Page 31 of Court of Secrets and Flames (Dragons of Tirene #2)

Chapter Thirty-One

I’m tossed into a gloomy, musty cell under the heart of the palace. Dirt coats the floor, and a thin, dank mattress sans blanket sits in the corner, along with a chamber pot a few feet away. An unfamiliar guard stands outside my prison, his back to the thick iron bars.

At least I’m not chained.

The other bright spot in this situation is I have The Chronicles of the Mother Wurm since it was tucked inside my tunic.

I spend the next three days reading, worrying, and thinking.. That routine is interrupted only at mealtimes when Hyde brings me stale bread, a hunk of cheese, and water, and once each afternoon, when the king stops by to ask if I’ve changed my mind about pledging to accept the betrothal.

When I tell him no, he doesn’t stick around, and he refuses to answer my questions about Sterling. I worry that he’s punishing his brother too, especially since Sterling doesn’t show up to visit. Then again, no one else does either. I’m guessing the king won’t allow visitors or else no one besides him and Hyde knows I’m down here.

That last thought fans the flames of my anxiety. If no one else realizes I’m in the dungeon, the king could leave me here to rot indefinitely. I’m sure there are worse places to be, but I can’t say I’d ever spend time in here by choice.

The worst part isn’t the solitude. Or the inadequate food. Or the lack of bathing. Or even wondering what’s going to happen to me. All those things are bad enough, but I’d gladly suffer through them to know Sterling is all right.

Not knowing where he is or if he’s okay is making me crazy.

At least I find The Chronicles of the Mother Wurm captivating, with its fierce female protagonist. But as much as I enjoy reading about the warrior queen, the stories instill an odd sense of unease. A growing dread that something bad is coming, and I need to prepare for the threat before it’s too late.

Unfortunately, it’s a little challenging to prepare for much of anything while locked up in a dungeon. Except for maybe body odor, and sadly, that threat already transpired. Trapped with no other outlet, the book was stressing me out. I toss the volume aside, leaving me with nothing to do but worry and think.

After what I estimate is at least a zillion hours confined in the cell, I have a visitor.

The Lady of the Bedchamber is the last person I expect to see, and I certainly don’t expect the guard to allow her in the cell with me. But she can be…persuasive.

“Stars above, Lady Lark, you look terrible.” Rhiann clutches her chest, her brown eyes scanning my accommodations with unmasked horror. “This is filthy. And cold. You’re going to be ill if you stay here much longer.”

“Not like I have a choice.” My voice comes out hoarse. It’s been a while since I’ve had water and even longer since I’ve spoken.

An anger unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed from her before blazes in her eyes. “He’s imprisoned you like a criminal.”

“I’m okay, I promise.”

The anger in her eyes turns to concern. “Whatever the king wants, just do it. That’s the quickest way to get out of here.”

Anxiety skitters down my spine. If only it were that easy.

I swallow, trying coat my mouth with enough moisture. “Could you tell me something? Where is the prince? Is he…all right?”

“I…” She glances around the space, gaze settling on the ancient tome atop my mattress. “Why do you ask about his welfare?”

Oh no. Is Rhiann aware of why the king put me in this cell? “I thought…that maybe…he was imprisoned somewhere too.”

She gives me a long look, like she’s searching my soul. “No. I’m not sure I’m supposed to know this, but he and Agnar left hours before you were,” she wrinkles her nose, “detained, sent away on some mission for the king. Knox doesn’t know what his brother’s done. I imagine he’ll be livid when he finds out Jasper imprisoned you. I only found out today.”

Relief sweeps through me. Sterling’s okay.

He’s safe.

“Maybe.” I don’t want to lie to Rhiann, because I am absolutely certain Sterling will indeed be livid. But I also can’t confirm our relationship, even if the king already suspects it. “I would hate to be in the middle of those two in a fight.”

“Indeed.” She runs a finger across the stone wall. “This is utterly appalling. Have you been eating?”

“I have.” Not much, but I’d rather not rile her up even more.

Rhiann scoffs, the most unladylike sound I’ve ever heard her make. “I doubt it’s been much. I’ll try to speak with the king.”

“No, please don’t! I don’t want you to get into trouble on my account.”

“It’s no trouble, Lark.” She heaves a sigh. “No promises, though. The king can be very stubborn.”

After Rhiann leaves, I try to rest. Since I’ve been in this cell, I’ve gotten little sleep. My entire body aches from the paper-thin mattress and lying on it is almost like being on the ground.

Despite the uncomfortable accommodations, I’m mentally and physically exhausted. Soon, I drift off, claimed by a dreamless sleep.

I don’t know if it’s been minutes or hours when a voice calling my name wakes me

I sit up, squinting in the dimness to make out whoever is outside my cell.

Blair.

He peers through the bars, concern on his boyish face. “Are you all right?”

“I’m okay.” After stretching and working the kinks from my sore muscles, I stand and cross the short distance to the bars. “How long have you been here?”

“About an hour. I intercepted Rhiann, and then I snuck down here when no one was looking. I wanted to let you rest longer, but I was starting to worry.”

“It’s just,” I run a hand through my tangled, unbrushed hair, “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I can imagine.” His soft brown eyes radiate sympathy. “I’m sorry. I wish I could do something.”

“It’s okay. Truly. I’m just glad Sterling isn’t being punished too. Rhiann was here earlier, and she told me he and Agnar were sent away on a mission for the king.”

He nods. “They were. Once Knox is back, well, it might not be pretty, but I know he’ll get you out of here.”

His grimace makes me fret. “That’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t want him to be punished on my behalf. I worry what the king will do to him.”

Blair kneads the back of his neck. “Let Knox worry about the king. He could be gone for a while though, so you may need to sit tight. In the meantime, you just keep your chin up. Everything will be all right. I’d better go now, though. We don’t want to risk angering the king more.”

After he leaves, I sit on the mattress and flip through the chronicles. Somehow, Blair’s words of encouragement give me hope, and I cling to them.

Everything will be all right.

I don’t know when or how, but I choose to believe that it will be. Eventually.

Sometime later, more voices trickle into my cell.

Metal clanks against metal as Hyde unlocks the door to my cage and steps back.

Two guards enter first, tall and stoic as they line the walls of my prison, their presence a silent declaration of the king’s arrival. With as much grace as I can muster, I rise to greet King Jasper, whose eyes flicker over me with the briefest glint of an emotion I can’t name. If I didn’t know better, I’d guess regret, but since he’s the one who tossed me into a cell in the first place, I must be mistaken.

I eye him warily, wondering which version of Knox’s brother stands before me. “Your Majesty.”

I remind myself to play it smart. To keep my cool and not allow him to bait me. Pissing him off when he’s already upset won’t help my situation.

“Lark.” His gaze sweeps across the cell, his mouth tightening when his eyes land on the dingy mattress. “I trust you are well.”

“As well as can be expected while under your esteemed care.”

So much for playing it smart.

To my surprise, he lets the dig slide. “Are you ready to pledge your commitment yet?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I figured as much. Oh well. I hope you don’t mind keeping me company while I eat dinner.”

Is the king seriously going to eat dinner with me…in a prison cell?

Moments later, two more guards appear, carrying a small wooden table and two chairs.

Apparently so. I wonder what this new game is?

I learn the answer to that question when the butler follows, announcing the courses like the herald of an approaching army. Duck broth with crushed mint comes first.

Except there’s only one plate. The delicious aromas make my mistreated stomach grumble, but the king digs into the first course without me.

I guess he grew tired of waiting out my cooperation and decided to speed the process.

The next dish announced is lark simmered in plum wine. I side-eye the hell out of the small birds swimming in sauce. Is this a not-so-subtle jab at me?

Suddenly I’m not seated across from the king but lost in the memories of my brief weeks at Flighthaven, both the good times and the bad. I arrived on campus with a target on my head and someone was always ready to take a shot. Helene, one of the other fledglings, even poisoned my custard on my first visit to the cafeteria.

Funnily enough, by the time Knox abducted me, my relationship with the other woman veered closer to friendship—or at least respect. I hope she survived the trial. Until I got caught up in these memories, I’d forgotten Helene and Leesa secretly dated for a short while and create a mental note to ask my sister about her at a later time.

Jasper pulls me from my musing. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a plate of your own? Agree to the marriage, and you can eat and then I’ll have you out of here.”

I stare at his plate and try not to drool. “I’m good.”

He eats in unnerving silence. Unless you count the sounds of approval he makes from time to time, which I’m sure are deliberate. And I won’t lie. Watching him eat is torture. I’m half tempted to lunge and grab a handful of food and shove it down my throat.

In the end, Jasper is the one who caves. My keeps growling, which I can tell it makes him uncomfortable. Still, I’m not sure he would have offered me anything if the kitchen hadn’t messed up and served strawberry pastries as one of the two dessert dishes

Jasper scowls at the tarts. “We must have new kitchen staff. Otherwise, they’d know I’m allergic to strawberries.” He glances at me, then back at the pastries, and then shoves the plate toward me. “Here,” he grumps, “may as well not let them go to waste.”

My mouth waters as my fingers brush the flaky crust.

I take a bite, the familiar taste a fleeting solace that engulfs my senses.

But almost instantly, the solace turns traitorous. A merciless iron fist squeezes my gut. The cell spins, colors bleed into one another, and the fine pastry crumbles to ash in my mouth.

I stagger to my feet and bolt for the chamber pot in the corner of the cell, but I only manage a single step before I double over. The contents of my stomach flee their confines with violent insistence.

“Gods!” Jasper recoils, surprise etching his face as he fails to scramble away swiftly enough. His clothing bears the evidence of my body’s revolt, my vomit staining the rich fabric.

I choke between heaves, my attempt at dignity rendered pathetic by the relentless spasms that rack my frame. I am a helpless marionette whose strings have been cut, controlled only by the agony twisting inside me.

Tingles run across my chest, and my vision blurs and wavers. I’m on the dirt, on my knees, but I don’t remember falling.

“Protect the king!” The butler leaps forward, more concerned with royal garments than my well-being.

“Are you unwell?” Jasper steps farther back, clear of the line of fire.

“I…” My stomach contracts around a tangle of knives. Anything I might have said is cut off by another wave of nausea surging forth with a screaming gurgle of pain. “The…pastries.”

I knew I should have questioned why the cook prepared a dessert with fruit that could harm the king. Though I guess now I have my answer. “You…set me…up.”

The king’s focus falls on the plate, and the red patches splotching his face have me second-guessing that assumption. “The strawberries,” he hisses.

“Clear the table! Stand guard!” The orders fly from a guard’s lips as his companions sweep their gazes across the cell in search of unseen threats or an explanation for this sudden shift in events. “Get the king out of here!”

A grim humor pierces the painful fog. I’d wished for Jasper to keep his distance, and now, fate has answered in its own cruel fashion. He’s surrounded by guards and shuffled out of my prison.

“Take Lark to her chamber.” Jasper’s voice carries from outside the cell. “Get the healer!” He faces me. “I’m sorry, Lark. I swear I didn’t know.”

Oddly enough, I think I believe him. And hey, I wanted out of the dungeon. I guess I just should have been more specific about how that came about.

I lie in a crumpled heap, forgotten as the butler and remaining guards clear the pastries from the table. With trembling arms, I try to push myself to my feet. But I’m too weak to stand.

“Fetch the cook, now!” A guard gestures to the butler as they gather the rest of the food.

The murmurs of conspiracy grow faint as everyone exits. I’m left alone.

Another wave washes over me and fresh, hot bile streams from my mouth and nose. Through blurry eyes, the streaks of red stand out like a flag. Whether it’s from the strawberries or blood, I don’t know.

The door clangs open, and Blair races in.

He kneels beside me, first checking my pulse, then feeling of my head. “Are you able to stand?”

I attempt to shake my head as another wave of torture assaults my stomach, and I throw up bitter bile on top of everything else. “I’m…sorry.”

“It’s all right.” He scoops me in his arms and stands. “I’m taking you to the healer. Stay with me, okay?”

“O-okay.”

My head throbs and my pulse thrums in my ears as Blair carries me from my cage.

Whoever poisoned the strawberries knew the king wouldn’t eat the pastries. Someone has been paying far too close attention, planning this sinister act with chilling precision.

The same way the kidnapper knew exactly when to come for me in the gardens.

Somebody targeted me.

“Stay awake.” Blair’s voice is laced with barely concealed panic as he sprints down the corridor. “We’re almost there.”

A shiver runs up my spine, and goose bumps break out along my arms. My entire body trembles as if I’m in the middle of a snowstorm.

As Blair continues the trek to my chamber, I try to hold on to the thought I’d had.

Timing.

The lone archer hiding in the shadows, so soon after I took flight. The kidnapping in the gardens. Now poison in a pastry I alone would eat at the meal. A cold dread settles over me, the pieces falling into place with a chilling clarity.

We reach my chamber, and Blair crosses the threshold, depositing me on the bed.

The healer arrives right after, his footsteps brisk and efficient amidst the chaos. He assesses my pallor and the tremor in my hands with a clinical detachment before murmuring promises to return shortly with something to ease my suffering. Relief is a distant promise, and as he departs, I’m left with the stark reality of my situation.

But not alone.

Blair leans over my bed, holding my hand and assuring me I’m going to be okay. And through my blurred vision, I spot Rhiann and a flurry of maids approaching. She’s running.

Rhiann never runs.

Her wrist presses against my forehead. “She’s freezing! Blair, if you could carry her to the bathing chamber, we can take care of the rest.” Rhiann’s voice wavers in and out in time with the rushing in my ears.

I’m moved then, and the sudden pain that tears into my stomach has me vomiting even as my teeth start to chatter.

“You’re safe now, Lark.” Blair carries me across the room, the resolve in his voice a bastion against the darkness. “You’re in good hands with Rhiann.”

And in that vow, I find a shred of solace, a sliver of safety in a world where trust is a luxury I can ill afford.