Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Nienna
Dragonfire seared the earth, leaving scorch marks gouged into the fields. Our horses snorted at charred patches of grass that still smoldered. Dragons circled high above, watchful as we crossed the last sloping hill.
Reem appeared ahead, shimmering like a gem under the midday sun. The outer villages stood stark against the walls, yet the massive gates remained open, welcoming us in.
Kallias’ mantle gleamed with the same warm glow, a reminder he hadn’t come to fight those who would accept him in peace. He wasn’t taking Reem by force. He was usurping a traitor.
Still, his hand curled around his spear. He would protect what was his.
No celebration greeted us. No cries of joy for a king returned. Dust rose beneath our horses’ hooves on the hard-packed road as men and women bowed, voices murmuring thanks and blessings. Children lingered behind doors and gates, faces caught between shy smiles and wide eyes edged with fear.
Radaan’s way of life—Reem most of all—had been torn apart. Time would be needed for the people to settle, to trust that Kallias would care for them. We still had no idea how many Velli hid among them. Weeks, perhaps months, would pass before Tallon’s rot was fully unearthed and undone.
Beyond the mighty wall, the crowd loosened. Citizens lined the streets, some scattering petals along the path.
We rode abreast toward the courtyard where Gyrak waited. The horses pricked their ears, steps quickening. My mare worked the bit, metal clicking against her teeth, and I held my posture steady, determined to appear more adept at riding than I was. The dragons still made them uneasy.
Kallias reined in as we entered the courtyard, keeping a careful distance. We dismounted, and he passed his spear to a boy, then surveyed the space. It looked much as it had when Ronan flew me to Draconia. One overturned pot lay near Gyrak’s massive form, but little else showed disturbance.
A line of men knelt before the dragon, their hands bound. Claus stood beside them with three more Threshers. One struck me with a painful twist of recognition.
“Lynx.”
The big man dipped his head—a great acknowledgment from him.
“Who are these people?” Kallias demanded, extending his arm for me.
“They are traitors, my king,” Claus said, his hand resting on his sword. “They are those who surrendered as we swept the Golden Palace.”
Which meant those who hadn’t ceded were dead.
Their heads hung, shoulders curved inward. None dared to speak or meet their king’s gaze. They waited in silence for mercy or death.
“Those who surrender to my coming shall be granted a fair trial,” Kallias declared, his voice ringing across the courtyard. “Those who refuse will be slain on sight. I expect each to swear fealty to me and Queen Nienna the Dragon’s Heart before judgment is passed.”
Fallione and Greaves followed as we crossed the expanse.
Tsunami dropped, attempting to land, and her shadow sent the horses into chaos.
One rebel screamed, throwing himself flat against the ground.
Gyrak snarled, defending his space, then drove her back into the air with a snap of his teeth.
She shrieked in fury, wings beating hard, forming clouds of dust and debris.
Inside the palace, the wooden doors clanged shut at our backs, and an eerie stillness filled the halls; the unsettling hush of staff walking on eggshells.
“My king,” Fallione murmured. “May I advise that Queen Nienna be taken to her rooms without delay?”
I frowned, glancing up at Kallias. I would follow where he led, rest when he did. There was no way I’d be tucked away until everything was pretty and suitable for a lady.
“The palace hasn’t been cleaned,” he rumbled.
“I go where you go,” I said, prodding gently.
Tallon’s damage belonged to both of us. I refused to let him shoulder it alone.
His gaze lingered on my face. “The bodies remain.”
“I would view the demise of those who supported that traitor,” I replied. “They don’t deserve closure, but their fate deserves to be witnessed.”
His jaw tightened, muscle flexing beneath the skin. Neither of us wanted this.
“And I’d like to see the heirs with my own eyes,” I added, squeezing his arm. “I need to know they’re safe.”
Kallias inclined his head. “So be it.”
The King of Radaan led me through his palace; once lush with climbing vines reaching toward high windows, now it lay in ruin. Shattered vases littered the floor. Paintings hung torn and crooked. Tapestries bore scorch marks, edges blackened. Blood streaked the sandstone walls.
Then came the bodies.
The first was a soldier. A dark pool soaked into the rug beneath his armor; his head twisted at a brutal angle. Someone had shoved him aside, discarded as if he were nothing more than an obstacle in our path.
The skin at my nape prickled as I stared. That was the cost of treason. Name, family, future—none of it mattered anymore. He threw it all away the second he fought for the wrong cause.
A wasted life.
Kallias urged me forward, his focus fixed ahead, jaw set. He spared the fallen no glance.
But at the next corner, his stride faltered.
Two men in blood-soaked tunics stood frozen, a body suspended between them. One bore a smear of crimson across his cheek. They dipped their heads, bowing as best they could, then stepped aside to let us pass.
The body they carried belonged to the cook; the kind man who provided his king with his cider and kahve.
My stomach clenched, bile rising at the sight of his intestines dangling. Torn open. His abdomen was a gaping wound; his once-white apron stained dark.
Kallias walked past.
There were so many bodies. Servants. Soldiers. I even spotted a woman in an embroidered blue dress slumped in a pool of dried blood.
The Golden Palace was rank with death. Not a scent, but a silence. The vibrant bustle of a living kingdom had vanished, leaving halls hushed with respect—or disgust—for the fallen. A tomb.
I mirrored Kallias, setting my face like flint and stopped glancing down the passageways. These weren’t only the mutilated corpses of traitors—they were our people, deserving of mourning—but not now. There would be time to cry, grieve, and heal later.
Our small party turned down a hall, entering a familiar space. Fallione lifted the lantern from the wall, leading us down the stairs to the siege rooms beneath the palace.
Once, I’d been whisked down here for a private meeting. After the assassination attempt, Kallias brought me here because it was safest.
Beneath Reem, the halls narrowed, branching off into darkness—a whole hidden world stretched below.
I once assumed dungeons waited here. But Radaan was not some kingdom of horrors. She did not conceal wickedness in the dark. Food, provisions, armor, and blades were tucked into her depths. She was like a wise ant, storing life in her tunnels—always prepared to care for her people.
A reflection of her king.
Our boots padded along the cold stone. Fallione guided us through twists and turns until we reached a nondescript door. Nothing set it apart, yet when he knocked six times in a broken rhythm, it swung open.
Tears pricked my eyes, and Kallias’ arm flexed beneath my grip.
The Thresher at the door bowed, then stepped aside and sheathed his sword, revealing what lay beyond.
Two boys, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, stood before a tangle of huddled children with swords clutched in their grips. Fear melted into relief as their eyes met ours. Behind them, the little ones pressed together. Older girls wrapped their arms around toddlers, protecting them.
They should’ve been with their parents, safe in their homes—not crammed into a cold stone room.
When we approached, Kallias laid his hands on the boys’ shoulders, meeting their eyes. “Jax’mon and Paner’lee, you have my thanks.”
My feet carried me past the men to the girls and children. Eleven in total; the youngest barely reached my knee, thumb wedged inside his small mouth.
Expressions paled with uncertainty, tracking my every move.
I was a stranger. My dress, my mannerisms, my slight Draconis accent set me apart.
Crouching, I met one girl’s gaze: honey-brown eyes, dark hair like freshly turned soil.
Her throat bobbed in a rough swallow, arms clutching three babes closer.
“You’re safe now,” I whispered, forcing a gentle smile. “Your king has returned.”
“Is he still up there?” another tiny girl asked, inching closer to her protector.
I frowned. “Tallon?”
She nodded, burying her face in the older girl’s dress.
“No.” My hands hung useless at my sides, afraid that reaching out would frighten them. They didn’t know me like they knew Kallias. “He won’t be back.”
A little boy burst into a fit of sobs. “I want to see my mama!”
A noble girl wrapped him in her arms, holding him close, her wary eyes rimmed red with streaks of dust-lined tears.
“We will get you to them as soon as we can,” I assured.
“Shall we call you ‘Your Majesty’?” the older brunette asked, voice tight.
Tentatively, I extended my hand to one of the smallest girls. “Yes. I’ve joined King Sunspear. I’m your queen now, and I brought my dragons with me.”
A tiny hand grasped two of my fingers, a silent plea for security.
“Would you like to see them?” I whispered, rubbing my thumb over the soft, dimpled skin. “They’re here to protect you. Keep you safe. They won’t harm you.”
“Oh! I do! I want to!” A small boy blurted, wiping his nose with a torn sleeve.
A breathless laugh escaped me, relief surging through my chest. They weren’t scared of me.
Kallias dropped to a crouch beside me, thigh pressing against mine. “There will be conditions.” His brows lifted, head tilting in a playful manner. “Before you see the beasts, you must bathe and eat. They’re sensitive to smells, and I’ll not have your stinky feet chasing them skyward.”