Page 71 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
“He carried me through a cave to a bed of furs. Called me Omneira like it was a pet name.” I swallow hard, unable to meet Vaylen’s eyes. “He touched me. And I... I liked it. In the dream, I wanted him.” My voice drops to a whisper. “I’m afraid that maybe I was with him—like that—during my missing year.”
The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. When I finally look up, Vaylen’s face is a storm of emotions, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. His eyes, usually so controlled, burn with something violent.
Jealousy. Raw and unfiltered.
His hands grip the bars until his knuckles turn white, the skin stretched taut over bone like parchment over stone. Around him, the air begins to stir, a gentle breeze at first that quickly builds to something more dangerous. Tendrils of his wind power swirl and eddy about his tall frame, disturbing the dust motes in the torchlight, lifting the edges of his cloak in a silent display of barely contained emotion. The wind whistles softly through the bars between us, carrying the scent of mountain air to my nostrils. It’s both warning and lament, the unconscious manifestation of the storm brewing within him.
I’ve never seen him like this—the careful, disciplined High Prime stripped away, leaving only the man beneath.
“In the dream,” I continue, needing him to know everything, “his face changed. Became yours. Like you were fighting for control.” My voice breaks. “I don’t know what any of it means, Vaylen.”
Still nothing. Just that terrible silence as he stares at me, his expression darkening with each passing heartbeat.
“Say something,” I beg, moving closer to the bars.
The wind around us dies suddenly, the stillness more frightening than the involuntary display. Vaylen’s breathing slows, each inhale deliberate, each exhale controlled. He turns away, his head bowed, shoulders rigid beneath his uniform. I can only see his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his throat works as he swallows whatever words first rise to his lips.
When he finally speaks, his voice is a raw growl that sends a shiver across my back. “What do you want me to say?”
The question knocks me back a step. What do I want? Understanding? Forgiveness for something I can’t even remember doing? I reach for an answer and find nothing but empty air.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
He turns back to face me, eyes blazing with hurt. “How can I be sure, Rhealyn? How can I know you weren’t...” His voice breaks. “Another man’s? For a year. A whole dragonforsaken year while I ached for you, searched for you, mourned you?”
My chest tightens, each word a wave pressing me further beneath the surface. “I don’t?—”
“And when your memories return? What then?” His face is pale between the bars. “What if you remember being with him and discover you want him, not me?”
“That’s not fair,” I snap, anger flaring hot and sudden. “You think I asked for this? You think I wanted to lose a year of my life?”
But Vaylen isn’t listening. The pain in his eyes has hardened to something colder, more distant. “Maybe I did lose you after all.”
The words hurt because it’s him I want right now, regardless of my obscure past. And isn’t that what matters?
He steps back, beyond my reach. Just like my memories.
Vaylen retreats another step, his face settling into that mask of High Prime detachment that always serves him so well whenever he needs it. “I need to think, Rhealyn. About us. About what this means.”
“There’s nothing to think about!” My voice echoes down the corridor. “I don’t even know if what I dreamed was real or just my mind playing tricks.”
He shakes his head. A lock of hair falls to his brow. I ache to push it back despite my anger. “I don’t know either. That’s the problem. For all we know you love another.”
He steps back, needing distance. His fingers find the onyx ring tucked beneath his uniform, clutching it until the chain digs into his skin, as if he’s trying to find a single point of certainty amidst the chaos of his thoughts.
The distance between us stretches wider than just the space between us. “So you’re leaving.”
“I need time.” His voice softens. “But don’t worry about tomorrow. As High Prime, I’ll testify in your favor at the trial. That much I can promise.”
I laugh, the sound sharp and brittle. “How generous. Your duty remains intact while your heart turns tail and runs.”
Pain flashes across his face. “That’s not fair.”
“None of this is fair!” I slam my hand against the bars, welcoming the sting. “I tell you the truth—the ugly, confusing truth, which is what you asked for, by the way—and this is what I get?”
“The truth should always be spoken no matter how ugly. I’ll see you at the trial.”
He walks away, each footstep driving a nail into my heart. I watch until he disappears into shadow, until there’s nothing left but the echo of his words.
