Page 69 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
Murder doesn’t carry the death penalty in Embernia. Only being discovered as an uncleansed Weaver does.Oh, Goddess!Do they know?
A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat. Surely they don’t, and they can’t execute me here, in front of Vaylen? The thought of him having to watch... No. I won’t let that happen. I can’t.
“When?” I demand, my voice betraying none of the terror clawing at my insides.
“Tomorrow at dawn,” Cragmere says. “The High Prime and his contingent should return just in time to see justice served. And not just that, His Majesty himself will be here.” He turns to the Commander. “That is why, everything should be done according to the instructions I provided.”
24
Rhea
The cell door clanks shut with finality, the sound echoing against stone walls like the period at the end of a death sentence. I wrap my fingers around the cold metal bars, ignoring how the manacles chafe my wrists. They didn’t remove them, as if I couldn’t take them off if I wanted.
“Is this really necessary, Commander?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady despite the panic rising in my chest. “You know I’m not going anywhere.”
Commander Voltguard stands rigid outside my cell, her gray hair pulled tight as always. Her face might as well be carved from the same stone as these walls. But when she turns to look at Cragmere, something flickers in her eyes—disgust, maybe even anger.
“This is where she should have been from the moment she reappeared,” Cragmere says with satisfaction. “Not roaming around like some honored guest. Your methods leave a lot to be desired, Commander Voltguard.”
A muscle jumps in Voltguard’s jaw. “And yourunderstanding of military protocol is nonexistent, Chief Inspector. While in Fort Ashmire, Skysinger Wyndward remains under my authority, not yours.”
A small smile stretches my mouth. I’ve never heard the Commander defend me before. I guess she’s allowing him to act this way only because the King is coming.
Cragmere’s face flushes an ugly shade of red. “The King?—”
“The King isn’t here,” Voltguard cuts him off. “And until he arrives, you’ll show proper respect to my position or find yourself escorted from these premises.”
He opens his mouth, closes it.
“I thought I made it clear in my missive,” Voltguard continues, her voice hardening, “that it would be dangerous to imprison a Skyrider bonded to a dragon who already refuses to honor his ancient promise to Heratrix. Or did my request for discretion escape your notice in your haste, Chief Inspector? Zephyros could blow all of us into the Tide of Embers Sea if he wished.” Voltguard’s hand moves to her sword hilt, not a threat, merely emphasizing her point. “Has your obsession with punishment made you forget he refused to serve when he thought she was dead? What do you think he’ll do now to make sure she’s all right? And of all things, you had to involve King Craven.”
Cragmere’s mustache twitches with indignation. I can almost see his mind working through the implications—an ill-tempered five-thousand-year-old dragon with a disregard for his oath and nothing to lose.
Through our bond, I feel Zephyros’s dark amusement at the Commander’s words.
—Should I demonstrate?he suggests.Just a small gust to rattle his mustache? And his bladder?
—Don’t you dare,I respond, though part of me would love to see Cragmere’s face if he did.
“A threat?” Cragmere’s beady eyes narrow. “This sounds dangerously close to treason, Commander. Dragons have never defined the King’s authority.”
“Until Zephyros did exactly that a year ago, which you keep forgetting. But I guess that was a fact too inconvenient for your games.”
Cragmere gestures dismissively at my cell. “The criminal is behind bars where she belongs. And the dragon behaves as he should.”
I can’t help myself. I laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. “You think these bars hold me? Or that my dragon is just sitting out there because he has nowhere better to be?”
Zephyros’s approval ripples like a nod.
The Commander shakes her head. “Your stupidity would be amusing if it weren’t so dangerous. Zephyros follows Skysinger Wyndward’s request. Nothing more.”
Cragmere’s lips pinch like he just swallowed wyrm-shit. His mustache gives an indignant twitch before he spins on his heel and stalks out, boots clattering down the corridor until the sound dies with the slam of the door.
I blink, half-expecting him to come back for one more round of chest-puffing. He doesn’t. Which is shocking enough, but what leaves me reeling is how precise Voltguard’s read is… on me, on Zephyros, on this ridiculous mess. The woman is sharp, sharper than most blades in this fortress.
“Thank you,” I murmur, though the words still feel foreign on my tongue. Gratitude isn’t something I’ve practiced much, but that seems to be changing lately.
Voltguard doesn’t so much as blink. “Don’t mistake me, Wyndward. This has nothing to do with you.” She stands tall, hands folded over the gold-thread cuffs of her uniform. “I’ll not have anyone—least of all Cragmere—undermine my authority in my own stronghold.”
