Page 67 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
—Of course I do! I should be there, not stuck here like some invalid while my friends risk their lives.My fists clench.Damn the Commander.
I pace faster, imagining Vaylen leading his contingent against those winged bitches, Nate trying to protect Phoebe, Adelaide making those impossibly precise Ice Spears of hers that I only saw during our training in Sky’s Edge.
And here I am. Useless. Hidden away. I stop abruptly.
—No. I’m not wasting this day feeling sorry for myself.
—About time.
—Hey.
Zephyros chuckles to himself.
Determined to be productive, first, I head to the communal showers, where I scrub until my skin turns pink, washing away the night’s sweat and confusion. Then at the mess hall, I grabbread, cheese, and dried fruit, wrapping them in a cloth napkin.
“Research,” I mutter, heading toward the study hall. “If I can’t fight today, I’ll read those old scrolls until my eyeballs bleed.”
If there’s a connection between my abduction and the Screechclaws or the Goddess, I’ll find it.
23
Rhea
The study hall sits empty except for me. Dust motes dance in the light from tall windows. A perfect place to disappear into research without facing glares from the few staff left behind.
I spread Phoebe’s materials across the table: ancient ballads, children’s songs, and poems about Heratrix, carefully organized with her meticulous notes in the margins. One notation catches my eye.
Recurring theme of power under the earth in early versions, removed in later tellings. Censorship?
Hours pass as I dig through tales of the disappeared Goddess. Each story follows the same pattern. Heratrix vanishes, the world mourns, life continues without her. Nothing about imprisonment, nothing about return. In fact, there’s very little at all. The most momentous event of our realm, and there are but scraps.
When my eyes burn and my neck cramps, I push the scrolls aside and grab one of Phoebe’s blank leather notebooks. Ishould document my memories while they’re fresh, before they slip away.
I write down the vision of the glyphs first, then the one from the tavern, every detail I can recall. Tahranis Flarebane with his white hair and amber eyes. The stone table. The drugged haze. Being calledOmneira. My hand trembles slightly as the words flow onto the page.
Then I pause, tapping the pencil against my lips. What about the dream? Do I include that? My stomach twists with the uncomfortable thought I had earlier. What if it wasn’t just a dream? What if, during that missing year, I was with this Tahranis? What if I was intimate with him?
“No,” I mutter, shaking my head. “I wouldn’t.”
But… a year is a long time. I have no idea what happened to me, what I might have done. The woman I was a year ago—the one Vaylen fell in love with—am I still her?
Vaylen is a jealous man. I remember how he reacted a year ago when I asked whether he’d be angry if I was not exclusive. He literally growled, said I was his, and that he’d kill anyone who touched me.
He would hate me.
But what if?—
“This is ridiculous!” I snap, slamming my palm against the table hard enough to make everything jump. “I’m sitting here worried about Vaylen’s feelings when I don’t even know if that was a real memory.”
The sound echoes through the empty hall, punctuating my frustration. I glare at the notebook, half-written revelations staring back at me. Did these things even happen? Am I really worried about the possibility that I did something with that man? Or that I might be completely losing my mind?
I toss the pencil down with a frustrated sigh. Tonight, Vaylenand I are supposed to meet, to reconnect, to make love after a year apart. But how can I possibly let him touch me when these visions haunt me? When I don’t know if I’ve been with someone else?
“Damn it all to the seven hells,” I mutter, running my hands through my hair. I can’t lie to him, not after promising no more secrets between us. But the truth might destroy what we have.
“Hey Vaylen, before we get naked, I should mention I might have been sleeping with my kidnapper for the past year. That or I might be going insane. Your choice which is worse,” I say under my breath.
Footsteps echo in the corridor outside, sharp and purposeful against the stone floor. I straighten, quickly gathering the papers into a haphazard pile.
