Chapter Three #2
I pushed the question aside. “If Kalepsi lets me go.”
The dragon queen’s eye narrowed, and I grinned as wide as my injured lip allowed. She stayed still, watching, asking without words if I truly meant it.
I didn’t.
Nestled between eggs warm with life, a steady heartbeat pulsing behind me, a wall of thick scales pressed at my side, and only my mother for company—alone with the wind and remnants of death and birth. I could hide here forever.
But I was a princess.
Duty came first.
Guilt lanced through me.
Mother lingered for hours, catching me up on everything I’d missed. She spoke softly, coaxing me into conversation when my thoughts strayed to Kallias, threatening to pull me under.
Eventually, she rose to check on the Kulletti, leaving me alone again with Kalepsi.
I crawled to her great head and curled against the curve of a thick golden horn jutting from her jaw.
My cheek pressed to her warm scales, and tears returned.
She chuffed and rumbled beneath me, steady and deep.
My sobs scattered into the wind. The pain tearing through my chest eased, if only a little, with her near.
But I couldn’t stay buried here forever.
The sun sank low when I left the Nest. I felt hollow. No more than a shell, cracked and worthless, but one that remembered how to move. I was home now. I would not hide from my family or from duty.
By the time I reached my rooms, my knees trembled from the stairs and the ache of hunger. I shouldn’t have gone to the Nest on an empty stomach, but calming Kalepsi mattered more.
“Princess Nienna.”
Freya rose from a chair in my receiving room, a silver tray balanced in her hands. “I began to wonder if you’d ever return.”
The sight of her hit me like a wave. It shouldn’t have. Everything felt foreign, even her presence in my quarters—though of course Mother would assign her here. She knew who I’d need.
“Scythe is dead.” I closed my eyes as the words escaped. They weren’t what I meant to say, but I couldn’t bear to watch surprise bloom across Freya’s face.
Silence settled. The three of us—Scythe, Freya, and I—once stirred chaos through the palace halls. Scythe stuck close, sworn to my service, while Freya floated wherever she was needed. Yet she always found us to join the mischief.
Her loss wasn’t mine alone.
“I know.”
Freya’s lips pressed into a sorrowful curve. Her red hair sat coiled in a bun, with sun-kissed wisps slipping free. Freckles danced across her cheekbones, a cruel contrast to my battered skin.
“Did you burn her?” she asked, shifting toward the dressing room with the tray.
“Yes.” The word scraped my throat. I remembered the smoke curling upward, thick with oil and fury. No dragons lit that fire—only torches and man-made flame.
“Then she is with us,” she said. “In the air, the wind, the sky. Maybe she’ll return as a dragon one day.”
“She’d be worse than Tsunami.” I slumped into a chair and reached for the tray she placed on the small table.
Freya laughed, hands on her hips as she surveyed the racks of dresses lining the walls. I eyed the food—seaweed cheese, kelp chips, dried fish. Sparse, compared to Radaan’s tables, but it would hold me through until dinner with the Kulletti.
“Red,” she said, lifting a dress to the light.
Crystals shimmered along the high collar, scattered down the sleeves, clustering at the wrists. The front split open, rider-friendly, though I doubted I’d need that tonight.
I winced. “Maybe I shouldn’t stand out.”
People would stare. The riders, my family—they understood what crossing the sea demanded. But nobles, ambassadors? They’d see only the fallen royal.
“You’re Draconia’s princess,” Freya snapped, spinning to face me. “Raised by dragons. Eyes will follow you no matter what you wear.”
I dragged both hands down my cheeks. “I should eat here. Skip dinner.”
She inhaled deep and released it slowly, as if leashing herself. Then she stood over me, stern and resolute. “You can’t undo the past. You move forward. Head high. Let them whisper if they dare. You were raised among dragons. Do not cower before nobles.”
Her words echoed something Edith once said. The memory stung. Edith still waited in Radaan. And Father? He’d ride for her or demand her returned on a ship—and be tempted to burn it down after she disembarked.
Freya was right. Better to face it now. Hiding would only make it harder later. I nodded and bit into a piece of crisp fish.
“But you’ll tell me everything tonight,” she said with a wink.
I cleared the tray and let her dress me. The crimson fabric hugged my throat and waist before loosening at the hips. The split revealed deeper red trousers tucked into dark boots. She hooked black pearls onto my ears and pinned my hair high, sliding the silver tiara into place.
Tonight wasn’t the night to shrink. I needed armor, even if it sparkled.
Freya worked carefully over my face and hands. She masked the bruises beneath my eyes, dabbed red stain over my split lip, then oiled my raw cheeks one last time.
When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t seem like someone who had just tumbled down the Spire.
“You don’t have to wait for me,” I called over my shoulder as I reached the door.
“Oh, I do. And I will. Happily.” She smiled, plucked a book from the shelf, and sank onto the chaise. “Go remind them who the Dragon’s Heart is. I’ll be here, waiting to hear every detail.”
Peace settled over me as she flipped the book open and disappeared behind its pages. Returning to Draconia wouldn’t be easy. But with her and my mother, I might manage.
I slipped from my rooms and moved into the corridor. No clatter of armor trailed me. No guards shadowed my steps. The absence struck me, strange and comforting in equal measure. This was still my home. No one would dare touch a Draconis.
The empty halls shimmered under lanterns.
Black stone gleamed like quiet water, each flicker caught and mirrored.
Thick rugs muffled my feet while paintings of dragons soared through vibrant skies; sails snapped beneath silent storms. I knew these images—the waves crashing against hulls, light glinting on scaled wings.
Still, I missed the greenery of Radaan’s palace.
Life pulsed in every corner there. Flowers spilled from vases while vines crawled up pillars. Vibrant and unrestrained.
I pressed a hand to the hollow in my chest, the ache unreachable. This was my future. The past couldn’t be undone. As Freya said—I could only go forward.
I steadied my breath and continued on. Servants passed like ghosts in the corners of my vision. I headed toward the Cireendium—the Spire’s heart.
These halls ran shorter and narrower than Radaan’s.
Before long, the passage opened into the vast hollow of the Cireendium.
Sound swirled through the circular chamber.
I stepped to the railing and leaned out.
The void stretched into black, far enough to steal breath.
The Nest crowned the Spire, and high above, a purple snout nudged over the ledge.
Kalepsi’s golden gaze caught mine. She crooned, her voice rolling through the open space like thunder.
Heads turned. Staff and nobles drifted to the railings, peering up at her.
Heat crept up my neck. Eyes clung to me, too many and too sharp. A few bowed when they noticed my gaze, then scattered, retreating to whatever task they had abandoned.
The Cireendium spanned eight levels. Every inch of the Spire was accessible from here, though reaching the higher levels was faster with a dragon.
I brushed the railing with my fingers, hiding a smile as I descended. The fifth level, reserved for royals, was the only place Gyrak was allowed to land. As they grew, dragons were permitted in the Cireendium, but they caused chaos. Riders discouraged it, with Argos enforcing order.
Most beasts obeyed.
Tsunami didn’t.
I reached the fourth level—the last one open to the public—where the dining hall waited. The library stood nearby, tempting in its silence and promise of answers. I wanted to vanish into those shelves. Research blood oaths. Search for anything to preserve Radaan’s ties.
Instead, I turned toward dinner.
Zane flipped a dagger into the air, his attention fixated on the spinning blade. He caught it.
Then dropped it with a curse.
“Try catching the hilt next time,” I said.
He scooped it up, brushing his red hair from his eyes. “Princess. Good to see you.” His voice still held the edge of youth. One of the youngest riders, though his dragon Naneki wasn’t strong enough to carry him yet. He trained with the others, regardless.
“Has everyone arrived?” I asked, leaning past him for a better view.
The hall brimmed with nobles. Laughter and conversation filled the space. The scent of grilled fish curled through the air, sharp and salty.
His black leathers creaked as he leaned with me. “Aye. They’ve started without you.”
“They didn’t know I’d be coming.” My stomach turned. I could still back out. Try again tomorrow.
“Well,” he said, grinning, “you’ll make quite the entrance. The Kulls are already pestering the king.”
“Kulletti,” I corrected. I let the aye slide, but not that. They hated nicknames.
I ran my tongue across my split lip and stepped past him, head high.
The din faltered after six paces. Then someone spotted me—and silence dropped like a dead fly.
I kept my eyes on the dais. My father’s table. Smaller than Kallias’, stone-built and three steps raised. My mother dabbed her lips and rose. Father stood beside her, face a stoic mask, mouth hard.
Jehoikim, chief of the Kulletti, was the last to rise. My gaze met his and my stomach twisted. Beady black eyes raked over me. Feathers and shells hung from his braids, brushing the sash across his chest—bare skin beneath.
“Nienna, please join us,” my mother called, motioning to the chair beside her.
Ronan stood behind our parents, his face painted with concern.
I wanted to throw a fork at him.
Instead, I crossed the room. The hem of my gown split as I climbed the steps and took my place.
“It’s good of you to come,” my mother murmured as she sat.
I flicked a glance at Father. He stared down at the crowd, jaw tight, refusing to meet my eyes. He sank into his seat with heavy resolve, and the rest of the room followed.
A servant placed a bowl of crab soup in front of me. No piles of food. No spices dancing in the air. Just briny fish and salted kelp.
A reminder of what I ruined.
By my third bite, Jehoikim spoke.
“It appears Princess Nienna is without a husband.”
It took every ounce of training to cover my flinch. My mother’s hand trembled as she reached for salt. I sat back slowly and looked at my father, who tapped the table.
“She has returned,” he growled. The flush beneath his white beard darkened. His mouth curled with barely restrained fury.
“I assume you’ll be seeking another match,” Jehoikim pressed, dabbing his lips. His eyes latched onto mine.
“I will not,” Father said, leaning back. “You’re not known for your tact, Jehoikim. Choose your words carefully.”
“No offense meant.” The man laughed. “Alliances are valuable. We have the best ships in the sea. The brightest pearls. Endless crystal caves. A union between our nations would yield treasures beyond count.”
Surely he was not trying to barter for my hand.
I clenched the napkin in my lap. If he’d take me ruined and ragged, his might be the only offer I’d get.
But Father would never allow it.
He leaned forward, sparks crackling at the edge of his spoon. “Caves explored by Draconis’ Vessels. Pearls gathered by Draconis’ divers. Ships crafted from Wild Shore lumber, secured by my Dragon Riders. Tell me, what benefits could you offer in exchange for my priceless treasure?”
I shrank in my seat, a child again, longing to hide behind him.
“No one else would have her, now that–”
The spoon shot forward. Mother’s hand snapped to Father’s wrist, her intervention halting the utensil before it stabbed into Jehoikim’s eye.
The man bolted upright, but an invisible force pinned him. He shouted. Argos roared overhead, stone trembling beneath our feet. Silence fell. The spoon hovered, unmoving.
“If you speak of my daughter again,” Father hissed, “I will scoop your greedy eye from its socket and feed it to you.”
“Chief Jehoikim.” My voice held firm, though my thoughts frayed and my heart thrashed against my ribs. “I’m granted the right to select my husband. I may accept or refuse the match.”
My confidence cracked, but I feigned steel, lifting my chin and locking eyes with the chieftain in what I hoped resembled a dragon’s glare.
“I would not choose you.”
The spoon clattered to the table. Father had dropped the magic. Across from me, the portly man squirmed, his squinted gaze flicking between us, sweat shining at his temples.
“The Dragon’s Heart has spoken.” Father’s voice rang through the hall—measured, cold, final. “So have I.”
He surged to his feet. We scrambled up in his wake. Without a glance, he spun on his heel and stormed down the steps, his cloak snapping behind him. He barked a command at Zane as he passed.
The warmth of his support turned brittle, withering into shame. He couldn’t even bear the sight of me.
I locked my jaw and swallowed the rising ache. Jehoikim still watched. I was a princess. I wouldn’t accept defeat.