Page 21 of Crown of Betrayal and Blood (Dragons of Tirene #3)

Chapter Twenty-One

With a tired mind, I slide up next to Sterling and rest a hand on his arm. Dinner was hours ago, but even after eating a hearty meal, exhaustion is etched into his face. “How are you feeling?”

He tries to shrug me off with a grumble. “Really, Lark, I’m not injured.”

I hold tight, resisting his weak efforts to push me away. “Okay, tough guy. How about you drop that ego for two seconds here and accept some help? You may not have any visible injuries, but if you collapse at my feet, don’t expect me to lift your heavy ass up into the bed, because it’s not happening. Agnar and Blair are probably asleep already, so I can’t run to them for assistance, and I know you don’t want the guards to come in and see you in an undignified heap on the floor.”

I poke at the firm mass of his chest and abs. “If lifting you is something you’d like to see me do at a future date, I suggest you stop working out. These muscles of yours weigh entirely too much.”

He huffs. “I’m tired, but not that tired.”

Sterling continues to grouse while he kicks off the slippers I insisted he wear after he finished his bath.

I would have assisted him myself, but I spent that time checking in on Leesa.

Though she’d managed to not get enthralled by the drachen this time, she still seemed to be struggling after facing them again. No doubt it brought up terrible memories for her, leaving her out of sorts and short-tempered. I’d left her with Bastian, shooting him a thankful look as I slipped from her chamber.

“Is it so hard to accept help?” I ease him onto the plush bed with more care than he probably needs, shifting the blankets aside with one hand before allowing him to lie down. Then, unable to help myself, I gently tuck the sheets around him like protective wards. “You were there for me when Mother was killed. Let me return the favor.”

His lower lip curls in, and I know he’s biting back another protest. Instead, he looks like a child who’s just been told there are no more pastries.

I press on before he can argue further. “Tell me about the attack. How did it feel?”

A hesitation. “It was different this time.”

The night Jasper died, Sterling shared his experience as more of a debriefing and strategizing opportunity than anything else. Unlike with Leesa, the drachen in the first attack only stunned him momentarily before Jasper rushed in to save him.

Momentary or not, the fact that the drachen enthralled him twice in so short a time unsettles me.

We know next to nothing about them. Where they came from, what they want. How they choose their victims. How to stop them. Sometimes they kill without leaving a mark, and other times they rip out their prey’s throat and consume blood. The way they can paralyze living creatures with terror remains especially mysterious, and we have no clue what, if any, type of residual impact that sort of assault might cause.

Leesa’s experiencing incapacitating headaches from a single attack. For all we know, multiple enthrallments could lead to cumulative or stronger effects.

He shifts his weight in obvious discomfort and fixes his attention on an empty patch of wall. “It was like plunging through an abyss of fear. Everywhere I looked, it was just darkness, clawing at me, whispering dread into every part of me. It wasn’t just outside, Lark. It felt like it was inside my head. My body was falling, and at the same time, so was my mind. I couldn’t move or do anything.”

My stomach plummets as an echo of my own dream from days ago surfaces, where darkness shrouded me inside and out. Only, my darkness provided a comforting sanctuary while his was a tomb.

I stroke his cheek. “That sounds terrifying.”

Not seeing any point in walking around the bed, I instead climb over him. Well, more like on top of him. Then I straddle him with my whole body before sliding over.

He laughs at my antics, his warm eyes following me as I glide over him. He lifts the blankets, and I scoot around to curl up beside him. He shifts around with me so we stay face-to-face as I wiggle under the blankets on the soft mattress.

“It was. Abject terror and a darkness with no hint of light or warmth.” Vulnerability flickers in his eyes before he blinks it away. His fingers trace up and down my arm. “And now this damn headache won’t quit.”

“Come here.” I open my arms to him.

Without hesitation, he settles against me.

I draw him close, fitting his body to mine as if we’re two reunited puzzle pieces and tugging his head against my chest. I stroke his neck, pausing with my fingertips over his pulse until I feel the reassuring thrum. A shudder quakes my body.

“I thought I was going to lose you.” As the day’s events sink in, emotion clogs my throat, and my nose begins to sting. “I was yelling at you to move, but you couldn’t. You were trapped, and all I could imagine was you crashing to the ground with your throat ripped out.”

I sniffle, and Sterling squeezes me. “I’m sorry I scared you, but I’m okay. I promise. I’ll never leave you.” He scoots up, burying his face in my neck.

As his exhalations warm my skin, I realize again that the court games and betrothals—pretend or real—don’t matter.

Spending the nights wrapped in each other’s arms does.

In mere moments, his breathing slows as he slips into sleep’s embrace.

I follow soon after, the steady rhythm of his heart lulling me into dreams where darkness is not something to be feared, but rather a place where hope kindles, waiting for a spark.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been out when something jolts me awake.

My heart drums against my ribs as my eyes fly open. I remain still, trying to assess what disturbed me.

There’s nothing.

No sound, no movement. Nothing to tell me what yanked me from sleep, overflowing with adrenaline.

Then the empty spot beside me registers.

Sterling’s not in bed.

I blink away the shadows clinging to my vision and quickly find the strange presence that interrupted my slumber.

He’s standing beside the bed, moonlight streaming around him. His arms hang loose at his sides, his eerily empty gaze fixed on me. Light shines off his eyes as if they’re made of glass. He shakes his head three times.

Pauses.

Then shakes it again.

His lips move, but no sounds come out.

Is he sleepwalking? Dreaming?

“Hey.” I struggle to shove away the uncertainty that keeps me immobile. “What’s going on?” Trembling slightly, I reach out to touch his arm.

He doesn’t reply.

The coldness of his skin under my fingers doesn’t seem right.

I push the fear trickling into my mind aside, certain Sterling would never do anything to hurt me. “Are you okay? Does your head still hurt?”

He blinks, the vacant glaze in his rich brown eyes receding as if he’s surfacing from beneath dark waters. “I…don’t know. I don’t remember getting out of bed.”

Sterling stretches, then scrubs a hand over his face and glances around the room.

His words are slurred with confusion, like a man who’s had too much to drink. But I know he only had one glass… hours ago.

“It looked like you were trying to say something. Do you need something? I can get it for you.” I start to push back the covers. “Unless you got up to relieve yourself. I can’t get that for you.”

“No.” He laughs, seeming more himself than ever. Looking around, he shrugs, and it turns into another stretch and then a yawn. “All I need is sleep. And you.”

He crawls back into bed. His movements are mechanical, even as he throws an arm over me and snuggles me close.

Soon his breathing evens out, a quiet reassurance that he’s slipped back into slumber. But now I’m wide awake.

Lying here, staring at the canopy above, I can’t shake the image of Sterling’s hollow stare, or the memory of Leesa’s distant gaze during the day.

An image of Leesa standing over Agnar that night in the Lost City flashes though my mind. She’d also behaved as if she was engaged in a conversation I couldn’t hear. But she was holding a small object in her hands then.

Maybe it’s just a coincidence.

Hells, I’ve woken up in the middle of the night and had heavy thoughts too. With everything that’s happened recently, it’s no surprise we’re all a little shaken up.

Still, the uneasiness skittering across my skin persists. Could confusion and insomnia be aftereffects of the drachen’s attack? If so, how long will the symptoms persist? Will they eventually disappear, or will Sterling spend the remainder of his life dealing with them?

I hug Sterling’s arm to my chest, embracing him with all my might while I attempt to stop my anxiety spiral. The truth is, I have no idea what the future holds. None of us do. So there’s no sense in borrowing trouble and wearing myself out by stressing over things that may never happen.

I try to comfort myself with the knowledge that somewhere in Tirene—maybe even near the palace—I have a brother, but my excitement wanes almost as quickly as it rises. I have no idea how to go about finding him, and with everything else pressing down on me, no time or energy to spare for what amounts to a frivolous undertaking in the grand scheme of things.

The Hidden Valley harbors answers, I’m sure of it. And as soon as I locate the directions Nyc mentioned were in the forgotten wing, I’ll set out to find the phoenixes there.

* * *

The morning light filters through the gossamer curtains, casting a soft glow on the high vaulted ceilings of the royal dining room. The room is much smaller than the formal dining hall, but still large enough to seat a few dozen people.

I sit amongst our closest circle at the long rectangular wooden table. Sterling, Agnar, Bastian, Blair, and Leesa ring the table with Dowager Queen Alannah sitting at Sterling’s left hand.

She’s heard about our encounter with the drachen and wanted to verify with her own eyes that her only surviving child is still hale and healthy. Instead of eating in Sterling’s room, we’re gathered around the breakfast table laden with platters of steaming food. As always with Sterling, the fare is good, but not over the top. Fluffy eggs, fresh fruit, hearty sausages, and warm bread with butter and an array of jams and compotes tempt my watering mouth.

There’s a comforting familiarity in this ritual, but my gaze keeps drifting to Sterling. The shadows under his eyes are like fading bruises from a fight. He isn’t the unsettling specter from last night, and for that, I breathe easier. Still, his appearance is enough that his mother keeps reaching out to touch his hand and check on him.

I can only imagine how she feels. As terrifying as it is to know there’s a real possibility I could die fighting the drachen, I find solace in knowing I will never experience the pain Alannah has. Outliving one’s entire family, children included, has to be a special kind of torment.

“Pass the bread, would you?” Agnar’s voice cuts through the clinking of utensils, and he heaps his plate with sausages and eggs like he’s fueling for battle.

My fingers brush against the warm crust of the loaf as I hand it over, which pulls me back to the present. “I’ve been thinking.”

Blair’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth. “That sounds dangerous.”

Rolling my eyes, I ignore the comment and Agnar’s snicker. “Anyway, does anyone know if there’s a way to wall off your mind from a drachen? If we can keep ourselves from being swallowed by fear, we might be able to destroy them, or to at least get one step closer.”

While I’d asked Rhiann—one of the few people I trust and who knows the palace like the back of her hand—to search the old wing for the mysterious directions Nyc indicated might be located there, that’s only one part of the battle plan we’d need to protect ourselves. I can’t help but hope for something— anything —we could use as a shield against that paralyzing fright invoked by the drachen.

Agnar laughs, his battle-scarred face lighting up with mirth. “If there was such a thing, people wouldn’t need to find courage at the bottom of a bottle.”

Beneath his infectious laughter, I sense the same thread of urgency that keeps coiling tighter inside me. We’re all grasping at straws, trying to find ways to banish the dread that comes with knowing we’re up against something that can invade not just our lands, but our minds too.

“Hey, Agnar might be onto something.” Leesa’s dark golden blond waves catch the morning light. “People claim eyril gives ’em guts when spooked. Might not shield your mind from a drachen, but it’s a start.”

Always the scholar, Bastian raises an eyebrow, his hazel eyes reflecting a spark of interest. “Eyril? Can’t say I’ve heard that one before.”

Sterling sips his coffee, wincing as he sets the mug down. “If this headache ever goes away, I’ll scour the archives. Maybe there’s something that hasn’t turned to dust or been eaten by silverfish.”

I tap my fingers against the table. “Don’t get your hopes up.” I’m unable to keep the edge out of my voice. “The archives are a mess. Finding anything helpful could take forever.”

“Convenient how history gets tangled when kings have discretion over what is written and preserved.” Bitterness steeps Bastians’s words. “And now here we are, sifting through riddles and rumors instead of concrete knowledge. No offense, Crown Prince Knox, Queen Alannah.”

Blair gives a solemn nod, a rare moment where his jovial facade cracks to reveal the soldier underneath.

We’re all tired of crashing into literal and metaphorical walls. But it’s the hope that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find that one thread to pull that keeps us searching and me believing that survival is more than a fairy tale whispered in the night. After all, Nyc does seem to be on our side, and she’s the goddess who knows the secrets hidden in the dark.

“I could swing by the other big library in Tirene.” Blair absently twirls a fork between his fingers. “It’s private, owned by some noble family rolling in coin. Might be worth a shot.”

There’s a collective murmur of agreement, an understanding that we’re in need of a small miracle, searching for needles in haystacks while time runs thin.

“Not everything is lost when kings clean out the archives. But I think I may be able to help.” Alannah’s voice slices through the air with the precision of a well-forged blade. All eyes settle on the dowager queen as she delicately finishes a bite of fruit. “You’re talking about dampening.”

The surprise flickering across Sterling’s face mirrors my own. “Dampening?”

He leans forward, elbows on the table, the soldier in him alert and seeking.

“Your father, may the gods rest his soul, mentioned it long ago.” Alannah smiles at her son before locking gazes with me. “According to Rex, all dragoncallers in the past learned to master the skill to keep the onslaught of dragon emotions at bay. I don’t see a reason why anyone couldn’t learn dampening with some practice, though, or why it wouldn’t work to keep the drachen from meddling with your emotions too.”

Now that I think about it, I recall stumbling across the word dampening in one of the books I read while researching. The author skimmed right over without explanation, so I wasn’t sure what it meant. Now that I know, Alannah’s logic tracks. When the dragons fled from the drachen, their collective terror overwhelmed me and sent me running too. The strength of their projected panic basically seized control of my body, bypassing my brain and turning me into an emotion-driven mess.

“It’s a mental shield against emotions?” I think I’m beginning to understand. She’s describing a barrier against the evil that tried to steal Sterling from me. “How did your husband know about it?”

“Precisely. Without dampening, sometimes a dragoncaller’s mind could fracture under the strain. He read about the process in a very old tome and decided to teach himself the skill. For what reason, I don’t know.” There’s a hint of sadness in Alannah’s stoic demeanor. “But now, I can’t help but think my husband’s actions were guided by divine intervention, so that I could, in turn, teach you how to dampen.”

The thought that the gods may have had a hand in King Rex learning about dampening many years ago so that Alannah could teach me the skill boggles my mind.

Sterling’s gaze meets mine. The hope glimmering in his dark, gold-flecked eyes reminds me that we need to locate and cling to the light in the darkness.

I lean in, my attention fixed on the older woman. “Can you train us how to do it?”

She pauses, her fork halfway to her plate, and I can tell the wheels are spinning behind her cool facade. “To dampen,” she begins slowly, as if recalling a lesson from long ago, “one must draw deeply upon their own magic. Right before its release, imagine it burgeoning within you.” Her hands move through the air, miming the gathering of an unseen energy.

With her words, I can picture it perfectly. That’s what Agnar and Blair did yesterday in order to physically repel the drachen.

“Then you hold it there. In place.” Her fingers curl, miming holding something in front of her, and a shield of ice forms. “This is just to give you an idea. You shouldn’t form the real thing. Only envision that magic as a barricade between you and the rest of the world. Not tangible bricks and mortar, but a mental construct within your psyche. It acts as a fortress, repelling external emotions, allowing only your true feelings to resonate within.”

I push my plate back, not able to eat another bite as I watch the dowager queen. “That’s incredible.”

When everyone at the table offers her their rapt attention, she flushes pink, her ice shield disappearing.

Alannah’s shoulders lift in an elegant shrug, a queenly gesture that somehow conveys both uncertainty and regal confidence. “Whether this will shield you from the drachen or aid those without dragoncaller blood, I cannot say. But it’s our best chance.”

“Thank you.” After what feels like an eternity of fear, my heart swells with something akin to hope. Turning to Sterling, I find his eyes already on me, alight with a newfound determination.

For once, the future doesn’t seem like a gaping maw ready to swallow us whole. If we remain united and face the threat together, we might just stand a chance of defeating the darkness that hunts us.