Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Nienna
He didn’t ask me to join him with Fallione.
The omission hit like a stone to my chest, a weight I hadn’t anticipated.
I sank into the lone chair in our tent, fingers brushing over the smooth fabric of my skirts, staring at my hands while Kallias rattled off war tactics and mapped the siege in precise, methodical strokes.
A simple conversation was all it would take to ease this pressure. A single, honest exchange. It wouldn’t undo the attack or erase the fact that I was a liability on the battlefield, but it could bridge the distance, forge an understanding between us.
Kallias excelled at understanding.
And yet, sitting there, staring at my useless hands, feeling the cold, hard reassurance of Greaves’ dagger at my waist—my last resort—I questioned my own clarity.
I felt discarded. Though in my heart I knew it wasn’t true. He would have asked me to join him if not for his anger. He wouldn’t have refused me outright if I had shown up and claimed a seat at his side, demanding to be included. But the oversight burned anyway, an ember lodged in my chest.
Frustration coiled, taut and restless, cracking like an avalanche about to tumble.
He wouldn’t let me join the siege. I knew it in my bones.
I would remain on the plains, nestled safely within the camp, while my brother barked orders from the air.
He only required my permission, not my presence—and I would give it without hesitation.
If my dragons had to clear the landing at the top of the mountain pass to the tunnel, he would gladly unleash Gyrak’s fire and incinerate anything in their path. He needed no encouragement.
Ronan.
I straightened in the chair and fixed my gaze on the tent flaps.
Of all people, my brother might understand.
Kallias, bound by rigid codes and morals, had long been set in his ways; the mantle of leadership had forged him into a man of unyielding habit.
But Ronan bore Draconis fire in his veins.
No command could quell that flame. No warning could curb his instincts.
Biting my lip, I rose, smoothing the folds of my skirts over my legs. Kallias would undoubtedly erupt in fury if he knew, but perhaps the lesson was worth the risk. I was more than a pawn. More than a queen in name alone.
The clang of armor followed my stride as two soldiers trailed me, announcing every step with boots and metal. For once, I longed for the Threshers. With their eerie silence, I could almost pretend they weren’t there.
The rattling croons and chirps lured me across the camp. The dragons, grounded for guard duty along the southern flank, exuded raw impatience. Irritable growls, the snap of massive jaws, and the scent of scorched earth told me I was near.
Dragons were never meant to be still. They hungered for the sky, for freedom. Even being tempered by their riders, their spirits chafed against their baser instincts. They needed space.
I paused at the edge of the camp, admiring the beasts nestled in the shallow valley.
Muscles coiled beneath scaled hides, wings flexing with quiet frustration.
Tsunami swept toward me, nostrils flaring, sensing my approach.
Of course Kallias set the riders’ tents at the edge of camp—a single line of humanity between beast and man.
A tent flap swung aside, and Ronan’s head poked out, his leathers half-fastened, goggles missing.
“Nienna?”
Without a word, I ducked inside and claimed the bed, fingers brushing over the thick, uneven wool of the blanket Mother had knitted.
Loose threads curled beneath my touch, gaps in blue and green showing the human rhythm of imperfection.
She had taken up the hobby while pregnant with him, determined to craft a prince’s blanket, only to abandon the task once finished, declaring knitting a curse.
“We’re attacking tomorrow.”
Ronan let the canvas flap drop back into place. His chin tilted down as he studied me, eyes flicking with that mix of mischief and weightless judgment. “You ventured across camp just to tell me that?”
I trailed a hand over the blanket, feeling its comforting bulk, the bumps and knots from inconsistent tension, letting memories of my mother and her gentle scolding wash through me.
“Ah, you’ve finally seen the light,” he mused. “Trouble in the marriage bed?” He spun a chair to face me, straddling it with a cocky grin. “I warned you about marrying an old man.”
“Oh, shut up.” I scowled, tugging at a frayed thread. “The siege will start at the manor. I’ll need Gyrak. The rest of the fleet will remain on the plains. I think it best the riders move on foot—until the ballistas are dismantled. Then the dragons can rain fire from above.”
“You think.” He cocked his head, eyes narrowed. “Sea beneath, what did he do?”
“He didn’t do anything.”
“You practically worship the ground he walks on, praying to the air to make him happy, and now you’re plotting behind his back? Tell me, how’s your dear old husband going to take that?”
“He will be informed.”
“After you make all the calls? ‘Oh, dearest—I know you have the most horrible compulsion to control everything, so here, I’ve made all the plans. You just have to be there. Oh, and while you’re at it, do light up for us, would you? We could use a target.’”
I chucked a pillow at him.
He took the blow across his cheek and grinned. “I like this side of you. Let’s do this more. When are we dumping him in the ocean and taking Reem for ourselves?”
“Ronan, I’m serious!”
“So am I.”
“You immature, reeking pile of dragon dung.” My face sank into my hands, rubbing at my temples. Nausea curled through me like a slow tide. It never fully receded, always lingering, scraping away at resolve like waves on stone.
Maybe my place was in camp. I couldn’t imagine being in the midst of battle, having my stomach turn because I moved too fast or got a whiff of something strange.
“We’re attacking tomorrow.” His voice softened, almost apologetic, though mischief never truly left him. He steered me back to the matter at hand.
I hugged myself. “I want you to take me on Gyrak.”
His brow furrowed, concern evident. “When we clear the mountain pass?”
“Yes.”
“The saddle only holds one, and it will probably take more than a single dive.”
“I’m prepared.”
“You might be, but is your husband?” He was actually serious. No mirth touched my brother’s eyes, just confusion. “Do you not trust Gyrak to back off when needed?”
“I need to be there.” My fingers dug into my sides, clutching fistfuls of my dress. To watch Kallias from afar was one thing, but to imagine him trapped in the mountain out of sight—at the Velli’s mercy—it would drive me mad. I couldn’t lose him.
Did that make me weak? Or did it mean I thought he was?
He’d fought those monsters for years, long before I even knew of Vellos.
Yet the idea of him disappearing in that mountain twisted my chest. I needed to prove my worth—to fly, to fight, to show that I was not just a game piece.
No—I wasn’t useless. I could be a Draconis queen who went to war, and a Radaanian queen who led with pride.
“I assume he wants to leave you at camp?” Ronan murmured, voice full of understanding.
“He wants me to be safe.”
“There’s no place safer than Gyrak’s back.”
Outside, the dragon trumpeted his agreement, and I smothered a grin.
“I know. But I need Kallias to see that. I can’t be left to rot in camp like some maimed soldier. I have to be there with him, fighting at his side.”
“Then tell him.”
I let my eyelids droop, disbelief pressing against my features. “You really are so immature sometimes.”
“You’re the one shirking your husband and begging your brother to sneak you onto his dragon.”
“I’m not begging.”
“Ordering then?”
“Don’t make me.”
He grinned. “High Queen of Radaan, most mighty Nienna, Dragon’s Heart without a dragon, I beg of you—command me to carry you on my noble steed so I might take you to the skies against the good king’s will!”
“You’re a rotting eel!” I lunged for the pillow, ready to throw it at his smug little face again.
He kicked it just out of reach, laughing. “I’ll take you. We’re family. What good is a brother if he won’t sneak you into the sky on his dragon now and then?”
I sighed, then pressed my lips together. “Kallias cannot hear a word of this.”
“Do you see me frequenting his tent?” He raised his hands in surrender. “Not a peep. At your command, Dragon’s Heart. When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll bring you orders. Be ready at daybreak.”
“As you wish, my queen.” He rolled into a mock bow.
I lunged, snatching the pillow and smacking him across the head.
He yanked it back, and the weathered linen tore under our struggle. Feathers burst into the air, drifting into my hair and clinging to the folds of our clothes.
“Look what you did!” he roared, then grabbed ahold of me, tossing me onto his bed. “I demand that you clean this mess!”
I kicked back, heel connecting with his chest. He flailed, stumbled, and crashed backward, shearing a hole through the canvas wall before landing in a heap on the ground.
Outside, Erwin and Sean froze, mouths open, hands paused mid-motion. Their eyes darted between Ronan sprawled on the dirt and me, feathers floating through the air.
I dropped my legs, squared my shoulders, and lifted my chin as I brushed a feather off my dress. “Good morning, riders,” I said, voice deliberately prim.
Ronan smacked Erwin’s boot, glaring up at him.
“Good morn,” the men echoed in unison, then hurried on their way.
My brother flopped onto his back and threaded his fingers behind his head, eyes fixed on the sky as if he intended to land there.
I fought a smile and slipped from his tent—now with a new, feather-strewn exit.