Chapter Four #2
“Princess Nienna.” Kienna rose from her desk and bowed. Her brown hair slipped over one shoulder, resting on her white robes as she straightened. “May I assist you?”
My gaze wandered the rows—tomes stacked with rigid care, shelves coiling like vines deeper into shadow. Dust and parchment clung to the air, musty and warm, steeped in memory.
To find what I sought would be akin to searching for a crumb on a beach.
Pointless. Because it didn’t exist.
Teeth clenched, I forced a thin smile. “Everything you have on blood oaths.”
Whether it was instinct or preparation, she nodded and tapped her nose. “One moment.”
She referenced a massive directory on her desk—a book that would strain every muscle to lift. Nearly as tall as my torso, it held all titles housed in our halls. She jotted down a few titles, then gestured toward the narrow aisle.
“I’ll fetch you a few to get you started, then search for more while you read. If you’d rather wait in the study, I can bring them there.”
With a polite nod, I turned down a tight path to my right, brushing my fingertips along the rows of worn spines. I had weathered so many stormy afternoons tucked between these shelves. This felt like being among old friends.
I paused and pulled a tattered green tome free, its pages heavy with detailed sketches of dragon anatomy.
A sharp ache pierced my chest. Another book. A couch beneath me. A hand on my ankle. My back pressed to the shelves. Lips—fierce, greedy—on mine. I slammed the cover shut, pushing the memory down.
My boots made no sound as I crossed the quiet library, chin lifted, moisture blurring my vision.
In the study, I strode past sagging armchairs and low, cluttered tables ringed with lamps and magnifiers.
A towering window spilled the only natural light.
Mage lights fed by Vessels lit the interior, but daylight only touched this spot.
The sky was heavy with clouds, rain ticked against the glass. Whirlstorm remnants.
I stood there, looking out across Draconia. Four cities—K’lan, K’seer, K’dan, and K’bar—stacked like layers of an unsteady cake. I was too high to make out faces, but wagons shifted near the harbor, unloading food into the Eye, the city center.
More fish—more kelp. More lotus. With the treaty void, we’d need to trade with the Innaku for wheat. The largest island in our sea, infamous for selling their own to stem overpopulation. Slaves worked to the bone, harvests sold to the highest bidder. Their king ruled with an iron fist.
I wanted nothing to do with them, but hunger left little choice. Too many suffered hollowed cheeks and shaking hands. Malnutrition. My people were starving. The Ivetti orchards would only go so far.
A soft scuff broke the quiet. Kienna’s boots. She placed three books on a table, muttering to herself, a quill tucked behind her ear, dripping ink on her white shoulder. I smirked as she drifted back into the stacks, adrift in her own thoughts.
I sat and pulled the stack closer, reaching for a mage light. It hovered, a glowing orb the size of my fist, anchored in a silver base etched with runes. Bright. Well-fed.
It pulsed, casting soft shadows across the open pages. I touched the base. Warm. Alive in a way I’d never understand.
Shame pricked the flesh along my forearms. Magic, the heritage of my people, and I couldn’t touch it.
Ronan had no such trouble. He breathed life into them without effort, long before he was named a rider.
He never mocked me. Pity, though—that he offered freely.
I would have preferred his teasing. Instead, I watched him dim his power out of mercy.
“Tea, my lady?” Freya asked, placing a silver tray down. She poured a strong green brew for each of us, then settled beside me. When she plucked a book from the stack and sipped, her eyes scanned the cover.
“If there’s anything on blood oaths, I want to see it,” I said, wrapping my fingers around the cup. Salty peppermint clung to my tongue, heat curling down into my stomach.
“Breaking them, perhaps?” She cracked open the book and took another sip, indifferent, as if she hadn’t just asked a question that bordered on treason.
“If you find anything.” I held her gaze, then dropped into the texts.
Hours passed. Kienna returned again and again, arms full, muttering half-formed thoughts under her breath.
The tomes contained plenty of information: blood oaths forged by kings, burned fleets, duels to stave off dragonfire—often ending with the oathbreaker dead.
Nothing useful. No path out. Most references bound queens and kings in alliance.
Breaking a Draconis Blood Oath exacted too great a price to be done often.
When my eyes drooped and the teacup had emptied, my mother appeared, glancing over the chaos of open books. Freya rose and greeted her quietly, but the queen said nothing, just studied the spines and scrawled notes.
“What time is it?” I asked, rubbing the burn from my eyes.
“Nearly dinner.” She nodded toward the darkened glass. “Perhaps your research can wait until tomorrow.”
A whole day gone, filled with dusty pages, and still no answers. Frustration clenched in my chest. I stood and stretched, arms high, a loud, ungraceful yawn escaping me.
“Nienna,” Mother chided, lips pursed.
“I’ll take dinner in my room,” I said, nudging the chair back in place.
“And let Chief Jehoikim squirm unopposed?” She pressed her finger to the mage light. It flared, pulsed, then burned brighter, as if newly fed.
Jealousy prickled through me.
“You should be there. A symbol of strength.” She straightened. “You delivered a blow last night. Now follow through. Sit tall. Don’t cower. You refused him—make sure he doesn’t mistake it for doubt.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. Freya’s raised brow and crooked smile met my gaze.
A princess wouldn’t retreat.
“Freya, I’ve a dinner to prepare for.”