Chapter 28
Her chest was too tight.
So not even the gods knew how she was supposed to fix things! She was beginning to think she existed only for the amusement of the fates.
But why now? Why, when the gods had left so long ago, was it her that had to be the one to save the kingdoms? Why had almost a hundred years passed before this fucking prophecy had to come to fruition? What did the fates have against her?
Crea concluded the wedding ceremony and the two women kissed, an action so tender it felt impolite to be in the same vicinity as them.
The music began again, a rendition of violins at the back of the temple.
Thara was still there in the back of her mind, still pressing gently on the bond as if begging Arla to ask the question burning on her tongue.
‘How are you able to tell me this now?’
Thara was silent for too long. So long that the congregation had risen to their feet, Arla’s wrist still tightly in Diath’s grip as the two brides began the walk back down the aisle. But eventually Thara’s voice filled her head, so ancient and wise and trilling with magic.
‘Because you are finally asking the right questions.’
The bond snapped shut almost immediately, and Arla cursed the dragon whom she was sure sent a rumble of laughter before disappearing from her head. How was she only just asking the right questions when she had been asking the same things for months?
Diath’s fingers finally relaxed their grip and Arla brought her wrist to her chest, rubbing the smooth spot of skin where the healer’s hold had been.
The brides had come to a halt at the entryway to the temple, a cheer greeting them from outside as the musicians reached a crescendo that made Arla’s heart pound.
The temple had come alive in a sea of colour and laughter and wide smiles that were so infectious she found her lips breaking into a grin that for once didn’t feel at all faked.
She forced Thara’s words from her mind. She could untangle them later when she visited her dragon for an aerial survey of this queendom.
If she was beginning to ask the right questions, then Hyacinth’s solemn warning that a faraway clock was ticking wasn’t so terrifying.
She would find out what the fates wanted and stop whatever it was Elrod was doing.
That would be enough to unite the kingdoms and fulfil the prophecy.
She just needed to know where to start. The people were cheering again, and this time she joined in too, laughing as fireworks were set off outside and the brides were ushered out under a multitude of garlands of tiny blue flowers.
Diath called for Arla to follow, their eyes bright as they offered a hand to Arla.
But it wasn’t Diath’s gaze that sent a shiver down her spine as they left the temple and made their way to the palace in the cliff.
It was the queen’s. She met Arla’s gaze over the heads of dozens of Malarye’s citizens and in those eyes, there was a knowing that set hummingbirds fluttering in Arla’s stomach.
It was time to find out exactly why Malarye had invited the king’s assassin to its shores.
The procession to the palace was a lively affair.
Banners of coloured silk were tied to wooden poles that twirled in the wind and garlands of wildflowers were placed around the necks of every person who had come out to see the marriage union.
Arla barely noticed the trek up the cliff – wouldn’t have noted the incline at all had it not been for the burning in the back of her calves.
The palace was still as colourless and practical as ever, though someone – or several someones – had laid out huge oak tables bearing platters of food large enough to feed an army.
There were meats wrapped in pastry, fruits carved into fancy shapes, cheeses that made her stomach growl and a dozen other things she wanted to stuff into her mouth and savour with delight.
‘I thought you could use a drink. You looked awfully hot in the temple,’ a soft voice said beside her, and Arla turned to find Hyacinth pushing a goblet of what looked like pink wine into her hands.
The princess looked radiant in a gown of periwinkle chiffon, her skin pinked and glowing in the soft lights of the hall.
Gone was the panic in her eyes that Arla had spotted in the temple.
Now she was at ease and she seemed so very soft and lovely.
‘It was … uncomfortably hot in there,’ Arla said, to distract from the fact that she had been about to abduct the two brides and take them back to Flambriar before she had disappeared into her head to converse with a dragon.
Gods, if someone had told her this four months ago…
‘Weddings in Malarye have always been a grand occasion,’ Hyacinth said, swiping a canape of fish and green vegetables from a man holding a bronze platter. ‘Two hearts being bound together should be celebrated, should it not? The gods have always blessed those who love so strongly.’
Arla wondered where the old religion had come from. Who had made the rules. Who had decided what the gods blessed and what they didn’t. Perhaps the gods all found it rather amusing.
‘It was a lovely ceremony,’ was what Arla settled on, snatching one of those canapes for herself and trying not to moan at the taste of it. ‘I was surprised to see that they were mages. You certainly have more of them here than I thought possible.’
She struggled to keep the bite out of her voice, that protective need flaring up inside her like an inextinguishable flame. Hyacinth’s eyes widened and when she spoke Arla could have sworn there was a hardness to the princess’s voice she hadn’t heard before.
‘The mages have not advertised the fact that they have safe passage into Malarye for fear of what Kastonia’s king may do if he finds out. It is his border from which they must procure a boat, after all.’
Of course. If Elrod had known the mages were fleeing, he’d have captured any who attempted to charter a boat to the continent. She couldn’t blame the mages for wanting to keep this sanctuary a secret. She couldn’t blame Malarye, either.
‘Apologies,’ Arla said. ‘It was a shock is all. There’s much about your queendom I don’t know, and it seems you have information that may be useful to me.’
The princess tilted her head. ‘Such as?’
‘Tell me of the man you spoke of earlier – the last dragonhart. You said he died on his own blade?’
Hyacinth’s features softened, the perfect bow of her lips widening slightly as she offered Arla a simple smile.
‘Yes, but it is a sad story, not one for a wedding celebration. But I am more than happy to share it with you, if you come find me tomorrow? Perhaps we could have lunch and I could show you the main town. I’m sure our people would be interested to meet you. ’
Irritation was a slimy thing that coated Arla’s skin. She wanted answers now. She’d come here at the invitation of this princess and had yet to be shown anything of interest. And Hyacinth was still smiling at her.
There was a shard of her that wanted to snap the beautiful woman’s neck.
‘I do enjoy your violence, Dragonhart.’
It was enough to break the spell and shatter the image of slowly strangling the princess of Malarye.
‘Lunch would be nice.’
Hyacinth nodded, her gaze lingering on the simple dress Arla had donned. ‘You look very pretty. I’m sure Hark is missing you.’
The princess had turned and was making her way over to a group of finely dressed women before Arla could ask what the princess knew of Hark. The thought of him started an ache in her chest.
No. She couldn’t let herself think too much of him because she was already a heartbeat away from leaving Malarye and flying home. If she thought of Hark for too long, she doubted she’d make it to the end of the night before escaping the queendom’s shores.
Instead, she hovered at the edge of conversations. A polite smile here, a brief introduction there. It was all too … courtly for her taste. This was the job of a king. Hark should be here to introduce himself as Flambriar’s ruler. Arla should be outside, stalking thieves or killing spies.
The briefest of touches to her elbow and then Arla was enveloped with the scent of honeysuckle.
Queen Mara nursed a drink the same colour as Arla’s own, and though the queen looked pleasant enough, there were storm clouds in her eyes.
Finally, they might get down to the business of why Arla had been invited here and what exactly it was the queen wanted from her.
And, more importantly, what Arla was going to ask for in return.
‘I hope you enjoyed the wedding, Dragonhart. Bria and Vyne were honoured to have you there. It means a lot that a dragonhart should be present to witness the union between two of magical blood.’ Mara was blinking lazily at her, as if she knew Arla could see straight through the niceties.
‘I haven’t seen Bria or Vyne since the wedding. Clearly I am not as important as you would have me believe … Your Majesty.’
The queen’s eyes flashed, and then the corners of her lips curled slowly into a wolfish grin.
‘Arla Reinhart, I was wondering when your temper might make an appearance.’
There was a predatory sharpness to the queen’s face as she ushered Arla to the side of the hall where they were partly hidden by long, ash-coloured curtains.
This woman had killed her husband. Her king.
And she had not lost her head or her title for it.
Mara knew manipulation and how to wield it with a viper’s accuracy.
She had kept the support of her people, after all.
Arla curled her fingers, inspecting the nails on her left hand as she answered the queen. ‘My temper is nowhere near as dangerous as my wit, Your Majesty. And right now, I have almost had enough of the games and the things I am not being told. So, let’s start again, shall we?’