Page 125 of Of Flames and Fallacies

It was dragon contraband.

My gaze wanders to Celeste’s dress every time she isn’t paying attention. I scan for the curve of the horn against her dress, but it’s well hidden within the creases and layers of the fabric. A lingering fear of what else she might be hiding under her dress buzzes in the back of my mind.

She chatters on about all the towns she’s been to and how her favorite color is purple. We talk of flowers and the spring. Small chit chat, but I oblige her. I actually prefer it. These sorts of simple conversations I don’t have to lie or think about.

When we enter the gates of Windmere, the townspeople watch the carriage roll by with excitement and awe. We finally stopin a town circle with colorful buildings crowding the perimeter. Finneas opens the door for us, and we spill out into the street. In the middle of the circle is a towering fountain carved from a rich marble, stark white with faint gray veins spidering the stone. The marble is carved into the silhouette of a man pointing a sword at the sky. Its height soars above all the other buildings, and water murmurs at its base.

Celeste follows my wondrous stare. “Beautiful, isn’t it? It was made for the King.”

“We never had such things in Padmoor,” I admit, my eyes wandering every curve of the fountain. The cost alone to commission such a thing could have easily fed a small town for months.

Celeste glides past me and closer to the fountain, the train of her dress brushing the cobblestones until she stops a few paces ahead of me. Her head tilts back to stare up at the fountain. “They say he was born here. The town commissioned the fountain to honor the King and his sacrifices for our realm.”

Like how he so generously sacrificed his own sister to be King?I make an active effort not to scoff.“His sacrifices?”

She nods, still staring at the statue. “Yes. His wife and daughter. His daughter was burned to death by two dragons. She was a toddler.”

My sadness and shock zaps all the warmth from my face, my expression melts into a gasp. “That’s…that’s awful. What became of his wife?”

Celeste turns toward me. Her characteristically cheery demeanor transforms into a heavy stone-cold sadness. “She killed herself. She couldn’t live with the pain of such a great loss. After the death of his daughter and wife, the King banished dragons, so no one else would have to carry a burden so great or face a pain of that magnitude ever again.”

But Daeja could never.Wouldnever.

The silence between Celeste and I is filled with the soft gurgling water from the fountain. I’m so close to asking Celeste why the King killed his sister. But then I remember the horn hidden somewhere in her dress. I’m not quite sure what side she’s on.

Celeste physically shakes her head to rid herself of the sadness, like a dog shaking off excess water from its fur. She clasps my hand and tugs me gently away from the fountain. “Come. Let us treat ourselves to some tea.”

As we walk toward the shops lining the streets, the townspeople we pass watch us intently. They look Celeste up and down, admiring her stunning gown with wide eyes and soft smiles. A child points at us, and his mother swats his hand down with a scolding mutter. Men dip their heads and tip hats toward us in respect.

I pin a sideways glance at Celeste. “Have you been here before?”

She shrugs. “A few times.”

We pass a lonely, dusty alleyway with a man curled into a fetal position, his eyes closed. His ragged clothes rise and fall with his sleepy breath, his skin stained with dirt. Celeste pauses mid-step as she fishes out coins from her purse. When she opens the clutch I stare in amazement at her collection of gold and silver coins. With gloved fingers, she retrieves several golds and places them near the man’s hands. She notices my gaped mouth, and I blush in embarrassment.

“It’s not mine, truly. Everything I have is my father’s,” she explains.

I drag my gaze away from her purse to her face. “And who is your father?”

“Jurrock.”

The name spins me. I’ve heard that name before. I remember the night I saw Cole at the inn in Blackfell—Darian had beentrained by Jurrock. My father wrote about him, too—the one who gave the King a dragon egg. If Jurrock was her father, and Darian was trained by him…

Gods, the way she stared at Darian so longingly yesterday. The way he brushed her off, as if she were nothing but a piece of dust. Celeste was jaw-droppingly gorgeous. A beauty I simply couldn’t compete with. And if Darian had so much as a sliver of desire for me, I couldn’t imagine what he might have felt toward her. They must have been close if he spent so much time training with her father to become the best swordsman in the kingdom.

A lot of time together, if she was writing him so many letters. Especially considering she ended each one with‘Love, Celeste.’

My heart thunders in my chest as I recall their encounter last night, Celeste saying she loves him, and Darian snapping at the confession.

I couldn’t help but wonder to myself if Darian loved her, too. If he was even capable of comprehending such a meaningful emotion through his constant haze of contempt.

“He was the King’s general,” Celeste interrupts my thoughts.

I knew of his position, only because of my father’s journal. But I clear my throat. “Was?”

We stroll further down the street and away from the alley.

Her gaze flickers away from me and to the shop windows we pass by. “Yes, was. He died.”

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