Page 61 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
Vaylen
I’ve been watching Rhealyn all night, tracking the subtle shifts in her expression. The curve of her smile as she laughs at something Breezehart says. The shadow that crosses her face when Nate Torchfist speaks with a sad expression. The fierce determination that quickly returns to her features.
“Stormsong?” Dakar’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “What more interestin’ places has your mind wandered off to?”
“Nowhere. I’m present,” I reply automatically, though it’s a lie.
Dakar snorts, unconvinced. His eyes flick meaningfully between Rhealyn and me before he takes another pull from his tankard. He’s known something was amiss since Hearthdale, the way I refused to abandon the search, my reluctance to leave the place even after we found no sign of her. A man like Dakar misses little.
“The eastern ridge needs reinforcement,” Eleonora says. “Don’t you think, Vaylen?”
“We discussed that earlier with the other Primes,” I say. “Commander Voltguard will determine deployments based on the new intelligence reports.”
Eleonora leans closer, glaring. A year ago, I made my position clear and told her there could be nothing between us. She’d respected that boundary until now, until Rhealyn’s return.
Across the table, Rhealyn frowns. The candlelight catches in her dark eyes. There’s a load there, heavier than before. What happened to her during that lost year? The question haunts me.
“We could discuss strategy privately later,” Eleonora suggests, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I have some insights about the Screechclaw movements that might interest you.”
What is the seven hells is the matter with her? This is overt.
“Submit your observations in writing,” I reply, my tone formal. “I’ll review them with the other Primes.”
Dakar chuckles into his drink. “Colder than an Ivorycrest Skytide, ain’t ya?”
Eleonora’s hand brushes mine beneath the table, and I withdraw it immediately. Her boldness is unprecedented and unwelcome. The subtle dance she used to perform has suddenly become a declaration of intent, visible enough for Dakar to comment. I must exert control over the situation.
Once more, my attention is divided. Rhealyn stiffens suddenly, her eyes going distant. Something’s wrong. Without thinking, I push my chair back, ready to go to her.
Eleonora’s hand clamps around my wrist. “Vaylen, you can’t possibly?—”
“Don’t,” I command quietly, looking down at her hand.
Her fingers tighten briefly before falling away. “She’s trouble. You should hear all the things they’re saying about her.”
“I don’t know what you’re suggesting, but rumors mean nothing to me.”
“Such unnecessary tension,” Morwenna comments, her voice carrying just enough to reach our end of the table. “Our dear Eleonora should recognize that a relationship between a leader and one of his Clutch…” she and Madeline exchange identical disapproving glances at Eleonora “…would never be allowed, much less one between two bonded Skyriders. Our cousin’s bowels would loosen simply at the thought.”
“The King’s constitution isn’t a suitable topic for dinner conversation,” I respond, my voice tight.
Madeline completes her sister’s thought. “The rules exist for good reason. Bonded Skyriders can get greedy.”
I stand abruptly. This conversation has veered into dangerous territory. My feelings for Rhealyn must remain private—at least beyond those who know me best. For their part, my friends need to shut their mouths.
“I’d appreciate it if you cease all speculation. The political balance here is already precarious enough without all this nonsense.” After a pause, I add, “I have reports to review before morning.” I bow slightly before turning away.
The truth is simpler and more complicated. I’ve spent a year mourning Rhealyn, a year wondering what I could have done differently. Now she’s returned, and nothing—not duty, not propriety, not even my own better judgment—will keep me from her side. I need to be alone with her tonight.
I walk briskly toward the door, pausing only once to look back. Rhealyn’s head is bent toward Phoebe’s. In moments like these, I envy the simple camaraderie they share, unburdened by titles and responsibilities.
The night air clears my thoughts as I climb the winding path to Fort Ashmire. Stars pierce the velvet darkness above, reminding me of navigation lessons at the Academy. Even theclearest markers offer little guidance for my current dilemma though.
What I desire runs counter to everything I’ve stood for. It was bad enough when the High Prime was entangled with a woman who was merely his subordinate, but now she’s wanted for murder. Moreover, she’s a Weaver—the rift between us seeming to gape wider than ever. In desperate moments, I fear what all of this could mean. Yet I can’t bear another night separated from her. Not after a year of emptiness.
My footsteps quicken as an idea occurs to me. There may be one place where she might meet me.
RHEA
