Page 9

9

Rhea

E very muscle in my body is a tight wire. I had hoped we would be gone from the party before anyone discovered the body. That would have been nice. I would have still qualified as a suspect, but the window of opportunity would have shrunk considerably.

But no matter. I knew this might happen. All I have to do is keep my nerves under control and not give anything away.

I find Silas and Nate Torchfist, the other Skyblaze chosen.

“So how about that?” he says. “Someone offed the old bastard.”

I frown at the contempt in his voice. Interesting. He doesn’t show the least bit of consternation over the death of the Neutro—one of the elites in Silas’s upper echelons.

“He was a bastard,” Silas says, noticing my frown. “My father knew him back in the day. He says Cindergrasp didn’t get where he was by, let’s say, honorable means.”

Adelaide Icesurge appears behind Silas and places a hand on his arm. Wow, she moves fast! She’s never been part of our group—not for lack of trying—but she’s wasting no time making up for lost time. Her brown hair has a silver streak in the front that matches her pale eyes and skin, a coloring common to people from the Ivorycrest region, Tide elementals who can wield their power to control and transform water into ice with effortless grace.

“Do tell us more,” she says.

Silas lowers his voice so only we can hear. “Apparently, in the beginning, when he was just getting started and no one knew who he was, Cindergrasp used to sell his Neutro services to anyone who would buy them.”

“What do you mean?” Adelaide asks.

“They say he didn’t only perform Cleansings but Cullings too.”

“Dragon’s breath!” Adelaide presses a hand to her mouth.

Every year, children are evaluated across the realm. Authorized Neutros examine them and perform Cleansings only when necessary—at least that’s what parents are told. It’s all done for the safety of Embernia. These Cleansings have been performed since the Dual Blight, which happened shortly after Heratrix disappeared. I wonder what she would think of them. But sometimes, more than a Cleansing happens, and the child’s elemental skills are fully extirpated, leaving them powerless. The Cleansing Authority denies this ever happens, but I don’t believe them. Not for a second.

“Why?” she asks, puzzled.

Honestly, does she lack imagination? It’s not that hard.

Silas’s eyebrows rise, and his sideways look says it all. “Are you serious? I can think of several reasons. The main one… parents who don’t want their children to waste their time trying out for the Academy, for one.”

“No, they wouldn’t!” She looks outraged.

“Oh, they would,” I say. There are parents who do worse things to their kids.

“I would be lost without my powers,” she says, her mouth drawing downward.

She holds out her hand and snowflakes dance in her palm. No one would argue with her about that one. I can’t imagine who I would be if not this.

“I wonder how many children he culled like that?” she asks no one in particular.

“If it was one, it was too many,” I spit, venom thick in my voice.

I’m happier than ever that I took it upon myself to rid our realm of that vile man.

Silas stands at attention, his gaze focused on a spot over my head. I turn to find High Prime Stormsong there.

No. Not High Prime Stormsong. Vaylen, nothing else.

Even if only in my head, this will be my way to break down his barriers. For now.

He regards me with a frown. Did he catch that last bit of our conversation? If he did, he says nothing about it. Instead, he gives us orders.

“Go around and tell every new Skyrider to gather in that corner over there.”

“Yes, Sir,” we say in unison.

“Make sure it’s all eleven of you.” He whirls on his heel and walks toward Gilbert, presumably to give him the same instructions.

Five minutes later, we’re all gathered in a corner apart from the other guests, who are as restless as ants in a disturbed pile. We’re all trapped here since the Commander ordered all the doors be barred. If they figure out I’m responsible, there’ll be nowhere to run. Trying not to fidget, I watch the women as they chatter, fanning themselves uncontrollably. The men feign an air of composure, their expressions carefully blank, but the sweat on their brows betrays their agitation. A handful have lit noxious cigars, puffing on them as if their lives depend on it.

“Who do you think killed him?” James Ironscale asks. He’s a Forge. No, a Skyforge. He has control over metals. He’s the quiet sort, so I’m surprised to hear his voice.

“I wish it’d been me,” Silas quips. “Whoever did it is a hero, in my opinion.”

Nate elbows him in the ribs. “You shouldn’t say things like that, mate.”

“He’s a Pyrewing,” Gilbert says, mouth twisting. “He thinks he can say whatever the fuck he wants, but he’s soon going to learn he can’t, like his crippled brother did.”

Silas’s face goes red. “Take my brother out of your filthy mouth, you bastard .”

Gilbert is rumored to be the illegitimate son of Lord Jonathan Warren. I suspect that’s the reason for the dragon-sized chip on his shoulder.

Leaning toward Silas, Gilbert glares up at him, his frame several inches shorter than his opponent’s six-two wall of muscle. “I’m going to show you?—”

“Stop it, you two. High Prime Stormsong is coming,” Adelaide urges.

We all compose ourselves and look straight ahead. Vaylen stops in front of us, letting his piercing gaze rove over the group.

“Regrettably,” he says, “the final and most important stage of the Rite of Flight will have to be delayed.”

Dammit!

“We will remain here until Chief Inspector Cragmere arrives and says it’s all right to leave.”

Everyone grumbles. My stomach clenches, doubts creeping in.

I should have waited. I should have found another opportunity to kill him.

No! There would have been no other opportunity—not after the Rite of Flight. The front lines await us. We will only have four weeks to get used to our dragons, and then we’ll be deployed. Some of us will never return. I don’t plan to die fighting the Screechclaws —our monstrous enemies to the west—but there are no guarantees. Heratrix knows I tried to find a different opportunity to kill the Neutro before tonight, but it wasn’t meant to be.

You had to act tonight, Rhea. Now, collect yourself. Don’t give anyone any reason to look your way .

Vaylen produces a small notepad and pen from his jacket pocket and prepares to write. “We don’t have to remain idle, however. We can expedite this process.” A pause as he meets my gaze. “Did anyone see anything suspicious tonight?”

I shake my head, trying not to rub at the spot in my hand. “No, Sir,” I say firmly, my voice joining my mates’.

Inhaling slowly and deeply, I manage to keep my breathing at a normal rhythm. Vaylen’s gaze doesn’t linger on me. It moves on to scan every face. Yet, why did he look at me first?

Perhaps because you’re the first in the formation, you idiot. By force of habit, we stand shoulder to shoulder, backs straight, chins held high—eleven of us in a perfect line. Only four females made it, including me. Not a bad percentage, considering our initial numbers.

“Skysinger Wyndward,” Vaylen says, singling me out. “Are you sure you didn’t see anything out of the ordinary?”

This entire damn gathering, this Rite of Flight, is a departure from my usual existence, but under the circumstances, unleashing my customary sarcasm feels inappropriate. A pity.

“I’m sure, Sir,” I answer.

“Did you see Neutro Cindergrasp? Noticed his presence?”

I want to say no, but I consider my answer carefully. Unlike most of my mates, who went home to their families after graduation, I came to the party directly from Aerie Academy. I didn’t want to see my father before the Rite of Flight, knowing his negativity and constant forlornness would only put me in the wrong state of mind for the test. Therefore, I arrived early in an Academy carriage alongside Justine Steelgaze, whose family lives too close to the front lines to allow a return visit. We were practically the first ones here, a fact easily corroborated by others, which means I did see Cindergrasp when he arrived. Tempted as I am to lie, hiding this small truth may only cause trouble.

“I did see him, Sir. I heard his name when his arrival was announced by the host, so I turned to look at the famous Neutro. I’d never seen him before.”

Vaylen scratches a few words on his notepad. “And after that?”

“I lost track of him for a while, then later I saw him talking to Commander Voltguard, and…” I make a show of searching my memories, “… and I think that was the last I saw of him.”

“How did he appear to you, Skysinger?”

“Um, normal. I guess.”

“He didn’t seem nervous? Worried? Distracted?”

“No, Sir. I don’t think so, but I didn’t know the man, and I only saw him briefly.”

“Thank you.” He finishes jutting down my answers and without a second glance in my direction, he subjects everyone else to the same line of questioning.

As he moves down the line, I work on controlling my anxiety and repeating the same chant over and over.

They have no reason to suspect you.

They have no reason to suspect you.

They have no reason to suspect you.

When Vaylen is done questioning everyone, he says, “I’ll be right back. In the meantime, behave.” He narrows his blue eyes and glances from Gilbert to Silas and back and again.

It seems as if the man doesn’t miss a thing.

The memory of that blood smudge on the back of my hand as I walked onto the balcony flashes before my eyes. Maybe he didn’t notice it. Or maybe he’s waiting for something else to come to light before pouncing on me?

Heratrix, tell me you didn’t let me get this far just to abandon me. You know he deserved to die. Please, don’t let them figure out it was me.