Page 76 of Court of Secrets and Flames

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The next morning, I vault onto Dame’s broad back, the heat of her scales a welcome contrast to the chill in the morning air. With a mighty leap, she unfurls her pale-yellow underwings, and we ascend from the fire paddock. A thrill races through me as I watch the world shrink below, joy from our freedom pulsing with every beat of Dame’s mighty wings.

Sterling had warned me earlier to take things easy and not risk trouble by flying the dragons again so soon after irritating the king. But King Jasper had insisted, his command veiled as encouragement.

My decision to fly was a concession to the king’s whims. Though I very well know the king doesn’t value my safety as Sterling does. He only cares about my talents and how he can use them to secure his crown.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I’m not even sure Jasper sees me as a real person rather than a means to elevate his standing and power, as if I’m some sort of prized broodmare.

Dame banks to the right, silently agreeing to our unspoken destination. Below, the landscape sprawls out, a tapestry of greens and browns quilted together by stone walls and windingroads. A part of me yearns to fly farther, to soar over the lands where the dead alicorns lie, their mystery calling to me like a siren song.

With my family’s safety in Jasper’s hands, though, I don’t dare push my luck.

My gaze lingers on the horizon. One day I’ll be free to forge my own path without worrying about destiny or keeping my loved ones safe.

Gliding on thermal currents, Dame and I survey the land below with a shared curiosity that’s become as natural as breathing. From this vantage point, every secret nestled within Tirene feels ripe for the taking, and I’m all too eager to pluck them from their hiding places. I have no idea how such information might be useful, but anything I learn has potential to help me plan for the future.

The town unfurls beneath us, a new mosaic of life that I haven’t yet committed to memory. We circle lower, discreet enough not to draw undue attention, but close enough for me to sketch mental maps and store the information away like the dragons in old storybooks hoarded gold.

Knowledge is power. Survival may ultimately depend on knowing the lay of the land.

I trace Dame’s scales, the reddish-brown hide warm beneath my touch. The bond between us hums, a silent conversation of trust and mutual respect.

Today, more than ever, I feel the symbiotic nature of our partnership is symbiotic.

Dame continues soaring until the rooftops and market stalls disappear. Before I can speculate on where she’s taking me, an image of a deserted beach materializes through our connection.

Okey dokey then. Far be it for me to argue with a dragon’s chosen destination.

Cruising over a blanket of green forest, Dame closes in on a segment of coast far from the harbor, one that appears unpopulated. The briny air hits my nose an instant before the dragon suddenly banks hard to the right, points her triangular head toward an opening in the trees, and dives.

My stomach swoops. What in the ever-loving hells?

Clinging to her spiny neck, I scan the terrain for threats and find nothing. Just trees and grass and… a godsdamned wild pig?

I squint and, yup. That’s a pig, all right. Even if I couldn’t tell for sure, Dame’s hunger floods our link and confirms it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! You couldn’t give me a head’s up before deciding you needed a snack?”

Quickly concluding that I could happily live my entire life without witnessing a gruesome, unbalanced matchup between a squealing pig and a hungry dragon, I flap my wings and launch myself off Dame’s back. I’ll continue in the direction we were headed. Once I reach the beach, I should have long enough to take off my boots and wade into the waves. I’ll splash around and give Dame time to finish her impromptu meal before returning.

I wrinkle my nose and draft a mental note.

Next time, make sure Dame’s eats prior to leaving the palace grounds.

The sun beats a pleasant warmth on my wings as the trees begin to thin into sandier terrain, though thick clusters still hug sections near the shore. I’m tracking the scalloped coastline north when an odd flutter catches my eye.

“What’s that?”

I head in that direction, tracking the motion. The coastline there curves sharply and disappears into the trees, but as I fly closer, more oddities peek through gaps between the branches. Still, it’s not until I’m within touching distance of the leaves that my brain finally puzzles out what I’m seeing.

The top is carefully camouflaged by a canopy of woven branches that extend across both sides of the small cove. Anyone flying high overhead would easily mistake it for another cluster of trees, but I’m close enough to discover the truth.

A wooden hull. Scaffolding. Sails.

Someone—or more than likely, multiple someone—hid an entire ship.

The question is, why?

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