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

Chapter Three

Agnar Kerrin opens the door with his fingers spread over his eyes like a blindfold. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

The sight of the big, broad-shouldered soldier with a battle-scarred face hiding behind his hands is nothing short of ridiculous.

I snort while Sterling’s lips twitch, a reluctant smile blooming across his face. “Duty calls?”

He straightens his attire with brisk efficiency. Massive wings, the feathers streaked with silver, burst into view before folding neatly along his back like an elegant cloak.

“Indeed, it does.” The voice of Blair Jameson chimes in from the hallway, the tease clear even through the barrier between us. “Unless you’ve taken up residence in dusty sitting rooms now?”

“Only the most luxurious sitting rooms for our prince.” I can almost hear the smirk in Agnar’s words.

Despite his initial distrust, Agnar and I have managed to become friends. We’ve grown even closer since he was assigned as my food taster following an attempted poisoning incident involving a strawberry pastry. Sharing daily meals with the man without growing fond of him seems like a challenge most would fail.

That poisoning attempt was weeks ago, before Aclaris and Tirene called for a temporary truce. So much has changed since the drachen appeared and embarked on a ravenous rampage.

Sterling’s face screws into a scowl that would have sent me running when he was my instructor at Flighthaven.

“Get in here, you two. We’re discussing the recent rumors.” If I can distract them, there’s a small chance they won’t tease us about acting like randy teens sneaking off in the middle of the ceremony.

Blair pushes Agnar through the doorway.

Stumbling, Agnar catches his balance, then glances up at the chandelier hanging above where we sit. “You’re getting really good at throwing fire.”

I shrug, secretly pleased he’s noticed.

“What rumors are we talking about?” Blair steps in, closing the door behind him. The man loves gossip as much as he loves hooking up with the maids—or any unattached woman, for that matter—which is quite a lot.

With his sandy brown hair that curls around the ends, boyish handsomeness, and easy disposition, I wouldn’t peg Blair as a highly skilled soldier if I met him on the street, but he’s every bit the warrior as Agnar and Sterling.

The three men are brothers-in-arms who would walk through fire for each other without hesitation.

“The ones about me.” If anyone knows the best gossip happening in the palace, it will be Blair. It’s pillow talk for a man like him.

“You mean the ones about how the troubles only started after you got here?” Agnar surprises us all by speaking up first. He’s usually too invested in his work and training to bother with listening to rumors. “And how we’d be better off chasing you out of the kingdom?”

“Oh, those are hollow and everyone knows it.” Blair works his hand like a talking mouth and smirks. His soft brown eyes spark with mischief. “I think she’s talking about the ones where Knox left Tirene only to come back with an Aclaris noblewoman that he’s since moved into the king’s wing and what that means for the rest of the court.”

I huff. “Hard to believe that when we first met, you were the quiet one.” I poke him in the ribs. “Why do you think they’re hollow? Aclaris’s raids on our ships were definitely related to me, since King Xenon started them to pressure Tirene to send me back.”

Blair’s playful expression fades. “Because the prophecy is spreading just as fast as that rumor. The one that tells of how you’re the only one who can save the world.”

The prophecy, including the additional secret part King Jasper shared before his death, still lingers in my mind, every word burned into my memory.

Heed the drachen

Creatures of shadows,

Born of darkness

Strengthened of bane,

Enhancement of elements

Death of many.

Childe of dragons, but no one’s childe.

Born in the year of the huntress moon.

Not of Tirene nor Aclaris,

A dragoncaller, the first in generations,

buried alive,

unearthed only to die.

Forged in fire,

Reborn from ash,

Her allegiance the key to king and kingdom.

The lost heir will break the worlds

And save the worlds.

Righteous indignation builds in my chest. “Of course, they’re not rattled by the part where I’m buried alive and then die.”

No, it’s fine, really. No one worry about me. I’ll just keep training so that on some non-specified future date, some asshole can bury me alive, dig me back up, and then kill me again. All after I break the world and then save it. Whatever the hells that even means.

Who wouldn’t sign up for that type of excitement? Sounds like a real good time.

Not.

I prop my hands on my hips and glare at the wall. Why must prophecies be all doom and gloom and riddles?

“Well, to be fair,” Agnar glances at the other two men before returning his gaze to me, “the part where you break the world is pretty scary too.”

I give a dismissive wave. “I don’t think the world’s so fragile I can break it. Right?”

“Let’s not forget, prophecies aren’t necessarily meant to be taken literally.” Sterling grasps my hand, threading my fingers through his. “It’s vague for a reason. It could mean any number of things.”

I’d thought the same thing the night of the drachen attack, wondering if I was about to fulfill the prophecy. Buried alive could mean several things. Ziva’s flames, every line of the prophecy could be taken in a myriad of ways.

Am I even truly the person this prophecy is about?

I am not “no one’s childe” since I actually had two mothers and one father. Parents who loved me so much, they were willing to do anything to protect me.

A strange thought to have, but still true.

“Don’t worry, Lark. We won’t let anything happen to you. And we won’t let people talk ill of you either.” Blair glances at Sterling, then suddenly straightens and salutes. “Or you, Sterling. Er, Crown Prince Knox, Sir, Your Royal Highness.”

Sterling snorts at the name. “Please don’t call me that ever again. I’ve had enough people bowing and scraping.”

“Speaking of the bowing and scraping,” Agnar jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the door, “the crowd in the throne room is getting riled up, wondering where you are and why you’re not there to honor your brother. We should probably head back before more rumors start sprouting.”

Sterling sighs and shoots me an abashed glance. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Get back to it.” I give his hand a squeeze before releasing it. “I’ll wait a bit longer, then make my way back to the throne room as well. We can talk again tonight.”

“All right.” Sterling runs a hand through his hair.

Then he turns and grasps my hand again, placing a kiss against my fingers. His eyes light up, and heat warms my cheeks. Those are the same fingers he sucked on before. The same fingers I?—

“Talking.” Blair flashes Sterling and me a devilish grin. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

At least we didn’t get caught in the act.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” I say primly while narrowing my eyes. “Say, have you visited the cold room where you store the butchered meat again lately? That place was so… revealing .”

I swallow a snicker when a red flush creeps up Blair’s neck.

Agnar’s brow furrows as his gaze travels between us. “Storage room? What am I missing?”

He’s missing the context of us investigating alarming noises only to find a bare-assed Blair plowing a woman against the wall.

Taking pity on Blair, I rescue my hand from Sterling and squeeze his forearm. “You’d better go.”

Sterling kisses my cheek and heads for the door, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Blair opens it for him and Agnar, shoots me a mock glare, and then accompanies them out.

After waiting for what feels like an appropriate amount of time, I pull the fire from the candles overhead, leaving the wicks smoking and warm but dark. That’s another thing I’ve been practicing.

Keeping my head up, I open the door.

Skulking along will only draw more attention to my movements. Figuring Sterling and his men would have taken the first doors into the throne room, I walk down the hall to enter at the back of the room instead. No one glances my way as I settle into a spot along the wall. Nothing seems to have changed, which is good, if a bit boring.

I’m smoothing down the sides of my dress in an attempt to erase the evidence of haste and stolen moments, when my mother descends upon me like a summer storm.

Sudden and all-encompassing.

Lady Lynnea Axton is a force to be reckoned with, and being her adopted daughter will not save me if she finds my appearance lacking.

Thin lips pressed tight with annoyance, her hands work through my hair, re-plaiting strands that must have escaped during the hot sex that would give my mother a heart attack if she knew. “Lark, why do you always look as if you’ve been wrestling with the wind? This is a court event. You must use your best manners. And remember to enunciate when you speak. We’re judged by the way we are perceived. First impressions may be the only ones we can make.”

“Of course, Mother.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and tell her the real reason why I’m disheveled. Mother has always believed that clothing is armor, and armor should always be worn properly in order to protect oneself.

She squares her shoulders and lifts her chin, motioning for me to mimic her. “Stand tall, darling. Your wings are your pride, not your shame.”

I bite back a smile at how she proclaims this as if it’s something she’s always told me.

I’ve only had my wings for a matter of weeks, the magic required to mature them having been suppressed by the tablets she gave me to keep my fire magic under control.

She tucks a final loose tendril behind my ear, her touch lighter than a feather, before stepping back to scrutinize her handiwork.

I squeeze her hand. “Thank you. What would I do without you?”

Her brown eyes glisten with emotion. “The real question is, what would I have done without you, daughter of my heart?”

A ball lodges in my throat. Once the initial shock of discovering the truth about my heritage—how I wasn’t her biological daughter at all but a Tirenese girl stolen from my country on King Xenon’s orders, who Lynnea passed off as her daughter who’d perished weeks beforehand before sequestering me in Castle Axton in an effort to protect me—faded, my reaction involved a lot of anger and bitterness, much of which I directed at Lynnea. Thankfully, I was able to let go of my anger long enough to realize that the woman I called Mother played no part in my kidnapping and did everything she could to keep me safe from Xenon. I extended an olive branch because blood relative or not, this woman raised me from a toddler.

King Xenon is the person who deserves my ire. Not the woman who taught me to read and sew, who let me climb into bed with her if a nightmare woke me up and made sure I always had a cake and gifts on my birthday. Not the woman who firmly but kindly guided me into apologizing when warranted and standing up for myself when someone else wronged me.

She cups my cheek, but whatever she’s about to say gets cut off as a harried and breathless voice breaks through the hum of festivity.

“Your Highness!” Two messengers push through the throng to reach Sterling. They bow in haste, one nearly tripping over his words in the process.

“Prince Knox, Your Highness, drachen have attacked Kamor. Massive ones according to reports near their northern border.”

“Flighthaven stirs as well,” the other adds, cheeks flushed from more than just the run. “King Xenon has mobilized his troops. Airborne and ground soldiers. We don’t know if they brace against the drachen or for war.”

My heart skips a beat.

Who was attacked? Where? While I don’t have many close friends in Aclaris, I know several people at Flighthaven and in the villages around my mother’s estate. Dozens of faces race through my mind.

Royce, the merchant who runs a food pantry I helped start in Beckkerun. His family. The staff at our estate. Members of my flight unit at Flighthaven. All the students and instructors. Countless others.

I glance at Sterling, wondering how he’s going to handle this.

His stillness is a prelude to the storm he can unleash, yet there’s a flicker in his gaze. He’s no longer a captain in the military. Now he must also consider the responsibility of a crown he never sought.

“Have any of our spies sent word?”

Blair straightens, his height allowing him to see over the heads of most of the attendees. “I will check, Your Highness.”

With a hurried bow, he twists away and disappears into the crowd.

The messengers retreat, their news rippling through the gathering like a stone tossed upon the surface of a pond. I sense the ripple of fear mirrored in the faces around me.

No one has heard of a drachen attack since the massive one at our palace that resulted in twenty-eight casualties.

By Zeru’s grace, no one will ever hear of another attack ever again.

Various attendees start babbling excuses and scurrying away from the gathering, as if frightened the large group of people might attract predators.

For all we know, their fear could be justified. We have no clue what caused the drachen to attack humans after only preying on animals.

The murmurs swell into a crescendo of panic, a cacophony that ricochets off the marble walls and punches through the heavy air. Council members and nobles in their white mourning garb press in, each one desperate to be heard, to prove their worth in the looming shadow of chaos.

“Your Highness, strategy must be—” one begins.

“I demand protection for my lands—” another starts to insist.

A side glance at Sterling confirms he’s ensnared in the web of counsel seekers. His face, a mask of stoic resolve, betrays nothing of his earlier doubt.

Probably because this is a tactical problem that requires information gathering and military prowess, and Sterling excels at both.

My focus narrows to escape, to breathe without the stench of desperation clogging my senses. Sterling won’t need me, and I have no desire to stand here while people discuss the dangers from Aclaris, a place I once called home.

I turn to my mother, not missing her ashen face. “I think I’ll go to my chambers. There’s nothing I can do to help right now.” I take her hand, leading us toward the doors, my steps light, and my wings spirited away to avoid hindrance or detection.

“That’s a good idea, dear. This is no business of ours. Unless Crown Prince Knox asks for us, and then we will of course assist him in any way we can.” Mother slips out the door, looking both ways. “It might be best we separate as well. That way, people won’t think we’re conspiring.”

My heart clenches at the fear in her voice. She’s lived under King Xenon’s reign, aware of how cutthroat he can be, for longer than I’ve been alive. She knows he never acts without thinking through every implication and possible outcome. But she never understood his intentions.

“Take care of yourself.”

She stops, smiles, and pats my cheek. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll go back to my room. Maybe you should head to the fire paddock. Remind the people of why you are so important to Tirene. Hurry.” She pushes me away, then heads in the other direction.

For a moment, I watch her go. My loving, kindhearted mother. She walks alone toward the king’s wing, weaving through the press of Tirene nobles. Though her lack of wings announces she’s not one of them, her head remains high.

Mimicking her courage by lifting my own chin, I head in the other direction, toward the walkways that will take me to the courtyard and the fire paddock. As a dragoncaller who can share an emotional connection with dragons, I spend as much time as I can there. And my mother is right.

As the lone dragoncaller in all the kingdoms, making an appearance with the revered creatures will remind the Tirenese that not only am I one of them, I am also needed.

Hopefully.

With every step, the tether linking me to the majestic creatures strengthens. Distance weakens our bond, as do the thick marble walls of the palace. Unless I focus, I can only sense their strongest emotions and vice versa.

The people milling around shoot me glances ranging from friendly to wary to downright hostile. My reception here in Tirene has proven to be a little rocky. Overall, I think more locals accept me now than they did when I first arrived, but any negative mentions of Aclaris or Xenon tend to reignite their suspicions.

Now that Mother has left, I can’t help but remember the three assassination attempts aimed at me. We never did find the exact culprits, though the blame went to a small group smuggling tainted eyril into the country. So far, they admit to the smuggling but continue to claim no knowledge of the attempts on my life, and despite their current internment in the palace dungeons, worry continues to niggle at me.

Especially after the court messenger uttered the terms “Aclaris” and “war” in the same sentence.

Suddenly, the hostile glances feel more threatening. My pulse leaps, and my feet quicken their pace.

I turn down an empty corridor. As I rush past an alcove, a flash of motion catches my eye.

A strong arm wraps around my waist, jerking me to a halt. A hand slaps over my mouth.

For a second, I think Sterling slipped away from his obligations to drag me into the shadows again.

I believe that right up until the sharp, medicinal scent scalds my nostrils.

My heart lurches, magic surging hot and ready beneath my skin.

Before I can unleash the flames, though, darkness descends.

My breath catches, and my vision blurs.

My thoughts fragment, scattering like embers in the wind.

“Ster—” His name dies on my tongue.

“Easy now. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The deep, craggy voice is unfamiliar. Male.

That’s my last coherent thought before the ground tilts and plunges me into the void.

Invisible currents carry me away. I drift, far from Sterling, from safety, from…

I go under, and the world disappears.