Page 32 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
I study her, weighing every syllable and its ring of truth. A childhood lived in dread, a will forged to smother her own gift, a bond with her dragon that even Embernia’s laws can’t deny. It’s all right there in her expression, in her stubbornness, in her determination to be a Skyrider.
“I believe you,” I say because there’s no other alternative. I see it all clearly now.
Her lips part, breath slipping free as if the admission disarms her more than my doubt. And in that moment, I know my concern isn’t her Weaver’s blood, but the silence that might grow between us if I let it.
Questions tear through my mind like storm winds that refuse to settle. For a year, they have circled without answer. Why did the mountain take her? What brought that stranger to her? What does it mean that she’s a Weaver in a kingdom where such power is outlawed? And more.
Tonight, for the first time, those questions have a chance of being answered. Yet, I’m no nearer the truth than before. And I can’t push her harder, not while her body trembles as if it has cracks running through it, waiting for the wrong touch to make her shatter.
I know the laws as well as anyone in the Sky Order. Weavers are forbidden not because of superstition but because of what they can do: bend the will of dragons, pry open human minds, sow chaos in a land already at war. Every child of Embernia is taught the same, that a Weaver left uncheckedcould bring ruin to the realm itself. It’s my duty to uphold those laws. My oath.
But when I look at Rhealyn, I don’t see a danger to Embernia. I see a woman who has bled for it, who has trained harder than most and battled against Screechclaws when others would seek shelter. Her fire is undeniable.
The danger we face doesn’t come from her. We already know our enemies.
No, the greater threat lies seated upon the throne itself. Craven Stonefall, with his rotting suspicion of anything stronger than his own voice. The man rules not with wisdom but with dread, turning his gaze on those who shine too bright, on riders like me, like Rhealyn—reminders that power can live outside the Stonefall line. He and his ancestors have wrapped their apprehension in gilded laws. What if it was the hunger and fear of others like him that destroyed her kind for less than honorable reasons? It’s definitely a possibility.
Even so, my oath holds me bound to Embernia, no matter the King who wears its crown. I serve the realm, not the man. My duty is to its survival, the safety of its people, the survival of its dragons. Even if I watch King Craven strangle it with his paranoia, I won’t weaken it further by depriving it of another Skyrider..
And if Rhealyn turns her face against Embernia?
No. She wouldn’t do that. It would never come to that. The fire of her oath tonight, the bond with Zephyros, the way her breath shook when she promised to always tell the truth... it told me enough. She means to stand for Embernia.
And should the day ever come when she falters, she won’t face it alone. I’ll be her strength when hers runs thin. I’ll temper her fire if it ever burns the wrong way. I’ll guide and protect her. That’s the weight of being a High Prime, and I wouldn’t lay it down.
Besides, I love her.
I. Love. Her.
“Think you’re strong enough to fly by morning?” I ask.
Her chin rises, the fire of her spirit sparking through the exhaustion etched in her frame.
“Yes,” she answers without hesitation.
I hold her gaze a moment longer, testing that conviction, then incline my head. “Then we’ll leave for Fort Ashmire tomorrow. Sleep now. You’ll need your strength.”
She exhales, some quiet resistance slipping through her lips, yet she nods and lies back against the furs. Her lashes lower slowly, as though the act of surrendering to sleep costs her a great price.
I don’t move immediately. My hand lingers at my side, aching to reach for her again, to keep her close where no mountain, no phantom, no cursed fate can rip her away. The tent around us is quiet, shadows painting us in secrecy.
By all rights, I should stay, let her rest in the safety of my arms. By Heratrix, I want nothing more. But Breezehart sleeps just beyond this canvas. What I have with Rhealyn must remain a secret. It’s forbidden. If it’s brought into question, her life would be in greater danger than ever.
Yet no Sky Order rules will keep me from her. I made that choice a year ago before she disappeared, the day she agreed to be only mine. Her absence didn’t change that decision or my feelings.
The words “I love you” hang from my lips, so close to spilling out I can nearly taste them. Would it be too soon to tell her? Or perhaps too late? For Rhealyn, mere days have passed since we promised ourselves to each other. For me, it’s been a year of hollow searching, of grief and longing that only sharpened what I felt before.
My feelings haven’t cooled in her absence. They’ve intensified,hardened like steel folded in a forge’s heart. So why hold back now, when she’s been returned against all hope?
I reach out, my palm finding the softness of her cheek. Her eyes flutter open at my touch, confusion giving way to awareness.
“I love you,” I say simply, letting the weight of a year’s silent devotion fill those three words.
Rhealyn’s eyes widen, pupils dilating in the dim light. Her gaze darts back and forth between my eyes, searching for something. She opens her mouth, but no words emerge, just a shallow breath.
I smile gently, placing a finger over her lips. “Shh. I just wanted you to know.” The truth deserves its place between us, regardless of whether she’s ready to return it.
Rising to my feet, I feel lighter somehow, as if naming this feeling has lifted a burden from my shoulders. She needs no additional weight upon hers. Not now.
