“Shh!” she hisses, checking for Lady Bethany down the table. Then assesses the rest of the women around us to ensure no one else is listening. “The Blood Ring is one of two ancient rings—God Relics, they call them. Magical rings that allow the wearer to control raw magic. Have you two never heard of it?”
We both shake our heads, and she continues as she leans forward over the table. “King Aaric of Arterias has the Bone Ring, one half of the God Relic rings. And King Cyrus has the Blood Ring. Together, both rings are all-powerful. Even more so than the dragons.”
Marcella retreats her head. “Why would he have us wear it? Why not wear it himself, if it’s so powerful?”
“How would you know if he does or doesn’t wear it already?” I ask.
“Because I’ve spoken to him the last two nights,” she quips.
Aelia and I mirror each other’s shock.
Marcella’s lips lift into an arrogant grin when she faces me. “Seen him, spoken to him, and touched him. More than you can say, am I right?”
Narrowing my eyes, I say, “I’m not jealous, if that’s what you’re attempting to do.”
“Why is that? Do you not feel threatened by a woman as‘wild’and‘untamed’as I am?” She throws my words from earlier back into my face.
“Should I be? Is there something—” I flick my gaze down to her dress, “—you’re hiding?”
She leans forward, challenging me to say it. She stole a butter knife. Hid it within her dress, for whatever reason. But that’s the thing about secrets—the reason they stay hidden is because they are hurtful. Or dangerous.
And considering she’s a Briarstone, it’s even more of a reason why she cannot be trusted. Why I should report her immediately.
Swallowing, I hold her icy glare as she inches closer. Face-to-face, with only a few inches between our noses.
Water droplets flick at our faces, and we turn to find Aelia shaking her dripping fingertips before tucking them underneath the table, tossing a glance down at Lady Bethany.
“You two are going to get us in trouble. Knock it off,” she warns through gritted teeth.
We both straighten in our seats, looking directly ahead as we both simultaneously take a sip of tea.
Perhaps this is what Devin mentioned earlier. Asking me to keep an eye out for anything suspicious.
I have to tell Devin.
Eleven
- LYRA -
After breakfast, Lady Bethany leads us in a history briefing on Arterias versus the Dragon Lands. Walking us through the original partnership of both territories before King Aaric murdered his sister for the throne and fled south before taking power. While Lady Bethany’s touch on the brutal executions of dragon riders in Arterias is brief, it’s detailed enough to make some of us shift in our seats.
Then she moves on to the ongoing tension between the north and south. How King Aaric approves the consumption of dragonblood for his soldiers to grant them extra abilities—creating what are called “Spoileds”. Humans who have consumed enough dragonblood that their bodies eventually become reliant on it. So much so that, if they go without it, they often go into withdrawals and eventually die.
Here in the Dragon Lands, healers are trained at an academy to find the balance of healing with dragonblood when medically necessary, while avoiding overconsumption to create Spoileds.
Being Spoiled is not only frowned upon—it can also be a death sentence. Many times they’re executed before the addiction gets too far, some eventually getting to the point of hunting and killing dragons.
Whereas healers gather dragonblood ethically through specific bonded earth dragons. The dragon donors are treated well and are a highly protected breed.
After our history lesson is concluded, I search for Devin. But when I don’t find him, I figure I’ll see him near dinner, and I join Aelia out in the gardens with two other women. We stroll about, a smile lifting my cheeks when Aelia refers to me as we stop at different flowers to admire them.
“And these ones?” Aelia asks, motioning down to the boldly colored flower beds comparable to that of a sunset.
“Zinnias,” I answer, crouching down and gently thumbing a petal. “Though, it’s impressive they’re doing so well.” I glance up to the snow-tipped mountains surrounding us, despite the weather here being tolerable.
“Why? Are they hard to keep?” a woman with dark curly hair cut short near her ears asks. Beatrice, as I learned her name when we first walked into the gardens.
“No,” I say as I straighten. “Not terribly when it’s spring.”
