Page 22 of Crown of Betrayal and Blood (Dragons of Tirene #3)

Chapter Twenty-Two

The queen’s parlor is heavy with the scent of lavender and beeswax, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of sweaty soldiers standing at attention in the middle of the room.

The first group up for training features a mix soldiers, dragonriders, guards, and maids. We decided to start with the ones in leadership positions because, as we learned last time, if the officers flee, the rest will fall to panic and chaos. The drachen didn’t even need to affect the lower ranks once the upper ranks collapsed.

I’m standing at the helm of an odd assembly of stern-faced soldiers and wary maids, like we’re about to engage in some kind of bizarre dance rather than a magic drill.

The maids directly under Rhiann’s command are present, too, their eyes wide and flickering between us and the door, as if they might bolt at any moment. I can’t blame them. They should never be required to fight, but we also cannot allow them to give in to their fright.

The drachen could invade again at any time, so the staff, at the very least, must be prepared to withstand a fear attack.

To be fair, the officers aren’t any more excited than the palace staff. Skepticism shows in their stiff postures, as well as their periodic snorts and head shakes. And underneath everything lurks the common element of terror.

Sterling and Alannah masterminded the groupings and setup. While it might have made more sense to practice outside, Alannah is the only one who can teach us. Today, she didn’t feel strong enough to venture to the training fields.

As much as I wish Sterling were here, he has royal matters requiring his attention and is tucked away in his chambers with the royal council. I gaze around the room at all the disgruntled faces and decide that he lucked out.

“Picture the barrier in front of you, protecting you from the world.” Alannah’s delicate voice breaks through the tension, firm but not unkind. “So strong and dense that nothing can get through it. Not a thought or emotion.”

Agnar stands beside her, his piercing blue eyes scanning the ranks for any sign of disobedience or mockery, but mostly the attendees exhibit restlessness and impatience. The session started a while ago, with little to show in the way of progress. The will is there, but trying to build mental shields feels different than wielding our usual magic. The learning curve is steep, and it doesn’t help that no one wants to make a fool of themselves in front of an audience.

“Focus.” Agnar’s orders resonate with an authority that comes second nature to him after taking over for Sterling as captain. “Lindon, no. Remember, don’t use your hands to push your magic outward. You need to draw it inward instead.”

I bite my lower lip and stare at my boots to suppress a laugh. Nothing about the training is inherently funny, but I swear I’ve heard Agnar repeat the same information in about twenty different ways. And with every attempt, you can bet money on at least a third of the room raising their hands and conjuring their elemental magic. Because of that, at least three people are currently dripping water onto the marble floor. Another handful appear as if they were caught in a cyclone, and we had to clear the area of vines and stray rocks twice already.

Agnar even had to break up a fight when two soldiers got a little overzealous in their attempts and almost came to blows.

Not that I have a leg to stand on. So far, all of my efforts have proven to be a spectacular failure.

“Remember,” Alannah coaches, “this is about finesse, not strength. You must construct the barrier with your imagination first and then use your power to make it real.”

I try. Gods, do I try. I close my eyes, envisioning a shield, a wall, a godsdamned door. Anything that could stop an invasion of unwanted external emotions.

The familiar heat of fire licks along my fingers, eager to burst free of its restraints. I rein my magic back in and imagine the flames transforming into cool, impenetrable stone.

An officer’s magic slips his control. Water shoots, but before it can splash onto the floor, a maid steps forward with raised hands and, gentle as a whisper, traps it on a wind current.

The officer mumbles a thank you and reclaims his element with a frustrated sigh.

“Keep at it.” Alannah’s voice is a calm anchor in the sea of nervous energy. “Again.”

We continue with our awkward orchestra of elemental magic and silent prayers, each of us battling our own instincts in an effort to let this strange concept bloom into a new ability. The entire exercise feels weird, as if we’re attempting to thwart nature.

Out of all of us, I might be the only one who took a daily magic dampener to suppress their power or was raised to fear my magic and taught to always keep it under firm control.

Of course, that was a lesson that failed to stick.

“Control isn’t just about strength.” Blair paces the opposite side of the room from Agnar. Beneath the crystal chandelier, his sandy brown hair takes on a golden glow, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. “It’s about holding steady. We’ve all trained with weapons, spears, arrows, and the like. This is a different sort of weapon…one we don’t use to hurt the enemy but instead use to prevent the enemy from hurting us.”

A mini tornado forms in front of his chest, then slowly recedes into his body. His eyes widen.

From his expression, I can tell he almost had it.

But air is so much easier to hold in place. It just sits there doing nothing when you’re not using it.

Fire doesn’t like to be contained. It’s never still. Even the tiniest flicker of a candle’s flame is in constant motion.

Fingers trembling, I focus inward, gathering the tendrils of my power. It’s like coaxing flames to embers, something I’ve only recently learned how to do. A barrier of fire roars to life, pulsing with my heartbeat.

Too vivid. Too wild.

Ziva help me.

The maid in front of me tenses, her eyes locked on the undulating wall of fire. “Easy there, Lady Lark.”

I nod, biting down on my lower lip.

Right. This exercise isn’t about conjuring flames. It’s about restraint. With a controlled exhale, I imagine reeling the fire back in, the way one might spool a loose section of rope for storage. The heat dissipates from my skin and the air cools, but the shield also shudders and collapses.

I’m left squinting at my empty palms, frustration knotting my chest.

Agnar nods at me. “Again.”

I square my shoulders, refusing to be defeated by my own nature. This time, I ease my magic forth, letting it pool in my hands without taking shape or purpose. The sensation is a strange one, suppressing what usually bursts forth so eagerly.

A warm, familiar caress spreads across my skin. I smother that warmth, tucking it away deep inside me where it can do no harm.

The balance is awkward and clumsy and difficult to strike, trying to be both the flame and the dampener. Sweat beads on my forehead as my focus wavers. The magic flares for a second before dimming, snuffed out by my willpower.

Or perhaps by my sheer stubbornness.

My thoughts drift to the dragons in their paddock, their emotions a constant hum in the back of my mind. If I can master this, their world—and mine—will grow a little quieter, a little less fraught. And if dampening can prevent us all from being enthralled by the drachen?

I roll my neck and prepare for attempt number one thousand and five.

Come on. Get your shit together.

Deviating a little this time, I envision a filter rather than a barrier, something to soften but not silence the connection. In doing so, I sense a subtle shift. My breath hitches.

Holy hells. Am I onto something?

I strengthen the magic, weaving it tighter.

A new sensation—concern—streams through me, emanating from the paddock.

The dragons can feel my emotions waning and worry.

Are they all right?

My mind reaches out to them, but before panic roots, an airy trill cuts through the silence.

Ryu, the oldest dragon at the palace. His relief is a bright burst inside my chest.

“What’s going on? Why are the dragons talking?” a soldier wonders, his voice tinged with awe.

Even without looking, I know Ryu’s calling to the others, sharing the news that I’m doing something good by learning how to hide my thoughts and presence from them.

All eyes turn to me, and I lose my control. The shield shatters, and I’m immersed in Ryu’s immense pride before it’s replaced with rounds of amusement from the rest of the flock.

The queen’s gaze meets mine, a silent acknowledgment of the moment’s significance. “Excellent work.”

I release a shaky laugh, my heart lighter than it’s been in ages. The threads of magic still thrum within me, now a gentle purr instead of a roar. I take those threads and weave them, again and again. Not to heat, not to make fire, but simply to layer the magic without manifesting the element itself.

While I can hear the dragons outside the palace, I can no longer feel their presence in my mind. Ryu leads them in a chorus of cheers, their trills heard even from this distance.

I did it! I actually did it. Thank the gods, we might actually have a fighting chance.

A small victory, but a start.

For the moment, that will have to be enough.

Releasing the dampening reminds me of peeling away layers of heavy, tightly wrapped blankets. A rush of emotions floods in.

Pride, strong and pure, radiates from every dragon in the paddock. Even little spurts of relief. Their trills morph into victory roars.

Once again, all eyes in the room settle on me.

The small success warms me more than any fire I could conjure. I’m not the only one who’s been subjected to outside emotions since I arrived. The dragons have been swept along in my trials and tribulations as well, a tumultuous path marked by love’s highs and grief’s lows. They’ve ridden the waves of my heartache and triumph right alongside me. All without complaint.

I project a silent message of gratitude. Ryu, Dame, Chirean, thank you.

“Lady Lark, your control is impressive.” Alannah’s voice penetrates the tangled thoughts in my mind. “I can tell from the dragons’ reactions and the expression on your face you’ve managed to learn dampening. But remember, mastery comes with repetition. Keep practicing.”

“Of course, Queen Alannah. I started picturing a filter instead of a wall, and I think that may have helped.” I square my shoulders, determined to solidify this newfound skill. “I won’t stop until it’s second nature. But for now, I’m going to let Crown Prince Knox know it can be taught. And someone else can take my place in the lesson.”

Alannah waves me toward the door. “Send the next student in. I’ll share what aided you with your success in case it may be of assistance to them.”

Leaving the parlor behind, I stride through the palace’s grand corridors. The stone walls of the king’s wing whisper secrets of ages past, yet my mind hums with thoughts of the present.

Finally, some good news to share. If I’m lucky, it will be enough to put Sterling in a special kind of celebratory mood.

My boots click on the marble floor as I approach his chambers with mounting anticipation. I can picture his smile, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he’s genuinely moved. How he’ll wrap an arm around me. Kiss me.

Shove me onto the bed and have his wicked way with me.

I push open the door to Sterling’s public sitting room, my heart skipping a beat in excitement and heat blooming low in my belly.

The scene before me is intense. Royal council members huddle around Sterling with their combined voices creating an urgent hum, their postures and expressions all frozen lines and sharp edges.

My gaze settles on a woman with short magenta hair. Dalya, a no-nonsense woman about ten years my senior. Next, I spot Fenton, a slender older man with curly gray hair. I haven’t had much interaction with him, but he always seems polite.

My eyes rove over the other council members. Duchess Breann, a gray-haired grandmother who showed me kindness when I struggled with my brand-new wings. A young blond man with a pointed chin who I think is called Duke Bron. I don’t know the rest of their names, though I really should remember to ask who the man with dark wavy hair is. I swear, he could turn scowling at me into its own sport.

He notices me first and cuts off mid-sentence. One by one, the remaining heads swivel to face me, and the discussion halts as if snipped by shears.

Sterling’s gaze latches onto mine, and for a heartbeat, his expression remains flat, not a flicker of recognition in the depths of his eyes.

My gut twists. Before I can devolve into full freak-out mode, his features soften, quick as a summer storm. He offers me a tight smile and gestures around the room to indicate that he’s tied up at the moment.

Okay , I mouth, easing the door closed. Outside, my former excitement cools into a puddle of uncertainty.

I tug at a loose strand of hair while retreating down the hall at a snail’s pace. Either the drachen attack exhausted him even more than I thought, or the discussion with the council isn’t going well.

Unfortunately, I don’t find either option particularly reassuring.