Page 70 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
I huff a laugh, though it comes out brittle. “And here I was thinking you’d grown fond of me.”
Her gaze cuts to me, steady, unwavering. Not unkind. Just stripped of illusion. “Fondness has nothing to do with survival. You and that dragon of yours are wild cards. Neither of you bends, neither of you breaks, and that makes you dangerous to everyone inside these walls. Embernia can’t afford loose sparks when the powder’s already lit.”
Her words taste like truth. Ugly, raw truth. And still, I lift my chin as if it’s a challenge.
After she leaves, I flop on the flimsy cot, the straw mat crunching under me like dry bones. A rusty bucket in the corner leers at me, promising humiliation before execution. My wrists ache under the iron, the skin smarting where the manacles bite in. I jerk against the chain, just to test. It rattles like mocking laughter.
Hot anger surges. First at Cragmere, with his preening mustache and smug little smile. Then at Voltguard, who pretends control when she knows damn well dragons breathe freer than kings. But mostly at myself for sitting here like some meek prisoner, waiting for others to decide how I should live, how I should die.
I stare at the cuffs. Ugly things. Silver eyes bore into me traveling from Zephyros through the bond. A low thunder of discontent rides under my skin. The pressure builds, twisting in my chest, rising like a storm that refuses to be swallowed down. The air trembles. I don’t consciously shape it. My will does. A sudden flicker of wind honed into a blade shoots free of me, invisible until it flashes against the iron. Wing Dagger.
The chain snaps. Clean, effortless. The sound is as sweet as Vaylen’s kiss.
I grin at the now-useless device, but it gives me no satisfaction. I stare at the broken chain, weighing the possibilities. Icould walk out right now. The cell door wouldn’t last three seconds against my abilities, but that’s not the plan, and this is just another prison I’ve made for myself, like all the others—my secrets, my lies, my fears. At least this one has honest walls.
“I’ll play your game, Cragmere,” I whisper to the empty corridor. “But I’m playing to win.”
Boredom creeps in like an unwanted cellmate. I pace, count stones, recite bar songs, anything to keep from dwelling on tomorrow’s trial. Eventually, I surrender to sleep, curling on the scratchy cot that smells of mildew and previous occupants’ dread.
When I wake, my stomach growls with hollow fury. Dim light angles through the tiny window. It’s dinner time judging by the shadows. No one brings food, though. There are only silence and the occasional distant shuffle of guards changing shifts.
Sleep claims me again, this time deeper, darker. I dream I’m running through earthen corridors chasing Fern. Amber eyes watch me from dark places. Whispers ofOmneirabrush against my ear while Vaylen’s voice calls from somewhere I can’t reach.
I jolt awake to predawn darkness. The air feels different. Charged, alive. Something pulled me from sleep, some shift in the world. When I look toward the cell door, my heart stops.
Vaylen stands there, tall and silent, his face half-hidden in shadow. Not a dream. Not a vision. Him.
I move to the bars like a sleepwalker, gravity pulling me toward him. The broken chain of my manacles clinks against metal, a hollow sound that echoes my heartbeat. Vaylen’s eyes drop to the severed links, and that crooked smile I’ve missed spreads across his face—the one that transforms him from stern High Prime to the man I can’t stop thinking about.
He looks like hell. He wears a muddy uniform and cloak.Dirt smudges his cheek, and dried blood flecks his uniform. Battle-worn, exhausted, but gloriously alive.
“This is why we received no answer,” he finally says, voice low and rough. “That weasel wanted to make a spectacle.”
“Cragmere,” I spit the name like poison. “He’s bringing the King himself for my trial. Apparently, I deserve royal treatment before my execution. Not prison, mind you.”
My fingers tighten around the bars. “They thought these would hold me,” I whisper, shaking the broken chain. “As if I couldn’t rip this entire cell apart if I wanted.” The anger rises again, burning in my chest. “I should just leave. Walk out of here, find Zephyros, and disappear before they?—”
I stop when his hand covers mine. He feels so warm and solid. His touch grounds me, pulls me back from the precipice of another reckless decision.
“And then what?” he asks quietly. “Run forever? That’s not you, Rhealyn.”
“I know. I’m just… tired.”
“I’m sorry about last night,” he says, lowering his voice so the guards don’t hear. “I know I promised you...” His thumb traces circles on my knuckles, sending ripples of heat up my arm. “I’ll make it up to you. Once this ridiculous mess is over.”
His words snap something inside me. Last night’s dream floods back: Tahranis’s face melting into Vaylen’s, their voices blending until I couldn’t tell who was who, who was real.
I pull my hand away, stepping back from the bars. The loss of his touch leaves me cold.
“Rhealyn?” His brow furrows, confusion clouding those blue-yellow eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“No more secrets,” I say, the words tasting like metal on my tongue.
He tilts his head. “I’m not keeping?—”
“I had a dream the other night.” I wrap my arms aroundmyself, suddenly feeling exposed. “About Tahranis, the man who took me. I remembered his name.”
Vaylen’s expression hardens. “What happened?”
