Page 7 of Queen of Legends and Lies (Dragons of Tirene #4)

Chapter Six

I weave through my chambers, the weight of the crown heavy on my thoughts. Though I can’t deny that royalty comes with benefits. Using my status, I managed to acquire the claw of a black cave cat. And, of course, a suitable jar with a tight-fitting lid.

Cave cats and owls are Nyc’s sacred animals. If a feather was enough to get her attention before, perhaps this claw will work too.

My balcony beckons, offering solitude where I can commune with Nyc undisturbed, or so I hope. Stepping out into the balmy afternoon air, the clink of armor and low murmurs remind me that the king’s guards—no, the queen’s guards—now watch over me.

At the edge, a spiral staircase curls upward like a promise, and I ascend, seeking the solitude above. The rooftop garden unfolds like a blossom. Containers of ornamental plants cast jagged shadows, creating a natural fortress of privacy.

It’s perfect.

“Your Highness, would you like us to accompany you?” A guard materializes from nowhere.

For a soldier of such high status, he has a young face, but his shoulders are broad. He’d moved so smoothly, I wouldn’t have known of his presence without him speaking. I’ve never seen this man before.

“No, thank you.” I dismiss the offer with a wave, showing him the jar I brought with me. “I’d like to pray to the goddess Nyc.”

“May your prayers reach her ears and no others.” He bows, retreating without question.

Alone at last, I kneel and set the jar on the ground, then I reach for the satchel of ash I’d brought for this occasion. Dipping my hand in the bag, I smudge the ash over my eyes, forehead, and ears. Doing so symbolizes my desire to see, hear, and learn from the darkness.

Ready, I open the jar and whisper my prayers to Nyc as I set the claw inside. Then I carefully close it again, draping my handkerchief over the top to ensure no light intrudes.

I sense her arrival in the subtle atmospheric shift, the charged air a silent acknowledgment of my plea. Living darkness surrounds me, muffling the rest of the world.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to summon me.” Nyc’s presence swells around me as she shrouds me with her impatience. Her voice reminds me of a frigid breeze. “Narc’s strength and his all-consuming desire to be reborn grow with each drop of dragon blood spilled upon the field.”

My stomach knots. “How? I thought I freed all the dragons Xenon was bleeding.”

“You did, but the Aclarian king is no fool. He has plenty of dragon blood stored. With each day that passes, Narc’s body reforms. He is a nightmare coming to life. Quite literally. We cannot allow Xenon to spill your blood on Narc’s bones. My son must be stopped.”

My heart squeezes at the sadness in the goddess’s tone. Is she asking me to destroy her son? I swallow hard. “How?”

She doesn’t answer, and for a moment, I worry it’s because she doesn’t have one. If the gods knew this could happen, would they have left Narc’s body under the eyril field in the first place? Or are they simply not allowed to intervene?

Finally, Nyc says, “It’s best that he comes back to me.”

What does that even mean? “Explain. Please.”

There’s a pregnant pause, and I’m almost certain the temperature drops a degree or two.

“Just know the best thing you can do for your people, for the world, is to make sure his body isn’t resurrected.

You must stop him from waking to the mortal realm again.

Must burn his bones. Large armies are growing even bigger across your little earth. You must move faster. And do better.”

Her rebuke smolders, the sting of divine disappointment mingled with urgency.

I open my eyes, aware of the expectation, the threat of war looming like storm clouds on the horizon.

The council may not agree with my methods, but I know this much is true.

If we don’t act—if I don’t act—our world will crumble under the shadow of Narc’s resurgence.

“Torching the eyril field didn’t work the last time I tried, so I don’t know how I’d burn Narc’s bones.

What exactly do I need to do? Can’t you just tell me? ”

The goddess grumbles. If I could see her, I’m pretty sure I’d witness a stellar example of a death glare. “I cannot.”

Fierce frustration blooms within me. “Why?”

For a moment, silence is my only answer. Then Nyc’s voice flows through the stillness, as if carried on the wind itself. “It is not permitted. You were given free will. With that comes responsibility. Gods are not allowed to interfere with the free will of mortals.”

Her words hang between us, an invisible barrier I can’t breach.

That was Narc’s sin. What led to his death. In his mad quest for perfect people who would do no wrong, he removed their free will.

The free will the gods had promised to all living creatures.

The goddess of darkness will not defy her fellow deities, not even with her son’s soul and the entire world at risk.

Nyc slips away, her presence receding like a tide pulling back from the shore, leaving me stranded.

Alone, I stare out across the garden, lost in thought. The information, or lack thereof, that Nyc graced me with swirls in my mind.

Is it even information when it breeds more questions than answers?

“Gods.” The word is part prayer, part curse. “Can’t live with ’em, can’t live without ’em.” The irony isn’t lost on me, but it brings no smile to my lips, only a deep-seated resolve.

I push to my feet. My wings fold against my back, reminding me of the strength they hold. A strength I need now more than ever.

It’s time to trust my own instincts. To tug on the threads of fate with my own hands.

Free will. The concept is both a gift and a burden. There’s no divine playbook, no celestial cheat sheet. Just me, my magic, and the weight of an impending war on my shoulders.

I pick up the jar, noting the emptiness inside. Nyc accepted my offering.

The ramparts are chilly under my palms, the stone a silent witness to both the glory and the terror that has unfolded below. I lean forward, peering into the courtyard. Only weeks ago, chaos reigned here when drachen turned the royal ground into a slaughterhouse.

Now, every night, torchlight—a beacon of false security—battles back the darkness.

I remember the screams, the coppery scent of blood that hung like a weighted shroud over the palace.

It’s the kind of memory that claws at you, leaving marks no one else can see.

My fingers curl into fists, nails digging crescents into my palms. The light is just a stopgap, a desperate measure against an enemy we barely understand.

Narc’s shadow looms large, an ever-growing threat, and if we don’t act, really act, all this will be ash and echoes.

Maybe the council has a point. We’re staring down an invasion, and I’m standing here without a plan. They’d want me marshaling troops, fortifying walls.

Then there’s Sterling.

He’ll be leading Xenon’s forces, his eyes as cold as the magic he wields.

I can’t go through that again.

Facing him like that, while he held the other people I love hostage and killed one of my friends, is something I will never forget as long as I live.

A choice, stark as the contrast between light and shadow, lies before me.

Lead my people or save the man I love. I know what they expect of me—the crown princess, the commander, the woman who holds the fire in her veins—but my heart tells a different tale.

It’s pulling me toward him . Toward danger and uncertainty.

Maybe it’s selfish, maybe it’s foolish, but I can’t let him be just another casualty in this game of gods and monsters.

“I’m going to get you back, Sterling,” I promise, even though I know he can’t hear me. “And I’ll prove to them I’m not just some figurehead.”

With renewed determination, I turn my back to the courtyard and its deceiving tranquility. If I’m going to do this, if I’m going to dive headfirst into the abyss, I need to be ready. No more second-guessing, no more hesitation.

I need a real plan.

My heart pounds out a fast-paced rhythm as I descend the spiral staircase. With every step, my determination sharpens like a blade. The plush corridors of my suite loom before me, unfamiliar and, despite the size, suffocating.

Even my rooms were not mine to choose. The council ordered the change, and tradition dictated where I would end up.

I fling open the doors to my chambers, the heavy wood slamming against the wall with a satisfying crack. My hands are quick as they rummage through the wardrobe, discarding the delicate fabrics meant for royalty.

At the bottom of my wardrobe, I find a full, neatly folded dragonrider’s uniform. Right next to it is an already packed travel bag. Leather leggings, sturdy boots, and gauntlets lined with firefeathers to protect me from the flames of my dragons.

Rhiann, you never cease to amaze me.

Quickly, I strip off my fine silk dress and toss it onto a chair.

I can’t make a mess for Rhiann and her maids to clean up when she’s done so much already.

Stepping into the breeches, I’m not surprised they fit perfectly.

Nor am I surprised when I open the bag to find a sleeping roll, a change of clothing, a waterskin, and a tin of dried meat.

Everything I need to fly to Aclaris.

“Lark?”

I startle, heart hammering against my ribs as I curse these quiet-footed palace dwellers. Spinning around, I’m ready to snap at whatever servant has entered my rooms unannounced.

Eldor Gentry stands framed in the doorway, his face unreadable.

“Good afternoon, Grandfather.” This is the first time I’ve called him by this name, and I have to admit, doing so feels good.

Shock bleeds across every line of his weathered face. “Hello, Granddaughter.” His surprise slowly melts away, and his lips kick up in a rare smile.

I return the gesture. In this moment, there’s an unspoken shift between us.