Page 51 of Queen of Legends and Lies (Dragons of Tirene #4)

Chapter Forty-Two

After my talk with Leesa, I bathe off the remnants of battle and put on fresh clothes. Sterling’s still asleep, so I opt to let him rest. Standing alone in my sitting room, I draw the plush velvet curtains apart and gather my resolve.

Taking a deep breath, I call out to the God of Lost Things. My words bounce off the vaulted ceilings. As far as I know, there is no ritual, no sacrifice or offering to gain his favor. All I can do is pray to him and beg for an audience.

Within seconds, the light shimmers and bends. Air stirs, and I get the distinct feeling I’m being watched, which causes the tiny hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. I can’t see the god—only a faint glow—but instinct tells me he’s here in the room.

“It’s about time.” Though the god is nearly invisible, his voice is clear and very humanlike. A little gruff, even. “I’ve been here all along, waiting on you.”

His brusque, no-nonsense delivery reminds me instantly of Rafe. I almost smile at the comparison before remembering myself.

This is a god, not an irritable council member.

I clear my throat and gather my courage. “Forgive me for not calling on you sooner, but it never even dawned on me. I have so much to ask?—”

“I should think so. Your kingdom is in shambles, and you’re dithering about in your chambers. Get on with it, girl.”

“Yes, well, I guess I got lost along the way.” I mean it as a little joke to break the tension, but the beat of silence suggests the god is not amused.

Well, that didn’t go as planned.

“You were never truly lost.” I find his firm denial strangely reassuring.

I might struggle with my own faith, but at least others believe in me…even if one of those others is a cantankerous deity. Embarrassed by my failed attempt at comedy, I let my gaze dart around the room, alighting on the intricate engraving of a dragon in flight adorning my wardrobe.

I drag my attention back to the impatient god hovering before me. Or where I think he’s hovering, at least. “I apologize for the bad joke. I’m not sure what came over me.”

The god heaves a long-suffering sigh. “You’d started to lose your sense of humor with everything going on. But you’ve found it again, I see.” I swear I hear one unenthusiastic clap. “Impressive.”

His dry delivery startles a small smile out of me. “Uh, thank you?”

“You humans are always losing me. Forgetting me. Neglecting to call upon me in your times of need.”

Shame washes through me. He’s right. In all the ancient texts I’ve studied, the God of Lost Things is scarcely mentioned. “I’m sorry, but I don’t even know your name.”

Despite not remembering anything about this god in particular, random bits of deity trivia float to the surface of my mind.

Hallr prefers hard stones to soft ones because they take more effort to extract and shape.

They’ve been underground longer, developing character.

Nyc prefers the harbinger owls and black cave cats because they work well with each other.

“Orin.”

My head snaps up. “What?”

“That’s my name. Orin. But there’s no point in trying to remember it. You humans will just forget again as soon as I leave your presence. You always do.” He sounds more resigned than angry.

I open my mouth to assure him that this time will be different, that I’ll record his name in the official annals and maybe even dedicate a new temple to him.

But he waves off my platitudes before I can voice them. “Never mind all that. You didn’t summon me here to make empty promises. Tell me, human, what is it that you seek? What precious things have you lost?”

Sterling, corrupted and controlled. My people, caught in the crossfire of warring factions.

My own sense of purpose as I fumble through this new role I’ve been thrust into…

If there was ever a time to be honest, to be bold, it’s now.

I take another deep breath. “I wish to protect my people and refresh our knowledge. I wish to restore what my kingdom has lost and make it whole once more. Will you help me?”

There’s a pregnant pause before he sighs heavily. “You ask for much, young queen. But then, mortals always do. Very well, I will guide you as best I can. But first, you must understand something crucial.”

No favor? He just wants me to understand something? “Okay. And that would be?”

“This path you contemplate, this noble quest to single-handedly save your kingdom…it’s folly. Surely, you’re starting to see that?” His voice rises in frustration. “Why do you humans always insist on bearing every burden alone?”

I blink rapidly, startled by his vehemence. “I…thought that was my duty. As queen, aren’t I meant to protect?—”

“Protect, yes. But not to the point of shielding others from hard truths. Your friends, your allies, they deserve to stand at your side. Would you rob them of that choice? Force them to watch, helpless, while you suffer and sacrifice? How is that mercy? You’re hindering their free will.”

His words smash into me like a punch to the gut.

Unbidden, a memory surfaces.

Leesa and me bickering as children. After my bath, I came out to find she’d laid out a dress and shoes, even ribbons for my hair, to wear to that night’s dinner.

I was so certain she meant to undermine me, to assert some older sisterly authority.

She insisted she’d only been trying to help me get ready.

An image of Sterling’s face after he followed me to the cave comes next. His anger burned as he berated me for deciding alone to throw myself into danger.

Chagrin fills me as I recognize the pattern.

“You’re right.” I’m always assuming I must face my trials alone. But perhaps, in trying to spare my loved ones, I’ve only caused them pain. “I see that now. Forgive me, I’m still learning.”

“As are we all. Now listen, we have much to discuss…” In the pause, I imagine him leveling me with his fierce, godly gaze. “The prophecy, Lark. Methinks you’ve forgotten that as well.”

The smug satisfaction in his voice sets my teeth on edge.

But he’s not wrong. With everything that’s happened, the ancient words have slipped to the back of my mind. “It wasn’t at the forefront of my thoughts.”

He harumphs. “Recite it for me, if you please.”

Grinding my molars, I call up the verse that has haunted me since I first found it in the Royal Archives.

“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 ?— ”

“Stop.”

I falter, blinking in confusion. Silence stretches between us.

I wait for him to speak, to explain, but he says nothing.

Frustration bubbles up inside me, and I toss my hands in the air. “Have you seen what’s going on out there? The kingdom’s in chaos, people are dying, and magic itself is unraveling. I’d say I’ve broken the world already.”

“You haven’t.”

That’s all he says. Curt, blunt, and entirely unhelpful.

I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to scream. Gods, why must they always speak in riddles? “Okay.” I try to rein in my temper. “Then tell me, enlightened one , what do I need to do?”

The temperature in the room drops by several degrees, and I shiver. Uh-oh. I don’t think the god appreciates my sarcasm.

“The merging of magics.” His clipped tone suggests that he’s trying his absolute best not to teach me a lesson. “You’ve experienced it, have you not?”

“Yes.” I nod, thinking back to those incredible moments.

“Sterling and I, our fire and water. Agnar’s earth magic.

Even Alannah’s air. Each time, it was like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

The power, the potential…it was the most potent magic I’ve ever known.

I haven’t merged with another fire user yet, but?—”

“Of course not. No one can hold that much of their own element without losing control. It would consume you. Anyhow, what you’ve achieved thus far, while impressive, is not enough. The prophecy demands more.”

I flinch at his words, a stab of inadequacy piercing my gut. So this god doesn’t believe I’m enough either. “Okay, fine. What would be enough? That’s why I’m here.” Not to be mocked and insulted , but I manage to bite my tongue before speaking that last part out loud.

His glowing presence twitches ever so slightly. “Can you not count?”

No, Orin. I missed that day in school. “I don’t see what counting?—”

“How many dragons were in the courtyard when you fought the traitors?”

My brow furrows. What does that have to do with anything? “I don’t see what you’re getting at…”

“How many dragons, mortal?” he speaks slowly, like I’m a particularly dense child. “You named them. Surely, you can count that high, even on one hand.”

I bristle at his condescension but cast my mind back. “Well, there was Chirean. And Dame. Tanwen and Kai?—”

“I didn’t ask for their names. That’s irrelevant. How many?”

“Four. Four dragons.” Why’s that important?

“How many pastries did you steal from the kitchens during the Summer Solstice the year you turned six?”

Hold on a hot second. Have all the gods been watching me?

The thought of the gods observing me while I’m getting hot and sweaty with Sterling makes me flush, and suddenly I’m no longer cold.

“Setting aside the fact that you know all these things, which is disturbing, by the way, I still don’t understand.

I don’t see why my pastry-eating abilities matter?—”

“How. Many. Pastries?”

I open my mouth to insist that there’s no way I could possibly remember such a trivial detail from so long ago, but then the memory rises, unbidden.

Sneaking into the bustling palace kitchens, the sweet scent of cinnamon and honey thick in the air. Snatching the baked goods, still warm from the oven, and secreting them away in my skirts. The number had seemed important at the time. Two for me and two for my sister.

“Four,” I breathe, hardly able to believe the word as it leaves my lips. “I stole four pastries.”

The silence stretches between us, the very air laced with expectation.

The atmosphere shifts, and somehow, I sense that his disapproval has faded, replaced by something more inscrutable.

I wait, hardly daring to breathe, my heart a staccato drum in my chest. Everything teeters on the edge of a great precipice. I know this in my bones.

“The crystals you lost when your dress tore in the throne room are under the trim on the northern edge of the dais. Kicked there when the maids came to clean up.”

I blink, startled by this abrupt subject change. “What? My cryst?—”

Before I can finish, the air crackles and the glow vanishes. Just like that, here one second and gone the next, like a snuffed-out flame. I gape at the space where the god was, my mind reeling.

“Hello?” My voice echoes in the suddenly too quiet room. “Are you still here?”

Silence. Oppressive, unbroken silence. Panic rises in my throat, bitter as bile. Did I imagine the whole thing? Have I finally cracked under the strain of everything?

“Please, come back. I still have questions!” I’m not too proud to beg, dignity be damned. The fate of the kingdom hangs in the balance.

For a heart-stopping moment, nothing happens. Then, a breeze rustles again as the air shimmers.

“What?” The single syllable drips with impatience.

I scramble to collect my erratic thoughts, determined to make the most of this second chance. My mind spins, trying to connect the cryptic dots the god has scattered like breadcrumbs.

“Thank you. For coming back, I mean.” I pace the room, restless energy propelling me forward. “So, you’re saying…I need all four elements to fully merge my magic? Fire, water, air, and earth, united as one?”

“I said nothing. Read the damn books.”

My cheeks flush, but I push on undaunted. “Bastian’s already on that, as we speak. Scouring the archives for any scrap of knowledge about elemental merging.”

“Good.” His voice mellows. “I always liked that one.”

The offhand comment bolsters my courage, fanning the embers of an idea into a full flame. I pivot on my heel, mind racing ahead.

“It makes sense. Four elements and one merge. The most powerful magic…the only way to truly defeat Narc.” I whirl in the deity’s direction. “We go to the eyril field above where Narc’s bones lie buried. We merge the elements there, and?—”

“Of course,” the softness is gone, replaced by a note of dryness, “you need permission.”

I reel back. “What? I need permission to destroy evil incarnate?”

“Humans need permission to destroy land held by another.”

I sputter, indignant. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“What can I say?” I can almost picture him giving me a flippant shrug. “Gods are complicated.”

I glare in his direction. Of all the ridiculous, bureaucratic nonsense…

“Remember, Narc’s whole intent was and remains the removal of free will. To subject everyone to his purpose alone. After his death many years ago, we formed a pact never to remove personal autonomy from humans.”

Things are starting to become clearer, but I still have questions. “Is that why Nyc couldn’t give me any real information?”

The god blows out a breath. “Do not speak to me of her. Even if I could tell you, you will not like the answers. Xenon is human. That eyril field is on his land. Ergo, you must have his permission to enter for your magic to work.”

Just as my hope was starting to grow. Dammit. “Let me get this straight. I have to go to Xenon, tell him exactly what I have planned, and?—”

“I never said that.”

I’m starting to get really tired of being interrupted. “You’re suggesting…I can trick him?”

“Well,” I can hear the smile in his voice, “the gods do love tricky things. Do you really think I wanted to ask you about your affinity for pastries?”

When I blink, the glow is gone.

I have to be going insane if I’m starting to understand the actions of the gods. Some of them want to help, but something is stopping them. And they keep having to find workarounds. Which is why they’ve been so frustratingly cryptic.

Spinning on my heel, I head for the doorway to the bedchamber. “I hate the gods.”

“We know.”

I can hear airy laughter, faraway but distinct. Apparently, the God of Lost Things hasn’t left yet.

Asshole. Just to be safe, though, I don’t say that part out loud.