Page 38 of Court of Secrets and Flames (Dragons of Tirene #2)

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Another court dress clings to my frame, far too restrictive for my liking. The high waist of the pale blue bodice hugs my ribs, and the capped sleeves keep my arms from full reach. But it is the expected attire for someone in my position, at least when I’m not training or flying. I’m just thankful the full sky-blue skirt allows my legs to move freely and doesn’t require layers of undergarments to keep its shape.

In the solitude of my sitting room, I sit with my hands folded on my lap, The Chronicles of the Mother Wurm on the table next to me. My head pulses in time with the rhythm of my heart. A relentless throb provoked by hours of reading.

The door creaks open and Agnar strides in, balancing a tray laden with an assortment of dishes that perfume the air with savory scents. A soldier in full uniform, carrying a tray in one hand the way I would hold a plate. His presence, as always, heralds a break from the stifling atmosphere of duty and decorum.

“Your lunch, Lady Lark.”

“Thank you.” I offer him a grateful nod as he sets the tray on the table and we both drop onto one of the couches, enough distance between us to be considered proper if anyone were to come in. “And it’s just Lark. No need for all that.”

The sight of food does little to appease my headache, yet I cannot deny myself the salve of companionship. Sterling and I must tread with extreme caution, now more than ever. But at least I can spend time with one of his friends.

As we settle into the ritual of taste-testing, Agnar sampling each dish with exaggerated caution, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth, the heaviness in my chest begins to lift.

Agnar has quickly become my favorite dining companion. As he eats, he launches into a tale, passing me each dish when he has no reaction. I can’t help but laugh at the image of Sterling caught in a moment of undignified hilarity.

“Sterling’s face was the shade of ripe cherries when his breeches split.” Agnar grins at the memory. “It was priceless.”

“Really?” I let out another wispy chuckle. “And here I thought the prince of Tirene was impervious to embarrassment.”

“It’s hard to embarrass him these days. But we were kids at the time, maybe eleven or twelve. And he had a crush on one of the girls there.” Agnar winks conspiratorially. “I may or may not have weakened the seam with a particularly small knife.”

I bring my hand to my mouth, nearly choking on my roasted potatoes. “Agnar. You didn’t.”

“If you tell him, I swear I’ll deny it.” He shoots me a mock scowl. “I don’t care that it happened years ago. You don’t know what he’s like when he’s angry.”

I manage to swallow the food. “Are you kidding? When I first met Sterling, angry was his middle name. I’m pretty sure he wanted to kill me a time or two.”

“Doubt it.”

“I’m serious. No matter what I said or did, I somehow always managed to get under his skin.”

He snorts. “I bet you did. Don’t worry. It’s good for him. A few lessons in patience never hurt anyone.”

“Well, I’ve given him more than a few…though to be fair, he knows exactly how to push my buttons. It’s probably instinct.”

“Want to know something?” Agnar leans forward like he’s going to spill some secret. “He enjoys pushing your buttons.”

My eyes widen. “He told you that?”

“Didn’t have to. I just know the prince well. And although I haven’t known you long, I get the feeling you like it too.”

“I like it when he pushes my buttons, or I like pushing his?”

“Both.” He grins. “You two belong together.”

“Shh.” I put a finger to my lips and glance at the door. In all the excitement, Sterling and I never found out what the king planned to say about the three of us, but as far as I know, he hasn’t changed his mind about the betrothal.

“Don’t worry.” Agnar pats my knee in a gesture that I find oddly comforting. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

“We?”

“Sterling and I. Blair, too, of course.”

“Coming from the man who tried to kidnap me. And I got the impression you weren’t too fond of me when I first arrived in Tirene.” I blow out a breath. “Anyway, all that aside, don’t make promises you may not be able to keep.”

“It was nothing personal. I was just doing my job…or trying to. You didn’t exactly go easy on us. Besides, I may have…misjudged you at first.” Color rises to his cheeks. “You’re not at all what I thought you would be like.”

“And what would that be?”

“Spoiled. Entitled. A distraction the prince didn’t need.” He shrugs. “I knew, from the way Sterling acted on the flight here and after we’d arrived, that he’d been mixing business with pleasure. And I worried it wouldn’t end well for him.”

“Tell me how you really feel.” Though my tone contains a sarcastic bite, Agnar’s assessment stings.

“Well, I don’t feel that way now.” He rolls his eyes with a slight grin before his face becomes more sombe. “Like I said, I misjudged you. You have a good heart, Lark. You care about people, and you care about the dragons. You make the prince happy.”

A knot of emotion lodges in my throat, and my voice comes out breathy. “I don’t know what to say.”

“About Sterling? Deny all you want, but it’s obvious you two are in love. To me, anyway. You’re pretty good about hiding it from his brother.”

“We kind of have to be good at hiding…how we feel about each other. But that’s not what I was referring to.” I swipe at an escaped tear and laugh at the same time. He must think I’m crazy. “The things you said…that I have a good heart…that I care. It’s just,” I hesitate while struggling to find the right words, “I’m glad that you were looking out for Sterling…that you had his best interests at heart…even if that meant you were skeptical of me. He seemed so…alone at Flighthaven.”

“I didn’t tell you all that to share how much I care about Sterling. Don’t get me wrong. I do care. He and Blair are the closest people in the world to me, and I would do anything for them, and vice versa.” He gives me a long, hard look. “I said all that to tell you I care about you . That you’re important. That I consider you my friend…not just because of what you mean to Sterling, either.”

In all of two seconds, the dam holding back my emotions breaks and a sob escape my throat. “Agnar?—”

“Hey, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” His helpless glance darts from me to the door, as if he’s debating whether to console me or escape while he can.

Before I realize what’s happening, he’s wrapping his arms around me and pulling me to him in a crushing hug.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.” My head drops on his chest, and I squeeze him back. “I didn’t mean to get all emotional on you.” I can count on one hand how many friends I’ve had in my life , is what I want to say. But it’s probably best not to admit how sad my life is…or was.

He gives me another squeeze and pats my back. “Don’t worry about it. Probably just my charming personality. I tend to have that effect on women.”

I choke out a laugh, pulling back so I can see his face. “Did the ever-serious guard just crack a joke with me?”

He shrugs as his hands slide away from me and fall to his sides, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Guess I did.”

“It’s official, then. We’ve reached joking status. We’re definitely friends.” After inflating my lungs, I wipe the remaining tears from my cheeks. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you are exceptionally good at giving hugs.”

Agnar tilts his head, and two lines form between his brows. “Tell me something. Who gives better hugs? Me, or Sterling? Don’t worry, if it’s me, I won’t say a word.” He mimes zipping his lips, eyes widening in faux innocence.

I jump up, putting a hand on my hip and shaking my head. “Oh no. I’m not falling for that.”

Ten minutes later, we’re approaching the training fields. After spending the last several hours poring over books, minus my lunch and chat with Agnar, it’s nice to be outside in the fresh air.

Though the sunlight is bright—almost piercing—after the dimness of my chambers, the training fields still aren’t far enough to work up a sweat before we reach them. I squint against its brilliance, taking in the sight of Sterling’s troops. Their muscled forms gleam with sweat as they spar and drill.

When my gaze lands on Sterling, my heart stutters. Black hair tied back and shirt discarded, he walks through the maneuvers another soldier is struggling to follow. Every sinew and muscle coils and releases with the practiced movement. The sun catches on his bare torso, the sculpted muscles and hard planes of his abdominals on full display. He’s not just strong…he’s gorgeous. Absolutely perfect, like a freaking god.

Agnar leans in and studies me with a frown, then uses his thumb to brush the corner of my mouth.

I stumble backward a step, startled by the sudden contact. “What was that about?”

“Pretty sure I spotted a little bit of drool.”

I snap my mouth shut. “I was not drooling.”

“I know.” One side of his mouth tips up in a smirk. “Can’t blame me for checking, though. You stood there and eye-fucked the prince for so long, I was afraid I was going to be Uncle Agnar in nine months if I didn’t intervene.”

Gods.

My face heats, and I’m thankful that’s all he can see of my blush because I’m pretty sure it goes from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. At least this serves as a good reminder that I need to take my next dose of birth control tonic soon. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

He breaks into a full-fledged grin and continues walking.

I edge closer to the outskirts of the training grounds, the clamor of steel on steel a constant thrum in the air. Sterling moves among his men with an almost enviable ease, his laughter booming out over the din of combat drills. I’m reminded of the first time I saw them working together, and his natural ease as a leader shines just as brightly now as it did then.

Caught in my head, I stumble over a clump of grass. Thankfully, with the men too focused on Sterling’s instructions, my clumsiness doesn’t draw their attention. “He seems busy. Maybe we shouldn’t interrupt him.”

“Care to meet some of the men instead?” A mischievous grin steals a decade from Agnar’s appearance as he gestures to the soldiers not actively training. They sit in the shade, talking while sharpening blades or stitching armor. “I’m sure they’d love to meet you too.”

My curiosity is instantly piqued. “Okay. Lead on.”

I recognize one face among the troops. Blair Jameson leans against a tree, sharpening a dagger. His short, sandy-brown hair has grown out a little in the last few weeks, and it’s starting to curl at the ends.

As we approach the group in the shade, the whispered comments start.

“Who is she?”

“That’s the new dragoncaller, right?”

“The only dragoncaller, you mean.”

“I heard she was an Aclaris spy.”

Annoyed at that last comment, I search for the source of the voice, ready to give them a piece of my mind.

“She’s not a spy, asshole.” Agnar glares at a young blond man, who immediately has the decency to appear contrite. “Knox vetted her himself before even bringing her here. Or did you forget he was the Tirene spy in Aclaris who found her?”

The blond solider mumbles an apology.

“Morning, Lady Lark.” Blair sheathes his weapon and heads my way. What brings you down to the fields today?”

“Mostly the need to get out of the palace for some fresh air.” I glance over to where Sterling instructs a middle-aged man with a jagged scar across his forehead. “After spending too many hours getting drilled by the prince, I thought it would be nice to be one of the spectators for once.”

“ Oh .” Blair’s eyes widen, and too late, I realize what I said.

Beside me, Agnar coughs. I don’t dare glance in his direction.

“Okay,” I lower my voice so only Agnar and Blair can hear me, “that was not at all what I meant, and you know it.”

Dammit. Stupid men and their dirty minds.

Blair smirks. “Drilled, huh?”

“Do you really want to go there?” I fix a stern look on my face and will myself not to blush as a very naked, very clear image of Blair engaging in said “drilling” pops in my head. “Because I will if that’s what you want.”

Blair mumbles something unintelligible and shakes his head.

“What are you talking about?” Agnar shifts his gaze between us.

“Nothing.” I roll my lips to keep from smiling as I pat Blair on the arm. “Why don’t you introduce me to some more of the soldiers?”

Later in the afternoon, I stride out of my room, the weight of the full quiver familiar against my back. The bow in my hands feels like an extension of my arm. Though it’s different than the one I learned on, I’ve spent plenty of time familiarizing myself with it during Sterling’s training sessions.

I don’t plan to hunt, but I need air, space, and the promise of solitude.

I slip through the south-side gate with ease, pulling up the hood of my cloak to shield my face. Here, where fewer people tread and soldiers are but distant shadows guarding other posts, I can breathe. And in breathing, find a semblance of peace.

While I did promise the king I would stay on the palace grounds until Bastian returns with news, I might accidentally wander off a little farther than that.

As I venture deeper into the expanse of nature’s quiet domain, the court and its problems fade to insignificance. By the time I stumble upon the meadow, a verdant oasis teeming with life, the ache behind my eyes has vanished.

Goose bumps race across my skin. I try to ignore the eerie sensation. It’s got to be a residual effect of all the stress from the last week.

But as I scan the field in front of me, something catches my eye.

The pikas, usually calm and oblivious creatures, are on high alert. Their ears twitch and swivel as they search for a threat, their tiny bodies tense with fear. Have they sensed something? Or just me?

I crouch down, attempting to blend into the shadows of the trees as I observe the animals. My hand tightens around my bow, ready for whatever danger may come. Twenty or so heads poke out from the tall grass of the field. A field that suddenly feels like a trap.

As a dragoncaller, I’ve gotten used to the barrage of intense emotions from animals. This is different.

These creatures aren’t just afraid. They’re terrified.

Why?

What do these pikas sense that I don’t? What unknown presence lurks nearby?

The shadows of the trees around me seem to stretch and twist, as if concealing some unknown horror.

My unease intensifies. Every muscle in my body tenses. Should I run? Wait and assess the situation? Adrenaline pumps through me, heightening my senses.

I focus on the animals.

Though I can’t read their emotions like I can with with dragons, their fear is palpable.

It radiates off them in waves, matching the dread that’s now coursing through my own veins. Panic sets in. There must be something else out here with us, something they can sense but I can’t see.

The unease increases by the moment as I wait for whatever hides in the shadows to reveal itself. My heart pounds in my chest, mirroring the frantic beating of the pikas’.

Breathe. Just breathe. Stay calm. Use your?—

Silence.

No more movement. No more sounds.

The pikas keep still. Utterly still.

Terror clogs my throat and steals my breath. Something’s coming.

Cold. I’m so cold.

Grass rustles.

There’s a horrible rattling, like someone’s inhaling the very atmosphere itself. An animal squeals. No, shrieks. Then another. And another. Again.

I hold my breath.

Stay vigilant. Focus.

I count the pika heads in the tall blades of grass.

Sixteen.

My heart races as I continue to scan the area. Nothing. I see nothing.

Something is here. I can’t see it. But I feel it.

Slowly, silently, I stand and peer out into the meadow.

In the center, a dark shape forms, its edges blurred and indistinguishable.

I draw an arrow from my quiver.

Heart racing, I strain to make out any sounds.

Still quiet. So very quiet.

As silently as I can, I approach the dark shape. My heart races. My palms grow clammy. Black feathers litter the once green grass. Hundreds of glassy black eyes stare sightlessly at the sky.

Hundreds of dead crows. No blood. No signs of struggle. Just a murder of crows, bent and twisted to form a grim mosaic.

There is no sign of the hunter. Only the hunted.

The pikas’ ears flatten as they press themselves against the earth, hiding among the grasses they’re feasting on.

Rotating in a slow circle, I check every tree, branch, blade of grass, and shadow. I scour the sky. Nothing.

When movement finally catches my eye, horror shrivels my gut. Dangling from trees, the thin, dark silhouettes I mistook for vines begin to writhe. They stretch for the ground and pool into oily puddles, pulsing and contracting like a beating heart.

Then, they start slithering their way through the grass.

I clutch my bow tight, frozen at the boundary between sunlight and shadow, life and death. A pika, grass blade still hanging from its mouth, spies the moving shadows and freezes.

One of those shadows closes in on the stiffened animal. Grasses part, and darkness devours the earth with stark hunger.

There’s movement there, a nebulous entity that undulates in ways that defy natural law. A shape attempts to form, one that makes no sense. Legs—too many to count—ripple alongside…distorted heads? Necks? Scales and claws?

Impossible to tell.

A bead of sweat trickles down my back as the shadow creature approaches. Slithers and writhes and twists. Closer. Closer.

The pika drops.

Terror is a living, breathing entity inside me. I can’t move. Can’t run. I’m frozen.

The edge of the meadow churns with motion, a writhing mass that defies my understanding of how light and dark work.

The creature flickers in front of me, its form constantly changing and twisting. As I watch, lines stretch out from its body like tethers, pulling itself over the frozen pika on the ground.

It’s not dead. Yet.

Panting with fear, the pika’s sides expand and contract like bellows at a forge.

The shadow huddles around its prey, forming a pool barely visible through the blades of grass. It’s presence looms closer, growing larger. More formidable.

Ice seeps into my bones as it feasts on the fallen pika, drawing blood from its throat with pulsating motions and leading me to a paralyzing question.

How can a shadow consume blood?

One of the silhouettes swivels toward me. Despite the lack of eyes, I somehow know it’s studying me, tasting the essence of my being.

With every heartbeat, I get colder. Almost as if a layer of frost coats my skin.

Tiny hairs rise on my neck and arms.

Fear consumes my soul the way dragons consume prey. Wholly and swiftly. I’m trapped. I need to run. I need to hide. I need to…I need…

Think.

The creature flickers and shifts like a grotesque mirage.

I nock the arrow.

Another oily, oozing shadow joins it.

I grasp the bowstring.

One more shadow. And then another.

I draw back the bow. Head straight. Shoulders relaxed. Wrist flat. String centered.

So many shadow creatures surround me, I’ve lost count.

I take aim.

Time itself hesitates, holding its breath for what’s to come.

I release the arrow.

The arrow sails through the air, my aim true. I hit my mark, but the shadow creature isn’t there.

Desperation seizes me. I reach for another arrow. Repeat the steps.

The shadows…are gone. All sound disappears. No thud of the arrow hitting its mark. No rustle of grass under its feet. My heart pounds in my chest as I scan the area for the creatures.

Nothing. They’ve disappeared, leaving behind an eerie silence that chills me to the bone.

Arms trembling, I lower my bow.

I have to get to Sterling.