Page 3 of Court of Secrets and Flames (Dragons of Tirene #2)

Chapter Three

The sun has barely begun to cast its golden fingers through the sheer drapery when loud voices and heavy footsteps rouse me from my slumber.

“Wake up!” A soft thud at the foot of the large bed accompanies the rough demand. “You’ve been summoned.”

Apprehension skitters down my spine as I sit up and blink away the sleep, drawing the covers around me. The mountain of a guard named Hyde stands over me with a scowl that rivals the one from yesterday.

“Summoned? By whom?” Even as the words fly from my lips, I have a sinking sense of dread that I already know the answer.

“The king. You have five minutes to get dressed.” He dips his chin to indicate the pile of clothing he dropped on the edge of the bed. “I’ll be in the hall. Don’t make me wait.”

The guard exits the chamber before my sleep-hazed brain can formulate an answer.

My apprehension grows, creating an unpleasant writhing sensation in my gut. I have no clue why the king of Tirene requests my presence at daybreak, but something tells me it’s not to engage in a discussion about the latest fashion trends over a leisurely breakfast.

Despite my misgivings, I’m not about to risk incurring King Jasper’s wrath by making him wait. Or Hyde’s, for that matter. My position here is tenuous at best.

No matter how fancy the accommodations, my ability to continue breathing depends on the mercy and whims of the king.

And not just any king, but the monarch of an enemy kingdom. Intentionally pissing him off would be about as beneficial to my longevity as coating myself in warm blood and crawling into a starving dragon’s mouth.

Throwing back the soft covers, I use the bathing chamber with haste, then don the clothing the formidable guard delivered. The gray tunic and black breeches remind me of my Flighthaven attire and provide my first inkling that I’m not being summoned for a day at court.

After pulling on my boots, I start wrestling my tangled hair into a braid. I’m almost finished when the door opens.

“Time’s up.” Hyde’s scowl has deepened, if that’s possible. “Let’s go.”

Finishing my braid, I follow the frowning guard into the hallway. “Where are we going?”

“Good morning.” Zale falls in step with us, glancing from me to Hyde. “King Jasper wants…” Hyde shoots him an it’s in your best interest not to say anything look, and the one guard who’s been friendly in my brief time here, or at least not gruff, snaps his mouth shut.

What are they not telling me? Have I somehow displeased the king already? Is he going to have me executed and mounted for display outside the palace along with those other poor souls?

My heartbeat accelerates. Blood whooshes in my ears. I force myself to quit hyperventilating, hoping to tame my rising fear by concentrating on deep breaths in and out.

Stay calm. Panicking won’t help.

Desperate for a distraction, I do my best to memorize the route as I walk between the guards. “If you won’t tell me where we’re going, could you at least tell me what we’re doing?”

Zale knits his brows together but doesn’t answer. That can’t be a good sign.

Quickening his pace, Hyde shakes his head. “You’ll find out soon. The king has requested your…presence. That’s all I can say.”

Our path veers suddenly, deviating from the grandeur of marble and velvet-draped corridors. Hyde lifts a hand and presses a panel no different from the others around it. A section of the wall slides away to reveal an entrance shrouded in darkness.

A tunnel stretches before us, its walls hewn from the earth itself. The scent of damp stone tinges the cool air trickling out. Light from the sconces that line the passageway throw our shadows ahead of us, dancing specters leading us deeper into the unknown.

Zale ushers me inside, and the panel closes.

Dread grips me like a vise as we descend into the bowels of the palace. Visions of secret torture devices prance through my head.

Were the two men who challenged the king taken here? When the king said he wanted to get better acquainted with me, is this what he meant?

As much as I’m tempted ask questions, to beg and plead for these guards to tell me what’s going to happen to me, I know it won’t do any good. They’re loyal to their king. Simply obeying his orders. Just like Knox was when he posed as an instructor at Flighthaven, won my trust, and kidnapped me.

At the thought of the prince, my heart squeezes.

“What we just shared…that was real.”

Knox’s words from last night, after he kissed me like I was the only person he’d ever wanted, echo in my mind.

Did he mean that? Does he know I’m here now? If the king has some nefarious plans to torture and murder me, would he intervene? Could he stop his brother even if he wanted to?

“Almost there.” Zale points ahead, where the tunnel appears to end, while continuing to avoid eye contact.

Yet another less-than-auspicious sign.

“Why didn’t we skip this tunnel and fly outside? If the king is in such a hurry to ‘see’ me…” Flying would be much quicker than this creepy trek beneath the palace.

The sneer Hyde directs my way proclaims he’d rather eat alicorn dung than serve as my pack mule, but neither he nor Zale responds.

I should probably stop pressing my luck with all the questions. Zipping my lips has never been one of my strong points.

The tunnel finally comes to an end, and I blink to let my eyes adjust to the early morning light. What I see when the glare fades ices every muscle in my body.

“No,” I whisper.

Past the iron bars blocking our path, a massive, oval-shaped space formed from grass and sand sprawls before us, surrounded by rows of elevated amphitheater-style seating filled with people. Anticipation buzzes in the air as their chatter reverberates through the space.

An arena. Another godsforsaken arena.

Memories pound my skull. Behind my eyes, I relive the end of the Flighthaven trial. Fledglings battling and bleeding. Alicorns fleeing the burning stables.

Olive, incinerated by a dragon into ash.

My stomach dives as I shake off the past.

The trial is over. I’m in Tirene. Safe from King Xenon and his sadistic games.

My attempt at quelling the fear twisting my internal organs into knots falls short. King Xenon might not be able to hurt me at the moment. King Jasper, however, can.

And the crowd’s excitement can’t speak to anything good. “What is this?”

“A test.” Hyde withdraws a key from his pocket. “The goal is to live through your encounter. Don’t try to escape. This entrance will be locked. And I don’t recommend permanently maiming a dragon with your magic. If you do, the king won’t be pleased.”

My mouth goes dry, and my heartrate spikes, as I fight to control my breathing. If I hope to survive this ordeal, I need to remain calm.

I’ve faced dragons before and lived to tell the tales. Surely I can manage to do so now.

Hyde unlocks the gate. Zale runs a hand through his gray-steaked hair, eyes filled with sympathy. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”

Understatement of the century.

The two guards exit the way we entered, and the clink of the key in the lock confirms my imprisonment.

As I scan the audience, my gaze connects with the haughty man in royal finery.

The king is here.

No doubt eagerly awaiting the show.

I do a quick perusal of the surrounding seats but find no sign of the prince.

A foolish part of me hopes he’s not present. Hopes he has no idea what I’m about to face. Because if he is here, that means he’s doing nothing to stop this.

The clanging and groaning of metal on the opposite side of the arena draws my attention to the opening of a large iron gate.

A low growl rumbles, vibrating the ground beneath my boots. The largest dragon I’ve ever laid eyes on lumbers inside, its reddish-brown scales glimmering in the sun. Gleaming black horns twist and spiral from the creature’s huge head.

The crowd falls silent as an orange dragon stomps into the arena behind the first.

This one’s every bit as massive and angry as the first and glaring right at me.

Breathe. You can do this .

I run through what little I know about not pissing off dragons in my head.

Slow movements. No direct eye contact. And above all else, never. Ever. Run.

Fleeing in front of any apex predator marks the height of foolishness, but in front of a dragon? It’s practically begging to become roast beef.

Across the way, a taller figure pushes a shorter one with a burlap sack over their head into the arena through a different gate. The gate clangs shut. A collective gasp echoes in the stands.

My heart stutters as desperation floods my veins.

I don’t know this person, but I need to help them. To keep them alive. I can’t stand a repeat of what happened to Olive.

An image of my friend’s auburn hair and smiling face flashes through my mind. Seconds before her death, I asked her to trust me to stop the rogue dragon. Her reply will be forever carved into my mind.

“I do trust you.” Shaking her head, Olive lowers her hands. “I just hope I don’t regret this.”

A moment later, the dragon incinerated her into a pile of smoldering ash.

Guilt and grief crash over me, mingling with the terror that’s exploding like a geyser. Fear that I’m about to fail someone else in the same exact way.

But I lock it down.

All the messy, ugly emotions threatening to consume me. That would drown me if I let them. I don’t have the time or luxury to wallow in the past or fear the future. There’s only right here, right now.

And I refuse to die today.

Or let anyone else die on my watch.

“Lark Axton, I am honored that you’ve joined our…festivities.” King Jasper’s cold voice rings out across the arena. “Rumors abound that you’re a dragoncaller.” Murmurs spread through the crowd like wildfire. “We’ll soon know if those rumors are true. You have one objective. Keep yourself and our guest alive.”

At the king’s nod, a winged warrior swoops down, making a wide berth around the dragons and landing beside the so-called guest.

Valk, give me strength to fight this battle, not with magic or sword, but with my mind.

The winged man reaches for the mystery person.

Bless me, Mar, and let me save a life today.

He unties the knot at the base of the burlap sack.

Please, Pera, take mercy on me.

He whisks the sack up and over the person’s head.

Wild, untamed, dark gold curls cascade down the woman’s shoulders.

Air punches from my lungs.

Slowly, she pivots to face me as the winged Tirenese man flies from the arena.

The ground sways beneath my feet.

Oh gods. It’s her .

My sister. Leesa.

She’s alive.

I choke down the sob barreling up my throat.

Survive first. Then fall apart.

As far as inspirational speeches go, this one leaves a lot to be desired. There’s something to be said for simplicity, though. And under the circumstances, it’s the best I can do.

Leesa doesn’t move or say a word…not with the dragons eyeing us like they can’t decide whether to torch us or eat us for breakfast.

The reddish-brown one stalks toward me, then stops about halfway between my sister and me. A warning growl rumbles from its throat.

I want to rush over to Leesa, wrap my arms around her, and never let her go.

But that would get us both slaughtered.

As if to prove my point, the orange dragon advances on her, pinning my sister with furious golden eyes. A puff of steam rises from its nostrils.

Focus, Lark. Don’t let Leesa die.

Powerful jaws part, revealing two rows of forearm-length, razor-sharp teeth that could slice a human in half with one chomp. But the orange dragon, laser-focused on my sister, pays me no no mind.

It opens its mouth wider, throat glowing with a growing ball of flame.

No .

“Hey!” I run toward the dragon like I’ve lost my mind. “Leave her alone. Come to me!”

As if creating a demented new dance, I wave my arms wildly, every speck of my previous fear melting away in favor of red-hot rage.

Rage at the dragons for endangering Leesa’s life. Rage at Prince Backstabbing Dickhead for his role in this horror show. Rage at King Dickhead for ordering his brother to kidnap me and bring me to this terrible kingdom where murdering people for opposing views and tossing women into arenas with dragons for entertainment seem like perfectly acceptable hobbies. Rage at?—

Another loud, rumbling growl snaps me from my internal rant. Smoke curls from the bigger of the two dragons’ nostrils, and the sulfurous cloud chokes my lungs.

That display serves as my sole warning before the dragon attacks. I dive for the sand and roll as fire roars over my head. The flames travel so close that my entire body erupts in sweat, and I have to pat the back of my head to ensure my hair didn’t fry.

Two pairs of golden eyes narrow to slits as they regard me.

“Lark!” Leesa’s frantic, terrified scream pierces my ears.

In that one word—my name—I hear her love for me. With a sinking feeling, I realize I’ll never get to tell her I love her too. Or stay up late at night with her whispering and laughing as we cram purloined desserts into our mouths. Or practice archery with her until my arms ache.

I’m going to die.

But maybe if I sacrifice myself, these beasts will spare my sister.

Maybe the king will show mercy and remove her from the arena.

Drawing on the elemental magic bubbling in my blood, I conjure a dome of fire around Leesa.

My sister shrieks. “Lark, what are you doing?”

The breddish-brown dragon tosses its head and glares at my little trick. The orange one roars and stomps its front feet. Shrieks erupt from the spectators as the amphitheater trembles.

I take advantage of the diversion and scoop up two handfuls of sand. After sending up a prayer to Ziva for my spur of the moment scheme to work, I shout and jump up and down. “Hey, you ridiculous, overgrown lizards, look over here! Bet you can’t catch me!”

Both heads swing in my direction. The menace gleaming within their golden irises causes my heartbeat to stutter. Maybe the lizard slur was a step too far.

Either way, it’s now or never.

As their giant maws open and reveal orange balls forming in their throats, I toss the sand in the air and summon two streams of fire to blast it at their faces.

Specifically, into their eyes.

Dragons might be mostly immune to heat, but I can at least use my flames to propel the sand much farther and with more accuracy than I can throw it.

Agonized bellows rattle my bones when the sand hits my intended targets. The dragons shut their eyes and shake their heads.

The entire point of this stunt was to buy myself enough time to say goodbye to Leesa, who I can still hear sobbing and yelling from behind the blazing dome. That, and to piss the dragons off so much that once they recover, they’ll ignore my sister completely and focus on incinerating me to a crisp instead.

Still, my heart aches to see her one last time. I start to race in her direction, stumbling as pain assaults me. Pain, and a wave of dangerous fury.

A third, less noxious emotion slips in alongside the others, conjuring a glowing, reluctant warmth.

Respect?

As external emotions continue to assault me, I stop short and curse myself. King Jasper’s words ring in my ears.

“Rumors abound that you’re a dragoncaller. We’ll soon know if the rumors are true. You have one objective. Keep yourself and our guest alive.”

Due to the shock and terror of seeing my sister for the first time in months under such terrible circumstances, my mind didn’t fully process Jasper’s words or what he hoped to accomplish with this hideous exhibition.

Using my special ability to communicate with dragons probably should have been my go-to for leaving the arena alive today. In my defense, my dragoncaller talents are new to me and untrained. Hells, less than a week ago, I didn’t even realize this type of magic existed.

The stress of my sister getting led into the arena like a sacrificial lamb certainly did nothing to aid my thinking.

And while tapping into my power represents my best chance at saving us both, there’s no guarantee it will work.

But still I have to try.

Stuffing my lungs with air, I shut everything out. The noise. My emotions. My rage, my fear, my thoughts. I empty my head until my mind becomes a blank canvas.

With a steadying breath, I reach inside myself. Like calling on my fire magic, but deeper than that. I imagine gossamer cords shooting out of my mind and latching onto the dragons.

And I don’t let go.

My mind brushes against the dragons’ minds in an almost tangible way. With everything I’ve got, I focus on the fragile connection.

An onslaught of emotions causes me to physically stagger. I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate harder. I’ve only done this a few times, and I’m not familiar enough with the process to do it with ease.

I picture myself gathering the emotions, the raw energy, and shoving it aside. Then I project every ounce of calm that I can muster, feeding it through the tentative bond. Not too much too fast. Slowly. Gently.

The twin infernos stop, and I release a shaky breath.

Both dragons take one last look at me, eyes unblinking as my understanding dawns.

I truly am a dragoncaller.

And then I’m falling. The world spins around me in flashes of colors and lights and sounds. As I hit the dirt, I swear I hear a familiar voice shouting my name.

Before my mind can decipher this new development, oblivion drags me under.