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Rhea

F rom the Dragon, Strength.

When Embernia was a primordial landscape, humans roamed the earth in small tribes and sustained themselves on paltry provisions from whatever they could forage and hunt. Their numbers were small, and their stock weak. They struggled to survive the many predators that roamed the earth and the sky, dragons of all sizes and shapes who had a taste for human flesh. The land was rich and dragons—its most abundant inhabitants—held dominion over everything.

The creatures, with their keen intelligence, foresaw the eventual depletion of the land’s bounty. Inevitably, earthbound dragons and skyborne dragons became enemies, fighting over the same resources. The wingless creatures hoarded food, concealing entire herds under mountain passes, unreachable to their winged counterparts.

Starvation gnawed at the sky dragons.

Until one day, the most clever of the sky dwellers—their queen, sole female, and most powerful of all, Heratrix— discovered something… the humans had gifts.

They could control the elements in the same way they could.

Not only that. She also discovered that when a dragon and a human agreed to work together their gifts were greatly enhanced.

In need of each other, they formed an alliance, and it was thus that sky dragons triumphed over earth dragons, and a mutually beneficial relationship was born between dragons and humans. The winged creatures, grateful to the humans and led by Heratrix, vowed to forever protect them. From the most powerful humans, a king was chosen, an earth elemental bound by honor.

And together, they prospered.

That is until, many centuries later, Heratrix disappeared.

This is our story, and as I walk into the Keep, I’m reminded of our origin, a mighty legacy I yearn to be part of.

Once inside the vaulted-ceiling room, the doors behind us close with a thud of finality. The Commander and the Primes have joined us, but the guests remained behind. What happens here is a secret known only to the Academy’s elite. No one talks about the ritual. It is forbidden.

A female Claw with scale-like tattoos on the backs of her hands bids me to move away from the others and stand to the side. She wears a dark blue uniform, indicating her non-rider status. I try not to panic about being singled out. But when she bids the other female candidates to join me, my shoulders relax. She’s simply separating the males from the females.

Phoebe takes the spot to my right, and I won’t lie and say her friendly smile doesn’t calm my nerves somewhat. I return the gesture if a bit shakily. Doubts are starting to fill my mind.

What if I’m not chosen? What if I wasted the last four years training to become nothing more than a Claw? What if I never fly and my most important task in my Sky Order career is to separate the females from the males at the Rite of Flight?

Quiet, Rhea, a much calmer inner voice commands.

I take a deep breath and shove my doubts down, down, down. I make my own path. I’ve been working toward this goal for years. No one and nothing will get in the way.

The Claw leads us to a separate chamber. It’s a plain room with two long wooden benches against each wall. What look like brown pieces of fabric hang from hooks above the benches. I count nine of them—one for each of us.

“Change into the robes,” the tattooed Claw instructs. “If you are chosen, your gowns will be donated, and you will go with your Primes. If you are not, the gowns will be here waiting for you, and you will receive further instruction on your Claw training.” She stands at attention by the door and says nothing else.

We strip to our undergarments in record time. We are well trained Aerie Academy graduates. All unnecessary decorum has been bred out of us, leaving behind stark efficiency. The robes are nothing more than huge sheets with a hole for our heads and rope-like belts to tie around our waists. When we’re done dressing, we look like members of the Disciples of Heratrix order.

“You may leave your shoes and go barefoot,” the Claw says.

Phoebe, the only one who has put her shoes back on, quickly kicks them off, looking forlornly at the copper-colored slippers. They have encrusted jewels along the edge, a luxury I could never afford. She thinks she’ll never wear them again. Good for her! She also makes her own path. Maybe she can be a worthy ally.

“You may exit now,” the Claw says, remaining behind. She’s not coming with us.

I file out of the changing room, the last in line. The Commander and Primes stand at attention, facing us. The male candidates haven’t returned yet. We wait. I try not to look at High Prime Vaylen Stormsong, but I can’t seem to help myself. He offers a nice distraction from all the other things banging around in my head. He never looks my way, acting as if I don’t exist. He’s nothing but disciplined—what any who ascends to High Prime needs to be. Seducing him should be fun.

When the men return, we find they’re dressed in the same brown robes. After a quick inspection of all the candidates, the Commander comes forth.

“Follow me.” She marches toward the back of the room, the heels of her boots tapping against the cold stone.

We go after her, the Primes bringing up the rear. We follow in a single file, our steps automatically synchronized out of habit. We have marched for endless hours on the Academy’s grounds, building the stamina required in the front lines.

At the back of the room, we cross a threshold built from carved stone. At each side, a dragon rises from the floor and arches upward along the edge, meeting in the middle. Their massive wings spread upward, climbing up the wall. Necks craned, we all stare at the beautiful artwork.

My heart rate speeds up as we enter a dark tunnel, illuminated by torches. A sudden breeze blows my hair back. I take a deep breath to quiet my gift, but it stubbornly rides to the surface, causing air to whirl all around me. I frown. Is this place having an effect on me?

A few paces ahead, Phoebe’s hair also whips about. It seems she’s having the same problem as me. Yes, I think this place is exacerbating our gifts, as if tasting them.

Suddenly, an uninvited voice slips into my head . — Heratrix, I vow to find you.

My steps falter. The candidate behind me stumbles into me.

“Pardon,” I hiss, then hurry ahead, shaking my head.

Dragon’s breath! What’s happening?

It has been eighteen years since I’ve heard another person’s thoughts inside my mind. I’ve buried my second gift deep inside me, determined to never let it show. Neutro Cindergrasp was supposed to cleanse me of it , to nullify my dual powers, but he failed.

King Craven and his ancestors have ruled our realm since the beginning of time—blessed by our Goddess and guardian. But centuries ago, Skyriders with psychic and dual powers tried to overtake the monarchy and gain control of Embernia. It was due to this uprising—the Dual Blight as it is known—that duality was outlawed, and one power in particular was decreed an abomination because it made it impossible to hide one’s thoughts and truths.

From then on, psychics—known as Weavers—were persecuted and exterminated. Only those with a mild skill to look into another’s mind to detect and suppress abilities were allowed to live as long as they vowed to serve the crown as Neutros, their purpose to prevent the emergence of future threats among the young.

Except my Neutro ruined everything. He let my powers get out of control, and because of him my mother…

No! I shut the door to those terrible memories.

Another uninvited thought from one of my mates slices through my mind.

— Choose me, Goddess, and I promise you I won’t fail you.

I grit my teeth, focusing on putting a foot in front of the other, trying to ignore the panic that threatens to engulf me.

If they find out my true nature, my secret, I’ll never be chosen, never fly. Not only that, they’ll kill me, hang me from the gallows.

My chest pumps, my breaths coming out in short gasps.

Phoebe glances over her shoulder and mouths, “Are you all right?”

I nod and put on a weak smile. A frown parts her forehead. She doesn’t believe me.

Her voice, her thoughts, ring inside my head.

— See, Phoebe, Rhea is nervous too, even though she’s the best and will surely be chosen. It’s natural to feel like you’re about to pee yourself.

I nearly sputter a maniacal laugh. Instead, I manage to deepen my smile. Phoebe faces the front again.

Another voice pierces my mind, Silas’s. — These motherfuckers aren’t going to keep me out. Tomorrow, I’ll be on a dragon’s back, shouting to the heavens how motherfucking magnificent I am.

My throat gets clogged with another sputter of delirious laughter. I’m done for. I’ll never be chosen. They’ll not only discover I’m a Dual, but a Weaver to boot, and all my years of work will be for naught.