Chapter 20 #2
“So,” he said as I stepped beside him, “is this what my people should expect?”
I shook my head, pushing damp hair behind my ear. “No. Tsunami won’t leave Draconia. The dragons assigned to Radaan are older, bonded, and disciplined. She’s a rare… exception.”
He hummed, thoughtful. “Still. Radaan will have to adjust.”
I grinned. “Wait until you see the Awakening.”
It began with the dragons’ song.
Before dawn’s first touch, when light only whispered at the edge of the sky, their voices rose in eerie, powerful howls. Cavernous groaning bellows rolled through the air—much like whales from the deep—vibrating in tandem. A chorus carried from ridge to sea.
The sound pulled me from sleep, lured every Draconis into the damp hush of morning. At the landing, Argos perched at the tip. His neck curved, chin tucked to his chest. He loosed a low, resonant thrum that rattled my ribs, blending with Kalepsi’s haunting notes from the Nest above.
Father rested a hand against Argos’ shoulder, gaze trained on the horizon. Mother stood behind him, near but not part of the moment. She had no dragon—no place in their bond where their souls melded.
She smiled when I reached her, our pale white robes catching the moon’s last light. Her hand clasped mine—steady, warm.
Argos’ humming tunneled through my bones, thrumming beneath my skin, sparking urgency. It felt ancient, like the song stirred something buried in the island itself. Magic shimmered in the air—unseen, but impossible to ignore.
The sky shifted to gray, and a bloom of orange spread at the sea’s rim. Mother squeezed my hand, and I followed her pointed nod.
Kallias approached the landing, stride sure but guarded. Greaves trailed close behind. Their black attire broke like shadows across the stone. Morning light kissed the edge of his mantle, offering hints of reflection.
He stopped before us, bowed low. “I was sent for.”
Father didn’t move. His eyes stayed forward, locked on the surf. Argos remained still, lost in song.
“Welcome to the Awakening, King Kallias,” Mother said, offering a graceful nod. “I trust your rest was sufficient?”
“Very,” he replied, glancing east. “Though I must admit, I don’t know how to participate.” His eye twitched, but he masked it with a blink.
Control suited him. He didn’t like surprises. But here, in Draconia, the rules were different. He’d rushed here, leaving Fallione scrambling to keep pace. No amount of preparation could replicate the rhythm of this place.
“The dragons’ song wakes the island,” I said, stepping away from Mother to stand beside him. “Some say they were the first to sing the world into being. This is a homage to that lore.”
Wind surged through the landing. My skirts whipped against my legs, pulling taut like sails. I looped my arm through his, and he rested a palm on his belt, tucking my hand in close. Mother raised her eyebrows at my move, but let it go, staring back at the sunrise.
“I didn’t know they sang,” Kallias murmured.
Argos drew in a deep breath, scales shifting over muscle as his chest expanded, his attention locked on the orange halo as it climbed.
“Only for the Awakening,” I whispered, barely above the low hum surrounding us. “This song marks the beginning. Riders spend it with their dragons. It will happen every dawn until all the dragonlings hatch.”
“Then the festival ends?”
“Not until the first flight and feeding.”
He gave a rough grunt, tension slipping from his posture as he turned back to the sunrise. In Radaan, Fallione could guide him. Here, he required more than an advisor. He needed someone who belonged to this place. A partner.
A queen.
I tightened my grip on his arm. Heat curled through my chest. My parents stood beside me, and Kallias let me hold him. For a breathless moment, everything felt aligned.
The dragons’ voices rose, reaching higher. A shrill, piercing cry cut through the harmonies as the sun finally breached the sea. Their breaths staggered, one after another, a ladder of sound. The stone beneath us trembled with their song.
Argos braced himself, talons carving shallow grooves into the cliff’s edge. His muscles tensed, shoulders locked.
New daylight shimmered on the water, wavering like it strained to break free.
Kallias shifted beside me, glancing toward Argos.
I smiled.
He didn’t know what came next. But I did.
“Brace yourself. This is my favorite part,” I called over the rising crescendo.
The sun broke free of the horizon, a sliver of light cracking beneath the burning orb, lifting it from the sea. Argos’ head snapped skyward. His neck shuddered, and a bone-deep bellow tore from his chest, sharp enough to split the sky.
The cry echoed across the island. Every dragon answered. For three full breaths, the only sound on Draconia was the raw, wild scream of dragons.
Kallias tensed beneath my hand, but he tracked Father, now climbing onto his dragon’s back.
With a thunderous snap of his jaws, Argos silenced himself and tipped off the landing in a steep, headlong dive.
Roars fell quiet in unison. Then came the thunder—wingbeats crashing like drums as leathery sails punched into the air.
I craned my neck toward the Nest, pointing.
Kallias followed my gesture. Kalepsi leaned far over the edge, morning light gilding her golden horns.
Her massive head stretched skyward, hunger to fly tugging her from the clutch she refused to leave.
She released a guttural roar that rang like an echo from another age.
Dragons burst from rooftops, cliff edges, beaches—rising in wide spirals around the Spire. Their paths narrowed with altitude, the sky becoming a whirl of iridescence, a storm of rainbow-scaled bodies flashing by.
Wind ripped through my dress, and my cheeks ached from grinning. With the landing’s edge beneath my feet, the dragons soaring past so close I could taste the heat off their wings—nothing matched it. It set every part of me alight.
Riders hugged their dragons’ spines, molded tight. No wavering, no faltering. They ascended together, one purpose, one breath.
Argos led the spiral skyward, streaking toward the faint stars clinging to dawn.
Then, with a final roar, he curved into a sweeping arc and plummeted. Even Tsunami followed, slicing through the sky in a narrow line. They dropped together, zipping past the Spire like a falling star. Wings snapped open with a deafening crack, just before they hit the rooftops.
Muted cheers spread across the island, celebrating their rise and return.
“We take first meal with the commoners during the Awakening,” Mother said, already turning toward the throne room. “Will you join us, King Kallias?”
“It would be my pleasure.” He dipped his chin. I brushed my thumb along the inside of his arm as he pivoted to follow.
She led us down the palace terraces to the courtyard, packed shoulder to shoulder with civilians.
Blankets covered the dewy grass, and children darted between adults, who carried baskets brimming with food.
Dragons landed briefly on rooftops, their claws chipping stone before they leapt away once their riders dismounted.
The scent of warm bread curled in the air—thicker than usual. Where would we get that much grain without an Innaki ship?
I glanced at Kallias.
His bright gaze danced the crowd, radiant with calculation. The fine lines at the corners of his eyes deepened under the sun, but his expression stayed relaxed.
“You brought goods from Radaan.” I didn’t ask. It surprised me, though. I hadn’t expected him to offer them without using them to sweeten negotiations.
He looked down at me. “Your marriage was to secure grain. Seemed foolish to arrive empty-handed.”
“And you gave it away for the festival?”
“It matters to your people,” he said, guiding me down the steps. “Call it my contribution to the festivities.”
I pressed closer, heart warming as I lifted my chin toward the crowd. He hadn’t used Radaan’s goods to buy favor. He gave them freely—to win the hearts of my people.
By their smiles, it worked.
We waded into the throng. Greaves kept close. A toddler slammed into my leg, let out a delighted squeal, and tore off waving a hunk of steaming bread. I laughed as a sibling scrambled after them with a quick apology.
Draconis overflowed into the streets, spreading to rooftops where blankets had been laid out, legs dangling over the edge. In the center of the courtyard, Edith and Freya waited, a white and silver blanket spread wide enough for all of us.
During the Awakening, royalty walked among the people. No thrones. No ceremony. Just humans sharing food, sky, and breath. A reminder of what we truly were.
Mother lowered herself gracefully, settling onto the crisp fabric. I nudged Kallias down beside her. His brow furrowed, as if unsure about sitting while the masses stood. For most royals, seating themselves lower than their people was a foreign concept.
I dropped to my knees and stared up at him. That wrinkle deepened, then eased as he followed suit. He stretched his legs in front of him, still stiff, still watching.
“We all are mortals,” I said, noting the twist in his mantle. I fought the urge to fix it. One day I would. But not yet—not until my people accepted him. “Here, the ground is level.”
Father made his way through the crowd, stopping to greet others with a smile and hearty slaps on the shoulder. He was a rider, yes—but still their king.
“Even Dragon Riders come back to earth,” I said. “A reminder that the same blood flows in all our veins.” These traditions were second nature to me. To him, they were stories, observations scribbled in history books.
Father joined us with a look at Kallias that started hard but softened at the sight of Mother. He sat with a grunt. Edith opened the basket beside her, the scent of jam and bread rose like morning mist from the grass. My stomach tightened.
Two children shrieked with laughter nearby, tumbling across someone’s blanket. A couple a few spots over burst into giggles. Joy and mirth spread as if it were a ripple through water, catching on others.
Kallias snorted at their antics, chewing a thick slice of bread.
He was different here. Something in him had shifted.
His mantle still weighed on him, but his eyes lit with something lighter—curiosity.
It lent him an air of youthfulness, watching the Draconis with ease.
He leaned back on his arm, noting my father’s informality.
This would be my last Awakening on the island.
And I was glad I shared it with him.