Chapter Thirteen
Kallias
Mother Veridis, breathe life into my nation. Father Elohios, lend me strength. Forgive me my deceit. Let my actions raise your name, and may my people remember me as honorable—as your servant.
Pain raced up my knees, drawing a grimace, but I refused to move. I had been in prayer all night—if it was night. No windows. No moonlight. Only the dim orbs flickering along the stone walls. I couldn’t tell how long it had been since Nienna left.
Or if she meant to return.
Let me see her one last time.
A selfish prayer, but I asked anyway. Just once more, I wanted to feel her touch on my skin.
This was what honor demanded. I wouldn’t hide and allow her to take the blame. I was here, facing judgment, paying my penance, accepting the cost. Still, a nagging part of me feared it would end with my death.
Bless me again. Let the Draconis see your light.
I had slain the mammoth. My skin lit with Elohios’ power after Nienna and I had tangled ourselves. He blessed me even after I sinned. Radaan knew nothing of that—but Greaves did. And Fallione. My god hadn’t forsaken me, though I didn’t understand why.
No breeze stirred in my cell, no whisper of approval. The black walls of the Spire swallowed my prayers.
Still, I prayed.
Faint footfalls whispered down the corridor. I stood, knees stiff, legs prickling with blood. Gods, I wasn’t young anymore.
“Kallias Sunspear,” came a stranger’s voice, steeped in disdain.
Greaves’ muttered correction poured from the next cell. “King.”
He hated this place—feared the duel’s outcome.
A man stopped outside my bars, his blue-gold tunic catching the mage light’s cool glow. The orb bobbed above a small device carved with runes. Its light etched shadows across his severe face as he scowled toward Greaves’ cell.
Two riders flanked him, clad in black leathers, hands close to their blades. They watched me as if I were already condemned.
At least they blamed me—not Nienna.
“I’m here to record your final requests,” the scribe said, holding out a plank of wood.
“I ask only for a private audience with King Nereus.” My spine straightened, rising to my full height. I might be caged, but I was still King of Radaan.
A rider crossed his arms, lifting his chin. “Denied.”
“Then I ask for nothing.”
“Surely you wish to clear the record,” the scribe tilted his head, “provide your honest report?” His tone was accusation enough. He believed the lie.
“If your king will not address me face to face, I have no interest in speaking to you.” The words ground between my teeth.
Blame me. Condemn me. Let me bear it all.
“You rape our princess, then come here–”
The steel door of Greaves’ cell shuddered with the impact of his shoulder. A rider turned, blade half-drawn, snarl sharp.
“I’ve never forced myself on a woman.” The words snapped out too fast, and I cursed myself. I knew better than to rise to their bait.
The scribe’s lip curled. “And yet your late queen claimed otherwise.”
Bile crept up my throat, and I forced my expression into neutrality. Of course they discovered that accusation. Eldeiade never kept her venom quiet.
I turned away and lowered myself to the floor beside the cot, my knees barking in protest.
“You’ll be summoned within the hour,” the scribe said. “The record of your death will be sent to your people.” His voice dripped with mockery, and I kept my head bowed.
“And you,” he added to Greaves, “almost as beastly as your king. Will you return to your ship? Or face your end in dragonfire?”
“I go where my king goes,” Greaves rasped.
“Then you shall die with him.”
“So be it.”
After a scoff, the scuffle of boots pounded against stone, fading down the corridor.
Guilt gnawed at my conscience, thrashing alongside the gratitude knotting my chest. I mourned what he would lose, but there was no point demanding he leave. He might call me King, but he’d pledge Nyryn’s vengeance oath without blinking an eye if it kept him at my side.
“Kal.” His tone was flat. Resigned. Frustrated.
“You’ll have to watch.” I didn’t say it cruelly. He knew as well as I did—they’d never take me without a fight from him.
“They’ll need to hold me back.”
“They will.” You don’t lie to a man who’s shared your battles.
A low, choked sound echoed through the corridor. Then the thud of flesh hitting stone.
“I shouldn’t have let it go that far,” he said.
A smile ghosted across my lips. Greaves, letting anything slide? “I recall you dumping cold water on me and pointing out my gray hairs.”
“You have no business dueling at your age. You’re too old for this nonsense.”
I snorted. “You’ve gone soft. Is your spine giving way?”
He laughed, short and bitter. Then fell silent. I closed my eyes and reached for the thread that bound me to Elohios.
“To the end,” he said, voice soft.
A goodbye.
“To the end, good friend.”
Cold light caught on the mantle laid across the stained cot.
“We will have it returned to your people.” The rider’s tone took on an air of respect.
“See that you do.”
Leaving it behind fractured something deep in me. I had not crossed the sea as a king. No true leader would chase a woman beyond his borders, abandoning his throne.
No, I left Radaan as a man, and I would face Nereus as such. He was a father wronged. My mantle—symbol of duty—had no place in this. This would be a reckoning between men.
My jaw clenched as I squared my shoulders and turned toward the others in the hall. Three riders, though none held any rope or chain. Greaves stood beside them, his wrists bound behind his back.
Ronan’s nose wrinkled at the question in my expression. A snap of his fingers and a flicker of flame danced above them. “We won’t need to bind you.”
“No, because I go willingly,” I growled. The boy grated on me—smug, sharp-tongued. Why any dragon chose him was beyond me.
When I stepped out of my cell, a red-haired rider took point while Ronan gave a mocking bow, palm out.
“After you, Your Majesty.”
At least the whelp knew who outranked him. I gave a tight nod and followed the redhead. Greaves and the last rider fell in behind as we wove through the stone veins of the prison.
No other prisoners. Not a whisper, not a face. Either the dragons ruled through fear so complete their cells stayed empty, or Draconia’s perfection ran deeper than I dared believe.
They led us up a different path than we’d come. Staring up the narrow stairwell, I narrowed my eyes. The red-haired one clapped, and orbs of light spiraled up from below, whirling past my face. I grit my teeth and resisted the urge to flinch as they blazed upward.
The stairs came in ten-step bursts, doubling back again and again. My thighs burned. My breathing slowed to a steady rhythm. Was nothing on this gods-forsaken island flat?
Perhaps that explained Nienna’s legs—why they were so toned.
I bit down on the thought. Here I marched to die, and still, she haunted me.
Part of me hoped she wouldn’t come, that she’d spare herself the sight of my demise. But I knew better. She was forged of dragonfire. She would stand and watch, no matter how it broke her.
And I—I held no illusions. She wouldn’t root for me. Nor would she pray for her father. She loved him. Spoke of him with reverence.
No one would win today.
If I struck him, if I managed to maim or kill, she’d carry that pain like iron in her chest for the rest of her life. My only path forward meant blood. Her father’s. His dragon’s. Even then, his riders wouldn’t let me live—but this wasn’t about them. This was between me and Nereus.
At last, we stopped before a massive entrance. The redhead cast me a look—one final invitation to run. I almost laughed. With Nienna’s brother at my back, there was nowhere to go.
He dipped his head. “May you find peace after death.”
Ronan scoffed.
When they opened the door, sunlight slammed into my face. I winced, squinting into the blaze, but refused to shield my eyes.
Light poured through the massive archway. The landing loomed beyond. We entered the throne room again—this time, the chamber held fewer people. The empty circle carved into the center had grown.
The duel would happen here.
I rolled my shoulders as a wall of black scales blocked the sun. Eyes like molten bronze narrowed. Lips peeled back. Serrated teeth waited to shred.
A silence deeper than sleep crept in. Only the sharp crack of stone echoed as the dragon stepped forward, claws biting into the marble. People moved aside in practiced silence. It prowled to the throne’s rear, coiling around it, eyes fixed on mine. Its tail swung overhead. No one flinched.
It settled behind the throne, tail curling along the stairs. Its horns towered like jagged peaks. A blast of hot air steamed from its nostrils.
The breeze caught Nienna’s hair.
My gut tightened. She stood to her father’s left, veiled in black. A silver tiara glinted through her braid—the only shimmer on her. Her eyes looked hollow. Her jaw flexed, tight with restraint.
A future queen.
To the king’s right was Queen Nyxaria. Her loose curls, once gold, had grayed at the roots. Her frown etched deep into her cheeks. Chin lifted high, she glared as though I were mud tracked across her floors. Her white gown fluttered, untouched by her expression.
Between them, the Dragon King.
White hair slicked back. Beard clipped and sharp. Legs spread wide, he filled the throne as if it had been carved around him. His stare could chase lesser men into the sea. As I approached, his nostrils flared in unison with his beast.
He wore black like his daughter. Dressed for a funeral. The buckled leather armor hugged close, but I saw the clever seams—the fabric beneath for motion, not vanity. Draconis understood the need for movement beneath the strain of dragon scales.
No crown graced his brow. He rose, then descended the stairs to meet me.
Man to man.
Father to monster.
I reached inward, searching for the tether that bound me to Elohios. When my fingers closed around it, I lifted my chin.
“Kallias Sunspear. I’ve challenged you to a duel to the death.” His voice cut like steel drawn from a sheath.
A dragon shrieked above the landing.
My eye twitched, but I held his gaze. “You leave me no choice.”
He dipped his head, almost a nod, and extended his palm. A sword was laid into it.
My sword.
He gripped the scabbard and offered it forward. I reached past the hilt, fingers closing over his.
His glare deepened.
“I do this for your daughter,” I murmured, low enough to keep the words between us. He wanted a spectacle, but I’d still give him truth.
“As do I.” He yanked his hand back, sneering. “You broke a Draconis Blood Oath. Your death, or dragonfire, will cleanse it.” His voice rose, echoing through the chamber. “You’ve chosen the honorable path—taking your sins upon yourself.”
I clenched my jaw, holding his gaze.
“Any last words?” His hand drifted to the hilt of his short sword.
“I never broke the oath.”
“On Argos' call.”
Argos. His dragon.
He stepped away and drew his blade.
My heart slammed against my ribs, but I refused to look at Nienna.
Two paces back, I unsheathed my weapon and flung the scabbard aside. It clattered across the stone.
I cracked my neck, took a breath, then planted my feet, shaking out my sword arm. I would’ve killed for a spear—or a shield.
The dragon’s head snapped skyward, and its mouth tore open in a roar that drowned the world.
I bared my teeth and brought my blade up in time to block the first strike. He moved faster than any Velli. Magic. He used magic to sharpen his speed, to deepen each blow. I parried three times.
Then I felt it—warmth, familiar and wild, spilled through me.
I smiled, teeth bared. Nereus faltered.
Then the light of Elohios blazed through my skin.