Page 33 of Crown of Betrayal and Blood (Dragons of Tirene #3)

Chapter Thirty-Three

Thankfully, I remember the location of the eccentric man’s cottage. Though finding the place in the dark proves a little tricky. We land when the clearing comes into view, opting to walk the rest of the way. Once we reach the front door, I exchange a glance with Agnar.

Hand on his sword, his steely gaze bores into mine.

My heart threatens to beat out of my chest.

Ready? I mouth as I draw my short sword, not wanting to give the stranger the upper hand.

Agnar dips his chin, unsheathing his own weapon with a practiced ease that sends a sliver of light dancing across the walls. In one fluid motion, the door groans open.

Agnar performs an immediate inspection of the interior. His sharp gaze zeroes in on something in the back. I glance that way and see a sheathed sword leaning against the wall, along with a bow and quiver of arrows. The feathers on the end give me pause.

They look familiar.

A cough diverts my attention to the rectangular wooden table near the entrance where the stranger sits in a chair whittling. He doesn’t even look up, but I know he’s aware of our intrusion.

For a few heartbeats, no one speaks. I take the opportunity to study him.

Though he’s got to be forty years my senior, there’s nothing feeble about this man. He’s tall and lean, his warm beige skin weathered like he’s spent years in the sun. Dark brown hair that’s going gray at the temples falls loose around his face, brushing what has to be at least a few days’ worth of growth.

Even under the beard, his strong features are prominent. Lines crease his forehead and crinkle the corners of his eyes, and his nose is slightly crooked in a couple of places. Judging from the weapons strapped to him, he’s a skilled fighter.

“Well, hello again.” His lips quirk like he wants to smile but isn’t accustomed to doing so, and warmth gleams in his russet eyes. “Did you find everything you were looking for?”

He keeps his tone casual, as if we’re discussing the weather.

Agnar tenses behind me, but the man’s gaze drifts over our bared weapons without concern. “No. I’m still searching for a phoenix.” I run my thumb over the hilt of the short sword. “Thought I might find one in here.”

Probably not the smartest idea to bait this guy when I hardly know him. But it’s been one hells of a week, and I’m not in the mood to play nice.

“You remind me so much of myself when I was your age.” Grin breaking free, he shifts away from us, his attention snagged by the painting of the woman riding a dragon.

The same image that’s haunted me since the last time I was here.

My patience snaps. I don’t have time for games. “Who are you?”

Agnar draws up beside me, his movements methodical as he scans the room.

“Have you used your tears to cleanse your adoptive sister?” The stranger’s question pierces the quiet, and a cold prickle of anxiety runs down my spine.

What is he, some sort of spy?

I opt for ignorance, grip tightening around my weapon. “I don’t know what?—”

His knowing laugh reverberates off the stone walls. It’s the laugh of someone who sees right through me, and it sets my nerves on edge.

Who is this man? And why does he seem so familiar when this is only the second time I’ve seen him? Well, maybe the first time didn’t count since he kept his face mostly hidden then.

“Come now.” He rises, looking every bit a warrior as he starts to pace the room. “I take it you’ve learned about the history of the phoenix? Your family lineage. You must know you don’t need to capture a phoenix for their tears.”

Agnar’s mouth drops, gaze swinging from the man to me. “Tell me you’re just as in the dark as I am.”

“Ah.” The man stops pacing a few feet in front of us. “I guess your bodyguard didn’t join you on your journey.”

“Correct. My brother accompanied me. Though you probably already know that since you seem to know everything.” Eyes glued to the man, I fumble to fill Agnar in. “It’s a long story. I’ll give you the details later, but basically, dragoncallers are descended from phoenixes. And we sort of have healing powers. I…um, healed this ancient dragon’s eyesight.”

“Holy. Fuck .” Sensing the tension and awe radiating from Agnar, I steal a quick peek at him. “And you’re just now telling me this?”

“Haven’t exactly had time. Besides, I was going to tell you when I told Sterling so I didn’t have to repeat the story over and over.” I heave a sigh. “But here we are.”

The man’s eyes catch mine, holding a spark of something inscrutable. “You are the eldest daughter of your mother’s line, inheritor of the phoenix’s magic. While you look like both your mother and father, inside you’re nearly identical to your mother. Your biological mother.”

My heart races.

How does he know so much about my family? About me?

Beside me, Agnar touches my arm. A silent gesture of solidarity.

My thoughts scatter like leaves in a gale as I struggle to make sense of the man’s words. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Who are you? And how the hells do you know all this?”

I force myself not to react when he closes the distance between us and stops only a foot away.

“I am Eldor Gentry. Your grandfather.” His tone softens on the last word. “And I know about your mother because she’s my daughter.”

The room tilts as dizziness slams into me.

No way. No fucking way did I hear that right.

My hand drops to my side, short sword almost scraping the floor. “I’m sorry…you’re my what?”

Agnar drapes an arm across my shoulders, like he’s afraid I might face-plant.

Eldor gestures toward the painting on the wall. His eyes light up as he points to the woman astride a dragon, her profile revealing someone who appears both fierce and kind. “That is your mother and my daughter, Marina. You have the same fire in your soul as she did.”

When I take a wobbly step toward the painting, Agnar’s grip around me tightens. He keeps his eyes on the man, my grandfather, while I remain transfixed by the portrait.

My gaze traces the lines of the woman’s—my mother’s—face, searching for familiarity in the curve of her smile or shape of her eye.

Is this even possible? Or did Eldor just concoct a bizarre story to further his own agenda, whatever that might be?

“If you’re really Lark’s grandfather, why didn’t you tell her sooner?” Seemingly satisfied I’m not about to pass out, Agnar squeezes my shoulders before dropping his arm. “Could’ve saved her a lot of time and effort if she’d known all this before you sent her traipsing across kingdoms.”

He has a point.

“Would you have believed me?” With a sigh, Eldor runs a hand through his already wild hair. “Even if you did, which I highly doubt given your nature, this is something you needed to learn on your own.”

“This is a lot to process.” I sheathe my weapon, shoot Agnar a grateful glance, and address Eldor. “But if what you’re saying is true,” Eldor lifts an eyebrow at that but doesn’t interrupt me, “you’ve had plenty of opportunities to speak to me before drugging and kidnapping me. Which, by the way, I haven’t forgiven you for.”

Agnar coughs but otherwise stays silent.

Eldor pauses a beat before answering. “I understand you’re frustrated?—”

“Do you? Because you’re not the one who recently discovered that everything you’ve been told over the course of your life is a lie. You’re not the one who was dumped into an arena with two angry dragons, informed by the king that you’re his long lost fiancé, and eventually chucked by your supposed betrothed into a filthy prison cell. Your mother wasn’t just murdered by your sister. You weren’t poisoned or drugged.” I scowl at Eldor. “You didn’t just learn that demented shadow creatures are attacking and inhabiting people like it’s going out of style and that it rests on your shoulders to find a way to defeat them.”

“No,” Eldor agrees, gentling his tone like he’s speaking to an alicorn foal who might bolt. “But I have watched my granddaughter go through most of that, knowing there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to help. I’ve been keeping an eye on you, you know…since you came to Tirene.”

“You’ve been watching me?” I can’t decide whether I should be touched or creeped out. “Why? Why not just introduce yourself to me like a normal person?”

In response to my tirade, a ghost of a smile plays at Eldor’s lips. “In case you’ve forgotten, King Jasper wasn’t the most tolerant person. I don’t think he would have taken too kindly to me hanging around the palace to spend time with you.”

I bite my lip to hold in a smart comment because he’s right. I barely know Eldor, and I don’t trust him yet, but I have to admit he hasn’t led me astray thus far. Even if his methods are rather unconventional.

“Wait a minute.” Agnar sheathes his sword, apparently satisfied Eldor isn’t going to harm us. “You said you’ve been watching Lark. Were you watching her that day in the gardens when a man killed the guard and tried to kidnap Lark and someone shot an arrow at her attacker?”

“Ziva’s flame, that’s it! That’s how I recognize the arrows. It was you, wasn’t it?”

Eldor’s lips twitch, and he raises his palms. “Guilty.”

“You probably saved my life.”

His expression softens, and for a minute, I glimpse past the hardened exterior of this man who claims to be my grandfather. “You have no reason to trust me, but I hope with time you will. That we can get to know each other.”

Hands loose at his sides, Agnar shoots him a glance that says, harm a hair on her head, and I’ll kill you.

I give my friend’s hand a squeeze to convey I’m okay. Some of the tension eases from his body when he regards me.

After sending Agnar a stern glance that I hope communicates, Behave , I clear my throat. “Tell me about her…about my mother. What was she like?”

“She was remarkable. She loved life, and she loved you even more.” Eldor produces a sealed envelope from inside his tunic. Its edges are worn, as if it traveled through time itself to find me. “Your mother was distraught when you were taken. She later wrote this for you.”

I accept the envelope with trembling fingers, cradling the weight of generations in my palms. I turn the envelope over in my hands, its face blank and smudged with dirt.

Does this hold the answers to all of my questions?

The moment my skin brushes the surface, ink blooms across the envelope like a night flower blooming in moonlight. Ella materializes in beautiful script, as if by some invisible hand still holding the quill.

The name my biological mother gave me.

A gasp escapes me.

Eldor laughs at my reaction. “A safeguard against prying eyes. Blood magic that only responds when the proper person touches it. Your mother’s favorite form of protection.”

“Blood magic?” This is new.

“Indeed.” He leans against a bookshelf, his face a mix of nostalgia and amusement. “And there’s so much more for you to learn. But for now,” his gaze drifts toward the letter in my hands, “read what she wrote. It’s time.”

My fingers shake, but before I unfold the paper, Eldor’s eyes moisten. He looks past me, as if he can see straight through the stone walls to the lands that hold our history. “You were born Ella Leona Hendrix.”

“Marina Hendrix, mother of Ella Hendrix.” I roll the names across my tongue, letting them settle within me. Tears blur my vision as I stare once more at the painting. My mother seems to stare back at me, her expression a silent call to embrace who I am, who we are. The longing to know her claws at me with sharpened talons.

“Hey.” Agnar places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

“Fine.” I brush the tears from my cheeks and steel my resolve.

The knowing look Agnar gives me tells me he doesn’t believe my lie for a second.

The seal of the envelope cracks, seeming to echo in the stillness of the room. Under my fingers, the paper is thick, its edges softened by time. I drink in the looping script trailing down the page like the dance of flames.

Dear Ella,

My darling daughter, if you are reading this, we have not been reunited in life as I’d hoped. But fate is a fickle thing, and she has other plans. For many years, I prayed to the gods for a child. When you were born, I knew there was something different about you. Something incredibly special. You are perfect in every way, born for a purpose higher than just being my daughter.

After you were taken, my heart shattered. I never stopped searching for you. I never gave up faith that you would one day return to me. And I never quit beseeching the gods for your happiness and safety, wherever you were.

I hope I’m right, and that someone did take you that awful day. And as much as I hate them, I hope whoever did loved you and treated you well. How I’ve ached to hold you in my arms and rock you to sleep just one more time. To hear your sweet laughter, to see your beautiful smile again. I can only hope that you have been loved and cared for.

No matter what you face in life, know that I am proud of you, dearest daughter. Trust yourself. Look deep within, and you will do great things.

I’m leaving you a gift to remember me by, a place to store your grief.

Even after death, I will love you always. May you live a long and meaningful life. And one day, when you are old and gray and enter the next world, we will be together again.

Mother

Agnar waits patiently, chin lowered and hands clasped behind his back.

I fold the letter up and tuck it away in my tunic. “How did she die?”

“Widow’s cap. A merchant sold her those instead of harmless morels mushrooms.” Bitterness tinges Eldor’s voice. “To this day, I don’t know if the merchant purposefully sold her those mushrooms, or if it was an honest mistake. I hunted for him for months but never found him. Makes me wonder how many other people met the same fate.”

I’d heard of such things. The two mushrooms look a lot alike, but while one is edible, the other is a deadly poison.

My mind reels. My mother, a woman of royal lineage, dying due to a plant picked by an inexperienced forager. Thousands of questions bounce around in my head.

Was my mother a dragoncaller, or perhaps just a carrier of the gene? Has there ever been more than one dragoncaller at a time? Are they all women, or have there been male dragoncallers too?

The weight of revelation still hangs heavy on my shoulders as I clear my throat. “She mentioned that she left me a gift?”

“Ah, yes.” Eldor reaches into a pocket in his breeches and withdraws a leather pouch. From inside, he produces a small dagger, holding it delicately between his calloused fingers. “Your mother treasured this. It’s been in the family for many generations. Rumor is it belonged to the first dragoncaller.” His eyes twinkle, and I don’t know him well enough to tell whether he’s serious. “Now it is yours.”

I’m cautious as I take the weapon from him, marveling at the intricate scrollwork carved along the edge. The silver lines weave an elegant dance. The razor-sharp point promises precision and danger with the slightest touch.

It fits my hand perfectly, like it was crafted just for me. Once again, my emotions flare, tears brimming unbidden. As I wipe them away, I notice the channels in the intricate scrollwork.

I’m leaving you a gift to remember me by, a place to store your grief.

Pulse drumming, I guide a few drops onto the knife. My tears meander through the grooves like a tiny river before collecting at the tip of the blade.

Agnar whistles. “That’s wicked.”

“Right?”

This isn’t just a keepsake. It’s a tool designed for my legacy, a means to provide healing.

The real question is, are my tears powerful enough to heal those corrupted by the drachen? To destroy drachen themselves?

“Thank you.” I blink back another flood of tears, waiting until I’m sure my voice won’t crack. “This is incredible.”

Eldor studies me for a moment, his gaze steady. “Again, no need to thank me. But I want you to know I’m here for you and will help you defeat the drachen in any way I can. I can fight. I can research. I can be a sounding board as you and those close to you try to figure out what we’re up against. Whatever you need.”

Biting back the urge to thank him again, an idea hits me. “Why don’t you stay in the palace? Or at least come and go as you please. I can arrange for a room.”

Rhiann won’t mind ensuring that my grandfather gets a nice chamber to stay in whenever he’s at the palace. Probably.

Agnar grunts, then opens his mouth like he’s going to protest, but I elbow him in the ribs. I don’t want to have the are you sure we can trust him? talk in front of my grandfather.

Eldor watches the exchange with an amused half smile on his face. “That won’t be necessary. It’s not that far, and I don’t want to cause anyone discomfort.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I wave off his refusal. “When it comes to the drachen, we need all the help we can get. I’ll ensure a room is ready for you tomorrow, and you can come as you please.” Only when his shoulders sag with acceptance do I remember one of the reasons I came here in the first place. “I’m curious though. Why did you put sleeping herbs in my soup? To see if I could cleanse the bowl of the poison?”

“Soup?” Eldor shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I put the note with the cheese plate. There was no bowl or cup on your tray.”

Agnar curses beside me.

My blood stills. “If you didn’t… The soup wasn’t on the tray when you left the note?”

“No. Sounds like you may still have some enemies here, Lark.” Eldor frowns, his eyes darkening with concern. “I suggest you put finding them at the top of your list.”