Page 110 of Court of Secrets and Flames

Sterling and I exchange a surprised glance. “Burned? What for?”

Jasper sighs. “No matter how I locked it up, someone managed to break in and steal it. We had a few addiction issues as a result, and a teenage girl died. Since eyril does us no good magically and we were no longer exporting, I decided to go the safe route and destroy it.”

I blink. That’s surprisingly decent of him.

Sterling must share the same thought. “While I think that was a wise choice, I’m not sure why you needed to clear the room for that.”

“I don’t like to share my business with all of our subjects, though I’ll admit, I did have an ulterior motive.”

I examine the king, but as usual, can’t get a good read on him. He’s such a mixed bag. Sometimes likeable, sometimes horrifying.

My mind returns to the eyril just as the king focuses on me, that nagging sense of missing an important connection refusing to leave me be.

The king leans forward and steeples his fingers together. “I think it’s past time we had an honest discussion about the three of us?—”

My gasp cuts him off as the thing eluding me clicks. “I know what’s been bothering me!” I grab Sterling’s arm. “The eyril storage room…is that what your eyril always smells like?”

Sterling’s brow furrows. “Yes. But why?—”

I swing back to the king. “And the eyril you grew here…did it smell the same way? Basically earthy?”

Now Jasper’s forehead is a duplicate of his brother’s. “As far as I’m aware. Why? What are you getting at?”

“Something’s been bothering me about the dead animals, but I couldn’t put two and two together. They all had this distinct odor, like sweet decay. I couldn’t remember where I smelled it before, but now I do.”

“Where?” Sterling asks.

“The eyril field at Flighthaven. Don’t you remember? It always had that pleasing yet slightly disturbing scent.”

His eyes slowly widen. “I didn’t until you just said that, but now that you did…yes, that does sound right. So you’re saying you think tainted eyril from Aclaris could have killed the alicorns and the juvenile dragon?”

A furrow forms between the king’s eyes. “I don’t understand. Who would be bringing that into Tirene, and how? We keep track of all the supplies we bring in via ship.”

“I think I may have the answer for that too. When I was out riding the dragon the day I was attacked, I saw something in a hidden cove. It looked like a ship, but it was concealed. And when I went to get a closer look, I was run off.”

The king’s mouth firms into a grim line. “Knox, call the guards back in and assemble a team to investigate.”

Then, to my utter frustration, the king commands me to remain behind while the others head out in search of the ship.

My nerves stretch thinner each hour that passes without word. Could this tie into the raids somehow? What if Sterling’s team is attacked?

When they finally return, the satisfaction radiating from Sterling tells me the outcome long before he opens his mouth.

They found the ship as it was leaving the cove, along with a ghost crew and three barrels of eyril. After subduing the crew, Sterling left soldiers behind and directed them to sail into the harbor.

Relief bubbles in my chest. With the eyril secured, the bizarre animal deaths should cease. The prisoners will need to be questioned to learn what they hoped to achieve, but in the meantime, a weight lifts from my shoulders.

As long as I can avoid another assassination attempt, my life might finally be calming down.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Another court dress clings to my frame, far too restrictive for my liking. The high waist of the pale blue bodice hugs my ribs, and the capped sleeves keep my arms from full reach. But it is the expected attire for someone in my position, at least when I’m not training or flying. I’m just thankful the full sky-blue skirt allows my legs to move freely and doesn’t require layers of undergarments to keep its shape.

In the solitude of my sitting room, I sit with my hands folded on my lap,The Chronicles of the Mother Wurmon the table next to me. My head pulses in time with the rhythm of my heart. A relentless throb provoked by hours of reading.

The door creaks open and Agnar strides in, balancing a tray laden with an assortment of dishes that perfume the air with savory scents. A soldier in full uniform, carrying a tray in one hand the way I would hold a plate. His presence, as always, heralds a break from the stifling atmosphere of duty and decorum.

“Your lunch, Lady Lark.”

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