Page 80 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
The Commander nods, satisfied with my handling of the situation. Rhealyn takes another deep breath, wincing slightly.She averts her gaze. My bitter condemnation still hangs between us, an invisible wall I placed there myself.
“High Prime,” Commander Voltguard says, drawing my attention. “You’ll remain in command of Fort Ashmire while I escort Skysinger Wyndward to Emberton.”
My spine stiffens. I scramble for something to say.
“The King’s summons requires immediate compliance,” she goes on, “and I trust no one else to maintain order here. The Screechclaw tactics grow more erratic by the day.”
I incline my head in acceptance, though my heart rebels against the command. To be separated from Rhealyn again, especially now, but how can I argue without revealing too much to the Commander?
“Very well,” I answer, though my resolve wavers.
Rhealyn looks at me one final time, and the cold indifference there chills me to the bone. No Wind Wall could shield me from that gaze. She says nothing, but her silence speaks volumes. I have wounded her beyond words.
I turn away, unable to bear the sight of those marks on her throat, the disgust in her eyes. I have failed her twice today. First with my accusations, then by not being swift enough to prevent Cragmere’s attack. Though she could have done that herself. Yet she let him hurt her.
The corridor stretches before me, each step carrying me further from her. My chest constricts as if iron bands tighten around it. For one endless year, I mourned her, searched for her, dreamed of her. Then she returns, and my jealousy drives her away as surely as that mountain swallowed her.
Now, she’ll be gone again. I’ve had her for mere days.
And what if the King doesn’t allow her to come back? Why summon her? My mind races through dark possibilities. An execution away from public eyes? A scapegoat for some political scheme?
I halt, my fists tight. What if he means to finish what Cragmere began because he’s terrified of her? The King has several riders loyal to his crown in Emberton. One command could point them toward Zephyros while royal guards...
No. It can’t be.
Yet the thought festers like a wound. How many times must I choose duty over what matters most? For all my rank and title, what power do I truly wield if I can’t protect the woman I love? I’ve spent my life believing honor lies in following orders, in perfect loyalty to command. But what honor exists in letting her face this alone?
Perhaps true honor demands I follow her, the Commander’s orders be damned.
28
Rhea
Ican barely swallow without pain blooming down my throat, a raw reminder of Cragmere’s chokehold. The bruises will be spectacular tomorrow. Purple and black, a necklace of hatred.
The Commander hovers nearby, her eyes occasionally flicking to my neck. She never asked why I didn’t defend myself. Does she take my passivity as admission of guilt?
I don’t really care.
Each inhalation is a negotiation with the pain. Vaylen’s accusation still rings in my ears, cutting deeper than Cragmere’s assault ever could. One year of my life gone, stolen, and he thinks I spent it betraying him? As if I’d chosen to vanish into that mountain, to endure whatever horrors left these gaps in my memory.
I blocked Zephyros from my mind when Cragmere attacked. My beautiful silver dragon would have blown this fort apart if he’d felt my pain. So I let the little man do his worst, felt a strange relief in the punishment. For a moment, Iwondered if it might be better if I’d died in Hearthdale, saved everyone the trouble of dealing with me.
My fingers trace the tender skin at my throat. “When do we leave for Emberton?” I croak.
“Within the hour,” Commander Voltguard replies. “I’ll make arrangements and be right back. We don’t need to take much. The King will provide what we need.”
I laugh, the sound like broken glass. “Of course he will. How thoughtful.”
The Commander’s expression doesn’t change. “You need to stop acting as if this is a joke.”
“Of course, it isn’t,” I agree, rising from my chair despite the room’s slight spin. “Nothing about this is funny. Not the trial, not the King’s summons, not the missing year of my life. But at least I know where I stand now.”
Alone. As always.
The Commander looks at me strangely, head tilting slightly like I’m a puzzle with missing pieces. Her gray hair is pulled back so tightly it must hurt, but Voltguard isn’t a woman who acknowledges pain… or nonsense. Cold calculation lives behind those brown eyes. She’s seen too much war to waste time on emotional outbursts.
“I’ll return shortly. Stay put.” She leaves without waiting for confirmation.
