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42

Rhea

T he next morning, we wake up before dawn. Despite the hour, we all look wide awake as we file down the corridor toward the lifts. Our rucksacks are heavy on our backs as our words echo in the tight space.

“I wonder if the other Clutch members will like us.”

“I can’t wait to kick some Screechclaw ass.”

“Fort Ashmire, here we come.”

Every Skyrider is full of excitement, and my friends and I aren’t the exception.

“I dreamed I killed a Screechclaw with my bare hands,” Nate says, making a choking motion with his large hands.

“Right!” Adelaide rolls her eyes. “If you managed to get that close, a Screechclaw would tear you to pieces. Those are razor sharp talons they have, not kids’ gloves.”

“Not if I set the bitch on fire first.” Nate lifts a hand and flames leap from one finger to the other.

Someone shoves him from behind, and he staggers into me. I yelp, ready to snuff his flames with a small Wind Draft, but before they touch me, he forms a fist, and the flames disappear.

“First, you’d have to improve your aim and actually hit something, Nate,” Silas sneers as he pushes through. “But I guess your mediocrity is what drives you to surround yourself with losers. Rhea is just like you and can’t hit a target either.”

The ruckus dies out as everyone switches their attention to us.

What the…? How does he know about my training issues?

Vaylen and Phoebe wouldn’t tell anyone, so that leaves Nate and Adelaide. We discussed my struggles at dinner once. I was frustrated and thought they might be able to offer some advice. I thought I could trust them, but I guess I was wrong. Which of them told him? My gaze slides to Adelaide, but she’s staring at Silas with murder in her eyes.

She’s only mad because Silas gave her away, a part of me thinks, though another part is not so sure. For his part, Nate is red with fury. Phoebe wraps a hand around his large bicep as he starts to move forward.

“He isn’t worth it,” Phoebe says, big green eyes begging Nate not to do anything stupid.

Nate meets her gaze, and his anger seems to melt under her scrutiny. His features slowly unpinching as Phoebe’s gentleness steals his fury.

Silas sneers. “You’re even worse than before. Now you even let women tell you what to do.”

Now calm, Nate’s gaze slides back to meet Silas’s. “We all owe who and what we are to a female. You wouldn’t be here without your mother and wouldn’t be a Skyblaze without Heratrix. By the Goddess, he who disparages females sooner or later pays for it. ”

Everyone freezes at the curse, and even the rustle of fabric dies out. The hall is dead still. In the time of Heratrix, females were protected and revered as vessels of fertility. Hurting a woman was punishable by death, and even wishing ill on one was considered a bad omen. Among many, especially the powerful, those beliefs have died, but others—mainly those who trust Heratrix will one day return—passionately believe disrespecting females hangs a curse over your head, a curse that no one can escape no matter how powerful or rich.

“What a superstitious little bitch you are.” Silas shrugs dismissively and walks away, but the stiffness across his shoulders and his deep frown reveal that Nate got to him.

Phoebe’s hand slides down Nate’s arm, then interlaces with his. Nate’s eyes widen in surprise as he turns to look at her. She smiles sweetly, her cheeks turning bright pink and erasing her many freckles. I turn away and keep walking, allowing the moment to be only theirs, a smile of my own stretching my lips. It’s about time one of them made a move.

The lifts don’t move fast enough for my taste, but we finally make it to the surface. There’s a flurry of activity with Claws carrying boxes, saddling dragons and loading supplies onto their backs. Primes shout instructions and Skyriders and Claws alike jump to obey them. In under a half hour, seventeen enormous dragons are loaded and ready to go, Skyriders tethered to them.

From my vantage point atop Zephyros, I look all around. The sky is dotted with a few white clouds, so nothing but a mostly clear horizon stretches in front of us. I turn my gaze toward Cinderhold, wondering what awaits us there. This is what I’ve always wanted, and though I’m full of excitement and curiosity, I must admit there’s a small seed of apprehension stirring inside me. I’m headed to the front lines to fight in a war that has been going on for six hundred years and has killed many Embernians.

I’m not so naive to think I’ll be some sort of invincible heroine, able to escape death while simultaneously dispatching hordes of our enemies. No. I know I may very well be on my way to my own grave, which I guess justifies the apprehension rearing its head inside me. It’s only natural. Nothing to be embarrassed about.

—The winds are changing, Zephyros says inside my mind.

I switch my attention to the currents, eyes searching the sky for signs of change. I see none.

—Not those winds, he says.

—Then what are you talking about?

—I am not sure. All I know is that I have felt this way before. A long time ago.

—When?

—When I lost it all.

I want to ask more, but I sense he’s already retreating, tucking his thoughts and emotions away.

—I wish you would tell me more, Zephyros. You can trust me.

He offers no response.

Vaylen shouts a command, bringing me back to the moment. It’s time to go.

Fragor leaps off the plateau, his rider standing proudly atop his head. The sight of Vaylen—shoulders squared and legs spread apart as he flawlessly controls his Tethers—is short of magnificent. He exudes strength and confidence, the same way as when he does… well, anything. At the thought, I’m reminded of his strong arms picking me up and setting me atop the furs, and the way he skillfully turns me into malleable clay under the ministration of his warm hands and lips.

Phoebe and Trueno take to the air next, and I follow. The other riders join us, leaping from their own sections, then quickly getting into formation, a massive “V” with Vaylen at the forefront.

We fly for two hours, then stop to let the dragons hunt for their meals, while our repast consists of rations—dry fruit, nuts, flat bread, and jerky. We wash everything down with water, then take to the skies once more. We pass only small settlements. There are no big towns on the route that Vaylen guides us on. Mostly, we fly over farmhouses, where their residents stop their chores and shield their brows from the sun to look up and wave. We wave back, and my heart swells with a mixture of pride and the desire to protect them.

More than once, I catch Vaylen looking at me. His expression seems conflicted, making me wonder once more if he regrets what happened between us.

That’s the problem when you knowingly make a mistake. The fact that we recognize what it is doesn’t mean it gets easier to ignore the danger our actions create. On the contrary, our eyes are wide open to the consequences, consequences we’re not ready to face, no matter our willingness to break the rules.

Do I regret it? I search my heart for the answer and realize that I don’t. Perhaps if we get caught I will, but as of right now, knowing the dangers that await at the border, I’m glad we shared at least one night.

The sun is halfway past its midpoint when Cinderhold’s outline appears in the distance. I crane my neck as if that will help me see more, but the rough line is all I’m rewarded with. As we get closer, the tallest buildings take shape. None of them appear to be more than a few stories tall, making it clear this city doesn’t share Emberton’s grandeur.

When we finally reach Cinderhold, I realize the stupidity of trying to compare it to the capital. A large part of the city lies in ruins. The east side still has edifices untouched by war, but as we move further west, broken buildings greet us, slouching along roads littered with debris, as well as charred houses, the homes of Cinderhold’s residents who have long abandoned this territory, favoring safer places inland.

The injustice of it all has my jaw clenching so hard my teeth grind. A somber feeling settles over me, stoking a familiar hatred inside me. It’s the same feeling I’ve carried inside me for eighteen years, a rancor that only a dozen days ago was reserved for Neutro Cindergrasp. I thought it was gone, but seeing firsthand what the Screechclaws have done to my realm reawakens the ugly emotions. They’re not gone. They’re as much a part of me as the color of my eyes. They were simply waiting to resurface when a worthy replacement was found.

We fly the width of the city and find Fort Ashmire at the farthest west point atop an incline, a shield between our enemies and what is left of Cinderhold. Inside its fortified walls, I recognize the barracks immediately, provisional edifices erected by Claws with the use of their elemental powers.

At the Academy, we drilled on erecting them, combining our moderate skills to create the most basic structures to house soldiers. The Tides and Dunes mixed clay, then Singers helped the latter shape the foundation and walls while Blazes baked them into place. When the basic structure was done, Forges and Bolts combined their skills to create hardware for doors and windows. And at last, Dunes and Blazes melted sand, then manipulated it to create window panes. We did it so many times, I can direct my wind power to sculpt blocks and many other shapes.

When we fly over a large courtyard, we circle once, flying low. Skyriders and other soldiers stand in formation below, waiting for us. Vaylen is the first one to jump off his dragon and land in the middle of the courtyard with the use of Vortex Drop. Phoebe and I follow. The Skydunes and Skyforges join us an instant later along with their Primes. They can use their powers to push against the ground, the former pushing against the earth itself while the latter push against traces of metal found in it. Next come the Skyblazes, Skytides, and Skybolts. They have a more interesting way to Drop . Since fire, water, and lightning would either fry or soak their feet, they place metal shields under their boots, before sending columns of their powers down to support their descent.

When we’re all on the ground, Vaylen directs everyone to form a line in front of the awaiting troops. I feel their eyes roving over us. Commander Voltguard appears, striding through the ranks. She stops in front of Vaylen. He salutes, his right hand pressed to his left shoulder. We do the same and only stand at ease after she and the troops behind her return the salute.

The Commander steps past Vaylen to greet us, her gray hair slicked back into a perfect top knot. The gold-embroidered scales at her cuffs and collar remind me of her high status.

“Welcome, Skyriders,” she says. “It’s good to have you with us at last. Despite your training being cut short, your Primes inform me that you have excelled and mastered all basic skills. Your training will continue, of course. The abbreviated time at Sky’s Edge wasn’t adequate to master more advanced skills. I have no doubt you will all be more than proficient very soon, however.”

I swear her eyes pause on me a little longer than everyone else as she inspects our ranks, making me feel called out about my inability to perform Wind Spear and Wind Dagger satisfactory. No doubt she received detailed reports for each of us. Dammit! I need to get over whatever is blocking me.

“Congratulations on earning your wings,” she says.

The troops behind her cheer, pumping their fists in the air and hooting. I can’t help the silly smile that stretches my lips. Under normal circumstances, we would have had time to celebrate, a day of leave before joining the war efforts. The chants and solidarity of our mates feels good. I never thought it would mean so much.

“We will discuss your mission after you have settled. You are dismissed.” The Commander turns on her heel and leaves.

Each Prime leads their new Skyriders to their own Clutch. Phoebe trails behind me as we follow Vaylen. My smile slowly disappears. Phoebe looks as if she’s headed to her own execution, and she looks after Nate as if this is the last time she’ll see him.

I slow down and elbow her on the side. “It’s not that bad. It’s just other Skysingers like us.”

“You don’t really believe that.” She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t compare myself to the likes of Dakar Cloudwalker and the Airglide Twins.”

“Wow, you really know how to rain on someone’s parade.”

That gets a small smile out of her, which is the most I can hope for.

Five Skysingers break ranks first and walk toward Vaylen. They salute him first, then shake hands and thump his back.

“’bout time you got back and stopped messin’ ‘round with some snot-nosed brats?” a tall, lean man with black hair tied into a messy knot atop his head says. Two red loops pierce his ears, and his light brown skin suggests he’s from the Neverending Flats region where desert people dwell. The jacket of his leathers has short sleeves that display well-toned muscles and intricate tattoos that look like the air currents in the Skysinger emblem. His uniform doesn’t look standard in the least. I guess once you earn yourself a name, you can break some of the rules, like Vaylen wearing no goggles. He gives Phoebe and me a once over, looking unimpressed.

“That’s Dakar Cloudwalker,” Phoebe whispers in my ear.

I puff up my chest, doing my best not to be intimidated, but this man is a legend. He’s Vaylen’s senior by at least ten years and has been in many battles and earned enough acolytes to be a household name. The rumor is that he was offered the High Prime position but turned it down.

Surreptitiously, I scan the others, turning my mother’s ring around and around. There are three women and another man. Two of the women are identical. The Airglide Twins. Each wears her brown hair in a single thick braid that spills down her back. Leather chokers circle their throats, studded with emeralds that match their green eyes. They are the King’s cousins, daughters of his only aunt. They stand nonchalantly, arms crossed. Even their expressions of indifference toward Phoebe and me are identical.

I don’t recognize the second man, but there is no doubt the woman with the confidence of a lion and the mass of dirty blond hair to match is Eleonora Nightsong. She’s tall, with legs as long as dragon’s horns. She might not be a legend like Dakar or related to the King like the Twins, but her name already graces the lips of many people in Embernia.

I can’t help but feel small. At the Academy, I was someone—one of the legends. For the next few years, they’ll be telling stories about me, at least until the first-year students graduate or perhaps longer. Here… I’m nobody, and I hate to admit I don’t like the feeling.

Immediately, I feel as if I should prove myself, and more than ever, the fact that I haven’t mastered all offensive maneuvers makes me feel less than .

Eleonora leans in to tell Vaylen something. He laughs heartily, which I’ve never witnessed. Jealousy burns in my throat like heartburn from a bad meal.

Goddess! Really?!

I’ve never been the jealous type, and feeling out of place was something I’d stop doing a long time ago, but the well-learned inadequacy of my younger years returns in force, same as the hatred I stoked into ever-burning embers.

I thought I was different from Phoebe, but it turns out I’ve been lying to myself. I feel small and shy as she always seems to be.