Page 4 of Crown of Betrayal and Blood (Dragons of Tirene #3)
Chapter Four
Something digs into my wrists, and a vaguely familiar medicinal scent assaults my senses. My brain is hazy, my body heavy.
Sifting through the mental fog, I fight to remember what happened. Images flash through my mind. My mother. The corridor in the palace. Strong arms grabbing me. A sharp, pungent odor. That voice.
Somone drugged me.
Alarm chases away the haze as I call on my magic, ready to fight my way out of this situation I’ve found myself in. It doesn’t respond. No power hums just below the surface. No warmth.
Fear replaces my alarm as my eyes snap open.
I’m not in the plush comforts of my chamber, but in a spacious room.
Several curtained windows peek out of gray stone walls. A heavy wooden door stands in front of me. Bookcases of varying heights and sizes are crammed full of an eclectic mix of old and newer tomes. To my right is a large, neatly made bed. Pots and pans hang from hooks on the wall to my left beside an iron cookstove.
A roughhewn rectangular table lined with wooden chairs sits beyond the stove. A collection of knives and daggers that would make Celeste Dawson—Flighthaven’s weapon’s instructor— envious takes up more than half of the surface.
I glance down. Rope binds my wrists and ankles, tying me to a leather chair that’s seen better days.
“Hey there.” An imposing figure steps into my peripheral, leaving me with the fleeting impression of muscular arms and dark, gray-streaked hair. “Glad to see you’re awake.”
I stiffen and yank at my bindings, but it’s no use. The stupid things won’t budge. “Who in the three hells are you?”
“Someone who needed to ensure our conversation remained private.” He stays just out of sight, but if I twist enough, I can make out the gleaming tip of a sword at his side. Fucking fantastic. “Rest easy. I mean you no harm. If I did, we wouldn’t be speaking now.”
I test the ropes again for good measure, but the knots only tighten. “Could’ve fooled me. You know, drugging and kidnapping me and all.”
Laughter rings out, followed by an unceremonious grunt and a clanking noise that I attribute to weapons. I’m guessing my captor just sat down. “You’ve got moxie, that’s for sure.”
Irritation prickles my spine. “As delighted as I am that my moxie impresses you, I’d really like to know why in Ziva’s name you brought me here. If you wanted to talk to me so badly, you could’ve introduced yourself at the palace like a civilized person.”
He releases a heavy sigh. “You’re right. And I’m sorry about all this, but I need to discuss something important. And I didn’t want to risk anyone overhearing.”
“So you had to tie me up and hide your face to talk to me?” Who is this man?
“Yes. This is critical. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me for this eventually, but even if you don’t, the gods know my intentions are pure.” Without further explanation, a chair creaks behind me. “Excuse me. I’ll be back shortly.”
Odd. Tough to believe, but this might just be the most bizarre situation I’ve ever found myself in.
Left alone, I survey more of my surroundings in a futile attempt to tame my anxiety. A bronze statue of Zeru, god of the heavens, perches on a table. A colorful vase depicting all four elemental gods graces another one. Several paintings hang on the walls, the closest of which showcases a phoenix with its tail on fire roosting on a black and yellow dragon’s back while four more dragons look on. The second one illustrates a battle where the Victory Goddesses, Bida and Fimmilena, float overhead and smile down on the winning side.
Dust motes dance in a shaft of light, illuminating the third painting. A portrait.
In it, the artist captures a woman riding atop a flying dragon, her silhouette powerful yet serene against a backdrop of tumultuous gray skies. Only her profile shows, but something about the tilt of her head, the curve of her neck, strikes a chord of recognition within me.
Her one dark eye contrasts with her pale skin. A real subject, I wonder, or an artist’s rendition of a fictitious woman? She’s certainly beautiful, with her strength evident in the definition of her arms and hard swell of her thighs in her fitted breeches.
As a new dragonrider, I’m well aware of those muscles in my own legs. They get a workout every time I ride on the back of a dragon.
I tilt my head. She still seems a little familiar. Since I can’t place her, my best guess is that she lives near the palace, and we’ve probably crossed paths.
The man returns, now wearing a heavy cloak with the hood pulled up. His face is mostly shadowed, but I can tell he’s tall and fit.
He holds an aged paper, rolled tightly with a ribbon. A red seal binds the ribbon in place. “I believe I have something you want.”
My eyebrows shoot up. That’s not at all what I anticipated him saying. If anything, I figured he’d rant at me for being a traitor to Tirene or blackmail me into asking Sterling for favors.
Despite my intention to play things cool, my gaze drifts to the scroll. “I’m not sure how that’s possible when we’ve never met.”
I pull my attention to his hooded face and assume a bored expression that’s contradicted by the rapid drumming in my ears.
He taps his pointer finger on the paper. “Perhaps I’m mistaken. I heard you’ve been asking about the Lost City, but maybe you don’t need my assistance after all.”
When he turns as if to leave the room, I freeze. “Wait!”
The man halts and spins to face me again. The hood of his cloak falls back, revealing a grin. “Change of heart already?”
Ugh. From the amusement sparkling in his eyes, he’s enjoying my reactions entirely too much. Even disregarding the whole drugging and kidnapping thing, he’s pretty annoying for an old man.
I don’t like the way he’s analyzing me, like I’m an undiscovered species.
Plus, I wonder how he knows? While my research isn’t necessarily a secret, our hunt for the Lost City also isn’t common knowledge.
My attention returns to the scroll in his hand, curiosity swelling in my chest. “Depends. Show me what you’re holding, and then I’ll let you know.”
Am I allowing my imagination to run wild, or could that roll contain a map?
His soft chuckle fills the room. “Funny girl. I admire your ability to thumb your nose in the face of danger.”
Invisible needles jab up and down my spine. “I thought you said you meant me no harm?”
“I don’t, but you have no way of ascertaining that yet.”
His playful wink makes me more than a little stabby. Kidnapping Grandpa here seems to possess a real knack for getting under my skin.
He straightens, his expression growing serious. “This was given to me to hold on to until I could pass it along to its rightful owner. It’s intended for the eyes of Queen Aero’s lineage alone.”
Queen Aero.
The name echoes through the chambers of my mind like the tolling of a distant bell, stirring memories I struggle to grasp. That is a name I don’t even whisper in public, as no one except those closest to me even know who she is. The last rightful ruler of Tirene.
“Who gave you that?” The question slips from my lips before I can tether it.
“That’s not for me to say. Not just yet.” A note of sorrow tinges his deep voice. “But remember my caution in giving this to you. I have many reasons to be wary. As do you. Be careful…Lark.”
He trips over my name as he drops the roll of parchment in my lap.
“Thank you…I think.” I wiggle my shoulders, showing I’m still bound and unable to pick up the seemingly ancient scroll. “You going to leave me tied up all day?”
“Right.” He scratches his chin. “I trust you’ll leave my cottage and not follow me if I free you? Once you locate what you’re searching for, you can come find me again.”
When I nod, he grabs a dagger from the table. A quick slash cuts the bindings before he heads for the door.
He can’t seriously plan to leave me in the middle of who knows where.
Except he appears pretty damn serious as he opens the door and walks outside.
“Wait! I have questions. Don’t leave?—”
But he’s already gone, and the resulting silence simmers with unsaid words.
He wants me to trust him and then abandons me in a cottage in the middle of nowhere? I don’t even know him. This could still be a trap.
I rub my chafed wrists and rise from the chair, pulling the remaining ropes free.
Snatching up the rolled paper, I resist the temptation to snoop and instead stride for the door. Warm sunlight greets me as I step outside. I find no signs of my abductor beyond the weathered stone cottage crouching in the woods on the edge of a clearing.
Careful not to damage the paper, I unroll the map, my gaze tracing the inked borders and city markers. When I spot a familiar name, I gasp, and my hearts stutters.
The Lost City.
The Chronicles of the Mother Wurm paints it as little more than legend, yet someone marked the location on this ancient map.
I gape at the parchment. “Is this real?”
Only one way to find out.
I unfurl my wings and launch into the air, hoping the palace isn’t too far away.