Chapter Ten
Nienna
“Kai’lon is fickle with his loyalty and always has been.” Fallione scowled at the papers in front of him as if they might strike.
“He would be prone to support Tallon.” Kallias’ eye twitched before he masked it with a blink. “He’s younger. Never fought beside me. I let him remain in his city to produce heirs while I ended the war.”
“Then we should expect little welcome.” I tested the thought aloud.
Lanternlight wavered across the table, shadows crawling up the walls.
We had arrived in the dead of night, our numbers swallowing the sleepy town of Valley Down before dawn could warn it. Tsunami and Gyrak lingered in the surrounding fields, cloaked by distance and darkness, waiting for sunrise.
Waiting for me to decide when to use them.
Kallias shook his head, his tanned features drawn tight with conflict. “He may support Tallon, but his men won’t stand united. Not when there are those who fought with me. They’ll fracture. Loyalty to country versus loyalty to king.”
He swallowed. We all heard the flaw in that logic. Loyalty to king and country should be the same.
“With Elohios’ blessing, I might sway them.”
“And when we reach the estate?” Fallione asked. His voice barely carried, the question heavy in the stillness, no easy resolution to be had.
“I can’t answer that.” Kallias exhaled, resolve cracking. He leaned forward, dragging a hand down his face. “If we meet in bloodshed, I can’t guarantee Kai’lon’s safety.”
“He has an heir. A daughter—Mai’lon.” Fallione winced as he spoke, as if an heir made murdering a noble easier to stomach.
Kallias glared at the parchment, rows of dull numbers detailing our modest force. “Supporting a false king is treason. I would rather see traitors tried.”
Many would mistake my husband for being soft. Perhaps Tallon already had. But softness did not cross oceans for me. It did not challenge a Dragon King or endure dragonfire.
No, Kallias was not soft.
He was a peacemaker forged in war.
“You must consider the insult,” Fallione said, lowering his voice. “Balance matters. Compassion has its place. But does a traitor deserve a king’s mercy?”
“Elohios rules with blade and honesty, does he not?” I nudged my knee against his, grounding, quiet.
Stormy eyes turned to me, frustration clouding their brightness. “If I force the noble houses beneath my rule, how am I any different from Tallon?” Worry carved lines across his face, dark brows drawn tight over bruised shadows.
“No one with sense would make that comparison.” Fallione shook his head. “But we must expect resistance from Kai’lon. Open, defiant resistance.”
“I am prepared to kill him.”
My body reacted before my mind caught up, a sharp flinch at Kallias’ words.
His composure snapped back into place, features sealed behind the mask of a king. “You want assurance,” he continued, voice stripped of warmth, “that if he challenges me or threatens my reign, I will remove him.” His gaze cut to Fallione. “You have it.”
The door creaked open. We all turned as Ronan entered, Greaves close behind. The guard’s attention lingered on Kallias before he shut the door, my brother’s expression dark as storm clouds as he glanced at the parchment, lips pressing thin, as if it passed judgment on us all.
“They’re ready for us.”
Fog hung low over the ground, a pale shroud draped across the plain, as if Elohios hesitated to reveal what waited ahead.
But we already knew.
My mare shifted beneath me, untroubled by the early hour. Metal murmured behind us, the jangle of armor as bodies adjusted in their saddles. Horses nickered, breath ghosting gray in the chill. Night’s damp cold clung to my fingers, and I flexed them along the reins, a small release of nerves.
Freya had dressed me in a white gown cut in the Draconis style. Radaanian soil already stained the hem, while the pristine bodice offered the perfect foundation for my gold mantle. She had braided my hair into a crown, a quiet nod to my heritage and the joining of Draconia and Radaan.
Kallias towered beside me on his brilliant stallion, golden armor catching the first thin rays of dawn. His gaze fixed on the mist ahead, jaw set, gauntleted hand locked around his spear.
That morning held no murmured endearments. No shared warmth. I’d slept alongside a stranger, rigid and distant. He had sealed himself behind armor no smith could forge, hiding the man I loved. Not once had his eyes found me while Greaves buckled his plates or Fallione muttered through strategy.
Uncertainty trembled in my chest. I knew him. Yet this version stood apart from anything I‘d seen. I only knew him in peace, his love and devotion. His potent loyalty and desire to protect.
But protection demanded more than that.
No, he was still my Kallias. But he was also the king Radaan required of him right now.
Birds darted overhead, startled by the mass of waiting bodies. Our army held behind the treeline, the forest pressing close at our backs. Lon’s forces stood between us and the city beyond.
Ronan took flight long before dawn. Gyrak had woken Tsunami, urging her skyward. She complained, grumbling smoke and heat, but followed him all the same.
Sunlight revealed a clear sky, and a glance upward confirmed what the enemy would mistake for birds. But Lon knew dragons were coming. Word of our return would have carried Gyrak’s name with it.
Soon, the fog burned away, thinning under the light until Lon stood exposed. We faced one another across open ground, equal footing. Foot soldiers formed disciplined ranks behind mounted lines. A banner snapped in the brisk wind, crimson cloth mimicking Radaan’s green and gold.
Tallon had replaced the nation’s colors. Defiled them. Twisted them into something false.
Heat flushed my cheeks, though beside me, Kallias did not move.
He remained carved from stone, discipline etched into every line.
Greaves mirrored him from behind, both locked forward, unyielding.
As I should’ve been. I set my jaw and drew my shoulders back.
Gilded scales shifted over my gown, scattering sunlight in subtle flashes.
Two riders broke from Lon’s ranks, their red standard advancing with them.
Cool air filled my lungs as we rode out to meet them. King. Queen. Kingsguard. Advisor. The true colors of Radaan lifted between us.
We slowed on the plain, halting close enough for me to see the brown of the banner bearer’s eyes. Both men wore traditional plate, though the lead rider draped red along his bay’s flank.
“Hail!” he called. No title.
An insult.
“You bar the path of your king.” Kallias’ voice cracked across the field, sharp as a drawn blade.
The man scowled. “Kai of Lon denies you passage.” He shifted in his saddle, arm resting against his horse in false ease. “You have abandoned your people.”
“I am Chosen of the Gods. Blessed by Elohios.” Kallias dismissed the barb. “I demand entry.”
“You are denied. Lon does not answer to a man leashed by a woman who–”
Steel sang.
In the space of a breath, Kallias’ spear leveled at the man’s throat. “Lower that blasphemous flag.”
“Or?”
The banner bearer paled, mouth pressed thin. Terror flickered, but fear would not save him. Obedience might.
“Radaan has no place for traitors beneath her skies.” Kallias spoke with measured calm, as if the outcome had never been in doubt. “Her grain will not feed rebellious mouths.”
This soldier, whatever name or rank he once held, mattered little. Honor traded for defiance carried no weight.
This began with me. From the beginning, this mess was my fault. Borne of want, of choice. The very second we were discovered and my brother snatched me away…
Kallias leaving his nation was my guilt to bear.
But I was not only a burden.
“Her waters will not quench the fire that will consume you.” My voice cut clean, chin lifted, spine locked in steel.
Confusion flickered across the soldier’s face—then his horse spooked and reared.
Gyrak hit the ground with a thunderous crash, hurling clods of earth as if they were nothing more than plumes of dust. His tail lashed, teeth bared in a promise of death as a bone-rattling snarl tore from his chest.
Our horses danced beneath us. Lon’s did not. Instead, they reared and screamed, the banner tumbling free as the smaller mount bucked hard enough to throw the plated soldier to the ground.
The messenger wrestled his horse under control, hauling back on the reins, sawing at the tender corners of its mouth. “Lon will not accept a cuckold king!”
“Burn him.”
My order barely carried on the wind, but Gyrak heard. A terrible roar split the air, and even our horses shied before flames poured from his jaws and engulfed man and beast.
The man’s shrieks ended almost as soon as they started, steel turning his armor into a coffin. The burning horse tore across the plain, a streak of living fire carving through the grass.
“Burn them all–”
“Nienna!” Kallias’ rebuke cut into me like a knife, his expression dark.
“They march against us!”
I nodded toward the ranks creeping closer, their messengers dead or broken before them. Gyrak arched his neck, Ronan upright between his spines, waiting. They wanted to make each one nothing more than a cloud of ash.
“Not them.” Kallias’ gaze swept the advancing soldiers. “Burn the–”
A shrill scream cut him off.
Tsunami dove from the sky, her cry piercing as she skimmed low over Lon’s men like a hunting hawk. Her shrill outrage scraped my nerves raw.
“The city!” Kallias shouted over her. “They’ll return for their families! Burn the stables. The stores!”
Greaves drew his sword, his mount fighting him amid the chaos.
Tsunami banked, lining up for another pass. The soldiers faltered, Radaanian horses untrained for death from above, men twisting in their saddles to track her.
“Nienna!” Kallias seized my arm, pulling me back, his face unreadable stone. “Only the stables and stores.”
My heart hammered, blood roaring in my ears. No one had trained me for this.
But I was born for it.
“Ronan!” I snapped my gaze skyward. “Burn their stables! Their stores! Distract them!”
I felt my brother’s fury at the command like heat on my skin, but Gyrak launched at once, wings beating the air as he climbed.
“Elohios, hear me,” Kallias whispered, words faint as he faced the advancing force—thousands—far more than we had. All armored and ready. His head bowed, lips moving in silent prayer.
Fallione tightened his grip on Radaan’s banner, and Greaves edged away, carving space to fight. A shiver traced my spine as dragonfire bloomed over Lon, the distant rush of flame nearly lost beneath the thunder of our soldiers at my back.
Then the King of Radaan shone with Elohios’ light.
Even knowing it would come, the brilliance forced my eyes away. Kallias spurred forward, his stallion surging into a gallop. I gathered my reins, but Fallione steadied me with a fierce shake of his head.
“Men of Lon!” their king roared, wheeling his horse before them, Greaves tight at his flank. “You who answer to the true King of Radaan—look to your home!”
Formations unraveled as soldiers turned, glancing back, heeding his voice.
“Your city burns!” His white steed cut across their line, forcing mounts to halt. “If you wish to fight, to deny the gods’ will—I stand before you! But if you wish to save your wives, your children—lay down your arms and return home!”
Tsunami and Gyrak passed over the walls, fire blooming just beyond. Their roars and screams rolled across the field, drawing the men’s attention backward. Kallias wielded fear as mercy, offering them a choice.
“But if you choose the stand against me, to allow your kin to perish in dragonfire,” he continued, light flickering around him, “Then here I am!” He lifted his spear, and Elohios’ radiance caught it, pouring through him once more.
Order shattered. Men broke ranks, some sprinting for the city, others hesitating, torn. Officers shouted, trying to rally them, but the line was already gone. Lon’s forces dissolved into chaos. A few charged Kallias. More fled.
Our army surged past me, overtaking Fallione and me as they poured forward like a rising tide, relentless and measured.
Greaves met a mounted rider, steel crashing. Another circled them, sword raised, war cry rising–
It died as Kallias’ spear punched through his chest.
My breath caught, horror suffocating me as tears blurred the field. My husband wrenched his weapon free; the body slid off before he plunged it into another.
Our soldiers met Lon’s men, and I felt it, sensed their restraint. Those who retreated were allowed to flee. Only those who pressed forward tasted their steel.
And Kallias? He never slowed.
His spear darkened to wet crimson as it cut and struck. Blood sprayed like mist, glowing red in his divine light. Distance softened his features, but his rage blazed bright. He offered mercy. And those he slaughtered refused his grace.
Fallione steadied my reins. His gaze searched my face, stern and sharp, measuring my resolve. Waiting to see if I would falter.
I once decimated a fleet. Drowned an army. Sent a king to a watery grave.
Galdoni had threatened my people, my family. But this was different. These soldiers were following orders—much like the Innaki had.
So why did it hurt so much?
My eyes burned. A cold tear slid down my cheek as I watched Kallias kill his own for my sake.
This was our price. Our punishment.
And I would bear it.