Chapter Five #2
“Dear child,” she laughed, “from the moment I conceived you, you were a stubborn, determined thing. I told your father I would risk the bloodlust of dragons if it meant giving you the best life possible. If you’d died, Kalepsi would’ve turned on me next. Naming you wouldn’t have mattered.”
The best life? They had no way of knowing it would be the only title I’d ever claim.
“Why leave it?”
She paused, chewing a dainty bite, eyes drifting toward the far wall where family portraits hung. One depicted the day Gyrak claimed Ronan. Mother and Father sat upon their thrones while I stood on the landing, arms flung wide like wings.
“You’re searching to break the blood oath.”
Not a question. Not a challenge. A truth. Her certainty made me scan the room for eavesdroppers, but we were alone.
“Do you know a way?” My voice dropped low, hushed, ashamed to even ask.
“If I did, do you think I’d keep it from you?” Her eyes studied mine. Narrowed. Crow’s feet deepened at the corners. “You’re my daughter. I want you to be happy. If it was possible to release King Kallias from the threat of war, I would tell you.”
She stared into her bowl. “I know of nothing but death and dragonfire. Still, widen your search. Don’t just study the Oath—look inward.
The magic in his blood binds your father—drives him toward vengeance.
That same blood runs through your veins.
And I hate watching you rot in a library, clawing at loopholes set in stone.
You should embrace your status, your power, not run from it. ”
“You want me to forget him.” I leaned away, tucking the sting of betrayal away. My blood may have come from the Well of Draconia, but I was a faulty Vessel.
“I want you to remember who you are.” Her hiss cut sharp, and her fingers curled over mine.
“Love hurts. But you were the Dragon’s Heart before you ever met him.
If he changed you for the worse, then I’m afraid he’s hardly worth the days and nights spent in a library searching tomes that will give you no answers. ”
I jerked my hand back and rose. Her words sliced deep, stripping away hope I’d barely dared to hold. I thought she’d understand. Maybe she did. But I wasn’t just a daughter—I was a princess. Locked into a tidy, little mold. Expected to fill it.
“And if Father died,” I said, voice rising, “would you mourn him for three days, then carry on, unscathed?”
She sighed. “Kallias Sunspear is not dead.”
“Yet.”
The door creaked. We both turned.
Father entered, boots striking hard across the floor. Ronan trailed after, goggles pushed into his hair. He dropped into a chair, snatched a slice of bread, and slathered it in marmalade without looking at me.
“Father.” My voice caught. He seldom spoke to me now, and when he did, it cut.
“Nienna.” The word fell cold.
Dread crawled through me, icy and sharp. How much had he overheard?
Did he know what I was trying to do?
He took the seat beside his queen, set his flight goggles on the table, and reached for his bread.
“How was your flight?” Mother nudged the conversation elsewhere, pushing her bowl aside.
“Well enough. We may fly to Little Island tomorrow. I want to see how the crops fare.”
“What did you plant?” I asked, hoping to ease the tension. The isle was too small and wild to house anyone, but we’d tried to tame the hills with crops.
“Mostly potatoes. A few orange trees.” He grunted and shoved a bite into his mouth, eyes never meeting mine.
“The last whirlstorm tore through it.” Ronan spooned up broth. “Might’ve shredded the lot.”
“If it did, we’ll replant,” Mother said.
“Any word from the Innaku?” I asked, sliding into a chair.
“Jain and Naksula left this morning to check in.” My brother drained his bowl and set it aside. “If we’re lucky, they’ll bring fruit. I’m sick of fish and kelp.”
Guilt struck hard. I stole a glance at Father, who wouldn’t look at me either—but the crimson flush under his beard said he blamed me as much as I blamed myself.
If I hadn’t ruined the union, we’d have more food than we could carry.
“We eat what the common folk eat,” Mother reminded. “If we share the harvest, we all survive.”
“We need to colonize the Wild Shores.” Ronan leaned back, raking fingers through his hair. He tore off his goggles and tossed them on the table.
“You can be the first to move in,” I said.
“No dragon will stay the night,” Mother warned.
“Gyrak can leave him there.”
“You wound me, sister!”
“Enough.” She pushed to her feet, brushing Father’s shoulder. “I’ll check on the kites and see K’dan about supplies.”
“Take three crates of dried grapes. They’re low,” Father said, turning to kiss her hand before she left.
My heart twisted at the tenderness between them. I wanted that. Those small, intimate moments. I’d had a taste once—with Kallias—before it all collapsed.
The ache curled inward, sharp and familiar, a craving I didn’t know how to name.
“I’ll be in the library.” I pushed out of my seat, ready to follow.
“Oh, Nienna?”
I froze. Glanced back.
Father stood and crossed to me.
“Seeking to break a Draconis Blood Oath is treason.”
“Going to hang me?” I bit my lip, the sting sharp. My mouth always moved faster than my wits; provoking him never led to anything good.
“You? No.” His boots thudded past. At the doorway, he glanced back. “But don’t drive me to fly Argos north.”
I spent the day in the library. Was it rebellion? Determination? Hope? A refusal to accept defeat? I didn’t know. Freya brought tea. Kienna brought books.
Dusty tomes and brittle parchment buried the study table.
Mother’s words gnawed at me—something about magic driving Father to retaliate.
The texts offered little insight. Most claimed honor alone compelled men to fulfill their oaths.
Only one mentioned King Durani, nearly two centuries past. His dragon urged him to secure an oath of protection for his queen with the Innaku.
She died of sudden illness in their care. Durani lost his mind soon after.
Blood oaths were supposed to be symbolic.
There was no magic in them. No bond to twist a man’s mind. Surely, I didn’t have to fear my father unraveling just because I kept him from flying to Radaan.