Dragon Born Luna

CHAPTER 11 Burning Boundaries

Kiara

A sharp pain in my ribs jerked me from sleep.

"Ow! What the—" I swatted blindly at the assault, my hand connecting with something bony. Julise's elbow, apparently.

"Get up." Her whisper was urgent, closer to a hiss. Moonlight streamed through the narrow window, casting her face in eerie silver shadows. "We have about two hours before the kitchen staff starts moving."

I rubbed my eyes, crusted with sleep. The stone floor was icy under my bare feet. "Julise, it's still nighttime."

"That's the point." She thrust a bundle of dark fabric at me. "Put these on. And wipe that drool off your face."

I scrubbed at my mouth with the back of my hand. "I don't drool."

"You do when you sleep on your stomach like a dead fish." She was already dressed in form-fitting black. I shook out the clothes—men's trousers and a tight-fitting tunic. "Where'd you get these?"

"Stole them from the laundry."

"From the—" I gaped at her. "Since when did you decide to make a habit to steal clothes? First the gown, now these."

Julise rolled her eyes, the motion exaggerated in the dim light. "Since I decided keeping you alive was more important than any moral compass I might have. Now hurry up."

The fabric was rough against my skin as I changed. The trousers were slightly too long, the tunic tight across my shoulders. "I look ridiculous."

"You look like someone who doesn't want to be recognized." She tossed me a pair of worn boots. "These should fit. I stole them from the stable boy."

"You're terrifying sometimes."

A ghost of a smile flickered across her face. "You have no idea."

I followed Julise through the silent halls, my breath fogging in the cold air. The palace was eerily still, the usual nighttime chatter of servants absent.

"Why are we doing this now?" I whispered as we ducked behind a pillar to avoid a patrolling guard.

Julise waited until the guard's footsteps faded before answering. "Because half the court is still drunk from the masquerade, and the other half is sleeping it off. Security is lighter than usual."

"That doesn't explain how you know about secret archives."

She hesitated, chewing her lower lip. "I went to the servants' celebration after the ball."

"You? At the party? How? I put you to bed, drunk. Why?" I couldn't keep the disbelief from my voice.

"It was... necessary." She adjusted the strap of the satchel across her chest. "People talk when they're drunk. Especially servants who've had too much wine and not enough pay."

I grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop. "What exactly did you hear?"

In the faint torchlight, her eyes were dark pools. "Kier Malen has been collecting forbidden texts. Scrolls about dragon ancestry, bloodline experiments—things that were banned after the Purge."

A chill ran down my spine. "That's..."

"Treason?" Julise finished. "Yes. Which is why he keeps them hidden in a private archive behind his chambers."

"How do you know where—"

"Because the head chambermaid is sleeping with his valet," she said flatly. "And drunk people share pillow talk."

I blinked. "You learned all this at one after party?"

"I'm very observant when motivated." She glanced down the corridor. "Are we doing this or not?"

I exhaled sharply. "Lead the way."

The door to Kier's private wing was guarded by a single sentry, his chin drooping to his chest in a wine-induced doze.

Julise pressed a finger to her lips and crept forward. From her pocket, she produced a small vial and uncorked it with her teeth. The sharp scent of something herbal hit my nose.

"What is that?" I whispered.

"Poppy extract." She soaked a cloth with the liquid. "Courtesy of the healer's stores."

Before I could stop her, she was behind the guard, pressing the cloth to his face. His eyes flew open for a brief moment before fluttering shut.

"Did you just kill him?" I hissed.

"Just asleep." She caught him as he slumped forward, easing him to the ground. "He'll wake up with a headache and no memory of the last hour."

"Let's hope you gave him the right amount or you might have just killed him. You're scary when you're competent."

She flashed me a rare, genuine grin. "I know."

The lock on Kier's door was surprisingly simple—a basic tumbler mechanism that yielded to Julise's picks in under a minute.

"Since when do you pick locks?"

"Since now." She pushed the door open silently.

Kier's chambers were opulent in the way of all high-ranking officials—thick rugs, heavy drapes, a massive four-poster bed currently occupied by its snoring owner.

I froze. "He's here?"

Julise didn't seem concerned. "Drank himself into a stupor at the ball. He won't wake unless we set the bed on fire."

"And if he does?"

She patted the hilt of the knife at her belt. "Then we improvise."

The hidden door to the archives was cleverly concealed behind a tapestry of Kier's family crest. The mechanism—a disguised lever—opened with a soft click.

The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of old parchment and ink. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with scrolls and leather-bound tomes. A large table dominated the center, scattered with loose papers and half-unrolled maps.

"Gods above," I breathed.

Julise was already moving, scanning titles with quick efficiency. "Look for anything about dragon bonding or bloodlines. And keep an eye out for personal correspondence."

The sheer volume was overwhelming. I ran my fingers along spines, squinting in the dim light:

"On the Nature of Draconic Inheritance" "Blood Rituals of the Old Houses" "Experimental Hybridization: Theory and Practice"

My stomach turned at the last one. "Julise, this is..."

"I know." Her voice was tight. "Just grab what we can carry."

We worked quickly but carefully, selecting the most damning texts. A small, locked chest resisted our attempts to open it until Julise produced a hairpin and—after several tense minutes—popped the latch.

Inside were letters. Dozens of them, all bearing the same wax seal—a stylized V.

"Vanquise," I breathed.

Julise stuffed the entire bundle into her satchel. "We need to go. Now."

We were halfway to the door when the floorboard creaked.

Not under our feet.

From the bedroom.

Julise's hand flew to her knife as Kier Malen's voice slurred through the darkness:

"Who's there?"

I stopped breathing.

A thud. The sound of someone stumbling. Then—miraculously—the distinct noise of retching followed by a heavy crash as Kier presumably collapsed back into bed.

Julise didn't wait to find out. She grabbed my wrist and yanked me toward the exit.

We didn't stop running until we were three corridors away, pressed into a shadowed alcove, hearts pounding.

"That," I gasped, "was too close."

Julise's grin was feral in the darkness. "Told you it would work."

Back in my chambers, we spread our haul across the floor. The stolen documents painted a damning picture—Kier wasn't just researching dragon ancestry, he was actively experimenting with bloodline magic.

"This is bigger than we thought," Julise murmured, tracing a diagram of what looked like human body with draconic features.

I unrolled another scroll. "This one mentions Ryden by name. They're studying his lineage."

A knock at the door froze us both.

Julise had her knife drawn before the second rap. I shoved the papers under my bed just as the door creaked open.

Marga stood in the doorway, arms crossed. "You're up early."

I forced a smile. "Couldn't sleep."

Her gaze dropped to the single scroll still in my hands—the one I hadn't had time to hide. "Reading material?"

"Just... poetry."

Both of her eyebrows shot up. "You don't strike me as the poetic type."

"You'd be surprised."

She studied me for a long moment before nodding toward Julise.

The silence stretched.

Finally, Marga stepped back. "Try to get some rest."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Julise and I exhaled in unison.

"That," she said, "was too close."

I grinned. "Told you we could do it."

She threw a pillow at my head.