Page 62 of Crown of Betrayal and Blood

Leesa, having been able to rest the whole way back, slips away, retreating toward the sitting room.

Blair and I ease Sterling onto his bedroom chair.

Moments later, Leesa returns, a glass cradled in her hands. “Here.” She offers Sterling the beverage. “After my attack, ale helped steady my nerves. But this was all I could find.”

It’s whiskey, judging from the scent.

I eye my sister, wondering when she became an ale drinker. Back before she went to Flighthaven, she used to hate the stuff, even wrinkling her nose over the smell.

Maybe the stress of Flighthaven or her abduction changed her opinion. I make a mental note to tease her about it later.

For now, I stay quiet, understanding her need to do something—anything—to ease the tension that curls around us like smoke from a doused flame.

“Thank you.” Sterling accepts the glass with a nod. His fingers tremble slightly against the cool surface, betraying the stoicism painted on his features. He sips, coughing halfway through as if it burns.

Maybe the drink will warm him up. I keep my eyes on him, the man I love, as he sips at the strong liquid, and my heart clenches.

Around us, the bedroom feels too still, each breath and shift magnified tenfold. There’s no escaping the unease that lingers or the fog that refuses to lift. Fear remains a constant companion. Every shadow, every movement of the curtains, could lead to another attack that we miss until it’s already on top of us.

My gaze flits to the balcony, half-expecting shadows to leap forth from the corners we cannot see.

First Leesa, then Sterling. Maybe it’s paranoia talking, but the drachen sure seem drawn to enthralling the people dearest to me.

I shake off the uneasiness and try to focus on the positive. We all faced the drachen and survived.

I’ll cling to that thought instead, along with the hope that feeds it, as fiercely as I wield my flames.

In the end, hope is another form of light, and we’ll need all the light we can get to banish the encroaching darkness.

ChapterTwenty-One

With a tired mind, I slide up next to Sterling and rest a hand on his arm. Dinner was hours ago, but even after eating a hearty meal, exhaustion is etched into his face. “How are you feeling?”

He tries to shrug me off with a grumble. “Really, Lark, I’m not injured.”

I hold tight, resisting his weak efforts to push me away. “Okay, tough guy. How about you drop that ego for two seconds here and accept some help? You may not have any visible injuries, but if you collapse at my feet, don’t expect me to lift your heavy ass up into the bed, because it’s not happening. Agnar and Blair are probably asleep already, so I can’t run to them for assistance, and I know you don’t want the guards to come in and see you in an undignified heap on the floor.”

I poke at the firm mass of his chest and abs. “If lifting you is something you’d like to see me do at a future date, I suggest you stop working out. These muscles of yours weigh entirely too much.”

He huffs. “I’m tired, but notthattired.”

Sterling continues to grouse while he kicks off the slippers I insisted he wear after he finished his bath.

I would have assisted him myself, but I spent that time checking in on Leesa.

Though she’d managed to not get enthralled by the drachen this time, she still seemed to be struggling after facing them again. No doubt it brought up terrible memories for her, leaving her out of sorts and short-tempered. I’d left her with Bastian, shooting him a thankful look as I slipped from her chamber.

“Is it so hard to accept help?” I ease him onto the plush bed with more care than he probably needs, shifting the blankets aside with one hand before allowing him to lie down. Then, unable to help myself, I gently tuck the sheets around him like protective wards. “You were there for me when Mother was killed. Let me return the favor.”

His lower lip curls in, and I know he’s biting back another protest. Instead, he looks like a child who’s just been told there are no more pastries.

I press on before he can argue further. “Tell me about the attack. How did it feel?”

A hesitation. “It was different this time.”

The night Jasper died, Sterling shared his experience as more of a debriefing and strategizing opportunity than anything else. Unlike with Leesa, the drachen in the first attack only stunned him momentarily before Jasper rushed in to save him.

Momentary or not, the fact that the drachen enthralled him twice in so short a time unsettles me.

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