Chapter 11
Eleven
- LYRA -
After breakfast, Lady Bethany leads us in a history briefing on Arterias versus the Dragon Lands.
Walking us through the original partnership of both territories before King Aaric murdered his sister for the throne and fled south before taking power.
While Lady Bethany’s touch on the brutal executions of dragon riders in Arterias is brief, it’s detailed enough to make some of us shift in our seats.
Then she moves on to the ongoing tension between the north and south.
How King Aaric approves the consumption of dragonblood for his soldiers to grant them extra abilities—creating what are called “Spoileds”.
Humans who have consumed enough dragonblood that their bodies eventually become reliant on it.
So much so that, if they go without it, they often go into withdrawals and eventually die.
Here in the Dragon Lands, healers are trained at an academy to find the balance of healing with dragonblood when medically necessary, while avoiding overconsumption to create Spoileds.
Being Spoiled is not only frowned upon—it can also be a death sentence. Many times they’re executed before the addiction gets too far, some eventually getting to the point of hunting and killing dragons.
Whereas healers gather dragonblood ethically through specific bonded earth dragons. The dragon donors are treated well and are a highly protected breed.
After our history lesson is concluded, I search for Devin. But when I don’t find him, I figure I’ll see him near dinner, and I join Aelia out in the gardens with two other women. We stroll about, a smile lifting my cheeks when Aelia refers to me as we stop at different flowers to admire them.
“And these ones?” Aelia asks, motioning down to the boldly colored flower beds comparable to that of a sunset.
“Zinnias,” I answer, crouching down and gently thumbing a petal. “Though, it’s impressive they’re doing so well.” I glance up to the snow-tipped mountains surrounding us, despite the weather here being tolerable.
“Why? Are they hard to keep?” a woman with dark curly hair cut short near her ears asks. Beatrice, as I learned her name when we first walked into the gardens.
“No,” I say as I straighten. “Not terribly when it’s spring.”
“But it’s winter, isn’t it?” the second woman with brown hair I just met—Willow—asks.
I shrug it off. “Yes. Though, I suppose it’s a grand example that whoever is tending them is quite skilled.”
Aelia strolls further into the gardens, into a section we haven’t been before. “How do you know so much about flowers? Were you a botanist or florist of some sort?”
“No. Just found enjoyment in learning about them. A botanist I knew back in Kilamber used to buy a loaf of bread every week from my family, and she would share all sorts of information with me.” A small smile lifts my lips as the memory of her flows back to me as we walk.
“She was a widow and never had children. I think she was lonely, and most people didn’t want to spend time with her. ”
“Your family were bakers?” Willow asks.
I nearly pause. The memory slipped off my tongue so easily I hadn’t even processed that a sliver of my life was there. “Yes, I suppose they were.”
“I still don’t remember anything outside of my name and where I’m from,” Beatrice blows out in a breath.
“It’ll come, just be patient.” Aelia pats her shoulder.
We are at the edge of the farthest part of the garden when Willow stops and crouches down near a flower bed. As we all crowd in around her to admire whatever has caught her attention, I fling forward and grab her shoulder as she reaches out, yanking her back so roughly she falls into my legs.
“Lyra!” Beatrice exclaims and bends down to help Willow up as do I.
“Sorry, that flower is a poppy!” I blurt.
Willow stands, brushing her dress down. “I know, I thought it was pretty. They’re outside the northern outskirts of Mossmead, where I’m from.”
“That’s not just any regular poppy,” I whisper, shaking my head. “That’s an opium poppy.”
Aelia’s face scrunches up. “What’s the difference?”
I point at the stalks of the flower. “If the sap got on her and she ingested it, it could be fatal. You don’t handle opium poppies without gloves on.”
“Oh…” Willow breathes, nodding her head. “Alright. Thank you, then, Lyra. Why don’t we keep walking?”
As we stroll on, I can’t help but note the location of the gardens. Etching it into my memory.
Because opium poppies are normally only harvested for two things.
Sedation and pain relief. Perhaps that was what was mixed into our wine the first time we woke. But it wouldn’t explain how we were healed. That would have been a thing of divine intervention. Or magic.
Like dragonblood.
I can’t ignore the idea sticking in my mind once it’s there, especially so fresh after our lesson with Lady Bethany.
“I need to speak with the General,” I whisper to one of the guards posted outside my room before we’re to report for dinner.
Two of them lead, one in front of me and one behind, through hallways I haven’t been down before. Trying to memorize it is difficult with so many turns we take and how massive this castle is.
As we turn down one corridor, there’s the sound of shattering glass from somewhere farther down.
The guard in front of me races forward to an open door on the left, drawing his sword.
The guard behind me grabs me by the shoulder and edges me back and against the far wall as he withdraws his own blade.
My heart leaps into my chest at their reaction. But at this angle, I can see straight through the half-open door.
The guard in front strides forward and, upon seeing what’s inside, lowers his sword and closes the door. But not quick enough to stop me from getting a few seconds glimpse.
It's a small room with shelves lined in glass bottles. All of which are filled to the brim with red liquid. Two lady’s maids are on their hands and knees collecting glass shards, with one of them having a massive splatter of red against her dress.
Like blood.
The guard beside me sheathes his blade and urges me forward, but I can’t swallow the fear gripping my throat.
It’s not dragonblood.
I don’t know how I know it, but I do. Could sense it even at this distance. Or rather, could not sense it at this distance. Not the pull I had come to know ever since I was a little girl.
More, Lyra…what else aren’t you remembering?
A bolt of pain splits through my head, hard enough that I flinch forward and the guards turn to me in concern. I wave them off, and as we walk the rest of the way I can’t stop my racing mind.
Of the lady’s maids cleaning our blood up on the first day. Collecting it in bottles that looked so similar to the ones I just saw. And if all thirty of us were bled out to the extent we were? If all of our blood was collected?
Why?
We were taught the effects of dragonblood this morning, but if my anxious thoughts aren’t misguided…
Why collect our blood? What would they use it for?
As the guards open a door and lead me inside, I almost forgot why I came to see Devin in the first place. We’re in a large two-story room with windows overlooking part of the gardens. Devin’s back is to us, looking over large scrolls on a long table with two other guards.
When he turns to us, confusion washes over his expression, he excuses himself and walks to us. “Lyra? I’m glad to see you, but to what do I owe the pleasure?”
I meekly glance at the two guards beside me, mumbling, “May I speak with you alone?”
Devin nods and guides me to the farthest corner of the room. “Is everything alright?”
I nod, biting down on my tongue to stir an idea of what I’m going to say now that I’m face-to-face with him. My original plan of sharing that Marcella stole a butter knife feels insignificant in the face of what I just witnessed.
“Hey,” he whispers, hesitantly patting the side of my shoulder. “What’s wrong? You look terrified.”
I drop my gaze from his, glancing behind him at the other guards near the table.
The window of the gardens just beyond them.
My mind slows just for a moment to catch onto something that might save me.
“I-I was in the gardens with some of the other women earlier. And…” I shake my head, dropping my attention down to my fingers as I fidget. “And we happened upon opium poppies.”
“Alrightttt…” There’s a slow question in his voice.
I look up at him and drop my hands. “One of the others almost touched it, and I told them what they were. I don’t know them well enough to know they won’t revisit them. And if it was some sort of secret we stumbled upon…”
“Don’t worry,” he says. “The plan is to harvest them week after next, but I’ll be sure to have guards posted there just in case.”
My mouth slightly parts. “Harvest them…in two weeks?” Like when the first trial is supposed to start.
He tosses a glance over his shoulder at the other guards before dipping his head closer to mine. “If your pain resurfaces for whatever reason, you let me know, and I’ll be sure to get you something to relieve it one way or another. Alright?”
I nod, taking his misunderstanding as my advantage.
For now, I’ll keep the blood collection to myself until I can better understand why Marcella took that knife.
Because maybe, just maybe, she knows more than any of us do.