Page 36 of Crown of Betrayal and Blood (Dragons of Tirene #3)

Chapter Thirty-Six

“Get a healer. She’s still breathing!” Agnar shouts to one of the guards. “You, bring me the key to her chains.”

My heart pounds, and my vision blurs with another round of unshed tears.

“Leesa, I’m right here.” I stroke her damp, stringy hair as a guard carefully assists Agnar in releasing her from her restraints. “Stay with me.”

Metal clangs, and I cringe as they lay her flat on the filthy floor.

I whisper encouragement to my unconscious sister until the healer arrives, Agnar kneeling beside me with his hand on my back.

Healer Luci kneels and rests the back of her hand against Leesa’s forehead, then her cheek. “No fever. That’s a good sign.” She continues to examine my sister for injuries or signs of distress. “She seems to be okay, but we won’t know for sure until she’s awake.”

Seconds—or maybe minutes—later, Leesa’s eyes flutter open.

Cautious hope rises in my chest when I note the color.

Brown.

Clear and vivid, without even a hint of black.

When they focus on my face, familiar warmth glistens in them, and I finally remember to breathe again.

Confusion creases her brow as she attempts to sit up. “What’s going on?

“Careful. Don’t try to move just yet.” I clasp her hand. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“Am I in a…cell?” She struggles to sit upright, gasping at the angry red marks on her wrists. “What happened?”

“Take it easy.” The healer places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It will take some time for you to get your bearings. What you need most right now is rest and nourishment.”

I can’t help but worry about what Leesa went through and how much she recalls. “Everything’s going to be okay. You’re safe.”

She absorbs her surroundings. The royal guards, the dirty cell, the healer, Agnar. Her gaze lands on me again before returning to Agnar.

Her eyes widen with horror as a hand flies up to her mouth. Her entire body begins to tremble.

“No.” She shakes her head back and forth, her face crumpling. “Please gods, no. Tell me it isn’t true. What I’m remembering, all those terrible things…that can’t be true.” She whimpers. “I did, though, didn’t I? I killed them. Mother. Blair. I…oh, gods. I’m sorry. So fucking sorry.”

She breaks down completely, sobbing hysterically into her hands and rocking back and forth.

I gather her in my arms, my tears mingling with hers. “It’s okay. You weren’t yourself. It’s not your fault.”

Agnar murmurs something to the guards, then speaks with the healer before everyone except the three of us leaves. A few minutes later, a guard returns with a heavy blanket.

After tucking the blanket around Leesa and me, Agnar slides down on my other side. Time passes as we sit like that, shivering on the cold, dirty cell floor.

I stroke Leesa’s hair until her sobs subside. After a small eternity, she speaks.

“After that first drachen attack, I felt a little foggy.” Her voice is a hoarse rasp. “Other than that and the headaches, I was fine. But then, I drank eyril at the Lost City, and that’s when I could hear it. A voice in my head whispering to me. Like I was in a dream. The voice would tell me what to do.” She sniffs. “At first, I resisted. But it got harder and harder not to obey. The dream became a nightmare…only the nightmare was real.”

The confirmation hits me like a punch to the gut. Eyril consumption after a drachen fear attack triggers the corruption. Specifically, eyril tainted with dragon blood.

The kind King Xenon cultivated at Flighthaven.

The realization chills me to the bone.

I choose my words carefully. “Leesa, you said you remember what happened with, well?—”

“With Mother and Blair.” She squeezes her eyes shut, dragging a noisy breath into her lungs. “I remember.”

“What did the drachen say, exactly?” I glance at Agnar, and the agony on his face makes my heart ache.

I reach over and cover his large hand with my smaller one, trying to comfort him while my own heart breaks.

“Just that,” Leesa clears her throat, “I had to kill them, or they would kill me. I didn’t want to. I fought it with Mother. But the voice got stronger, more demanding. More real. I started to lose myself. It felt like something kept forcing me deeper inside myself, into a smaller and smaller ball, and then shoved me into a box and locked the lid shut. It probably doesn’t make sense, but that…thing was eventually in complete control.”

My heart shatters as another round of silent sobs rack her body. “It wasn’t you, Leesa. It was the drachen. Like you said, it had utter control over you. None of this is your fault. No one blames you for what happened.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not true,” she whispers. “Because I do. I blame myself. If I were stronger…”

The keening moan that follows is one of the worst sounds I’ve ever heard. I rub her back and whisper soothing words, but she continues whimpering as if I’m not even here.

Movement catches my attention in the cell doorway. Bastian shifts his weight, his face contorted with the same pain that I’m sure mine displays. I don’t know how long he’s been there, but his expression suggests he’s heard enough.

He strides over to us and crouches down. “Leesa.”

With a ragged sob, she flings herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and babbling incoherent words.

Gently scooping her into his arms, he rises. A single tear slides down his cheek.

Thank you , he mouths at me before carrying Leesa from the cell.

Agnar and I sit without speaking and watch them walk away.

* * *

Despite the very late—or rather, very early—hour, Agnar and I, dirty and exhausted, head back to update the queen. My heart races as we approach Sterling’s sitting room, and I’m filled with a mixture of relief over Leesa and dread for what awaits us.

We find the space bustling with activity. Pages and couriers dart in and out, taking written orders from Alannah. She sits on a couch, a blanket draped over her lap and a full tea service arranged before her.

Rhiann stands at attention behind her, ever the dutiful Lady of the Bedchamber and devoted niece. The queen is flanked by her ladies-in-waiting ready to do her every bidding. Various royal council members sit on the rearranged couches, some fully dressed and others wearing dressing gowns around their nightclothes, with their hair disheveled. Everyone’s expressions appears somber and focused.

Duchess Breann spots us first, her eyes widening at the sorry state we’re in.

“Your Majesty.” I step forward, hoping my news will ease some of the tension. “We managed to cure Leesa. She seems to be all right physically, but emotionally and mentally? Well, that’s going to take some time.”

“Thank you, dear.” The queen’s eyes soften as she processes this news, and the worry eases a bit from her shoulders. “I’m very happy to hear the news of your sister. It gives me hope for my son.”

All eyes are on us now, expressions ranging from shock to disdain.

Poor Sterling had to deal with them every day. Every. Single. Day.

Duchess Breann notices my curiosity and waves me over, pushing back her graying hair with a frustrated motion. “We’ve been going through the prince’s orders. I heard it was you who found him. I’m so very sorry, Lark. Her Majesty brought us up to speed while you were with your sister.”

Across from the duchess, Nira, a curvy woman with shiny brown hair, shakes her head. “I think he may have set a new record for orders given in a single day.” She smooths a hand over her stunning emerald dress. “We’re trying to rescind them as quickly as possible now that we know he was not himself and was working against the kingdom.”

As the queen continues to write new orders, the royal council members who are in attendance chat amongst themselves.

“Prince Knox has been giving orders to import eyril from Aclaris.” A man in his early twenties with blond hair and a prominent chin wrinkles his nose when he takes in my appearance. “He had it passed around to every soldier in Tirene. The captains of every squad were ordered to have their soldiers drink the eyril in case of a drachen attack.”

My stomach churns at the thought. The drachen—or whoever controls them—found a way to use Sterling’s position to spread their influence, endangering countless lives.

A grandfatherly man with thin gray hair and a wiry mustache gestures to a map spread across a table, marked with colored pins and scribbled annotations. “The confusing part, Duke Bron, is that all soldiers were put on rotation to pass through this point,” he taps his finger on the southeastern border, “before fanning out in a sort of border guard.” He glances up at Agnar and me, his face pinched with concern. “We’re not sure why, since they weren’t ordered to meet up, collect, or drop off anything there.”

Agnar strides forward, scrutinizing the map. I follow, my heart racing as I study the markers that litter the parchment.

Sterling’s words come back to me.

I’ve spent the day sending squads southward. Before long, Tirene’s forces will march to a different drum, one beat by the drachen.

The revelation makes me glad I only managed a few bites of my dinner.

“We just confirmed with Leesa something Prince Knox told me. A drachen’s fear attack, when they hold you still or make you walk toward them, is one part of the process. But the corruption also requires the person to drink eyril. That activates the corruption. His highness said he was sending out troops.”

Agnar’s eyes widen with understanding. “Duke Arlo, the prince planned to corrupt every member of the military by sending them into an area where drachen await. Once corrupted, they would then move out to form a net around the island.”

“By the gods.” Duke Arlo gestures to the markers on the map. “After that, following the orders he sent out, the military would be set to turn inward and either kill or corrupt every living person on Tirene. People in other kingdoms too.”

Gasps and murmurs ripple through the gathered council members.

The queen blanches and begins handing out blank paper. “We must act quickly. Help me write the orders to stop this madness. Rhiann, I need scribes, quickly.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Rhiann is out the door in mere seconds.

Careful not to get any dirt on the furniture, I walk straight to the queen and stop in front of her. “What if that’s not enough?”

The queen pauses, quill midair, and glimpses up at me. “What do you mean, dear?”

The weight off all eyes in the room settles on me.

“Once the military gets orders to halt, they won’t be going into drachen territory. But what’s to say the drachen won’t come after them anyway? Based on previous drachen attacks in Tirene, it’s only a matter of time before they come here again.”

Rafe Bennett, a dark-haired man I’d think was handsome if he wasn’t always scowling at me, scoffs. “Foolish girl. If the drachen attack again, we’ll be ready. That’s why the queen is giving orders for the troops to retreat, so they won’t encounter any awaiting drachen. Weren’t you listening?”

Murmurs percolate throughout the room.

A lady with fiery red hair whose name I don’t recall whispers to Rafe, “Maybe she’s simpleminded. She has to be, seeking an audience with the queen dressed like a peasant who has been rolling in the mud with hogs.”

Rafe smirks, like she’s just told some sort of private joke that only the two of them can hear.

Except I’m standing right here. In front of you.

Fury is a living, breathing thing inside me. Some of these royal council members are no better than the nobles I dealt with in Aclaris.

Luckily, I’ve come a long way from the easily intimidated girl I used to be.

I back away from the queen to address the entire room. “I assure you I heard every word the queen said. And though my opinion doesn’t matter, she’s right. Rescinding the crown prince’s previous orders is the first, most logical course of action. But we can’t stop there. We need to go to Flighthaven.”

I ignore the “rolling in the mud with the hogs” comment. Sterling’s life and many other lives are on the line, and I don’t give a flying fuck what this woman—or anyone else, for that matter—thinks about me.

Sterling taught me that.

Duke Arlo furrows his brow, concern lacing his words. “Why would you want to go to Flighthaven when that’s where King Xenon and the majority of the drachen are?”

Gods give me patience.

Before I can reply, Queen Alannah goes still as ice, turning on the duke with a glare that could freeze the desert. “That is where my son, Tirene’s crown prince, is most likely being held captive by the monster wearing his body. And if Sterling is not returned in time to assume his place in the coronation ceremony, the crown will pass on.”

The room falls silent, the air heavy with discomfort. The assembled nobles squirm in their seats, avoiding each other’s gazes.

Agnar’s eyes remain blank, though oddly, I swear a hint of humor tugs at his mouth.

“Who would be next in line?” I realize for the first time just how much is at stake. Rhiann, the king’s cousin, flits through my mind, along with Jaime, a cousin of Sterling’s we once overheard a group of strangers dismiss as worthless.

The queen takes a deep breath, her gaze piercing mine like a dagger. “If there is no suitable heir in the king’s direct line, the crown and throne goes to the highest ranked dragoncaller in Tirene.”

A shiver runs down my spine as I realize the full complexity of the queen’s words. “But I’m the only dragoncaller.”

Queen Alannah nods gravely. “Precisely.”

I start to laugh. “Okay, very funny. Though I suppose we all could use a little humor right about now.”

Glancing around the room, I find that no one else is laughing, although Agnar’s grinning at his boots and the duchess appears to be biting back a smile.

The rest of the faces run the gamut from dead serious to alarmed to incredibly peeved.

My humor dies a sudden death. “Oh shit. You weren’t kidding, were you?”

Alannah’s expression remains patient. “No, dear. If Sterling is not brought back to Tirene, you will be crowned as our kingdom’s next queen.”

I struggle to form a coherent sentence. “Queen? I’m not equipped to be queen.”

In the heat of the moment, I may have succumbed to some angry thoughts about the Bardas stealing the crown and how it belongs to me more than them. That doesn’t mean I’ve deluded myself into believing I’m actually fit to rule.

Alannah sets her quill down and levels me with her gaze. “Then I suggest you bring my son home.”