Page 36

36

Rhea

I n the morning, I jump in for a cold shower to make myself feel alive. After Vaylen left me in the hot spring pool, I waited to make sure he was gone, then gathered my things. I hid everything under my robe as best as I could, then sneaked back to my bedroom.

Once there, I hung everything to dry and sat at the edge of my bed, gaze glued to the floor while my thoughts churned like a stew roiling over a stove. Needless to say, I didn’t get any sleep.

In the shower, I absentmindedly scrub my face, everything that happened yesterday slowly coming back to me. Damn! As if it weren’t enough with the Chief Inspector’s visit looming over me like a bad omen, I’d gone and had sex with my Prime.

By the four winds! What have I done?

At least Vaylen didn’t find out what I was up to. That would have been the ember’s brightest glow.

At last, the chilled water chases away the heavy sleep that threatens to slam my eyelids shut, and I make it to the mess hall for breakfast.

Vaylen sits at the Prime’s table with his usual sternness. He doesn’t glance in my direction as I make my way to my friends, who already seem halfway through their meals.

“I can keep secrets. Can you?” Vaylen’s words echo in my mind, the memory of his suggestive tone sending a thrill down my belly.

“Where were you last night?” Adelaide asks as she butters a piece of toast.

Phoebe sends a reproachful glance in her direction. She probably thinks I was hiding from Silas and doesn’t want to make me feel bad.

I shrug. “I opted for a shower and early bedtime. I was tired, but I won’t miss it tonight.”

Piling my plate with eggs and fruit, I do my best not to look at Vaylen. It seems the roles have reversed, and he’s the one controlling the situation now. I don’t like it. I need to turn the tables around somehow. I can’t be in his thrall.

But first things first. I have to get the Chief Inspector off my back.

Some of the Primes leave once breakfast time is up. Vaylen is involved in conversation with Prime Emberstone and continues ignoring me, even though I’m supposed to meet him in his office to wait for the Chief Inspector’s arrival. I stuff a forkful of eggs in my mouth and follow my mates as they leave.

“I can’t wait to get up there.” Nate points toward the ceiling. “It’s about time they let us practice our elemental skills. My hands have been itching to test my new fire power. I’m ready to incinerate a load of fucking Screechclaws.”

“Tell me about it.” Adelaide twirls her hands, then snaps them closed into fists. “I’m dying to Life Drain those bitches.”

Now, I have to admit I wouldn’t mind being able to have that particular Skytide ability. Draining the blood right out of our enemies’ vile hearts would be satisfying. Though Breath Bind —asphyxiating them by crushing the air from their lungs—is a comparable alternative.

Instead of appearing excited, Phoebe makes a face.

Adelaide notices and seems affronted. “What? Would you rather cuddle them?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what? Invite them to dinner?”

“I’m more interested in maneuvers that stop more than a single enemy,” Phoebe responds. “I want to practice creating a strong Wind Wall and Wind Blast .”

Wind Wall and Wind Blast are mostly large-scale defense and attack maneuvers, respectively. They can stop Screechclaws in their tracks to allow other Skyriders to take down the ones left individually. Skytides may be able to cause someone to bleed from the inside out, but they can’t focus that power on more than one person at a time. It requires concentration and careful aiming of the skill, same as Breath Bind. That’s why these attacks are reserved for close combat.

I frown, wondering what the skill of breathing underwater is called and how many more such skills have been lost due to the systematic persecution of Weavers.

Adelaide turns to me. “What about you, Rhea?”

I barely register her question. It takes me a moment to break out of my inner thoughts and focus on her. She cocks her head to one side and lifts her eyebrows.

“Um, what did you ask me?” I rub the back of my neck.

“What are your favorite types of maneuvers?”

“Oh, that.” I smile. “Well, I’m not sure. I’ll reserve judgment until I try them.”

“Wise choice, Young Skysinger,” Nate says.

“Who do you think you are? Commander Voltguard?” Phoebe asks, making us all laugh.

She blushes, and I don’t miss the fond look Nate gives her. Phoebe, however, is too busy being embarrassed to notice.

“Those fucking Screechclaws killed my father,” Nate says, his demeanor changing abruptly.

Nate’s father was a Skyblaze who died during a battle in New Ferro three years ago. I still remember the day he received the news at the Academy. He looked devastated as he left our horse-riding class to be with his family. He has never talked about it.

“I’m going to kill as many of them as I can,” he says this not with glee, but with sadness, as if he knows that no matter how many he incinerates, the hurt of losing his father will not ebb.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Phoebe says. “I will help you kill them.”

Adelaide nods. “Me, too.”

“And me,” I add.

He smiles, a grateful look in his eyes.

When we reach the hall that leads to the lifts, I stop and point in the opposite direction. “I’ll see you in a bit. I have a meeting with High Prime Stormsong.”

“Well, well, aren’t the bonded important?” Nate teases, but there’s no malice in his comment. He mock-punches me on the shoulder.

They head out, and I wish I could follow them. I wish I didn’t have to worry about being discovered as a murderess and a Weaver.

Making mistakes with Vaylen would be yet another thing you have to hide, Rhea. Don’t do it, says the wisest part of me. I need to listen to it. I really do.

Taking a deep breath to gather myself, I head to the High Prime’s office. In front of the door, I crack my neck and assess the way I feel. I’m pleased to find a measure of calm settling over me—even more pleased to discover it isn’t coming from Zephyros. He has been quiet since last night for some reason.

Ready or not. I knock on the door.

“Come in,” Vaylen calls.

I step inside the office. The Chief Inspector isn’t here yet. Vaylen sits at his desk, going over a document. He doesn’t look up. I shut the door behind me and stand at attention, arms linked behind my back. He makes a few notes, then finally lifts his blue gaze to mine. His wide chest rises and falls visibly as if he has suddenly gone breathless. He stands, the chair scraping the stone floor behind him. His uniform is pristine, and so is his hair and clean-shaved jaw. It’s hard to believe he’s the same man I had between my legs last night.

My core pulses with a jolt of desire. Wrong thought, Rhea. Wrong thought. That one certainly didn’t come from the wisest part of me, which means it came from the dumbest. By the four winds! I need another cold shower.

I break eye contact and look straight ahead to the wall behind him. I’m worried he will ask me if I’ve made up my mind about his proposal, but he keeps things strictly formal.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you while the Chief Inspector questions you?” he says. “As your commanding officer, I’m allowed to do so.”

I think about it for a moment, fidgeting with my mother’s ring, and decide that I do want him to stay. It would be good to have a witness. Wouldn’t it? Besides, he must believe I didn’t have anything to do with Cindergrasp’s death. He wouldn’t get involved with someone he suspected of committing murder.

“You may stay,” I say.

His mouth stretches into a little smile. He seems glad, and I can’t even begin to imagine why that is because before I can put my mind to work on the task, a knock comes at the door.

“Stand next to me, Skysinger Wyndward.” Vaylen retakes his seat.

I do as he says, so when Chief Inspector Cragmere comes in, we form a unified front in the face of the incoming threat.

Cragmere lets the door swing closed behind him. He removes his felt top hat, tucks it under his arm, and nods in greeting. He wears a heavy, dark blue greatcoat that hangs almost to his ankles. Beneath it, a dark waistcoat and a starched white collar peek out. His gray, waxed mustache curls at each side of his thin mouth with precise symmetry.

“Good morning, Chief Inspector Cragmere.” Vaylen remains seated, which speaks of his status. As High Prime, he outranks him by at least three levels. “I hope you had a pleasant ride.”

“Quite so.” He smiles, his beady eyes flicking to me for an instant.

“As you are aware, Chief Inspector Cragmere,” Vaylen says, “we are short on training time, so let’s get started and, most importantly, let’s keep it brief.”

“Of course.” He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a small notebook and pencil. “I only have a few questions for Ms. Wyndward, so it should be brief.”

“The proper address is Skysinger or Skyrider Wyndward, Chief Inspector Cragmere ,” Vaylen says, his deep voice calm and authoritative.

Cragmere blinks. “Apologies. I thought she was still in training.”

“She is, but she already has a dragon, one that she’s bonded to.”

“Bonded, you say?” Cragmere’s sparse eyebrows go up, though he doesn’t really look surprised.

“Yes, bonded. This isn’t common knowledge, of course. There will be an official announcement from the King to all citizens when time allows, so I trust your discretion. But I thought the mention was relevant.”

Cragmere grunts as his lips purse. “No one is above the law, High Prime Stormsong. Not even a bonded rider. If Skyrider Wyndward was involved in Neutro Cindergrasp’s murder, no amount of bonding will save her.”

Vaylen rises, slowly walks around the desk, then casually leans against its front, arms crossed. Even half-sitting, he towers over the little man, and his pristine appearance makes the fastidious Chief Inspector appear like a disheveled street ruffian.

“The law also requires that each citizen respects their Goddess’s Chosen. I only meant to make you aware of your… oversight when you referred to Skysinger Wyndward as Miss Wyndward. Instead, you chose to make what sounded like a threat based on… what exactly?”

The tip of Cragmere’s pencil, posed on the small notebook, tears through the page. He lowers his hands to hide the way they tremble, but there is no disguising his anger. His face is red, and the beads of sweat peppering his forehead seem to be doing nothing to cool him off.

I glance at Vaylen, my chest warming at the way he’s sticking up for me. He really is all the things he’s rumored to be. A true leader who serves his people and not only those above him.

Cragmere takes a moment to turn the torn page. “You misunderstand me, High Prime. There is no threat, just an overzealous official in His Majesty’s service. I too often encounter ruffians, and I must admit, I forget myself at times. A proper investigation is being conducted, of course, which is exactly the reason I’m here. So,” he turns his attention to me, his features calculating once more, “Skyrider Wyndward, could you please tell me about the night of the Rite of Flight. Start from the moment you arrived until the moment Neutro Cindergrasp’s body was discovered.”

Vaylen pushes away from the desk and walks toward the bookshelf on the left, attempting to make himself inconspicuous, except the man is as imposing as the damn plateau we’re in and wouldn’t go unnoticed if cogwings came to life by some sort of miracle.

Keeping things brief, I recount my original story.

“And you said you had never met Neutro Cindergrasp before that night.”

“That is correct. I never met him. And that night was the first time I saw him.”

“High Prime Stormsong said you don’t recall who performed your Cleansing, is that correct?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

He narrows his eyes, looking skeptical. “You never asked your parents?”

“No,” I reply, looking straight ahead at the wall like a good soldier.

“I find that hard to believe. Kids are always curious about that sort of thing.”

“No offense to anyone, but I was always interested in Skyriders. Not Neutros.” Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a smile stretching across Vaylen’s lips.

“I see.” Cragmere nods and makes a note, acting as if my statement is somehow suspicious. “And would either of your parents be able to tell me your Neutro’s name?”

“My mother is deceased,” I say, keeping all emotion from my voice. “But you could ask my father.”

Cragmere takes a step to the side into my line of vision. “I’ve already asked your father.”

There’s a tremor of nerves in my chest, but I manage to keep any outward sign from showing in my face. He must have visited my father very early today, proving my visit wasn’t a moment too soon.

“I trust he was able to provide you with an answer,” I say.

“He was not. He said your mother took you to your Cleansing, said he had an important client to attend to that day, so he also claims he doesn’t remember.”

My gaze meets his for the first time. “I don’t appreciate your insinuation, Chief Inspector Cragmere. I do not claim to not remember. I simply do not. I was a child who was easily driven to distraction and had no care in the world. Also, before my mother died, my father was a well-respected law clerk.”

“And how did your mother die, Skyrider Wyndward?”

I want to leap across the distance that separates us and tear the bastard’s eyes out. His precious fucking Neutro killed my mother with his incompetence.

My fists tighten at my sides. “I don’t see how that is relevant.”

“I decide what is relevant or not, Skyrider.”

In an instant, anger comes to a boiling point in my chest. I’m on the verge of reaching out and strangling him, when Zephyros’s calming touch falls over me, defusing the storm brewing inside me.

“My mother died of natural causes,” I say, spitting back the lie that Cindergrasp and those who protected him manufactured in order to save him from prison.

Cragmere hums, a sound that denounces his skepticism. Why would he doubt it?

“Did you kill Neutro Mortimer Cindergrasp?” he asks, taking a long step forward that delivers him right into my personal space. He’s a couple of inches shorter than me, so I look down.

By degrees, I lean forward, until I can see the exact washed-out shade of his blue irises. “No. Now, I would appreciate it if you remove yourself from my personal space.”

Taking a step back, he twirls a hand in the air in a dismissive gesture. “It had to be asked.” He smiles jovially, doing a little tour around the office and casually observing the books on the shelves as he heads for the door. “I appreciate the… hospitality. I shall be in touch if I need anything else, High Prime Stormsong. Good day.”

He exits, leaving me with the distinct impression that this won’t be the last time I’ll see his detestable face.