Page 86 of A City of Flames

Curling my other palm over the pommel, I inhale like I’ve come up from water in need of air. I look at her again for one, two, maybe three minutes. The time is endless, but then those glistening eyes, fire and gold, youthful and peaceful give me that same understanding as before of what I’m about to do.

And with a nod I thrust it into her chest, into her heart.

She roars out a cry as I squeeze my eyes shut. Strangled gasps surface from my lips, feeling the blade go deeper.

When warm thick liquid pools onto my hands, a wet sob escapes and I pull free the dagger from the dragon, dropping it. I keep my eyes closed for everything, for the thumping of the body hitting solid ground. The wind drifts through the dungeons—this prison cave and then the dragon is soundless with her chains no longer creaking.

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” The queen calls out, her voice tormenting. I can envision the smile on her face.

I don’t open my eyes not until I slowly begin to twist around. With my head lowered, every single breath heaves from me as if I’ve ran for so long. “Why didn’t you capture the Golden Thief?” Forcing myself not to spare a glance at the dragon, at what I’ve done, I focus on the queen.

Her narrowing gaze locks on me in wicked amusement. “I wanted to test something out with him first.” With lips slightly parted, she lifts her chin. “And he proved exactly what I had suspected, the second he entered.”

Before I can ask what that is, she’s already turned to walk out. I stare down at my bloodied hand; the dagger on the ground and sharp guilt consumes me.

I barge back into my room with Freya jumping up from her bed as she clutches her chest. “Solaris,” she says out of breath. “Nara what—”

“I need you to cover for me,” I say, rushing to my chest of drawers and bending down to open it. The first thing I grab is my old sheath and double ended blade before flipping the pocket over to find the faerie blood as well as my crescent. Taking it out I squeeze it in my stained crimson hands and exhale loosely. “I won’t be long.”

Once I left the dungeons, I only had one thing on my mind. I’d kept to myself, distant and dazed while the queen smiled, letting me know where our trust stood.

“Hold on,” Freya says but I’m already making my way to the door. “Cover for you? Where are you going?”

“The Draggards,” Is all I answer with and just as I pry the door open, Freya rushes over the beds, slamming it back closed.

I look up at her and the unsettled furrow of her brows as she says in a low warning, “Nara—”

“Please?” I beg, my voice sounding weak as the memory of the dragon flashes and the blood, the way those eyes glanced at me—

“I can’t,” Freya mutters and I frown at her, prepared to ask why not when she lets go and says with severeness, “Because I’m coming with you.”

I open my mouth, not knowing what I want to say but she beats me to it. “And you’re going to explain everything that’s been going on with you lately.”

* * *

Weak, a coward, cruel, those are a few of the words circling my mind with what had occurred back at the dungeons. I want to throw up. I want to erase it, but I can’t.

And telling Freya everything from the deal with Ivarron to Darius and the necklace caused stiffening tension to roam the heavy air. She’d listened attentively to every word, watched how I scrubbed at my hands for the blood to come off and how I needed to see Leira. A witch, a friend of my father, and someone who believes his death was no accident.

I glance down at the herbal tea, Leira had placed when I rushed inside amidst the herds of drunken people. The strong whiffs of lavender steam off the cup and ripples as I take a sip. Freya stands in the corner, resting against the wooden walls, and bites her nails in rumination. She’d not said anything after I told her. We’d arrived at Leira’s by the time she could have attempted a response.

“Trying to get ahead of the queen can easily go wrong Nara, you saw what she did to you today.” Leira sighs, shaking her head, almost too angry at what I’d explained.

I place the cup on the table. “She might be the reason my father died.” I’d chosen to believe otherwise, and still, certain things don’t add up. A dragon killed him. Whether it’s pure coincidence or she threatened him too then, I’m at a dead end. “And... she knew about Dar—” I stop myself. “The Golden Thief.”

“But from what you’ve explained, she wanted your loyalty at all costs—”

“No, she wanted to see me vulnerable.” I realize the words came out testy. I take another sip—gulp it more like.

Leira’s hazel gaze turns into sympathy, and she clutches my hand as I set the tea again. The candle wax melts between us, and flames flicker onto her bronzed skin. “It’s not your fault.”

My eyes sting, and I begin to think it’s the candle burning them. When I speak, my voice is a weak whisper, “If I hadn’t helped the Golden Thief—”

“If,” she cuts in, “you hadn’t helped him. She would have still found a way.”

I sag against the chair, exhaling deeply. Sneaking a glance at Freya, I see her staring at a grimoire with such fascination. By the other side of the room, Aelle, Leira’s wife, cuts up fresh flowers, placing them in jars. I remember Leira mentioned they both resided in a cottage outside of the city. Maybe that was their escape from this.

“Do you still see the Golden Thief?” Leira’s question makes me look at her.

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