Page 9 of Queen of Legends and Lies (Dragons of Tirene #4)

Chapter Seven

The door swings wide, and Serle ushers me in with a flourish of his black wings, as if he’s opening the stage curtains for the star of the show. Not feeling much like a leading lady, I try to glide into the council chamber unnoticed.

Fat chance of that happening.

All eyes track me as I search for a vacant chair. Without missing a beat, Serle waves me toward the spot beside Alannah.

Rafe continues his report, a hint of impatience flicking across his handsome face as I cross to my seat. “…and the main well is filled to the brim.”

That catches my attention. Good news is always a relief. I slide into the cushioned chair beside the dowager queen.

“The main well is replenished?” I lean forward, palms flat on the table, scanning the faces around me for more clues. That well was on its last dregs.

“Indeed, Your Highness.” Duke Bron’s smile is a genuine, welcome relief.

“It’s been running low for years. We were about to commission water elementals to find us a new source, but it seems the gods have favored us with their magic.

” His smooth cheeks flush with excitement, and a few others nod their heads vigorously, concurring with his sentiment.

“Thank the gods.” Duchess Breann presses her fingers to her lips as if she still can’t believe it.

“Your Highness,” Fenton rubs the back of his neck, wincing like he has a crick, “you may not be aware, since it’s been going on for years, but this has been a building problem for us.”

Nira nods in agreement, a grateful smile playing on her lips.

Alannah pats her hand together in silent applause. “Three or four smaller wells wouldn’t have sufficed to replace the great reservoirs of old. This is indeed fortunate.”

Fortunate? Yes, but also bizarre.

My mind races, thoughts flitting between hope and suspicion.

Reservoirs don’t just fill up overnight without some kind of magic involved.

And magic users abound. If magic was enough to solve the issue, surely they would’ve taken those steps years ago.

Yet all the councilors seem to be treating this as some happy coincidence and nothing more, ready to move on to the next subject in the agenda.

“You first noticed the full well this morning?” I tap a finger on the table, not quite prepared to let go of my doubts. It’s not every day you wake up to find your kingdom’s biggest well mysteriously replenished. Is this some sort of trick?

“Indeed, right at dawn.” Vicar Moise steeples his fingers, his voice filled with a mix of pride and confusion. “A servant came to draw water and found it overflowing.”

I sit back, crossing my arms. Something like this doesn’t happen without reason. I glance at Dalya, catching the subtle furrow of her brow under her short magenta hair. She looks like she’s thinking the same thing I am.

This is too good to be true.

“Overflowing wells and no explanation.” I study Rafe to see if he has anything to add, but he simply stares back at me with uninterested eyes.

“Let’s hope whatever caused this is on our side.

Did anything else strange happen? Lake’s running dry?

Land shifting? After all, water doesn’t come from nowhere. ”

Serle’s eager expression fades, his pale blue eyes going flat as I dare to ask questions.

Rafe pulls a stack of papers closer, and after shoving his hand through his thick brown hair, starts rifling through them. “A goldsmith’s entire stash of gold melted down. There’s a conversation starter. The corner of his shop is also singed, but there are no other signs of fire. Only heat.”

Chewing my lip, I try to figure out how these things could be related. Or if they could be some form of sabotage against us. “Is the goldsmith important to the palace’s operations?”

“No need to worry, Your Highness,” Rafe drawls, his tone bordering on disrespectful.

“The royal crown and jewels are already secured. We’ll speak of your coronation ceremony in a moment.

The crown, the robes, everything.” His lips twitch with what might be a smile under that brusque exterior, but I’m certain it’s at my expense and not for true amusement.

The jewels for the coronation? That’s what he thinks I’m worried about?

Seriously?

I school my features into something resembling calm. “The coronation is not our top priority.”

“But we’re running out of time.” To my left, Duchess Breann leans in, her whisper as soft as the feathers on her silver and emerald wings. “They’ll want to know if you want the crown placed on the front, top, or back of your head.”

I stare at her, a laugh bubbling up in my throat at the absurdity of it all. As if the placement of a crown matters when Sterling is still corrupted, the drachen are getting stronger, and mysterious events are happening within our very walls.

Yet her earnest gaze tells me she’s actually serious.

I’m utterly flabbergasted, so I nod, pretending to consider her words.

“Choose the back. It sits better,” Alannah’s murmur comes from my other side, her hands deftly mimicking the settling of an invisible crown along her own pale hairline.

Nira raises her well-defined brows at me, and when I shrug, she pats the table in a decisive gesture. “Back it is. That’s one less choice to make.”

The council continues discussing various trivial matters.

After a moment, Rafe clears his throat. “Back to what we were discussing before we got off track. Along with those strange circumstances, there’s another thing we all should’ve seen coming.” He’s pointedly not meeting my eyes. “Our scouts have spotted an army near Tír Ríoga.”

A chill races up my spine. It’s like Nyc herself is whispering in my ear, her voice cold as the night she governs.

Large armies are growing even bigger…

Tír Ríoga is on the continent north of Tirene, separated by an ocean. Not exactly nearby but too close for comfort.

My hands clench into fists, and I sit up straighter, causing Serle and Moise to gape. “Are they corrupted?”

The council members shift in their seats, some clutching at the papers before them as if they might divine a solution among the ink blots.

Only Dalya meets my gaze, giving me a subtle nod. She hasn’t said a word this entire meeting.

My frustration finally boils over. “You’re talking about wells? And melted gold? When Xenon has another army of corrupted on the move?”

Rafe reclines, folding his arms across his broad chest. He regards me as if seeing me for the first time. “What would you have us do, Your Highness ? Send troops into the thick of things without knowing exactly what we’re dealing with? We need to plan, consider?—”

“Then stop talking about crown placements and other things that don’t matter, and let’s start forming a plan!” I slam my fist on the table. Now might be a good time to remind Rafe that in Tirene, the monarch’s word is law.

To insult them is to court death.

He doesn’t need to know I wouldn’t skewer him on a spike for all the palace to see the way King Jasper had done to anyone who opposed him.

Though I’d rather just let the dragons eat him.

In the back of my mind, I feel Ryu grow curious, then annoyed. In my anger, I’ve allowed my mental dampening shields to slip, projecting my emotions to the dragons. A low roar of warning rattles the windows.

Suddenly, everyone else at the table is on my side, demanding answers from a startled Rafe and scrabbling for solutions. It’s a storm of half-formed ideas and conflicting opinions that bounce around the room like hailstones.

“Are they approaching from the north or south?”

“Have they docked? Are they on the march?”

“Where exactly? On the beaches, or farther inland, in the mountains?”

“Numbers, Rafe! How large was this army?”

Their cries are cacophonous, each trying to drown out the other. But I know better than to think loud words will solve anything. This is more than just a puzzle. It’s a declaration, a shadow stretching across Tirene.

And I’ll be damned if I let it reach us unchallenged.

Leaning forward, I lock eyes with each person in the room, my voice wrapped in steel.

“We cannot let Xenon and his drachen take Tír Ríoga or its neighboring kingdoms. That will bolster the number of corrupted who can come for us. Worse, there will be armies to the north and south of us. We must stop them.” My words hang in the air like a challenge.

Vicar Moise cocks his head, showing off one of his dimples. “That is not a plan. That is an aspiration. It’s ridiculous.” His dismissive tone could flay skin from bone. “If we knew how to stop them, clearly we would.”

Fenton scrunches his brows, eyeing my clothing like he’s noticing my flying gear for the first time. “Pardon me, Your Highness, but where were you going?”

I snatch up my satchel, push back from the table, and stride toward the door. The council’s murmurs buzz behind me. Before my hand can reach the latch, the door bursts open.

A messenger, panting and wide eyed, nearly stumbles into me. “For you, my queen.” He bows as he thrusts a sealed message into my hands.

I’m not queen yet. “Thank you.”

I pause, noting the Aclaris seal on the envelope. Fearing the worst, which has so often been the case recently, I ease off on my mental dampening, preparing to call the dragons.

Taking deep breaths, I break the seal. The expensive parchment is heavy in my hands. Sensing the weight of every pair of eyes boring into me, I unfold the message. The words scroll across the page in elegant loops.

What were you doing with Knox last night? He’s cold. So very cold. Colder than he’s ever been. The drachen, you know. I fear he’ll die soon. Let’s talk.

X

My breath catches in my throat. Xenon sent this. I can almost hear his conceited voice bouncing around the council chamber. That clever, cruel undertone that boasts he knows something I don’t.

And I have no idea what he’s talking about. Is he torturing Sterling? Does he know his soul was able to reach out to mine? Sterling warned me not to reveal anything, fearing that Xenon might learn whatever I told him. Gods, is he all right?

“Your Highness?” The smugness has leeched from Rafe’s voice, replaced by tentative concern.

Breann’s brow creases with worry. “Is it?—”

“Speak, Lark.” Alannah’s hand finds my arm. Her approach had been muffled by the confusion swirling in my mind.

I lower the missive, and the world comes back into focus.

All eyes in the room lock on mine, searching for a sign, a clue, anything. But before I can figure out a way to explain without destroying Alannah, chaos erupts.

“Fire!”

The single word slices through the tension like a breaking storm. More voices rise up in alarm.

I whirl toward an open window, determined not to repeat my earlier mistake. Outside, the scent of acrid smoke permeates the air.

The courtyard has become a living portrait of panic, the screams and shouts painting a scene I’ve become all too familiar with. Flames dance like mad spirits against the sky, mocking us with their untamed fury.

Xenon, Sterling, fire…they’re all connected, and I’m right at the center.

“Get water! Form lines!” someone yells from below.

“Protect the archives!” another voice commands.

I step onto the window ledge and unfurl my wings.

When I launch myself into the sky, stray thermals jolt my body and attempt to spin me. I apply my training, working with the wind rather than fighting it as I head for the ground.

My heart wrenches. Sterling trained me. He knew war lurked on the horizon and wanted me prepared.

When my boot soles slap the cobblestone, I retract my wings. Behind me, there’s a flurry of activity. Council members, advisors, and palace staff, all united in urgency, followed their soon-to-be queen out the window and into the fray.

Maybe they aren’t completely useless after all .

“Water! We need water!” someone shouts, voice muffled amid the commotion.

“Where are the dragonriders?” another demands, alarm tainting every syllable.

Ahead of us, the stables blaze, flames leaping high and wild like an uncontrollable beast of heat and destruction. Alicorns and horses whinny in terror, fighting handlers in their efforts to flee. A group of water elementals rush to put out the inferno.

For a moment, I’m rooted to the spot as memories flash in my mind. Years ago, when my magic manifested at home, I lost control. The stable caught fire, horses died, and the stable boy lost his legs.

Then a more recent memory surfaces. The Flighthaven trial. When the Tirenese invaded to create the perfect diversion for Sterling to kidnap me. Utter mayhem ensued. A few of the buildings burned. People were injured.

Icy fear crawls down my spine as a horrible thought dawns on me.

Is this somehow happening because of me?