Page 65 of A City of Flames

A light chuckle. “More than that.” She retreats to where she’d set her goblet down, placing the pendant around a mannequin’s neck.

And at that it takes five seconds for me to scan the room, I can’t guarantee she’d remove the pendant again, and it’s too much risk to do anything—

“Hold still!” The seamstress hisses from her bent position by my knees.

I scowl back, but the queen, taking no notice, says, “you know of the wars before the treaty, don’t you?”

I snap my head up at her as she grabs her chalice and turns to walk back to me. She raises her hand, motioning for the seamstress to depart. The seamstress bows, propelling a glare over her shoulder at me before ushering out of the hall.

Forgetting that, I answer with, “Yes.” I stand slightly taller on the stool against the queen, yet no height can match her power stature. “The Exaree witches and shifters against the sorcerers.”

I’m reminded of my talk with Leira, what led me to flee from the tavern, and the eerie words she’d told me.

The sun blooms again, for she has found her moon—

“A witch and a shifter always go hand in hand,” The queen tears my memory of what Leira said, earning herself a cock of a head from me. “Once a witch bonds to a particular shifter, they’re allies, confidants, and helpers, which is why the sorcerers never stood a chance, not even the most powerful.”

An exhale blooms from her lips, sad, distant even. Leira mentioned that shifters helped the witches, felt emotions from others. However, she’d not said they were the type to bond. And the queen... seeing her now explain this, I consider how she despises shifters, has an army of venators at her disposal to get rid of them while a witch is to be hanged or burnt at the stake if they dared use their magic.

“Are you a sorceress?” The question sounds so absurd once I ask it, but the queen only chuckles, flitting her gaze downward.

“I am... though one without power.”

A wave of shock pours over me. For a while, I’ve wondered what the queen was, why she’d lived this long, knowing that she couldn’t be just mortal, but her answer opens more questions, wonders, and curiosity.

Why is she without power? Did she fight in the war? Had it to do with the Rivernorths?

But my questions remain unspoken as she looks at my arm. “My, what a scar you have there.”

I bring it to my chest, an instinct to hide it even if I am standing in front of the queen.

She doesn’t seem bothered nor wonders why I’m hiding it as she asks, “How did it occur?”

A shaky intake of breath has me look at the deep red mark from my palm up my inner forearm. “A dragon,” I say quietly.

Hiding what had done this was never the answer but the longer I stare at it, the more I think of the day my father died. It may be a distant memory; I can hardly picture the dragon anymore, however, I still can’t accept that day.

“I see,” the queen breathes. “Well now you are here training to make sure that never happens again.”

I bow, letting my arm drape to the side, keen to still hide it. “Of course, your majesty.”

She raises her chalice, a flicker of a smile that almost seems furtive before she says, “As you know, we protect those who do not bear the flame...” And drinks from it.

The following morning, I rush down the stairs, fiddling with my hands in front of me while reciting the venator motto, “we protect those who do not bear the flame.”

A phrase I should focus on instead of wondering how I’m to steal off the queen.

Saying it once more, I drop onto the last step and stop, slowly drawing my brows together once spotting Lorcan and a few venators coming out from the weapons room.

“What is going on?” I stroll up to Lorcan, eyeing the other venators who pass me holding spears and chains.

“Sightings of dragons have been reported up north,” he says, bringing my focus back to him. He sighs, a deep sound that sends sparks of emotions through me. “I have to leave for a few days.”

A weight presses on my chest, and it’s as if someone pushes me back as I see a flash of a memory—when my father used to say his goodbyes.

“Look after everyone for me, Idris,” he’d say when I’d hide in the corner of the cottage, staring as my brother would nod back in a solemn motion.

Turning my head in the other direction, I blink rapidly. “For how long?” I croak out, forcing myself to look at him.

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