Page 132
Lark
The council chamber stinks of old parchment, too much tea, and the spring breeze that blows through the Council Tower’s open windows. I sit at the long table, scribbling my notes as King Sterling, my husband, toys with an intricate ice castle he’s forming on the arm of his chair while half-listening to the supplicants who’ve come to speak with us.
He thinks he’ll read my notes later, like he always does. But he’s not getting them for free. I’ll make him work for it considering I’m forced to listen to Fenton Wick drone on about the post-war reconstruction of the eastern districts.
I send the tiniest pulse of heat into the wood of Sterling’s chair, watching as the castle begins to melt from the center out. Not what I wanted. It was supposed to melt on the side, then slide off the wood so he’d have to scramble to catch it. Focusing, I try again.
The door slams open, crashing against the stone wall with a force that reverberates through the chamber like a thunderclap. Startled, Sterling and I leap to our feet, instinctively reaching for the swords we’re not supposed to have during these meetings according to the old rules. Rules we’ve ignored for more than a year now.
A man in messenger colors stumbles in, partially supported by one of the tower guards, his face pale and strained. His black wings droop with exhaustion. “I bring word.” His voice cracks. “Must read.”
Glancing at Sterling, I nod. We both know what this means.
An emergency so dire that this man was willing to fly himself nearly to death to get it to us as quickly as possible.
“Give him some water.” I release my grip on my sword as I gesture toward the pitcher on the table.
The messenger offers up a crumpled piece of expensive parchment, the kind reserved for official correspondence.
My stomach twists with anticipation as Sterling, being closer, rounds the table.
He takes the parchment from the messenger’s trembling hand before steadying the man with a reassuring grip on his shoulder. “Meridia’s royal seal. This is from King Edric.”
What new grievance will Meridia air today? They always whine about something, though it’s rarely important enough for the messenger to exert this much effort.
As Sterling cracks the seal and begins to read, I lean closer, my curiosity tinged with dread. “What does it say?”
Sterling’s face drains of color, and he hands the missive to me, his fingers shaking. “They say they’re going to kill Agnar if we don’t hand over our hidden dragon eggs.”
The words hit me like a physical blow, and for a moment, the room wavers to the point where I have to slap my palm on the table to brace myself.
Duchess Breann Farlow clears her throat, her expression shifting from confusion to horror. “But we don’t have any dragon eggs…” Her hand flies to her mouth as realization dawns, her gray-and-white updo shifting with the sudden movement.
Panic rises within me.
Agnar, the unofficial brother to my husband, the man who stepped forward to be my taste tester after someone tried to poison me, the man who stood at my side time after time as monsters, men, and gods attacked me and never once backed down, never complained, who made me laugh when I was scared, tired, overwhelmed, or just nervous.
Cold tickles my toes, and I look up to see snow forming around Sterling. His eyes fill with pain and anger in equal measure. I know they match my own.
Heat surges in wavering lines around my body, my emotions threatening to spiral out of control as I clench my hands. I lift my gaze from the ransom note, smoke curling around my fingers as scorch marks mar the polished surface of the table. “Send someone.”
In the back of my head, I feel my dragons react, their heads lifting and their wings rustling as they turn to gaze south.
Fenton steps forward, his brow furrowed in concern. “Your Majesty, please calm…” But the wiry council member jumps back at the heat emanating off me, then squeals as his foot slips on an ice patch.
I pound my fists on the table, setting fire to the world map laid out. “Send everyone available. Get him back!”
Sterling whips around on the guards, his thunderous command echoing off the walls. “You heard Queen Lark. Move!”
Outside, the roars of agitated dragons shake the very foundation of the palace, mirroring the chaos erupting within my heart. They take flight, heading south in a blaze of dragonfire and wrath, driven only by my emotions.
I destroyed Aclaris and its king, razed his palace to the ground, and turned their training fields into ash. I brought a dead god to life so I could kill him completely and turn his bones to dust. I broke the gods and forced them into signing a treaty.
King Edric does not want to know what I will do to him and everyone he holds dear if he touches a single feather on Agnar’s wings.
The End
