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Edric waves this away with a casual flick of his fingers, like he’s brushing off a fly. “Of course you’d say that.”

I lean forward as much as the chains allow, my shoulders screaming in protest. “I’m telling you the truth. Tirene has no unhatched eggs. I can’t help you.”

He closes the distance until he’s eye to eye with me, the blue of his irises thick and potent like glacial ice. “I know what you are, Kerrin. I know what you’ve done. What you’re capable of. King Jasper was a friend of mine.”

Jasper Barda, Sterling Barda’s late brother and the former king of Tirene. The man who was king when I was sent to Blackwood Valley.

A sick, twisted urge to succumb to the darkness that’s lain dormant in me for years curves my lips into a half-smile. If my system wasn’t pumped full of drugs, I could kill this sorry excuse for a ruler without even breaking loose from my chains.

But a quick, impulsive death would be too merciful. Once I’m free, I’ll make him beg to die. “Ah. Word gets around.”

His fingers trace the jagged flesh where my feathers were ripped free. “Beautiful things, these Tirenese wings. I wonder how well you’d fly with only one.”

Without access to my magic, it’s practically impossible to tuck them away. I can’t do anything but hang here and wait.

He moves back to face me, his expression almost pitying. “If you don’t want to help me, fine. Let’s see what the King and Queen of Tirene think their best weapon’s life is worth.”

Chapter Forty-Six

Esme

I don’t know what I’m doing outside Agnar’s cell or what I think I’ll accomplish. Half an hour ago, I was on my balcony, bundled in silk and guilt. Now, I press myself against the damp stone of the dungeon, dressed in a simple tunic, breeches, and cloak and hiding behind the only open door.

My father’s voice comes from within. “…should thank me, Kerrin. If you hadn’t been flushed from that cave in the mountains, you’d still be chasing shadows.”

My palm flies over my mouth, covering it to prevent any sound from escaping.

Surely, he’s not talking about the attack on Veradin’s sanctuary. Could those have been Father’s men and not random mercenaries? That seems entirely more likely than the possibility that strangers would be able to locate the cave, deactivate the wards, get inside, and pose a threat to someone as strong as Veradin.

But that doesn’t make sense. Why would my father do that?

“Let me explain your situation, Kerrin.” Father’s tone shifts from pleasant to arrogant. “Tirene will send what we need, or you’ll suffer.”

“Even if they had eggs,” Agnar’s words come out raspy and slow, like speaking costs him, “they’d never send one. Not even to save me.”

Father laughs, that horrible dismissive scoff he uses for people he thinks are beneath him. I’ve heard it many times, sometimes directed at me. Hearing it again freezes my spine. “Interesting. You’re that certain they’ll let you die rather than give up a resource?”

No response comes, and I can only imagine the sheer hatred in Agnar’s gaze.

His lack of reply only reiterates what I told Father. A dragon egg must exist somewhere in the world. Taking a slow, deep breath, I brace myself to confront the king. If I can reason with him and break through his anger, maybe he’ll let Agnar go.

And then I can apologize to Agnar for this misunderstanding and the rough treatment. Even if I don’t get any more answers, I have to at least make this right with him. Agnar may despise me for the rest of our lives, but he doesn’t deserve what we’ve done to him.

“All right, then. Maybe we’ll see if Tirene wants their favorite general hushing away to nothing.”

All my courage crashes into my feet as nausea overwhelms me. I back away, unwilling to hear anything more.

Father would use the Hushing Sickness against Agnar? He has the means to make him sick? Why would he do that? Does that mean⁠—

I collide with something solid behind me.

A hand snags my elbow and another slaps over my mouth, silencing me. A voice I know better than my own speaks from the shadows. “Esme.”

I spin as soon as he releases me, hope springing into my chest again.

Veradin lurks in the weak torchlight, barely visible. His white hair, the only bright thing in all this darkness, seems to glow faintly.

My mentor, my teacher, the one person I thought I could trust when everything else in my life was uncertain is here in my father’s dungeon. “Did you know? Who Agnar was? That Father sent men to your sanctuary?”