Page 15 of Crown of Betrayal and Blood (Dragons of Tirene #3)

Chapter Fifteen

Heartbeat thundering in my ears, I race down the hall, sucking air into my lungs in sharp gasps. A hysterical sob from a connecting hallway punctures the beat of silence that followed the scream, and I skid to another halt and summon my magic. The familiar power hums beneath my skin, heating my blood while waiting to be unleashed.

Creeping now, I approach the intersection and peek around the corner. One of the palace maids kneels in the middle of the marble floor with her face buried in her hands and her shoulders heaving.

I race over and drop to my knees by her side. “Are you okay? What happened?”

I don’t notice any blood or injuries, but they could be hidden from view.

In response, she lifts a trembling finger and points down the hall toward the next intersection. “She’s…she’s…”

Another sob swallows her words, and as I rise to my feet, a warning bell begins to clamor in my skull. Somewhere in the distance, armor clanks, announcing the guards’ imminent arrival, but I don’t wait. I’m not sure why, but the dread snaking through my limbs grows stronger with every stride as I follow the maid’s silent instructions and jog down the hall.

This time, I round the bend without slowing my pace. I only manage two steps before my legs fail me.

Gradually, my brain registers the details.

A crumpled body sprawls over the cold, unforgiving marble like a discarded doll. A woman’s body. She lies still. Too still. Blood drips from her neck into the crimson pool staining the floor.

Her blue gown appears freshly pressed, her makeup perfect. If it weren’t for the blood and her unmoving chest, one could almost believe she was sleeping.

My world tilts. Fragments. Splinters.

“Mother?”

The anguished greeting wrenches from my throat, containing a plea for her to reply and render the reality before me false.

No response.

I slide to my knees beside her and shake her shoulder. “Mother, please, wake up. Please.”

Nothing. Her body lies motionless, as do the soft hands that provided a lifetime of comfort.

Apart from a single strand that clings to her wound, Lynnea Axton’s hair remains perfectly arranged in a cluster of dark golden curls atop her head.

That one out-of-place tendril glued to her neck with blood claws at my skin, the sight suddenly unbearable.

She’d hate that. She’d hate anyone seeing her looking less than perfect.

A feverish purpose invades me. I tug the strand off her skin and swipe it on the sleeve of my gown. Blood transfers to the fabric, the stain growing as I continue to rub. “Come on, come on. It needs to be clean. She’d want it to be clean.”

Switching to the other sleeve, I keep cleaning until the fabric no longer turns red with each swipe. With shaking hands, I tuck the freed strand into her curls and rock back on my heels.

There. All better.

As I stare at her pale face, reality finally sinks in. Grief strikes like a tidal wave, dragging me down into suffocating depths. She wasn’t my biological mom, but she was mine. My anchor. And now, she’s gone.

This can’t be real.

“Mother.” My whimper sounds like a wounded animal’s. I choke down a sob as pain pulverizes my ribs and shreds my heart into a million tiny pieces.

I kneel beside her, clutching her hand, while memories pummel me with unrelenting force. I flash back to the night when darkness descended and the drachen attacked. Terrible images of broken bodies with their throats savagely torn open and shadows feasting on their blood assault me.

Mother’s throat is torn, but no creature drank her blood. The untouched crimson splatter is almost obscene, a silent witness to her passing into the next world. In death, her eyes don’t scream of terror but instead whisper of sadness, her final emotion forever painted onto her still face.

I pull her hand into my lap.

Questions swirl in my mind as I peer into my mother’s unblinking eyes.

What the hells happened? Who would do this? How did her attacker get inside the palace? Where are they now?

“Lady Lark, what is… oh .” A young guard not much older than I am, with a boyish face and tawny hair kneels beside me, his voice distant through the fog of my shock.

His name tickles the back of my brain, but it takes a bit for me to remember. Donovan? That seems familiar.

Several more guards arrive, surrounding us with their questions, their need for answers I don’t have.

I nod, mute.

There’s nothing I can offer. I know nothing. This horror has no explanation, no reason.

The pain carves a hole in my heart. “She’s my mother. Why? Why would someone…”

“Tell us what you saw.” Yet another guard has joined us, his gaze flitting from me to the weeping maid and back again.

“Nothing.” The maid chokes between sobs, her voice barely audible. “I was bringing dinner, and then she was just…there.”

The heavy, tangible weight of grief threatens to crush me. I wrap my arms around myself to hold together the pieces of my splintered soul. Mother is gone, and with her, a part of me I’ll never get back.

The guards swarm around me, their voices a cacophony of urgency that I barely register.

My gaze remains fixed on the crimson stain spreading across the once immaculate marble. “Could a noble have done this?” The idea that a spurned woman could harbor such malice twists my insides with doubt and fear. “Someone visiting the palace?”

I provoked them. Is this my fault?

I will melt the flesh from their faces if it was one of them.

“We’ll find out, Lady Lark.” Donovan’s voice is gentle as he gives my arm a comforting squeeze, but it’s hard to hear him over the roaring in my ears. “But look at the wound. It’s precise. Chillingly familiar.”

I follow his gaze. Yes, the slashed and crimson throat is too similar to the fatal wounds left by the drachen, creatures of nightmare who feast on terror before blood. But it can’t have been a drachen. The palace would have trembled with collective dread had the beasts been near. A warning, maybe? But from whom?

The roaring in my ears grows louder, practically reverberating against my skin. My mother may not have given birth to me. Her blood may not run in my veins. But she still cared for me like I was her own. I remember her tending to every cut and scratch I incurred over the years, and the countless nights she’d let me sit at her vanity, brushing my hair. She always reassured me that my straighter hair was just as pretty as her and Leesa’s curly locks.

Urgent, uneven footsteps echo down the corridor.

Leesa emerges from her room, her brow creased in confusion. “What’s happening? Lark?”

Leesa. Don’t look.

I’m too slow. Too shocked. Too silent.

Leesa looks.

And sees what I will never be able to unsee.

Her knees buckle, and her face crumples. “Mother…she was just with me. She came over because of my headache. Said she’d fetch some powders from the royal healer. How?—”

“I don’t know. Did she say anything else?” I push gently, even as my own heart threatens to shatter anew.

Leesa shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. “Only that she loved me…loved us .”

Amid the chaos, the simplicity of her final message is a knife to my already bleeding heart. Pushing myself up, I scramble toward my sister, dodging the pool of blood. I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight.

My big sister. She always protected me. And I couldn’t even save her from seeing this. What good are my strengths if they can’t even do this?

Leesa’s hand grips mine, her knuckles white as bone china. We huddle together on the cold marble floor, our tears a silent river between us.

Soft, warm hands rest against my back. “Come away, Lady Lark.” Rhiann’s voice eventually breaks through, stern yet not unkind.

But I can’t leave Mother. Not yet. I linger a moment longer, memorizing every detail of her face, burning each feature into my memory next to the love she gave so freely.

“She’s only in Tirene because she wanted to keep me safe.” I lift my gaze to Rhiann, willing her to understand.

Tears glimmer in the older woman’s eyes. “I know, Lark. And she did. You’re safe. That’s all a mother wants for her children. And she was able to do that. Your mother was a strong woman.”

“She was.” I nod, clinging to Leesa, who sobs in my arms. I thought I was strong too. But this…do I have enough strength to go on without my mother?

“Lark!” Sterling’s voice snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts as he races down the hall. “Are you all right?”

Rhiann shifts away when he reaches me and starts to rub Leesa’s back, which only elicits more sobbing.

“I’m fine. But my mother?—”

“I know, love. A guard just told me.” Sterling’s arms wrap around me, lifting me to his chest. “I’ve got you now.” With me still in his arms, Sterling starts walking away, stopping only to address a guard. “Find Bastian and bring Blair and Agnar from the training fields.”

“Bastian is there too,” I mutter, shivering in his arms. I’m cold. So very cold.

“You heard her. And close down this wing. Everyone is to be kept in their rooms until I say otherwise. I want whoever did this caught. Question everyone.” Sterling’s orders pass through the men.

Mother’s dead. Her killer is probably hiding in the king’s wing. Those two thoughts keep swirling in my head.

The world fades away into a cloud of gray. Almost reminiscent of what happened over the Lost City. I can’t make sense of anything.

She’s dead. How can I exist in a world where my mother is dead?

“Because we need you. Your sister. Your friends. I need you, Lark.” Sterling presses a goblet into my hands. “Drink. It will steady you.”

I take a deep breath. Did I say that last thought out loud?

We’re in Sterling’s sitting room. I must be more shaken than I thought if we moved this far without me noticing.

In our hands, his over mine, is a glass brimming with amber liquid. The smell of alcohol stings my nose.

Yes, this is exactly what I need. Something to numb the pain of my fractured heart.

I tip the glass, my teeth chattering against it, and force myself to take a healthy swallow. The whiskey burns its way down my throat.

The door swings open to reveal the dowager queen, her mourning attire immaculate despite the chaos. “You have to calm her down before the dragons tear the palace apart trying to get to her. They must sense her emotions.”

“I’m trying. I gave her—” Sterling’s mother cuts him off by pushing him aside. I shiver at the cold air that rushes over my skin at the action.

“She’s in shock.” Stooping, the matriarch levels her brown eyes with mine. Though still dark, they’re a few shades lighter than Sterling’s. “Lark, your sister needs you. You need each other.”

Whether I’ve been in this room for minutes or hours, I don’t know. But now I force myself to pay attention to what is happening around me.

“Leesa?” I sip more of the whiskey, breathing through the burn. “Where?”

“She’s right here. She’s not doing well.” Easing the cup from my hands and passing it to Sterling, Alannah gestures to my sister.

I have to work hard to focus. When I do, I discover Leesa sitting on a couch across from me. Rhiann sits beside her, running her fingers through the loose hair cascading down my sister’s back.

Exactly how our mother comforted us when we were upset.

“Leesa.” Her name is a gasp and a lifeline. Pulling away from Sterling, I scramble over to her. My legs are nearly numb, and I stumble against the table, but I reach her all the same.

Gripping the edge of the couch, I sit on the other side of her. “Leesa, you should drink this. It will help.” Lifting her hands, I help her sip from the glass Rhiann gave her.

“She needs to try to contain her emotions so she doesn’t set the dragons off. We need to help her settle.” Queen Alannah sits in a chair opposite the couch. “Bring those blankets. These girls are shivering like leaves in the wind. The dragons should calm down now that Lark has something else to focus on.”

“Will you find who did this?” Leesa’s voice is barely audible as she cradles the glass in front of her mouth.

“I’ll find them,” Sterling vows, handing over the blankets I’d thrown aside in my haste to reach Leesa. “You ladies just need to rest. You’re safe here.”

The queen drapes one of the blankets over my shoulders. Sterling smooths the material over my back, pressing a soft kiss against my temple.

I shouldn’t need them. It’s the tail end of summer. Still plenty warm, but my teeth chatter all the same.

Scooting closer, I wrap my arms around Leesa, pulling her against my chest the way she used to hold me when we were little.

She falls into my lap, her arms digging around behind me to wrap around my waist.

She’s the only family I have left.

“We’ll take care of them.” Rhiann speaks up from the other side of the couch.

“Mother, Rhiann, thank you,” Sterling says before slipping out the door to the hall.

Before the door even closes behind him, he starts barking orders. Boots clash on the marble floors as soldiers and guards rush to obey. More voices call out.

Leesa whimpers, her arms tightening around me.

I pet her hair, remembering again all the fevers, colds, and sniffles we had where our mother would do the same for us.

Alannah waves over a maid I hadn’t noticed standing in the corner. “What is all the commotion in the hallway about?”

“It’s okay. They’re looking for whoever did that to Mother. We don’t mind the noise.” A sob wells up in my throat that I cannot contain.

Alannah has a conversation with the maid I don’t comprehend as despair overwhelms me. The noise from outside grows louder for a moment as someone opens the door to leave the room.

“Cry it all out, child. It’s okay.” Alannah wraps a frail arm around my shoulders.

I bury my face into the softness of the older woman’s gown, tears soaking the fabric as the investigation’s clamor rages on.

Duchess Breann enters, ushering in a young man carrying a flute. The duchess doesn’t say a word or offer any introductions, merely gestures to a seat by the window.

With a nod, the man settles where directed and lifts the instrument to his lips. A cascade of notes spills forth, each one a delicate barrier against the harsh sounds of the world outside. His music, so soft and soothing, creates a temporary sanctuary, shielding us from the chaos outside. Granting us a sliver of peace in order to grieve.

As the tribute plays, I can’t help but think of my friend Olive, incinerated into ash by a dragon at our flight trial. I wonder if her family recovered any of her body or if they were left with no physical pieces of her to mourn. Did she receive a vigil like this one? Has her parents’ pain diminished at all yet, or do they still weep every day over her senseless loss?

I press a hand over the aching part of my chest. Olive’s death was my fault. Mine. And while my actions didn’t directly lead to my mother’s death, I can’t help but feel responsible for this too. If not for me, Lynnea Axton would never have set foot in Tirene. She’d be safely tucked away in our castle and out of harm’s way.

Leesa’s sobs are muffled by the ethereal tune, but each shudder of her body stabs another knife into my heart. The dowager queen, Rhiann, and Duchess Breann remain with us, pillars of support in a crumbling reality. Their embrace is a steadfast anchor as the sun dips below the horizon and paints the sky with the colors of a bruise.

Mother would have loved to have these women as friends.

A sudden epiphany strikes me, tearing my heart to shreds.

My mother had to give up the lifestyle she was accustomed to in order to keep me safe. Growing up, I felt like the castle was my prison, and she was my warden. Now, when it is too late to tell her, I understand she was the prisoner, and I was the warden.

Mother still threw parties, but she didn’t go out nearly as often as she would have liked. She stayed at home to keep me safe. To protect me.

Not only did she not complain, but she listened to my complaints. My anger. My rejection of the safety she paid for with her husband’s life and the loss of all close relationships.

And I blamed her for it. I yelled at her. Accused her of trying to destroy my life and lying to me when all she ever did was try to protect me from King Xenon and the people who’d tried to use me.

Guilt merges with grief, and hot tears stream down my face. When she first arrived in Tirene, I held a grudge over how she hid my true identity from me and kept me sequestered as a child for my own safety. I wasted so much time when I should have forgiven her and treated every moment as precious.

Now she’s gone, and I can’t reclaim those wasted moments. “I was so mad at her when she showed up here. For days, I refused to talk to her. We reconciled, but what if she thought I didn’t love her anymore once I discovered the truth?”

“Shh,” Alannah soothes. “She knew, I promise.”

“All mothers know,” Duchess Breann assures as she sits on my other side by Leesa. “All children say things they don’t mean. But we always know those words are said out of ignorance and are not to be believed.”

I sniffle. “It’s not fucking fair. We’d only just started to repair our relationship.”

If my language bothers the duchess, she gives no indication. “She knew your heart, Lark. Of that, I have no doubt.”

Breann holds my hand as tightly as Leesa is holding my waist. I’m so twisted up, I can barely breathe, but I also don’t want to move.

“When Sterling was a boy, nightmares would often steal his sleep. I would tell him to whisper his fears to the goddess of night, to ask for dreams filled only with sweetness.” Alannah’s eyes cloud with memories. “If that didn’t work, I’d read him a story. Perhaps a story might ease your mind? Just as it did for him.”

Her offer is kind yet far from what could mend the fissure in my soul. I don’t even have the strength to answer because I’m shrouded with regret.

Still, there’s a tickle of something—a fragment of swift, elusive thought—dancing just out of reach in my mind. But the relentless tide of grief sweeps all else away.

And then, as shadows claim the room, Alannah’s voice, barely above the lull of the flute, weaves a prayer. She beseeches Nyc, goddess of night, and her daughter Mar, goddess of dreams and visions. She asks for solace in the darkness, for dreams untainted by the day’s horrors. The simple act—a prayer from Sterling’s mother—touches something deep within me, a spark amid the consuming emptiness.

“Thank you.” The haunting melody carries my words into the encroaching night.

My muscles tense against unexpected motion, my consciousness surfacing from a deep, dreamless void. I’m being carried, Sterling’s sure arms tight around me. The world blurs at the edges, like a painting smeared by tears and sorrow.

“Where are we going?” My voice sounds small, lost in the vastness of grief that stretches out like the Impassable Desert.

“Shh, Lark. You fell asleep on my mother’s lap. I’m taking you to bed.” His voice is a soft, comforting presence in the dark.

“Did you find anything? About…about her?” The question claws its way out in a desperate attempt to claim answers where none seem to exist.

A sigh escapes him, releasing a gust of frozen air from his chest. “No, nothing yet.”

A familiar room greets us, doused in the gentle light of moonbeams filtering through open windows. He sets me down beside his bed, and my knees nearly buckle, not from weakness but from the weight of my crushing new reality.

“Let me help you.” His deft hands loosen the buttons on the back of my tunic. There’s a practiced ease to his movements, the soldier in him efficient even with such an intimate task.

Once I’m undressed, he pulls back the covers of his bed, folding me safely inside them.

I reach out and grasp his hand. “Stay with me.”

Sterling pauses, his gaze searching mine. “Always.”

He strips down to his underclothes, then slides into bed beside me. It’s his warmth I crave, the solid certainty of his presence. When he holds me, it’s as if he’s willing to fight back the night itself.

My mind drifts, the edges of sleep tugging at me once more, and Dowager Queen Alannah’s prayer whispers through my thoughts.

A balm to the raw wound of loss.

I’m loved—cherished even—despite the gaping hole left by my mother’s absence.

“I’m an…orphan. I was blessed with four parents who would move mountains to keep me safe. And now I have none.” Tears well in my eyes.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Sterling murmurs, his breath stirring the hair at my temple. He runs his calloused hand through my locks, each stroke a promise of steadfast protection.

And in this moment, held tight within Sterling’s embrace, I allow myself the luxury of surrendering to grief. For now, I am safe. For now, I am not alone.

But I am no one’s childe anymore.

Just as the prophecy foretold.