Dragons Against Them (Kingdoms of Fire and Ice #2)(32)
“Took you long enough.”
Zayne spun to find a man dressed all in black standing but a few paces away, eyes glowing bright silver from beneath his hooded robe. Behind him stood a row of warriors with swords at the ready.
“What is the meaning of this?” Zayne looked back to the hooded man, fire welling within his chest.
“Ah, ah, ah,” said the hooded man. “Mustn’t lose our temper.”
A blast of air colder than any he’d experienced hit Zayne in the chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. He stumbled back, the beast within him furious. Zayne summoned the winds for his transformation, but the whirlwind wouldn’t come. A second blast of frigid air struck him, knocking him to his knees. His vision blurred.
“Stop fighting the cold, dragon, lest I be forced to strike higher and risk marring your pretty face. My sister would be less than pleased.”
“Addie,” he whispered, working to regain his breath.
“Did you think I referred to Rosalind? Though, as your family has likely stolen her, she might take great pleasure in your disfigurement.”
Zayne struggled to remain upright, a roar building in his chest. “My family did no such—”
A third blast struck him above the heart, and in that moment, everything went black.
Chapter 16
Queen Helena paused from her work with a struggling rose bush and dabbed a kerchief across her forehead. The day was warm, unusually so, and doing her no favors today. Even with the heat, she preferred her sunny courtyard gardens to Edana castle’s dark interior—especially with an increasingly bitter King Robert watching her like a hawk.
He had awakened from his three-day slumber irritable and suspicious. And though she assured him the “illness” had confined her to bed for some time as well, his distrust in her had not diminished. Rather, with each passing day, though she remained steadfast in her tale of innocence, his distrust grew. But to reveal her secret—no matter that she had acted to protect their son, nor that it had ended in a vastly improved relationship with King Jarin—would result in an accusation of treason by her hotheaded husband, and quite possibly lead to her own demise.
It was an unjust fate Helena refused to succumb to. Besides, this was but one secret of many.
“Put your cloth away and finish already, woman. I’m dying a slow death in this heat.”
And Robert would remain an arrogant, loudmouthed ass regardless.
She tipped her head in his direction and tucked her kerchief away. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
“Blasted shrubbery. Full of thorns, they are. You’ve likely bloodied your hands by now and will be of no use to me this night.”
Helena turned from him to hide the smirk tugging at her lips. To be of no use in his bed was a prize, not a punishment.
Avoidance was not what had driven her to the gardens this day, however, but the scroll she’d received in secret from her son yesterday. Zayne sought information concerning her sisters and their clan’s intentions in regard to Forath. As far as Helena knew, Giselle’s clan had resigned themselves to the fact that they were no longer welcome on Forathian lands. As Edana had offered them refuge in the region where they now resided, she knew of no desire for retribution, no plans for attack.
But there was an unspoken urgency in Zayne’s letter. That he had even broached the subject at all spurred her into action, and she quickly penned a scroll of her own, not to Giselle, their queen, but to her younger sister, Ella. If ever there was a lass who knew every morsel of gossip in a village, it was her—not because she had a nosy way about her, but because she could hear things that others could not. It was her craft, her gift.
One that came in quite handy from time to time.
The scroll had been sent with instructions of discretion in its response, and delivery of such amid the gardens where only Helena would think to look. She’d allowed the sun to set and rise again before venturing out of doors, hopeful she had given her spritely sister a chance to gather answers and pen a reply. Thus far today, though, there had been no signs that anyone but the castle’s downy chicks had made their way through this patch of Helena’s beloved paradise. She feared her journey to the gardens might have been too soon, the chance to relay information from Weston missed.
But as she bent to remove a blackened branch from a shrub set closer to the garden’s far wall, the edge of a scroll caught her eye. Indeed, buried as it was in the deadened bramble, whoever placed the parchment here had done so knowing she would be the only one to find it. Helena’s pulse quickened as she shifted her body so that the skirt of her gown would provide a sufficient screen from the king’s watchful eyes. Careful not to cut herself, she withdrew the scroll from amid the thorns, then slid a finger beneath its layers to break the seal and peeled the parchment back.
The days of peace are numbered, as Jarin’s own house conspires against him. What has begun cannot be stopped, so say the prophecies. Beware hidden agendas, dear sister, and remain with your family behind castle walls. Edana may yet be spared.
Helena drew in a sharp breath. Prophecies? Whatever did her sister mean?
Plagued with worry, she retrieved her kerchief once more, dabbed at her forehead, then concealed Ella’s scroll within the fabric and returned both to the folds of her skirt. Appearances had to be kept for the king’s suspicions not to rise. But as her hands resumed their slow and steady pace with her pruning, the queen’s mind raced.