Page 40 of Crown of Betrayal and Blood (Dragons of Tirene #3)

Chapter Forty

The air crackles with tension, and the pre-storm humidity carries the scent of earth and fire.

I swallow back the terror that’s liquifying my bones and try to embrace a sense of calm. “Get what started?”

“Ah, you are but a na?ve child.” He makes a sweeping gesture to the eyril field. “This ground remembers the past blood spilled. You may not remember your history, but I was there when it happened. The last great battle. The earth ran red with blood. It soaked in it. I died . And that night, I was reborn.”

The king of Aclaris is out of his godsforsaken mind. What the hells is he talking about? “You think just because this land was soaked in blood it somehow became sacred?”

Sterling stands back, face stoic as he stands at attention by Xenon.

“That land was already sacred. But the sheer amount of blood…the sacrifice…woke what had been sleeping for centuries.” In the moonlight, Xenon’s gray eyes glint with something inhuman. “The almighty Narc, god of nightmares himself, stirred. He revived me, giving me new life. Out of gratitude, I formed an alliance with him. He lent me the use of his creation, what you know as the drachen.”

I open my mouth, but no words come out. Xenon revived the drachen? The same creatures Queen Aero defeated all those years ago? Holy shit.

How is that possible?

“But after many years of slumber, they were weak. Narc was weak. They needed more blood to get stronger. Powerful blood.”

My eyes widen, and I hear a soft curse somewhere in the direction of my friends. “Dragons’ blood.”

“Precisely.” Xenon’s smile turns my blood cold. “Now you’re catching on.”

My gaze drifts to the dark, writhing shapes among the eyril.

They’re here. Drachen. Dozens of them.

Even from this distance, their palpable hunger is a primal warning to stay the hells away.

Xenon stares right at them. He holds up a hand, and the creatures still. Every oozing black head snaps in his direction, like dogs obeying their master.

I tear my gaze away from that disturbing display and consider the king. “Why?”

“Peace. What else?” He shoots me an incredulous look, like I should already know the answer. “Peace through enforced order. A world without chaos. Without disobedience.”

Peace? In what world does slaughtering innocent people and removing their free will equate to peace?

“You mean without choice.” Anger spreads like a virus. “You’d strip humanity of its very essence.”

“Correct again.” His smile is cold, unforgiving. “They’ll do as they’re supposed to do and quit with these ridiculous scuffles.”

Fire hums in my veins, begging for release. “Over my dead body.”

“Now you’re catching on.” The gleam in Xenon’s gaze is predatory. “For Narc to awaken fully and rule both gods and mortals, he requires a great sacrifice. The lifeblood of a dragoncaller, according to the prophecy.”

Good gods.

My anger morphs into horror as I glance at my ice-encased friends. Even if I somehow manage to melt the ice, they’re in no shape to help me.

I’m sorry , I mouth to Agnar, the one who seems most coherent.

“Okay.” I turn to Xenon. “I’ll do it. On one condition. You have to let them go.”

He considers my terms, then nods. “You have a deal.”

That was surprisingly easy. Now if ? —

Xenon lunges forward with lightning fast speed, grabbing me by the arm and drawing a dagger from his side. He makes a precise cut in my palm. Stinging pain blooms as blood drips from the wound.

I suck in a sharp breath. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t move.” He slices across his own hand, then clasps my bloodied palm in his and mutters words that are foreign to my ears. Magic sparks, and a burning pain spreads down my arm. “It’s done.”

I gasp when he releases me. “What’s done?”

“A blood bargain.” He gestures between us. “Your life for theirs. When your body is lying prostrate over the eyril field, they’ll be released. Free to go.”

I gape at him, mind reeling. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“A blood bargain can’t be broken. Even if I fail to keep my word, the magic between us will release them.” He casts the half-frozen group a wary glance.

An odd peace softens my dread. His words provide a small measure of comfort, assuring me that at least if I don’t survive this, I can die knowing the others will live.

A gust of salty sea air whispers across my face as one of the royal servants steps forward, handing Xenon a crisp white linen. The king snatches the cloth, holding it against his wound. Then he tosses it on the ground.

I ease backward, closer and closer to my friends.

Without warning, Xenon lifts his hand, using elemental magic to summon a whirling vortex of air around me. The wind lifts me off the ground.

Something snaps to life inside me, yanking me from my numb cocoon.

Pull your shit together!

My wings snap out, and I ride the gale. His eyes widen, a hungry, almost wistful expression etched across his face. His only answer is a fierce blast of air, targeted right at my head.

I dodge, missing the assault by mere inches.

Letting my magic ramp up, I hurl a ball of fire at the bastard. My aim is true. Flames engulf his leg, and he drops to the ground, cursing and rolling.

Xenon pops up with far more speed and agility than I’d expect from a man in his sixtieth decade of life.

Another blast of air. Another dodge.

I snap my wings flat to my spine and rotate to escape the blow. I drop lower before popping them open again.

“Enough!” Xenon roars while sending another blast toward me. It catches me in the gut and knocks the air from my lungs, causing me to plummet. “You will die tonight. The prophecy dictates it. There’s nothing you can do to change my mind.”

I have the foresight to spirit my wings away about a second before I hit the ground. Lying in a crumpled heap, I gasp, but my lungs refuse to work.

Xenon stalks toward me.

With every footstep, my heart thrums, like it’s beating out the rhythm of my own personal death march.

“Foolish girl.” He towers over me as I writhe on the ground. “You’re making this much more difficult than it needs to be. You.” He points at Sterling. “Kill one of them.”

There’s no hesitation. No time for me to protest. Before I can even open my mouth to try, Sterling raises a lazy hand, and a wall of ice encases Nick’s neck and head.

Then he snaps his fingers, and with a sickening crack, Nick’s head pops off. His godsdamned head falls off his shoulders and hits the ground with an audible thud.

The stump of his neck is a congealed, crimson mess.

Bile surges up my throat. I bend over just in time to hurl yellow bile onto the ground.

“Excellent.” Xenon claps his hands together like a smug child. “If she doesn’t cooperate now, kill them. All of them.”

No. Gods no!

Face a blank canvas, Sterling dips his chin—the only acknowledgment he gives the king.

I gasp again, finally drawing in a short, ragged breath. Then another. And another. Grief and a burning rage intertwine inside me. I want nothing more than for Xenon to pay. To make him suffer for all he’s done.

The king turns away from me, raising both hands in the air.

Shadows boil up from the ground and from in the eyril field, separating into their own lethal forms.

Dark, sinuous shapes that lope, slither, and bulge along the ground. Like a mutated and misshapen cavalry straight from the darkest of nightmares, they race across the field toward us.

The drachen pour from the field in droves, dozens—no, hundreds—of them. Too many to count.

On shaky legs, I push myself to my feet.

Sterling lifts a single finger. Helene’s pale face tinges blue, a stark contrast with the glossy black braid around the crown of her head.

Desperation pulses through my veins. No. No one else is going to die tonight.

Fuck Xenon and his threats. If I don’t do something, none of us will survive this.

I lower my dampening shields.

Help me. I empty every bit of desperation I have into multiple bonds. The dragons respond immediately.

Fury mixed with resolve.

Aid is on the way.

Magic thrums as flames lick my palms, but I don’t dare let loose. Not yet. Sterling won’t hesitate to kill them.

An eerie whirring sound snaps my attention to the sky. Hundreds of pairs of insidious black wings block out the moonlight.

I gape in abject horror, utterly frozen in place. More drachen than I’ve ever seen are flying toward Xenon, heeding their master’s call.

Face uplifted, the Aclarian king opens his mouth. A plethora of whirling, wispy, shimmering black plumes twist through the sky, streaming from every drachen’s mouth. The black, smoking plumes race through the air like live creatures.

Magic. Their very essence.

The plumes conjoin, creating a funneling whirlwind of raw power.

Xenon opens his mouth wider, hands held high as he breathes in the essence of these heinous creatures. His body goes rigid as his unnerving gray eyes start to glow from receiving the drachen’s power.

No amount of therapy will ever erase that image from my mind.

Again, I lower my dampening shield just long enough to connect with the dragons. Help. Please help us.

And gods save the people I love.

Now. For better or worse, it’s time.

I lift my hands as my wings snap out and rise into the air above the field. Power simmers in my blood as I call on my magic. I reach deep within, pulling from the core of my being.

My body heats. Still, I hold it, allowing the power to build until it’s a living extension of my will. Sweat beads, then drips between my shoulder blades. My hands tremble.

And then I release everything I have.

In the blinding, flashing light, thousands of tiny stars dance in my vision.

Someone screams. Maybe I scream.

Lightning cracks. The eyril field is ablaze, a mesmerizing inferno of blues and whites and oranges and reds.

I’m floating. Falling. Spiraling downward.

Blissful darkness claims me as flames engulf me.

* * *

Darkness envelops me, caressing my skin with the tenderness of a mother’s touch. My heart beats a slow rhythm, matching the pulse of this endless void.

I’m dead. This must be the lands of the next world.

And yet, the comforting embrace of warmth seeps into my bones.

“So dramatic, little human.”

I recognize the voice of darkness that wraps around me like a blanket. Nyc. The darkness isn’t just a place. It’s her, the goddess of night herself.

“Am I…” I can’t bring myself to finish the question.

“Dead? Oh no. You’re very much alive. That was quite a stunt you pulled, burning the eyril field.” Silvery laughter follows, though there’s something in her tone I can’t place. Sorrow? Regret? “But your fire didn’t burn deep enough. The eyril roots remain, and the drachen are still alive.”

My eyes feel heavy, my brain sluggish as I struggle to process what I’ve learned. “Sterling. Is he?—”

“He lives, though the maintain their drachen control over him.”

Sheer defeat weighs my body down, like an alicorn sitting on my chest. “How am I supposed to get him back? I feel so hopeless.”

“There is always hope.” Nyc’s voice soothes me like a gentle caress. “Never forget that.”

My eyes snap open, and I startle as the starry night sky materializes before me. Several moments later, I register that I’m flying…on Mygist’s back. His mighty black wings beat the air in powerful thrusts, and I catch a hazy glimpse of other dragons and riders around us.

I’ve always heard the night is darkest before the dawn, and our night just turned black as pitch. The coming days will bring war to our doorstep, along with all the inherent bloodshed and loss that accompanies battle.

I could let that knowledge wreck me. Instead, I draw from an inner core of strength and sit taller with every dragon’s wingbeat.

Because if there’s one thing I should know given my heritage, it’s how to rise from the ashes.

To Be Continued…