Page 124 of Kingdom of Shadows and Wings

Shit. He’s heading toward the door.

I don’t wait to hear any more. Pulse pounding, I flee down the hall and round the corner. I swear I hear a noise behind me, but I don’t stop to check. I race down the next hall, desperate to rejoin the safety of the crowd.

Footsteps pound after me. “Lark. Where are you going? Wait up.”

Near the end of the hall, he catches up and reaches for me. The moment he touches me, I jerk free and shove him as hard as I can. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you ever fucking touch me again.”

A baffled expression pinches his brows together. “What the hells has gotten into you? Are you upset that I left you so suddenly? I’m sorry, but I couldn’t leave Torno waiting.”

Reaction is setting in. I’m shaking from head to toe. If I don’t get out of here soon, there’s no telling what I might do.

The smart thing to do is feign ignorance, but the outrage and hurt battering my chest demand an outlet, however small. “I heard you. I heard what you said about me…about us.” His face falls, but I’m not done. “Now you hear me. I hope you enjoyed this hot piece of ass while it lasted, because you’ll never enjoy it again. Don’t look at me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t think about me, and trust me when I say that I plan to forget you ever existed. I knew you were broken, but I never realized you were completely soulless and empty inside.”

His skin is ashen. “Lark, you don’t know…come with me, please. We can’t talk here.”

As he gestures for me to follow him, a bitter laugh scrapes up my throat. “Didn’t you hear me? We can’t talk anywhere. I refuse.”

I dart past him, but he catches my sleeve from behind. I stop. “Let me go, or I swear I’ll scream the place down.” My voice sounds funny. Dead.

“Lark, please?—”

“Three. Two. On?—”

Once he releases my gown, I race away, but not before I hear him curse. “Fuck!”

If I didn’t know better, I could almost believe he sounds genuinely broken up and tormented. I do know better, though. I know he’s a charlatan. A beautiful face covering a rotten soul.

I slip past the ballroom, out the door, and down the trail leading to the dorms, not stopping until I reach my room. The pain in my chest is excruciating, like someone’s carving pieces from my heart, strip by strip, and shredding them into confetti. I curl up on the bed in the fetal position and drown in the agony of his betrayal.

Sterling Thorne didn’t just want a fling. It was worse. So much worse. He used me. Tricked me. Took advantage of my feelings so he could spy on me for the fucking king. He crushed my trust beneath his boots and stomped it into dust. He’s working with the very people my sister tried to warn me about. The people who want to exploit me for purposes I’ve yet to discover.

I will never forgive him for this. Never.

Chapter Forty-Four

Gray clouds blot out the sun as I sit atop Zephyr, the drizzle dampening my flight leathers in a stark reflection of my mood. All the flight units have mounted in the temporary arena between the magic practice area and the eyril field to await instructions. Last night’s pain retreated, leaving a hollowed chest and a pervasive sense of numbness. That said, I made Olive saddle Zephyr and fetch him from the stable. I have zero interest in ever laying eyes on Sterling Thorne again. She knows something happened between us, but no specifics. If this has proven anything, it’s that the dragoncaller information is dangerous. I refuse to put my friends at risk.

From our position in the middle of the arena, we face five tiers of seating stuffed with strangers from all walks of life. Several of them I tag as nobles, looking regal in their velvets and silks, with their ample jewels sparkling in the sun. Flags bearing the king’s crest and those of Aclaris wiggle in the faint wind.

On the highest tier, Xenon’s thronelike seat dominates the others. Two royal servants dressed in emerald green tunics stand at attention behind him. His jewel-encrusted gold crown and deep scarlet tunic stand out from the rest, as do his broad shoulders, long gray hair, and handsome face. His smooth skin and physique put his firmness on par with a much younger man’s.

Everything about him fills me with dread.

Trumpets announcing the beginning of the trial blare. Spectators shift in their seats, their muffled comments rippling through the crowd. A latecomer—a noble woman in a hooded black cape threaded with silver—follows a royal servant toward the king’s platform.

Once there, she takes the empty seat next to Xenon, lowers the hood, and raises her face.

My heart catches, and I huff out a mirthless laugh.

Besides Sterling, the last person I want to show up smooths her skirts and settles in to watch.

My fucking mother is here.

I search her familiar face, wishing I could peel back her skin and reveal the truth and the lies. I wonder if she’s in league with the king too. If she hates me because I’m Tirenese, and if that’s why she locked me away in the castle for most of my life.

If the king decides I’m not the dragoncaller, I wonder whether she believes she can cage me again.

My stomach churns.

---