Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Nienna
There was pride in the way Kallias observed my interactions with my people. It wasn’t just about showing him my world—but also revealing the bond I shared with my kingdom. One I hoped to replicate in Radaan.
After we parted ways with Williard, I brought him to the beaches.
It still surprised me that the master kite maker offered him the last flight. It wasn’t something handed out lightly—an honor he didn’t completely comprehend.
“The final kite is reserved for one held in high esteem,” I said as we threaded through the narrow streets leading south.
“Should Nereus fly it, then?” Kallias carried himself with steady confidence, but his sharp gaze scanned every corner, stall, and shadow before returning to me. He absorbed the world with quiet calculation.
Greaves trailed close, his posture tight, his movements clipped. He didn’t enjoy enclosed spaces.
We stepped toward the wide band of sunlight breaking through the alley, the beach waiting on the other side. “The kites are meant for the riderless. A chance for them to soar beside the riders.”
He made a thoughtful sound, more breath than voice, then took in the open coast.
The air changed. Brine and salt swept in with the breeze. The essence of fried fish clung thick around us. A gust tugged my dress behind me like a banner.
The beach stretched in bleached white, almost painfully bright under the sun’s glare. The people scattered across it broke up the glare—little dots of dark fabric and movement. They clustered near food carts lined along the shore, where fish crackled in oil and steam rose from heavy pots.
Waves moved with lazy rhythm, licking the coast rather than crashing against it like they did on the western shores. It made me think of K’seer—children racing barefoot over wet sand, their laughter rolling through the breeze as they stacked up castles. I’d have to bring him there, too.
Freya strode ahead, her flame-colored braid swinging behind her.
That earned a flicker of interest from Kallias.
“She knows the best foods,” I said, grinning.
She beelined for a vivid red cart where a stout man turned skewers over a sizzling grill. His cheeks were flushed from heat, his tunic stained with oil. Sweat gleamed on his brow, and he swiped it with a greasy sleeve.
“Good day!” he called, gaze flicking from Freya to the rest of us.
The metal tongs slipped from his fingers and clanged into the steaming pot below. Jaw slack, he dropped into a bow so low I feared he might tip over.
“Princess—Your Majesty!” he boomed. The words echoed through the midday chatter, and half the heads on the beach snapped toward us.
I lifted my chin, back straightening on instinct. Whispers would follow. The King of Radaan, walking about, eating street food like a commoner?
It wouldn’t shock anyone to see Freya and me here. But the fact that I brought Kallias?
That said something. It spoke volumes about the trust I had for him—and them.
“We’ll take four Stick’ems with the spicy tartar.” Freya spoke with confidence.
Kallias blinked, the only sign he registered the crude name for the treat. I almost laughed at how well he masked his amusement, but I turned my attention to the vendor instead.
“Yes, of course!” The man stabbed polished bone rods through thick cuts of breaded fish, plunging them into the oil with a hiss. Our presence hastened his movements.
Freya waited, patient, coins ready in her palm.
“This is where the workers eat their midday meal,” I said, motioning toward the civilians trickling from thin paths between buildings. Weary laborers sat on soft sand, stealing a brief rest, food in hand.
“This is the craft district?” he asked, sun glinting off his mantle. He wore his traditional fashion of green and gold, but donned a tunic and vest over heavier layers. A wise choice in this heat.
“Yes, K’bar is where the makers and creators work,” I said. “Districts belong to Radaan. Here, we only have cities. They return home to K’dan or K’seer when the day ends.”
Draconia felt so small now. In his country, traveling from one city to another could take days on horseback. Here, we could walk the island end to end with ease.
“I’ve seen the skill inside the Spire. Your people are talented.”
His words brought a pleased smile to my face. Around us, stiff shoulders began to ease. Passerby bowed as they moved through the crowd—busy, but listening. Eyes lingered on Kallias.
“Four Stick’ems with spicy tartar!” the vendor called out, holding up skewers loaded with fried fish, orange sauce sliding down the crisp batter. My breath caught. Messy food and public company weren’t the best mix.
It wasn’t the act of eating in front of Kallias that bothered me—it was the staging of it. A mouthful of dripping tartar in full view of the people? That felt… unseemly. As if a bit of sauce on the chin might chip the polish from our reputation.
As Freya handed out our portions, Greaves eyed his with suspicion, then gave a short shake of his head.
“I will eat later.” His voice—quiet, gravel-edged—still startled me.
My friend frowned, casting a bewildered glance my way.
“Perhaps he’s not as skilled with Stick’ems as he is with a blade.” I chuckled, steering toward a cluster of boulders further up the shore.
Greaves grunted. Agreement or protest—I couldn’t tell. Kallias took a bite as we walked. He blinked and cleared his throat.
“Hot?” I asked, claiming a boulder before committing to my own battle with the sauce.
“Both temperature and flavor.” He settled beside me, gazing at the shimmering surf. Foam scattered across the tide like dancing lace.
“We get our spices from the Kulletti. Their food makes you feel as if you’re a dragon breathing fire.”
Right on cue, Tsunami swept low over the water, wings stretched wide. Her eyes caught the light as she veered toward us.
Above, Borj and Artorius circled—the black scales sucking up the sun, white horns shimmering. She wouldn’t harass the vendors, not outright. But rules had never stopped her before.
I ate quickly, nose prickling from the tartar’s heat. Tsunami’s tail dipped, carving through the shallows with a splash.
A chorus of groans and yelps followed as workers scrambled back. She prowled forward, nostrils flaring, her sea-slick head lifted high. Green and blue scales shimmered like wet glass.
Greaves edged between her and his king, every movement coiled tight. Freya huffed and picked up her pace, scarfing the rest of her second stick as if she feared the wild dragon might lunge for it.
“I can’t tell if I should worry for my lunch or my life,” Kallias muttered, craning back to study Tsunami as she blocked out the sun.
Borj landed with a thud behind her. His midnight beast eased between Tsunami and the crowd, but she didn’t waver. Her attention stayed locked—on Kallias.
She snorted. Tongue flicked out, tasting the air.
“Don’t make me harm a dragon, Princess,” Greaves muttered, one hand already on the hilt of his sword.
I laughed. The movement showed off her fangs and threw small sparks from her mouth—it was a harmless move, but one that could seem threatening if someone wasn’t familiar with dragons and their antics.
“She smells something unfamiliar,” I said as she lowered her head. Chin resting on the tide, waves frothed around her jaw. One golden eye tracked Kallias, then Greaves, then back again. “You’re Radaanian. Apart from your envoys, she’s never scented you.”
“Exotic,” Borj called as he made his way over. The large man strolled across the beach, dark hair wild, grin on full display. “Artorius says you smell like sun and soil, Your Majesty.”
Kallias huffed a laugh. “There are worse scents.”
Cinnamon and sunshine. His scent. I understood the dragons completely.
Tsunami lashed her tail, flinging seawater across the beach in a wide arc. Artorius snapped his jaws, a sharp reprimand meant to steer her off the civilians. She ignored him. Another snort gusted from her nostrils, followed by a deep inhale like she needed to clear her nose to place Kallias’ scent.
I sighed, handed my stick to Freya, and slid off the boulder. Wet sand swallowed my boots. Her eyes locked on mine. She bared her teeth and released a low warbling trill. I recognized it—a sound of frustration.
Lifting my hand, I let her study my approach. If she didn’t want me close, she had every chance to show it. Water curled around her limbs as she crouched in the shallows, tail flicking under the surface.
When my palm met her snout, she shivered, muscles rippling. A low click sounded in her throat, uncertain.
“He’s mine,” I murmured, running my hand along the smaller plates near her jaw. Warm. Almost soft. Those scales held heat like stone in summer.
She blinked slowly. The horned crests above her eyes dropped in a suspicious squint. Then she turned, studying me sideways, head cocked like a dog too clever for her own good. A menace, but with the heart of a spoiled pup.
Artorius clacked his teeth. She shrieked, hurling her massive skull toward him, sparks flying from her mouth. I staggered back, salt spray and heat surging over me as her talons churned the water.
Borj swore and rushed forward to put himself between me and the bickering creatures as I retreated to the beach.
She hissed, lunged like she might strike—but instead flared her wings and leapt skyward. The downforce punched into the sea, sending a wall of water over the shoreline.
Greaves’ jaw tightened. He glared after her, unreadable but clearly unimpressed.
“Good day, Princess,” Borj barked, already moving, his voice clipped as he joined Artorius. The black dragon’s rider crouched low, preparing to follow her into the sky.
I didn’t envy him. Babysitting a force like Tsunami required both skill and patience—and even that wasn’t always enough. She was half storm, half flame, with a will no dragon could temper.
Kallias had watched it all in silence, leaning against the boulder, shoulders relaxed. But his gaze didn’t miss a beat.