Page 50 of The Flame King's Queen

I gather the blankets back over me. “I know you’ll make me proud no matter what.”

Snorting and huffing, Zabriel lays back down and hugs me and his baby to his chest. “What has Stesha got to prove? What mate does he have to impress? What child in whose belly does he honor by winning? I have the bite of motivation and all he has is smoke without dragonfire.”

“You and Scourge will leave them all behind.”

Privately, I’m thinking about the hard gleam in Stesha’s eyes, and the angry, frustrated one in Kane’s. If Stesha has something to prove, and Kane has something to prove, and my mate does as well, these Dragon Games are going to turn into a ferocious battleground. Never mind about all the dragons. Maledin doesn’t feel big enough for the three Alphas.

18

Isavelle

One morning, it’s too wet and windy for dragonriding, or at least, dragonriding that’s enjoyable for me or Esmeral, so I suggest to Ravenna that we visit Master Gaun’s Magical Archive in the city.

Despite the feverish excitement in the air about the Dragon Games and the importance of celebrating just how far Maledin has come since the oppressive days of the Brethren, there’s still a long way for us to go until we’re all safe from Emmeric. If there’s something that I can do to help, then I want to do it, and that something is witchcraft.

The archive is a cozy haven of books, scattered scrolls, and warm lamplight. Often there’s a fire crackling in a potbellied stove and the scent of tea percolates the air. But today when we push open the door to the archive and step inside with Fiala and Dusan, the only scent that reaches us is fear.

Masters Gaun, Simpkin, and Artor, former witchfinders who now call themselves warlocks, are rooted to the spot as they stare at a fourth figure. Master Simpkin is standing by the open stove clutching his own wrist, an angry red welt on his palm. A pile of books and scrolls have been swept onto the floor. The intruder is dressed in black and is unfortunately familiar, even with his back to us.

Ravenna freezes, and silently grasps my hand.

At the sound of our footsteps, Kane turns and glances over his shoulder, and his dark gaze fixes upon Ravenna. “I don’t like having my back to you, witch. Move over there.” He jerks his chin at a spot to our left.

Neither of us move.

His lip curls in irritation and he addresses the warlocks. “Don’t lie to me. You were all his little sycophants, so you must know where he is.”

Master Gaun moves closer to Kane, wringing his hands nervously. In as steady voice as he can manage, he says, “I will explain as best I can, though I’m unfamiliar with the details due to the—”

Kane draws his sword. “If I cannot shed his blood, then I will start spilling yours. Get to the point.”

Ravenna lifts her hands, and magical threads seize Kane’s wrist so he can’t raise his weapon.

Kane snarls a word, and the spell disintegrates. Over his shoulder, he says, “Stay out of this, witch. Your spells are useless against me.”

Fiala and Dusan have flanked Kane on either side and are brandishing their halberds at him. Dusan digs the pointy end of his weapon against Kane’s ribs. “Your fancy words don’t work on cold steel. You dare draw on unarmed men? Sheathe your weapon.”

Kane glares at him, but after a moment, does as he’s told. “I’m not leaving until these sniveling idiots tell me what I need to know.”

Master Gaun takes out a handkerchief and dabs at his forehead. “As I’ve been trying to tell you, Master Kane, he’s dead.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then ask Lady Isavelle. She and King Zabriel killed him.”

Kane turns slowly toward me, and I suddenly realize who he’s asking about. The Brethren High Priest, the man who ruled my life when I was a Veiled Virgin, and the man who kept Kane under his thumb when he was a witchfinder. “Kane, are you asking about the High Priest? The warlocks speak the truth. He’s dead.”

“When? How?” Kane demands.

“Not long ago. He intruded upon a ceremony, tracking me down by my scent and saying the most hateful things to me when he found me alone. Some people don’t like witches. Can you believe that?”

“No, truly? Get to the point. How did he die?”

It’s a horrible memory because the High Priest tried to rape me, and I don’t feel like going into the details. “Zabriel killed him.”

“But these warlocks said you both killed him. What did you do? Annoy him to death?”

A jolt goes through me as I remember the part I played in the High Priest’s death, and I start to laugh.

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