Chapter Two
Trees swallowed Kallias, his green overcoat vanishing into the forest’s shadows.
I opened my mouth to call him back, to beg him to wait, but no sound came.
The air scorched my throat, and my silken dress clung to my sweat-slicked skin.
A thorn bush snagged my skirts, slicing into my leg.
I gasped, yanking on the fabric, eyes searching the tangle of branches.
A flash of green, then a glint of gold. Silvered hair caught the light before vanishing behind a massive oak.
“Kallias.” The word rasped from my throat, my body straining to force it out.
Why was he leaving? I needed him! Words burned in my chest—I had to tell him how sorry I was. I ruined everything. Somehow, I had to make it right—to grant him the peace he’d spent years chasing.
I tore my skirts from the thorns, took one step—then a branch looped around my waist.
A deafening roar pulled me from my delirium.
Ronan’s arm crushed my ribs as I dangled from the saddle, my foot wedged in the stirrup.
My heart lurched, and I flailed, clawing at Gyrak’s scales, the jagged ridges biting into my palms.
Spray hit my face, the salt burning my cuts and scrapes as I righted myself.
Gyrak flew so low, his bloodied paw skimmed the sea.
Each wingbeat dragged, his breaths ragged and rattling.
I turned—and bile surged up my throat. Ronan’s features had gone gray, his skin slick with sweat.
His eyes clamped shut, nostrils flaring with each staggered inhale.
Another roar tore through the sky. The cadence knifed through my skull.
I knew that sound.
Argos swept overhead, a shadow vast enough to smother Gyrak. His midnight neck stretched out as he dipped his head and sniffed. He glided past, careful not to jostle the smaller dragon. My father rode him, a narrow silhouette turned toward us, his face blurred, the details lost in distance.
Weakness lapped at my strength. The adrenaline from waking did nothing to hold me upright, and I slumped against Gyrak, his obsidian scales trembling beneath me.
“Almost home.” I pressed a hand to the dragon’s side, stroking. My blood smeared against him, catching the light like spilled rubies.
Argos huffed and circled to guide us in—but Gyrak wouldn’t reach the Spire. The landing sat far above. Too far. We’d have to touch down on the shore, adding to our humiliation.
My body ached with fever, every muscle protesting each tiny movement, though my shame blazed hotter. My failure would be laid bare for all to see.
I hadn’t trained for dragonflight—never crossed the sea like this. My skin burned. My mind swam. Ronan’s jacket held my shredded dress together, but it wasn’t rider’s gear.
Gyrak groaned, and his wing folded with a snap, sending us crashing into the surf. I shrieked. My brother’s arms locked around me as the weight of a dying dragon slammed into Draconia’s shallows.
Ronan crashed into my back, and my skull cracked against Gyrak’s neck. Pain split my vision. Salt water blasted upward, stinging like thrown gravel.
The beast let out a broken cry, fighting to stay upright. Staggering, he found the sand, dragging his wings through the surf, his head hung low.
Argos circled once, then dove for the beach.
Gyrak barely reached dry land before collapsing. The ground trembled as our father’s dragon landed nearby, a living shadow that devoured the sun. The massive beast snarled, then nosed Gyrak’s wet wing with a puff of contempt.
My brother sagged against me, unmoving. “Ronan.” The name peeled my lips. My voice cracked.
What price would he pay, forcing his dragon through such strain?
Draconis poured from the seaside homes, drawn by the crash.
I had to move, had to stop my father before he plunged into war with Radaan.
With Kallias.
My fingers fumbled at the straps binding my leg, too weak to undo the buckles. My head swam as I leaned sideways, straining to free myself. They held fast. Ronan’s weight pinned me. Pain pulsed behind my eyes while my hands trembled, useless.
Father climbed Gyrak’s shoulder with fluid ease, navy leathers gleaming with silver thread and pearls. He drew a knife and sliced the straps clean through. The blade hovered at the skin of my thigh, and his piercing gaze flashed from my leg to my face.
“What happened?!” Concern warred with his rage. His brow knit, lips peeled into a snarl as he wrapped an arm around my waist, but I reached for him first.
“Please—don’t–” My voice cracked. My eyes burned, but no tears came. We’d gone too long without water.
My father carried me down, setting me on the sun-warmed sand. “Is Radaan at war?”
“No.” I choked on the word, desperate to get more out around my slow tongue.
“Then they shall pay.” Crimson bloomed beneath his white beard, and his gray eyes sparked as I gasped, clutching his chest.
“Fa–”
The world pitched. His arms caught me before I hit the ground.
“Erin!” His bellow rang out, cold and authoritative. A king’s command.
“I’ve got her, Your Majesty!”
A woman sprinted to my side, canteen in hand. She knelt, bracing her knee behind my back. I leaned into her thigh, grateful for the support. A thin smile split my lips, and fresh blood trickled down my chin as Father turned to climb Gyrak again—for Ronan.
Argos snorted at Gyrak’s collapsed body. The smaller dragon couldn’t lift his head. His sides heaved, panting in ragged bursts that kicked up sand around the gathering crowd.
I slumped into myself, eyes fixed on the waves churning between the dragons. Ronan’s jacket hung heavy on my shoulders—I pulled it tighter, swaying. Sitting upright cost more than I had. Muscles screamed for rest. Nausea twisted my gut, and the ground trembled, as if we hadn’t landed at all.
I planted a bloody hand on the beach. A shell bit into my palm, sharp and real, but it didn’t clear the fog from my mind.
“Princess, here.” Erin swept blonde braids over her shoulder and pressed the drink to my lips.
I tried to lift my hands, but they fell weak and useless in my lap. Cool water met my tongue, though my throat refused to swallow. Liquid spilled down my chest, soaking my torn dress. I coughed, each spasm draining what little strength I had left.
“Abyss!” she hissed, yanking the canteen away.
“Ain, Baer—see Ronan to the Spire,” Father called out, voice steady and sharp. “Ned, take your crew. Make sure Gyrak is fed.”
Sunlight lit the blue of his leathers, wrapped snug around his broad frame. His body bore the power of a Dragon Rider—solid, honed, unyielding. Two men stepped from the hushed crowd, lifting Ronan between them.
Then Father turned toward me.
My chest splintered. A sob clawed free. He dropped to his knees beside me, jaw taut, eyes fierce. His palm cupped my cheek, rough and warm.
“I will see you to your mother,” he said, voice thick with grief. “Then I fly for Radaan.”
“No.” My hand shot up, fumbling for his. “You can’t.” My words slurred, tongue heavy and slow. The world spun, blurring the edges. “Please. You don’t know–” My head tipped back, and I slipped into blackness.
Sweet humming tugged me from sleep. Dreamless, or maybe not—I let the images slip away, unwilling to chase them. They’d only remind me of what I lost.
“Tea, now.”
The sound strangled me. My mother. Her voice cracked something deep. My soul yearned for the calm she carried, the protection she offered. My heart splintered, knowing she alone might understand what Kallias meant to me.
She would be pivotal in avoiding war.
My eyelids stayed shut, too dry to wrestle open, and my tongue scraped across the roof of my mouth, attempting to shape coherent words that refused to form.
Arms lifted me. One eye cracked as a teacup pressed to my lips. The scent hit first—water lilies, soft and clean—then peppermint, sharp enough to clear the fog in my head.
She tilted the cup, and I sipped. Too sweet. My body jolted, adrenaline rushing in a hot surge. The next sip came briny but cool, and my throat remembered how to work. I trembled, forcing down the tepid tea.
Only when the cup emptied did she let me sink back. She passed it to a servant, her blue sleeve nearly brushing the stone floor before she snatched a cloth from a basin.
Her graying, golden curls rose in pinned swirls, a silver crown tucked among them. As she wiped my face, her expression softened, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She pressed the cool cloth to my eyes, easing the sting, soothing the itch and ache.
“Mother–”
“Hush. Your brother will inform Nereus.”
I lurched upright. “Ronan?!” The name distorted, mouth thick and uncooperative.
“Do not rise, Nienna.” Sparks lit in her gaze. “Speak, if you must. But if you brave the Cireendium, Kalepsi will spirit you away to the Nest.”
Across the room, the servant glanced our way, lips drawn tight as she set the kettle on the hearth.
“Ronan cannot tell Father.” I tripped over my words, cringing. Shame pooled in my stomach.
“He sees to your brother as I see to you.” She sat back in her chair, studying me. “Can you not trust him to speak true?”
My gaze dropped to the silk gown clinging to my skin, clean and unmarked. “He’ll lie.” I bit down hard as her brows arched beneath the crown. “He doesn’t understand.”
“You were attacked. That’s plain enough to see–”
“By Ronan!” I snapped. “He did not attack me!”
“Who?”
“Kal–”
My mouth clicked shut, teeth catching my broken lip. Blood seeped onto my tongue, sharp and metallic. I glanced at the servant. Mother needed to know. Rumors would spread soon enough, but not like this. The staff didn’t need to hear my confession.
That I loved him.
That I broke him—and left.
“Aine, leave us, please.” Mother’s voice dropped, cool as water over stone.
I kept my eyes down. She already knew. The words I’d used. The defense I’d given. I had to make her believe Kallias hadn’t done this.
Aine bowed and slipped through the door.