Page 35 of Court of Secrets and Flames (Dragons of Tirene #2)

Chapter Thirty-Five

Dust motes dance in the slivers of light, mocking barren shelves that should be weighed down with bundles of dried plants.

Sterling grips my hand while my mind races to form valid theories about who could be responsible for the missing eyril and how its disappearance could possibly tie in with any of our other lingering mysteries.

Tension radiates from Sterling. “I’ll discreetly ask around and see if anyone knows what happened with the eyril.”

“We.” I take his hand and hold it tight. “You and I. I’m not going to sit on the sidelines and wait for others to make decisions.”

He gives me a long, hard look, then nods. “All right.”

I widen my eyes. “That’s it? You’re not going to tell me how dangerous sneaking around behind the king’s back is or what he might do if he finds out?”

“I know you, Lark. As much as I’d love for you to stay in your room and do something utterly boring and safe, that’s not realistic. That’s not who you are.” He reaches out and curls his finger around the end of my braid. “Yes, we’re taking a risk and have to be careful. But you’re a fucking dragoncaller. You’re powerful and clever. Though there will never be a day that I don’t worry about your safety, I know you can protect yourself.”

As dawn’s touch banishes the night, Sterling and I take to the palace corridors to unearth the kingdom’s secrets concerning the eyril.

Instead of wearing pants like I want to, I’ve donned a simple rose-colored Tirene dress with slippers and pulled my hair halfway up. Elegant, yet unassuming.

Dressed in a dark, loose tunic with buckskin breeches that show off the sculpted muscles of his thighs, Sterling looks…incredible. I’m half tempted to pull him into the nearest supply closet and abort our fact-finding mission.

But I’ve already found myself in enough hot water recently. And we have work to do.

During breakfast, we hang around the kitchens in an attempt to eavesdrop on any potential gossip.

Most of the information we gather is about petty squabbles. One lord is certain another lord’s butler stole his fresh cream and replaced it with day old cream. There’s also a titillating tale about a pair of men’s shoes found under the bed of a lady whose husband is not currently in attendance at court.

The only word we hear about the king is the butler admonishing the staff to make sure his mint-infused broth is prepared fresh, and the immediate assurances of the soup cook explaining he’s just picked the herb himself.

Once the kitchen staff realize we’re there, they keep asking if we need something, and the morning chatter dies down. The head cook himself comes out and asks if there’s another poisoning that needs to be investigated.

After assuring the man that is not the case and enjoying fresh coffee and a delicious honey cake, we make a hasty retreat.

Next, we head to the stable, thinking if anyone knows about precious cargo getting moved around, it would be the carters. Listening to their conversations while they load the day’s deliveries proves easy enough as we hide among the horses and alicorns.

But these men move too quickly, their pay based on loads delivered versus time on the job. We’re about to call it quits when we hear someone in the tack room grumble about royalty.

I tug on Sterling’s sleeve and point to the room. Walking on tiptoes, I creep closer so I can hear over the snorts and stomps of the animals.

“Well yeah, of course he’s an ass! The man thinks just because he’s born royal, he can order us around. But I’m tired of lugging his belongings in and out of the carriage just because he thinks he’s too good to lift his own weight.”

Royal , I mouth the word at Sterling, and he nods.

The scattered hay under our feet serves as the perfect sound dampener as we travel farther away from the light outside and deeper into the stuffy musk of the inner rooms.

“That’s true enough.” A younger voice pipes up. “But I heard the king himself commented in court the other day that if his weak-armed cousin is too frail to lift his own polo clubs to the match, he can send ’im off to the military to grow some muscles.”

A raucous round of laughter meets that declaration. Sterling snakes an arm around my waist to stop me from inching any closer.

He rolls his eyes, then speaks so low I can barely hear him. “My cousin Jaime, Rhiann’s sister’s youngest. He’s only technically a royal.”

“King Jasper tells it like it is. He doesn’t play favorites based on blood.”

Sterling and I share a glance, my own frustration mirrored in his gaze. Do Tirene’s citizens really believe in their king’s honesty and resistance to bias? Or do they fear the consequences of speaking out against the king, even in private?

The second option seems far more likely.

Leaving the stalls behind, we head back to the palace, deciding on a new tactic. Rather than wait for someone to bring up Jasper as a topic of discussion, we instead speak broadly of the troubles plaguing the kingdom any time someone else comes near. The task is easy enough.

It’s in one of the many lounges in the palace that we finally hit pay dirt.

“Oh, don’t you worry, Lady Lark. His Majesty will keep us safe.” A fresh-faced chambermaid flits from sconce to sconce, trimming wicks. “Even if the king’s up to something sneaky, it’s all for our own good.”

I lean forward from my spot on the lounging couch, my voice low. “What do you mean by ‘sneaky?’ What have you heard?”

The young woman shrugs, a subtle gesture that speaks volumes of the common folk’s acceptance of royal machinations.

Her movements don’t even slow as she steps to the next sconce, lifting the clear glass with one hand while pruning with a small pair of sharp scissors in her other. “Just talk, isn’t it? That he’s got plans within plans, but always for Tirene’s good.”

A chill seeps into the air, but it’s not the weather that has my skin prickling. “You mentioned sneaky behavior. Have you heard anything…specific?” I twist in my seat so I can keep an eye on her every action to determine whether she’s trying to hide anything.

She pauses trimming and glances over her shoulder. “Well, milady, there was this one time…” She hesitates, her doe-like brown eyes darting to Sterling as if gauging our trustworthiness.

“Go on.” Sterling dips his chin, the low hum of authority in his voice coaxing the words from her.

“I was, ahem, hiding from the steward. We were…playing a game.” A sheepish grin flits across her pale features, and I’m pretty certain I know what kind of game she was playing. “Had to keep real quiet.”

“Of course.” Kill me now. I really hope the price of information isn’t sitting through a point by point retelling of her dalliances, because I’d rather puncture my eardrums with a fork. “But you heard them clearly?”

“Clear enough to know I didn’t want any part of their talk. The conversation was brief, thank the gods. Bolted as soon as they left.” Her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, and she cups her hand over the side of her mouth. “I overheard someone talking in the corridor. Asking if King Jasper really got rid of all the eyril.”

Sterling swallows hard but gives no other indication that this revelation disturbs him. “Got rid of it?”

The maid nods, a flush creeping up her pale cheeks. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Did you see who he was speaking with?”

“Couldn’t say, milady.” She sneezes, once, twice, shifting her head away to muffle the sound in the crook of her elbow. “Wasn’t keen on getting caught. Hid behind one of those big tapestries when I heard ’em coming.”

“Thank you.” I give her a reassuring nod, though to be honest, we’re not any closer to solving the puzzle than we were five minutes ago.

“Be careful who you speak to.” Sterling roots the chambermaid with his piercing gaze. “This information…it’s volatile.”

And there’s no telling what King Jasper would do to this woman if he found out she’d been eavesdropping.

An image of the two men on display outside the palace, impaled with spikes for all to see, pops into my head. Bile rises in my throat.

“Understood, sir.” She offers a quick bob of her head. “I’ll not breathe a word.”

“See that you don’t.” The finality in Sterling’s tone brooks no argument.

She scurries out, her steps hasty and uneven as she disappears down the long corridor. Her information, though scant and shrouded in darkness, is the first solid lead we’ve had since this clandestine investigation began.

I face Sterling, my thoughts churning like a tempest-tossed sea. “What now? We can’t exactly confront the king with hearsay.”

“True.” He runs a hand through his dark waves, moving over to sit next to me on the couch. “You know what? We’ve done a damn good job on our fact-finding mission. I think we deserve a reward.” He slides closer, his hand trailing lightly up my leg. “And we were rudely interrupted yesterday.”

Though this room has already been cleaned, we can’t take the risk of someone walking in on us, especially after the latest ordeal with Jasper and my imprisonment. “Absolutely not. What if someone comes in and sees us?”

“They won’t.” With a flick of his wrist, the door eases shut, and I have no doubt he’s jammed it with ice like he’s done in the past. “Happy?”

Warmth floods my cheeks at the thought of what he did to me on the windowsill…and in the stable. “Very.”

I sink against him, kissing his jaw, then his mouth. Teasing. Tasting. I slide my hands up under his shirt, running them over his chest as I settle myself over his lap.

Each kiss grows deeper, more heated. I suck his lower lip, pulling it between my teeth. His hands glide over my legs, bunching and stretching the silk higher and higher ’til his fingers trace over the curve of my ass.

I roll my hips forward, stretching up. My breasts graze over the fabric of his shirt, eliciting a moan from me. “Mmm.”

He pulls me closer. “While your dress is beautiful, I think it would look better on the floor.”

“That wouldn’t be?—”

“Wise.” He nips my lower lip. “I know.”

His mouth claims mine once more, and I lose myself in the possessiveness of his kiss. The heat. The longing surging through me. The yearning that zips straight to my core.

“Sterling.” I whisper against his lips, a plea and a reprimand all at once. The fire he kindles within me is not so easily doused, and for a moment, I allow myself to drown in the depth of his desire.

But as quickly as the blaze of our illicit kiss has ignited, a chilling wave of clarity extinguishes it. I’ve yearned for this, yet it’s laced with peril.

A strange warmth blooms up my spine, a comforting embrace that whispers of home and happiness while also holding an inexplicable sorrow. My heart swells with a sense of safety that’s tinged with grief, as if something precious has slipped through my fingers. It’s all too bewildering and overwhelming.

“Are you feeling okay?” Sterling’s voice cuts through the fog of my musings.

I blink, struggling to find myself in my maelstrom of emotions. “Why do you ask?”

“Because,” his eyes search mine, “you’re smiling, but you look as if you might shatter into tears at any moment.”

Though the words catch me off guard, they resonate within me. Recognition dawns.

These feelings…are not mine to claim. They belong to the dragons.

He pulls back, brow creased with concern as he strokes my cheek. “What’s wrong, love?”

“Sterling, I can feel the dragons again.”

Our eyes meet, and we need no further words. Sterling unlocks the door, and we flee.

My breath catches as the first of the dragons cuts through the azure sky, its massive, outstretched wings a silhouette against the sun. One by one, they descend, majestic and terrifying, swooping into the fire paddock with the grace of dancers.

The thrum of excited chatter rumbles through the air like the beating of a thousand drums.

We push our way through the gathering crowd, finally reaching the end of the throng of onlookers.

The sight that greets us punches the air from my lungs. There, at the center of the tumult, are the dragons, their scales shimmering like a sea of embers on the rock and sand of their paddock. But it’s not their beauty that holds the bystanders captive.

“By the gods…”

Sterling curses as the blood freezes in my veins.

A blue dragon’s body lies at the feet of the mightiest.

Small, limp, and lifeless.

The dragons’ eyes convey a bottomless sorrow. Whispers snake through the crowd.

“Who could do that?” someone murmurs.

“Is it a message of war?” another questions, their voice tinged with fear.

As I step closer, the dragons, recognizing my bond and my right to stand among them, part to grant me passage. My gaze fixes on the fallen figure, and I brace myself for the truth that awaits.