Page 25 of Court of Secrets and Flames (Dragons of Tirene #2)

Chapter Twenty-Five

The heavy oak door groans on its hinges as guards usher Knox and me into the king’s chambers. King Jasper’s gaze, sharp as a skewer, pins me to the spot before I can muster a greeting. The air hangs thick with the scent of his displeasure.

Since he informed Tirene of our betrothal, the king’s mostly left me to my own devices, probably deciding it was wise to give me time to process. This is the first summons I’ve received since then. Given his obviously poor mood, I can’t say I’m all that happy about spending time in his company again.

“Explain yourself. I find the most pressing matter today is your little escapade beyond our borders.”

This is the second time in less than an hour a Barda brother has demanded an explanation from me. I can’t say I’m happy about that either.

I choose my words with caution, careful not to allow my irritation to seep into my tone. “Your Majesty, Dame veered from our normal path over the capital. She had her own intentions, which led us to a small island just outside your borders. No farther.”

“Indeed?” Jasper leans back in his throne, the gold filigree catching the light with an almost mocking glint. “A true dragoncaller dictates the course, does she not?”

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but it’s a partnership.” I lower my gaze out of faux respect. I’m treading on thin ice, and I need to be careful of what I say and how. “Dame was worried about the safety of the kingdom she calls home. I could feel it through the connection. She insisted on flying south of Tirene, to the first small island. There, I saw a herd of wild alicorns. At first, I thought they were sleeping, until we landed, and I realized all of them were lying down. Dead. The entire herd, dead all at once.”

A shadow flickers over Jasper’s face, vanishing instantly as his features settle into mild curiosity. “A tragic sight, I’m sure, but creatures die. It is the way of the world.”

Knox shifts beside me, a silent pillar of support. “Not this. Nothing about this was natural.”

“He’s right. Nature does take its course,” I bow my head, “but not like this. Not in such numbers. These alicorns, nearly thirty of them, all landed, laid down, and then died, leaving behind no trace of what caused their deaths. What could be fast enough to slaughter thirty alicorns without alerting the others? Why did scavengers not touch them? Dame seemed as confused and uneasy as I was.”

I don’t mention the odd scent. I have no idea what to make of it, or why the odor pings my mind as familiar.

The king studies me long and hard, his expression enigmatic. I’m not sure what’s happening in his head, but a part of me wonders if he’s keeping secrets again. He shifts his attention to the prince. “What do you make of this, brother?”

Knox steps forward, his head held high. “Everything is exactly as Lark explained it. And as you know, I trained her at Flighthaven. I taught her to ride and care for alicorns. She seemed to have an affinity for them there, and I wonder if perhaps her dragoncaller abilities make her more in tune with other creatures. Like her, I don’t know what might have caused their deaths. And before I could get any answers for you, Hyde gave us your summons.”

He truly is a fabulous liar.

Jasper steeples his fingers beneath his chin. “Perhaps it’s a virus, or some sort of genetic affliction that affected the whole herd.”

“Perhaps.” Doubt permeates my voice. Virus, maybe, but a genetic affliction wouldn’t kill every animal at the same time. “I can search the archives for any past incidents like this. An anxious, broody dragon can’t be good for anyone.”

“Of course.” Jasper waves a hand as, if I’m not mistaken, relief eases the tension from his posture. “Feel free to continue using the Royal Archives as you see fit.”

I dip my chin. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Knox moves to follow me out the door but stops at the king’s words. “Knox. A word, please.”

A guard trails after me as I pass through the grand doors.

Maybe my imagination is running wild, but my gut keeps insisting that Jasper is hiding something. What, I have no clue, but it wouldn’t be the first time. Then again, Knox’s brother is a hard one to get an accurate read on. The king has more masks than an entire masquerade ball and no problem playing games.

All I know is, not much worries a dragon, and Dame was concerned. Almost afraid. That right there is reason enough to convince me that we shouldn’t brush off the dead alicorns.

And I definitely trust Dame more than I trust Tirene’s ruler. No contest.

I send word to Leesa, who meets me in the Royal Archives. Together, we comb through the labyrinthine stacks. She searches one shelf while I search another, tracing spine after spine of aged tomes before sifting through a pile of parchment scrolls. Dust motes dance in the slanted beams of light as I pull down volumes with titles promising knowledge of mythical beasts.

Each one, however, yields nothing on any beast that matches what I’m hunting for. Leesa doesn’t have much luck either, and ends up cutting her time short due to a headache.

Once she leaves, I continue flipping through books. It doesn’t help that, as always, everything’s a mixed-up mess, the stacks a hodge podge of assorted subjects and titles that bear no relation to each other.

I pause when I get to one volume.

“Dragoncaller biographies. I was looking for these before.” I flip through the pages as I muse out loud. “Maybe there’s wisdom from the past that can help with our present troubles.” Having these may come in handy again later since King Jasper doesn’t seem to understand how the dragoncaller bond actually works.

I crinkle my nose, shaking my head at the sheer volume of eel-themed cookbooks that line an entire section. Seems our royal chefs had quite the obsession.

There’s even one on eel-inspired desserts, for fuck’s sake.

Shuddering, I cast one last glance over the culinary oddities before my gaze lands on an ornate binding nestled between two mundane treatises on the art of eel smoking. The book calls to me like a siren song, and that weird sensation from my last visit to the archives crawls over my skin, digging in with invisible hooks and dragging me in that direction.

As if someone else commands my hands, I reach for the volume. My pulse drums in my ears when I pull it off the shelf.

My eyes fall on the title, and every muscle in my body stills.

Holy shit. I’ve seen this book before. Read this title.

The script curls like smoke above a bunch of unrecognizable sigils.

The Chronicles of the Mother Wurm.

My dream. I saw this exact book in my dream. Totally normal and definitely not freaky at all.

“How is this possible?” I whisper.

I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed by the lack of a reply.

I stare at the book for probably well over a minute. When nothing happens, I scold myself for standing around like an idiot and pick up the tome while my spinning mind seeks a plausible explanation. Maybe I caught a glimpse of this book in the Flighthaven library and it just didn’t register. After all, it wasn’t like I was hunting for what appears to be a book full of fictional adventures. In fact, I should probably put it back and continue searching.

My mind rejects the thought immediately, and without conscious thought, my hand curls the book possessively to my chest. I clutch the volume as if I fear someone might snatch it from me.

The mere thought makes me twist my lip and brace for a fight.

Mine.

A sharp noise breaks the spell, and my head whips in that direction. I take a few more steps and stop again, straining to hear any more sounds.

Nothing.

Could have been a book. Or even a mouse. Maybe even my overactive imagination.

Readjusting the wealth of information in my arms, I continue. After the long day I had flying on Dame, I’m ready for dinner and an evening poring over these texts. I might even make use of the luxurious tub in my?—

There it is again. I’m not mistaken after all. It sounds a lot like…breathing. Is someone else in here, perusing the aisles for a leisurely bedtime read?

Or maybe another kidnapper is waiting to strike.

Treading softly, I reach the end of the row and peek down the next aisle.

Nothing could have prepared me for the scene before me.

Shock surges through me and renders me speechless as my sister and a man jerk apart, bumping into the shelves and toppling several dusty books.

Leesa reaches out to catch some of the falling books and bangs into the shelf again. More books go flying. Pages rip and a cover comes off before the ancient tomes settle in a heap around her feet. The man crouches to start picking them up. His face pings me as familiar, though I don’t believe we’ve met. Maybe I’ve glimpsed him hanging around the castle.

The banquet! That’s it. I’m pretty sure he’s the guy I saw Leesa talking to that night.

Huh. I wonder who he is. Are he and my sister an item, or is this more of an archives’ booty call situation?

Mostly, I wonder why she never mentioned him.

I finally find my tongue. “Those are really old, you know. And valuable, I’m sure.”

“Gods, Lark.” Leesa laughs nervously, cheeks aflame with embarrassment. “Did you never learn how to knock?”

“In the Royal Archives? Hmm, I guess it never occurred to me.”

The man’s rich brown hair is mussed, and he seems even more flustered than Leesa. “We were…ah, searching for…um, information.”

I hide a smile. His obvious discomposure is kind of cute. “And you are…?”

He sneaks a peek at my sister before answering. “Bastian.”

Neither of them can meet my eyes. With the way they’re fidgeting and carrying on, you’d think I’d busted them screwing in Ziva’s temple.

“Well, Bastian, nice to meet you, and don’t allow me to interrupt.” I step over a pile of tattered tomes. “I’ll let you get back to… searching .”

After a wink that stains the man’s cheeks an even brighter pink, I avert my gaze from where my sister is rebuttoning her shirt and scurry out of the archives.