Page 8 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
“Southern edge, near the forest line. Found it under a body, man was cut down tryin’ to flee that way.”
Emberstone steps forward, taking a closer look. “It’s not Screechclaw make either. This is... different.”
She’s right. Screechclaws favor nasty curved blades of blackened steel.
“Perhaps some noble was passing through?” Pyrewing says, sarcasm lacing his tone.
Emberstone gives him a sidelong glance that seems to say,if you have nothing useful to add, keep your mouth shut.
Pyrewing crosses his arms. He needs to remember he’s not at the Academy, where I’m sure his teachers excused his behavior due to his connections. In the Sky Order, none of that matters. I make a mental note to ask Emberstone, his Prime, to have a conversation with him about improving his attitude.
I turn the sword in my hands, studying the unfamiliar markings along the blade. The curving glyphs are unlike anything I recognize and whisper of distant origins. I trace one symbol with my thumb, feeling the precision of its engraving. The craftsmanship suggests wealth and purpose, but beyond that, I’m blind to its secrets.
“This isn’t something we can decipher here,” I admit. “We need a scholar, someone versed in ancient languages or… foreign craftsmanship. Or both.” I hand the sword back to Dakar. “Keep this safe. It might be our only clue.”
Reefsong shifts her weight from one foot to another, thethree small blue jewels secured beneath each eye catching the light as she looks down, then back up at me.
“Speak, Reefsong,” I say. “This is no time to hold back observations.”
She squares her shoulders. “High Prime, I noticed there were no children among the dead. Not one. I checked every dwelling still standing, every collapsed structure where bodies could be seen.”
“We observed the same,” I confirm, disappointed that she has nothing new to share. “No women either, from what I could determine.”
The Skyriders exchange glances, the implications settling between us like a physical weight. Pyrewing’s face darkens, but for once, he keeps his thoughts to himself.
“What do you think it means, High Prime?” Reefsong asks, her gaze direct and unflinching now.
I consider my words carefully, aware that my interpretation could shape theirs. “The Screechclaws have never shown such preference before. They kill indiscriminately, or so all our intelligence has indicated for centuries.”
“Perhaps they’ve changed their tactics,” Cliffbecker suggests, his tone subdued.
“Or perhaps,” I say, looking back toward the mountain that swallowed Rhealyn, “this attack wasn’t solely their doing. The man who emerged from the mountain and took… Skyrider Wyndward, we’ve never seen magic like his. What if the Screechclaws were merely the vanguard for something else? Something that wanted the women and children of this village for its own purposes?”
The silence that follows speaks volumes. None of us wishes to consider what those purposes might be.
“That theory doesn’t hold,” Emberstone says, her voicecutting through my speculation. She gestures to herself and Reefsong. “They didn’t take us.”
“Yes. I thought of that,” I say. “In truth, what happened here is anyone’s guess. We have so little to go by.” I look at the sword in Dakar’s hand, our only concrete piece of evidence.
“What now?” Emberstone asks.
I survey my riders, their expectant faces awaiting my command. The answer is obvious. Painfully so. Protocol demands we return to Cinderhold immediately to report to Commander Voltguard. A mysterious figure with unprecedented power has emerged, Screechclaws have altered their attack patterns, and we’ve lost a Skyrider.
No, she’s not lost. Taken. Right before my eyes.
Oh, Rhealyn.
Despite our relationship being forbidden, I had dared to dream. The way she made me feel alive... I’d been willing to risk everything. I’ve never been in love, never allowed myself that vulnerability. Yet with her, I stood at the precipice of that feeling, terrified and exhilarated at the same time.
But then her admission of killing Cindergrasp, her confession about being a Weaver. All of it should make my decision easier. She lied. She deceived me. She broke sacred laws.
And yet...
“High Prime?” Emberstone insists, her voice cutting through my thoughts. “What are your orders?”
The weight of command sits heavy on my shoulders. Seven riders look to me for direction, for certainty. Duty calls me back to Cinderhold, to report everything I’ve learned. But leaving means abandoning Rhealyn.
“I need a moment to consider our course,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Scout the perimeter once more. Ensure we’ve missed nothing. I’ll survey the mountain.”
