Page 10 of Crown of Betrayal and Blood (Dragons of Tirene #3)

Chapter Ten

Up close, the palace is much larger than I’d thought. The structure has seen better days. Tall towers shoot into the air every so often, several of them crumbling from age or neglect. Numerous windows appear broken, some lacking glass altogether.

Of the lower floors—the visible ones—most are covered in moss and vines. The front doors are tall and wide, bound in thick metal bands. Despite being reinforced, the doors sag mightily, the inner corners crumbled on the ground.

“We’re not getting through there.” Agnar grunts, his hands on his hips. Then his lips twist, and he claps Blair on the top of his head. “You’re always talking about how hard your head is. How about you just lower it and get a running start? All you have to do is knock a hole in it for us to walk through. That’s not too much to ask, right?”

“Pfft.” Blair rolls his eyes. “Do I look like a ram to you?” He snaps his mouth closed when Agnar drops his hand and pats Blair’s cheek.

“Give it another day or two without shaving.” Agnar smirks as Blair smacks his hand away.

“The ladies happen to like it when I grow a beard.” A wicked gleam enters Blair’s eyes. “It makes certain activities more pleasurable. You know, when I go?—”

“Okay.” Warmth rises to my cheeks at Blair’s admission. “I could have lived without knowing that.”

“Just trying to be helpful and informative.” Winking at me, Blair hooks his thumbs in his belt and walks off, inspecting the massive structure.

I chance a peek at my sister, who’s sharing some sort of private moment with Bastian. They both have silly grins on their faces, like they’re curious about Blair’s “helpful and informative” little announcement.

Gods save me. If they want to experiment, they’d better save it until we return to the palace. I love my sister, but I do not need to know all the ins and outs of her sex life.

“Noted.” Agnar snorts. “Changing the subject, there’s probably other doors we can get in through.”

Still smiling, Bastian twitches his wings as he inspects the towers. “If we could fly, it would be easy enough to get in through those windows.”

“Which is likely the reason magic is used to halt flying.” I follow him around to the left, checking for lower windows or smaller doors we can use to enter the palace. We’ve come too far to just give up.

Though, come to think of it, there’s nothing saying that what we need is inside the palace and not out in the city somewhere. Still, it will be easier to search this solid stone building than the decrepit and crumbling wooden ones.

Standing face to facade, I know this will be a massive undertaking. “Ziva help us.”

Rustling causes me to spin around, where I find vines growing in the trees. Something slides out of the thick, shadow-draped foliage.

Hand on my sword, I approach the fallen object.

A black feather.

How is that possible? There are no birds around here since they can’t fly. Except…that owl did just before dawn. Was it outside the barrier of magic or ? —

“What was that?” Bastian is already nearly shouting distance away.

“We should split up.” I raise my voice, gesturing to ensure everyone understands me. “I’ll go this way with Bastian. You three go the other way. If you find something, send up a wind gust, Blair. We’ll send up fire if we do. Meet back here at the front doors at sunset.”

“Sounds good. Stay safe. Sterling will skin us alive if you get hurt.” Blair waves over his shoulder as he continues waltzing away.

Agnar and Leesa look at each other and shrug.

Tucking the feather in my bag, I run after Bastian.

Within a few minutes, we discover an open window, glass more than likely hidden under the weeds below. Carefully climbing through the opening, we find ourselves in what appears to be a clerk’s office.

Thinking this might be just the sort of thing we need, Bastian and I dig through the desk and the shelves, flipping through every ledger.

The problem is, we don’t know what we’re searching for. We only know that Queen Aero came here to learn how to deal with the drachen.

Still, we uncover nothing that mentions drachen, shadowy creatures, Queen Aero, or even Tirene or the Barda line. Though many of the books and scrolls have all but shriveled to dust in the many years since this castle was abandoned.

Leaving the office behind, we continue our search through cobweb-filled halls and dust-layered rooms.

As we roam, oddities emerge. None are useful as far as I can tell. A door that leads to a brick wall. A staircase spiraling to open air with no hint it wasn’t built that way. A cube made up of a bunch of smaller, moveable cubes with no identifiable purpose.

There are cave cats at nearly every doorway. Painted, stitched, carved, or sculpted, they track our every move. Owls watch from perches high above, heads turned this way and that in silent judgment.

Were all these people infatuated with cave cats? Did they worship them?

Bastian and I continue on, our footsteps echoing off the stones, the shadows in the hallways a taunting reminder of the drachen’s absence. They’re out there, somewhere, feasting on dread and despair. And here I am, chasing ghosts in a castle full of cat’s cradles and owl’s wisdom.

Room after room, we search the palace. As we come to the next intersection of halls, I head right. I’ve taken three steps before I notice the warmth.

The air continues to heat as we progress down the wing. “Why is it so hot in here?”

Bastian stops digging through a wardrobe to stare at me. “What are you talking about? It’s been the same temperature the whole time we’ve been investigating. I’m actually pretty comfortable.”

I fan my face with my hand. Is he joking? I still don’t know him well enough to tell.

I forget about him as another flash of heat pulses through my veins and continue wandering,

trusting the unseen currents to guide me.

A pleasant haze clouds my mind. Warm is good. Warm is safe. I should follow the warmth through this place and not concern myself with anything else.

Everything else falls away as I trail the heat to a black door at the end of the hallway. I can almost hear someone shouting, but it’s an unintelligent warble.

I don’t need to worry about that.

Just follow the warmth wherever it leads .

My hands tingle as I reach for the door with a dreamy smile on my face.

Somewhere in the distance, a man yells my name. “Lark? Lark!”

I open my mouth to answer but instead suck in a hiss of breath as a tiny sting pricks my palm. A moment later, the door swings open. Without knowing why, I enter the room with my hand still attached to the handle.

As soon as I’m inside, the fog begins to lift. When I shake my head to clear it, pain knives through my palm. I glance down and notice blood dripping to the floor.

What the fuck?

I release the door like it bit me and suck on the wound, blinking around in confusion. How did I even get here? The last thing I remember, I was talking to Bastian near a wardrobe.

“Lark, stop! What are you doing?”

At the frantic note in Bastian’s voice, I spin. The instant I release the door, it slams shut.

Panic snakes down my spine. I twist the handle, throwing my weight into opening the unyielding wood.

Nothing happens.

No matter how hard I try, the handle refuses to budge. As improbable as it sounds, I’m pretty sure the door locked on its own, trapping me inside.

“Bastian!”

No answer.

Only the oppressive stillness of the room greets me.

With no discernable way out at the moment, I inspect the room, brushing aside the cobwebs that dangle in my path.

Why does it feel like there’s a fire I can’t see?

Moving cautiously, I step away from the door. The narrow entry to the room is only slightly wider than the door itself and once I walk out into the growing heat, I understand why.

I must be in one of the towers I saw outside, because the space stretches three stories high and forms a perfect circle. The windows are thin slits covered in curved glass, allowing for bright light no matter the season or time of day. A large metal chandelier hangs in the center of the room, dripping with clear crystals and cobwebs.

Thick bookshelves line the curved walls, each shelf crammed with tomes, scrolls, and artifacts resting in stands.

A miniature library?

I forget about being stuck here as I wander toward the first bookcase, bat the thick cobwebs out of the way, and pore over the tomes. Judging by the titles on the covers, these books cover several subjects.

Religion, biology, history, geography, herbology.

Going one shelf at a time, I wave my hand over the assembled documents, as if I’m playing the children’s game of hot and cold. But the heat that lured me here isn’t coming from the books or anything else on the shelves. Every now and then, as some of the thicker cobwebs break against my flesh or hair, I shiver involuntarily. But that’s all that happens. Nothing catches my eye or stands out.

Refusing to give up hope, I circle the room until I reach the locked door once more.

Okay, but what if what drew me here isn’t a book? What if it’s something else?

A round wooden table, cracked with age, sits in the middle of the room. The chairs that once sat around it have already succumbed to time and crumbled into tattered pieces.

Unease settles over me.

Leaning against the bookcase to the left of the door—the first one I’d checked—I inspect the area again.

Something brought me here…a strange lure I could feel in my blood.

A type of magic I’ve never experienced before.

The thought no sooner forms than a woman strides into the room, passing so close on my right side that I jerk back. A tight braid binds her auburn hair, and white, formfitting trousers cling to her muscular legs. A jacket reaches up to her chin.

From her hands dangles a Tirenese military pack, much like the one I’m wearing.

Despite her simple attire, everything about the woman screams royalty.

Shock streaks through my veins like lightning. I freeze, gawking at the woman who doesn’t seem to have noticed me yet.

Even without anyone telling me, without ever seeing a portrait, I know exactly who she is, down deep in my bones. Her resemblance to me only lends more weight to my certainty.

Queen Aero.

But that’s impossible. Queen Aero died centuries ago.

Yet my confidence remains unshakable.

All of this rushes through my mind in the seconds it takes her to reach a shelf on the far wall. I open my mouth to speak to her, to ask her how she’s survived—not just the drachen attack as described in the book about her, but also for all these centuries.

How old is this woman? And how is this possible?

Before I can form the words, she walks right through the cobwebs without disturbing them.

I shake my swimming head, trying to understand what I’m seeing. There was no sound of a door opening or closing. And the door remains shut. Mine are the only footprints in the dust.

I swallow back my apprehension. “Hello?”

Ignoring me, she rushes to the other side of the room. Her feet glide right through the deteriorating table.

Goose bumps erupt down my arms.

Holy hells.

She didn’t survive. She’s a ghost. Or possibly a vision. Whatever she is, it’s obvious she has no idea I’m here.

I can’t help the overwhelming sense of awe as I watch my ancestor, dead for no one knows how long, dart about the room. Her hands tremble with a mixture of haste and precision, stuffing a rugged satchel with scrolls and vials that clink together.

Why am I seeing her now? Obviously she was here once, since she’s using the shelves that are still there and grabbing things that aren’t there any longer. But why am I being shown this? Is it her doing? Or something about the magic of this place?

“Please, think this through.” The voice of an unseen man causes me to jump, yet she pays him no heed.

Turning, I hunt for the new speaker. The door remains shut, and no ghostly figure stands in the way of the exit.

“I have done plenty of thinking already,” the queen snaps, her tone laced with desperation. “I have my answers and now must act on them. Before the drachen can attack again.”

Her fingers close around the hilt of a sword on a table strewn with maps and tomes. The blade sings as she lifts it, reflecting the ethereal light that seems to radiate from nowhere.

“You’ve kept them from reaching us so far. Why this rush to change things?” The unseen speaker has moved farther into the room, his worry emanating from the air near the table.

“Every flame I’ve conjured merely pushes them back. My fire is not enough, Vincent.” After she secures the weapon at her side, her gaze wanders to the shadows that dance along the walls. “The drachen return, stronger and hungrier. The fear they spread is consuming my soldiers. Nick told me the only way to end the corruption is with phoenix tears. I must gather those.”

Mounting questions begin to override the sense of unease prickling at my spine.

Why can I see Aero but not the other speaker? Does it have something to do with our shared blood? Who is this Nick guy? And?—

“But can we trust words delivered that way? Please, my queen, think this through. At the very least, ask for guidance from a priest first.” The question stops Aero in her tracks, and she glares at the speaker, though from my perspective, she’s talking to a scribe’s desk.

“Careful, Lord Akehurst. You know Nick can hear a whisper even from the deepest shadows.” With one last glance at the unseen spectral adviser, she shakes her head. “I have no choice.”

As if on cue, the vision shatters like glass, fragments of time and memory dissolving into the suffocating silence that follows. Now that I’m alone, the chamber feels more than a little claustrophobic.

“Phoenix tears.”

That’s what she came here to learn about. She claimed Nick told her they needed phoenix tears to destroy the drachen. Then she packed for travel. Clearly that means we’ll find no phoenix here. Why did she describe it as corruption, though? Can the creatures poison the people they’ve touched?

“Lark!” Bastian’s muffled voice drifts through the door.

“Here! Inside!” I return to the stuck door, slamming my fist against it. “The handle won’t turn. Can you force it from your side?”

“The handle wouldn’t budge for us either. We’ve all been trying to break down the door. Couldn’t you hear us?” Leesa’s voice comes through. “You’ve been in there for almost half an hour. We came running when Bastian sent up a flare, only to find him banging on the door and yelling your name.”

“No. I was…” I glance over my shoulder at the room, which is now empty of anyone other than me.

A glint of gold snags my gaze. A scene is painted along the trim of the door. Just like the cats were before. Its bright colors are strangely out of place amid the ancient dust and shadows. A phoenix, wings ablaze with fiery hues, dances in the sky beside a dragon whose scales gleam like polished emeralds beneath an exuberant sun. They’re cavorting in the sky as the sun embraces the horizon, the image a tableau of impossible harmony.

“Phoenix tears?” Something about the bird’s fiery plume, the way it mirrors the inferno I command, tugs at my mind. “She needed the phoenix in order to move forward.”

I reach out, tracing the outline of the phoenix with a tentative finger, its image sparking a strange kinship within me. I rap my knuckles on it, hoping for good luck, a sign, anything that will show me the way forward.

Click.

The sound is soft but undeniable. My breath catches as I whirl back to the obstinate door. I turn the handle, and the door swings open freely.