. Nothing particularly unusual.” She’s trying too hard to set a mood of camaraderie.
I poke at the fire with a stick just to have something to do with my hands.
“Oh!” Phoebe’s voice suddenly rises with genuine excitement. “High Prime, I’ve been meaning to ask you about The Wake of the Shadow Tempest. Is it true? That’s what got you the High Prime position?”
My head snaps up, my curiosity piqued. I’ve heard rumors.
“The Shadowfen thing is why you got High Prime?” I ask, feeling a spark of my old self flicker to life.
Phoebe smiles with satisfaction, her mission accomplished. Vaylen’s expression clouds over. He busies himself with adjusting his tent’s guy line, though it’s already perfectly taut. “There isn’t one thing that makes anyone High Prime. It’s a combination of experience, judgment, leadership?—“
“And a hero’s tale doesn’t hurt,” I interject, cutting through his diplomatic answer. “Come on, I’ve been trapped in gods-know-where for a year. Tell me a good story.”
We study each other across the fire, and for a moment, I glimpse something vulnerable there—discomfort at being the center of attention. It’s almost endearing on a man whose very presence commands a room.
“Please?” Phoebe adds. “I’ve only heard fragments. They say you created a?—“
“It wasn’t as dramatic as people make it sound,” Vaylen interrupts, rubbing the back of his neck. “There was a freak storm over Shadowfen. It seemed unnatural. Two squads got caught in it. Communications cut off, visibility zero. The tempest had the kind of winds that’ll tear a dragon’s wing membrane if they fight against it.”
“And you went in after them,” I finish, already knowing where this is going.
“Someone had to.” Vaylen shrugs like it’s nothing, though his modest deflection only confirms what I suspected. He flew into a tempest when others wouldn’t.
“How many?” I ask.
“Twelve riders and dragons, all told.” The firelight catches in his eyes, turning them from blue to amber, and for some reason I shiver. “Fragor and I created a corridor of calm air. Found them one by one. Some were injured, disoriented. We guided them out.”
“You make it sound like you just went for a casual flight,” I scoff. “Using wind manipulation on that scale must have drained you completely.”
Vaylen’s lips quirk up at one corner. “It did. Couldn’t summon so much as a breeze for three days afterward. But they shouldn’t have made me High Prime after that. I disobeyed orders not to attempt a rescue. The other Primes deemed it suicidal. I endangered Fragor.”
A genuine laugh escapes me. “So the Commander rewarded your insubordination by putting you in charge? That sounds… unlike her.”
“No one told her I went against orders,” he corrects, a real smile playing at his lips now. “So please don’t tell her.”
Phoebe laughs. “I bet she already knows. Nothing stays a secret in Fort Ashmire.”
We’re silent for a moment, while I imagine Vaylen risking his life for others, using wind magic to push away a fucking tempest.
Sounds like him, all right!
Phoebe breaks the silence first, her green eyes catching the firelight, voice soft but steady. “Will you… tell us what happened, Rhea?”
I glance at her, then at Vaylen sitting silently beside her, jaw tight as a bowstring. Of course, he probably put her up to this. Let Phoebe play the gentle card while he watches me with the same caution I’ve reserved for him.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I don’t want to think of it, but I force it anyway, dragging myself back into the gloom I’ve been trying to avoid since Zephyros found me.
The flash hits quick, like lightning burning in my skull—white so blinding it sears through my eyelids. My body jerks forward from the shock of it. The light collapses into a suffocating tunnel, walls closing in, a black throat swallowing mewhole. I hear the scrape of stone, a low echoing hum that vibrates through my bones. The taste of blood and ash clogs my mouth. I reach for breath, but the air isn’t air, just smothering weight pressing down.
It’s gone as fast as it comes, leaving me raw and heaving. My fingers claw the ground without my permission, nails catching in the dirt.
A groan rips out of me before I shove myself upright. I shake my head violently, as if I can fling the memory out into the night. My whole body trembles with defiance I can’t even direct anywhere.
“I can’t,” I mutter, sharper than I intend, each word tasting like broken glass. “Nothing. That’s all there is.”
