Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Nienna
He was sitting in his chair one moment. The next, his hand clamped over my mouth, steel pressing against my throat.
I gasped, hands flying to the arm around my neck, nails raking fabric like claws. Egath slammed into Kallias, and the two spun as Tallon hauled me upright.
My legs shot out from under me, stomach lurching. In a blink, I was on the wrong side of the tent, facing the men.
Blue sparks danced across Erwin’s fingertips, smoke curling from the scorched ground behind my chair. Kallias had Egath by the throat, Greaves standing between us, sword drawn.
“Out of the way!” Tallon shouted, then lowered his lips to my ear. “Call off your dog. My next jump might not be as smooth. Wouldn’t want my blade to slip.” His hot, sticky breath sent revulsion coiling through me.
“Release her!”
Kallias’ dagger pressed into Egath’s neck. His arm hooked under the Velli’s, gripping his collarbone. Even if he attempted to use his power to move fast as Tallan had, Kallias wouldn’t let go.
He’d fought the Velli before.
My heart thundered, panic screaming through my veins. I would not die today. The roar of my heartbeat mixed with the hiss of dragonfire outside, distant screams rattling the air.
“I told you to surrender!” Tallon screamed, yanking me like a ragdoll. “But no—you have to do what you’ve always done and just fight!”
Brown eyes met mine. Greaves tightened his grip on his sword, lowering his gaze to my frantic hold on Tallon’s arm. My lungs burned; I choked for air, shuffling my feet to stay upright.
Tallon huffed, wrapping his hold around my waist to haul me higher—missing when I slid inside his grasp.
Warmth trickled down my neck, sending tremors through me. He would not kill me. I wouldn’t let him.
“Greaves!”
I shoved my hands up, forcing precious space between Tallon’s arm and my throat. The guard lunged, hand outstretched. Tallon’s blade seared a trail across my jaw and down my neck as I dropped my weight.
A streak of lightning bolted from Erwin’s palms, streaking past me.
Tallon released me, and the rider planted himself between us, shielding me from attack.
The Velli wrestled with Kallias, crimson splattering the canvas.
Tallon became a blur streaking with speed as Greaves shifted to assist his king.
The ground trembled, and the tent ripped free, hurled across the plain by a blood-red dragon. Egath broke loose, then a black streak bolted for Tallon’s forces.
“Their ballistas!” Kallias bellowed, hand flung toward Reem.
Erwin twisted, keeping his body between me and the soldiers, bracing for their charge.
“Go!” I shoved his leg, hands gripping a chair to lift myself. My husband was at my side, Greaves in front, facing the oncoming men.
“Get her out of here!” Kallias scooped me up, cradling me against his chest as he jogged to Elmo’s foreleg. The dragon shifted, shielding us, and sent a stream of fire across the field.
“What about you?!” I pushed against him as he dropped me to the ground, gesturing toward the dragon’s paw. “Your armor and spear!”
“Have faith.” He paused, swiping a hand along my throat, grimacing. One palm pressed to the small of my back, urging me onto the dragon.
“Faith!?” I shrieked, but didn’t resist.
I climbed the wall of red scales, and Mikal grabbed my wrist, pulling me up. Nestled between the dragon’s neck and his chest, I had a perfect vantage of the battlefield.
Thousands poured across the flaxen fields, a wave crashing over sand.
Some faltered, dragging their feet as if they wished to turn back.
Dragonfire streaked the sky, beasts screaming in coordinated pairs.
Breon and Matalino swept low, green and gold flashing, Radaanian colors igniting metal-clad soldiers.
Elmo spun away from Kallias and Greaves. The last glimpse of them: shoulder to shoulder, facing their foe.
“Find Tallon!” I shouted over the melee.
“He’s gone!”
Mikal’s arms wrapped around me, squeezing so tight my ribs protested. We launched into the sky, wings carving the burning plain.
I wheezed through clenched teeth, scanning the chaos in the direction he’d gone. “Where did he go?”
“You need a healer!”
Elmo banked toward our camp, our army galloping beneath to aid their king.
My dress was a sticky ruin, but the wound was superficial—if it were serious, I’d already be dead. I pressed a hand to the slash; fresh blood streaked my fingers.
I leaned against Mikal, clutching his leg to twist in the saddle. Our army swallowed Kallias and Greaves just as the two forces collided, a crack of destruction splitting the plains.
“Please,” I whispered. Where was he? Where was his god now? “Elohios, where are you?”
A splinter of light flickered. My chest sank.
“Elmo, bank!” I slammed a hand against the red scales, twisting further in Mikal’s grasp.
The dragon shuddered, but obeyed, curving to give me a better vantage—without carrying me toward the battle.
The radiance flashed again, then vanished as a dragon passed overhead. Panic coiled through me. Were they blocking him somehow?
“Get the dragons away from him!” I pointed to where Kallias should be. I didn’t understand his power—or his god—but I needed him safe.
“Your Majesty–”
“I said get them–”
“Nienna Draconis, I swear—! Let me land!” Mikal wrenched his whole body, seating me firmly in front of him.
Elmo followed his movement with a growl of displeasure, diving for the camp.
“I’ll fly straight back and keep them away!” His voice rang in my ears.
I bit my lip, tasting blood. For now, I was a distraction, keeping my dragons from aiding the fight.
The landing was jarring. Claws gouged trenches through the soil as Elmo skidded to a halt. I wrenched free of Mikal, stumbling down the beast’s leg. My foot caught, and I fell to my knees but flung an arm back toward him.
“Go!”
Elmo’s roar shredded the sky as he surged upward. A man ran to me, hands clamped over his ears, doubling over before offering a rough hand.
“Your Majesty! Your neck!”
I glanced down at my dress. White now marred with scarlet—not another’s blood, but my own.
Freya burst from between the tents, skin pale as ash. “Nienna! Dragons above, what happened?”
I accepted the man’s aid and rose, fingers brushing at the wound. “Take me to the healer’s tent. I need to get cleaned up.”
“You’re well? It’s not deep?” Her shaking touch cupped my cheeks, eyes wide with horror.
“Now, Freya!”
She seized my hand, and we hurried through the tents, entering a pristine space lined with empty cots. A man in black robes froze, color draining from his face as he hurried toward us.
“Your Majesty! Sit, sit!” He was older, balding, a halo of gray hair crowning his head.
Stifled gasps filled the air as I perched on a cot, pressing my mantle chains flat. My breath came fast; hands trembled with lingering adrenaline. Even so, I needed to set my sights on Kallias.
I had to see Elohios’ blessing with my own eyes—to know his god had not abandoned him.
“Water, quickly!” The healer barked, and a young boy darted forward with a cloth and pitcher.
I held still as they dabbed at the torn flesh, the gash trailing from cheek to neck. Pain registered at last, hot and bright, piercing through the fog of panic.
“We’ll need to remove your mantle,” the older man said, dipping his chin. “Perhaps your tent would be better suited–”
Distant cries of soldiers pierced the air, and I scanned the small space. Soon it would be flooded with men far more wounded than I. Shaking my head, I fumbled with the mantle’s links.
“You’ll be needed here,” I said, voice hardening at the edges. “See to my wound—then I’ll be on my way.”
Freya pressed her lips tight, withholding comment as she helped me slip off the mantle and set it beside me. She loosened the laces of my dress, tugging it just enough for the healer to reach the cut trailing along my collarbone.
Tallon’s hands had been jittery, as if still new to his power. My stomach recoiled at the memory of him manipulating my blood in the negotiation tent. That phantom tickle lingered beneath my skin, vile and unwelcome.
The healer tilted my head to the side as the first soldier was brought in. I forced the horror down, listening to his screams and the healers’ murmurs.
“It’s shallow. Bleeding has eased on its own,” the older man said, pursing his lips. “Stitches would worsen it. The palace healers could do more for scarring than I. But–” He looked toward the tent flap as another groaning soldier was carried in.
“No stitches, then. Bandage it best you can.” I would not occupy space while men lost limbs and lives for Radaan’s honor.
Binding my wound was painfully slow. He slathered ointment and wrapped the gash, hesitating with every careful motion—not dawdling, just anxious over caring for a queen.
Finally, Freya adjusted my dress and draped the mantle across my shoulders.
The room kept filling. As I rose, a body landed on a cot behind me, blood seeping from a gash in his head. Dark eyes locked on mine—a boy. Sixteen? Seventeen? Not yet a man, but he sported heavy chainmail and his first battle wound.
His face lit with a trembling, bright smile. “My queen!” His words slurred, and the old healer moved around me, wiping away blood with brisk swipes of his cloth.
My heart fractured as more bodies arrived—then a healer shook his head over the boy who’d called out for me, dragging fingers over lifeless eyes. Two attendants grabbed the corpse, hauling him out.
Bile rose in my throat, and I clutched Freya’s hand. She squeezed once—a sharp, grounding reminder that I was Queen. I would not let it end here.
Lifting my chin, I strode out. “I want to see the front lines.”
“Nienna, you almost died!” she hissed.
I turned, glare fierce enough to challenge a dragon. “We are Draconis. I will not hide while my husband fights my battle.”
Her frown eased, corners of her mouth tilting upward. “Aye. We would not. To the front!”