Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Nienna
Radaan’s mantle rested across my shoulders, its dragon-scale finish whispering with each step as I moved through the Spire’s halls.
Beside me, Kallias wore his golden yoke—not just a symbol of weight and duty, but a declaration of wealth and abundance.
Its gleam alone stripped the Innaki of the one thing they still lorded over us.
Radaan stood as the only alliance Draconia required.
We stepped from the Spire into open air. My gaze lifted, and a smirk tugged at my composure. Storm clouds ringed the Nest, thick mist veiling the sky above. The dragons hidden there remained unseen by any looking skyward.
Not all of them were grounded to the sand. Several took their rest in the heights.
Chin raised, shoulders square, I followed Mother and Ronan with Kallias at my side.
Father was still asleep, unable to be roused.
Greaves, ever stubborn, had argued to come despite his sour stomach.
Kallias relented eventually, though not without a hushed standoff in our rooms that made me hide my grin.
Four riders flanked us: Haldor, Zane, Mikal, and Erwin. Aside from Father and Ronan, they were the strongest we had. Following close came four of our most powerful Vessels, saturated to the brink. Riders had poured into them until their bodies thrummed with magic.
We boarded a smaller craft under a white flag. The sea lay flat, unnervingly still. A mirror waiting to shatter. I’d never seen the ocean so calm—as if it held its breath before unleashing a storm doomed to swallow us whole.
As we neared the outer ring of Innaki raiders, fire licked at Ronan’s fingertips. Guilt seethed beneath his placid exterior, thick as smoke. He’d taken his first lives today—two of them being our own people. That grief had hardened into rage, and it now burned for the Innaki.
Their ships parted.
Relief brushed against my unease. One test cleared, so many more to go.
Kallias’ arm flexed underneath my hand, steadying me.
His presence lent me a confidence I never had before.
I was not alone in this. He’d faced the Velli countless times in a similar manner—face to face, blade at his back, head high.
He would guide me through this. Not by command—but at my side.
Another line of ships gave way. The hush deepened, broken only by the whisper of oars slicing water.
Clouds sank lower while fog licked the masts.
We said nothing. Moved only as much as necessary. Our vessel slipped into place beside Galdoni’s warship—a monster of a thing, its hull slashed with crimson warpaint like it had gored a whale or two and kept the stains as a show of dominance.
A carved merman sneered from the ship’s bow, trident pointed toward the distant Spire.
Ropes flew, and lines were fastened. Innaki stared down at us—dark hair, sun-browned faces, blow darts leveled in grim silence. When the boarding plank slammed into place, Mother held firm.
We ascended.
King Galdoni had always repulsed me. Something about him strained every ounce of my patience and self-control. Once, I pitied Adoni for the pressure his father put on him. Now, I recognized it for what it was—poison passed down like inheritance.
The man stood tall with black hair slicked back from a proud brow. He wore his people’s traditional skirts. Gold chains danced against his thighs, ending at his knees, while red pearls and jewels wound through his belt. A stark white sash hung across his bare chest.
Muscles rippled under his tawny skin, and a sick smile stretched his lips as his gaze skipped over Mother and Ronan before locking on my mantle. Then they found Kallias.
“Ah, truly you waste no time, Kallias Sunspear,” he drawled, voice slick as rancid oil. He turned his disdain on Mother, feigning a sorrowful shake of his head, as if he somehow blamed her for my marriage. “Queen Nyxaria, I fear you’ve lost your most useful bargaining chip.”
Fire nipped at my bones as my spine stiffened, but I forced my jaw to stay loose. Let him think I simmered. He’d never see how much I hated him.
“King Galdoni, we’ve come to seek peace.” Mother’s voice was silk over steel, smooth but unmoved. “Between our nations.”
“It might’ve been better sought before your daughter murdered my son.” His words oozed pity. A performance. Prudish, as if he were speaking to a child. “Yet here we are. Someone had to challenge the myth of Draconia’s greatness. You’ve outgrown your little patch of sand.”
My fingers twitched, desperate to curl into fists at my sides. He dared insult her—us—on our waters.
He waved a hand. “Alas, I welcome you to my table.”
A line of Innaki warriors stepped forward with guarded, severe expressions. Crimson-painted skin, dart tubes strapped to their sides. They brought a table from behind the king’s quarters, setting it in the center with unspoken precision.
“However, the King of Radaan is not welcome.”
Kallias didn’t blink. He met the island king’s gaze without flinching, though his stare promised retribution. With the barest nod—controlled, sharp—he dipped into the smallest of bows. “I’ve claimed the Dragon’s Heart as my own,” he said. “You summoned her, and by extension, you’ve summoned me.”
Galdoni’s brows twitched at the reference to my title. The only thing he or his son ever cared about.
“He sits, or we leave.” Mother smoothed the folds of her gown with regal disinterest. “And before you answer, ask yourself—can you account for all of our dragons?”
His gaze slid to the mist-choked Spire.
“Is that a threat?” he asked, head tilting, curiosity slithering into his tone.
“Draconis do not threaten,” she replied, taking her seat. “We act.”
Ronan and I took seats on either side of her. Kallias settled beside me. With hands clasped on the table, Mother waited.
Galdoni let loose a booming laugh and dragged a chair out before dropping into it. “You’ve always amused me, Nyxaria. But tell me—did your husband fall in the storm? We saw his dragon in pieces on the beach.”
“Perhaps I’ll answer,” she said, tone light as idle weather talk, “once you count your dead from the two raiders we destroyed.”
A flicker of shadow passed over his face, and his snide grin wavered. “Forty-eight. And two of your own. Truly, you should be more careful.”
Ronan’s fingers twitched. The wooden surface beneath his palms darkened with the flameless heat radiating from his skin. He sacrificed two of our own to ensure my passage through enemy ranks. That guilt clawed at him, fed his rage.
“Galdoni,” Mother said, her tone steady, “our nations have known peace since their founding. You and your son knew the risk of coming to our isle. Yet, you sent him anyway. And you know Tsunami has no rider. While we regret Prince Adoni’s death, you are just as responsible.”
He leaned back, his smile slipping like a mask gone slack. “You’ve unsettled my kingdom. Destroyed our trust. And now you dare place the blame for my son’s death on me?”
His eyes landed on me. I held his gaze, spine rigid, ready to fight.
“He came for her.” He sneered. “I told him she wasn’t worth it—a sullied princess, discarded like–”
“You want a dragon,” Kallias said, slicing through the venom. Galdoni’s mouth snapped shut, like a hawk’s beak.
“My son died by her hand.” He forced calm into his tone. “That alone merits the demand. It’s a fair ask.”
“Done,” Ronan cut in, lips curling into a vicious grin. “A fleet’s already on its way to Innaku.”
Galdoni froze, his gaze returning to the cloud-wrapped Spire.
It had been Kallias’ idea—drag the mist low, mask the dragons, and pull them out of range from the lightning. Hidden. Waiting. We knew what the island king wanted, and we would give it to him to get our people back—just not how he expected.
“You wouldn’t dare scorch Innaku,” he growled. “You need–”
“Grain. Cloth. Crops?” Kallias tilted his head.
I brushed the mantle chains with my fingertips. “We need nothing from you now, Galdoni.”
His skin flushed crimson. “I have your Vessels.”
“And we will have your island.” Mother shrugged. “You may be king of the Innaki—but when your islands burn, what shall you rule?”
“You owe me for my ships and men.”
Kallias’ knee brushed mine. He felt it too—Galdoni was unraveling. We had him. No allies waited to save him. The Ivetti would never shelter him, and the Kulletti were just as likely to slit his throat as they were to offer him safe harbor.
“And you owe us for the grave insult to our name,” Mother snapped, “for attacking our shores, wounding our dragons, and spilling Draconis blood. And you believe you get to make demands?”
“The goods you once supplied,” Kallias said, “Radaan now delivers.”
“Surrender our people and leave our waters,” Mother added, “and we’ll call back our riders.”
“This means war,” Galdoni hissed. Rage turned his face to stone. “There’s no undoing this.”
“We’re already at war,” Ronan bit out, voice low, heat laced beneath it. “The only question is—will you die this battle or the next?”
The island king glared, each plan he cultivated crumbling behind his eyes. He reached too far, stretched thin by greed.
“You want to fight?” he muttered, then let out a soft chuckle. “Have your Vessels. Own the skies if you like. But we own the sea.” His gaze landed on Kallias. “You think your goods can sail across oceans I command? We will see.”
“We’re finished here.” Mother rose, her chair scraping the wooden planks. “Our people—all of them—shall be delivered within two hours. Only when the last pair of boots is safe on our shores, will I call our dragons home.”
“Get off my ship!” he snarled.
We turned from him, backs straight. Mother and I crossed to our boat first while Kallias and Ronan remained behind a moment longer, watching him seethe.
Once we were all safely aboard, the ropes were cut and the Innaki retreated, letting the plank crash into the waves. My heart pounded as I studied their cannons for any sign of movement, ready for betrayal.
But Kallias’ tactic held, and our ship sliced toward shore, powered by the Vessels’ magic.
“You were beautiful,” Kallias whispered close to my ear, wind ripping the words away before another caught them.
Pride warmed my chest. Our generations-long peace with the Innaku was shattered—but our people would return. And our dragons were safe, either curled in the Nest or along the beach.
On the shore, we waited.
The sky dimmed as small boats ferried the Draconis home. Mother sat with a scribe, marking each name. There would be no more losses. Two was our final cost.
Hope flickered higher with every face that stepped onto the sand. Artorius circled above, wings skimming the treetops, reporting fewer raider ships with each pass.
Families flooded the beach. Cries rang out—relief, grief, joy. Tears soaked tunics and hands gripped arms tight. But Mother never moved until the last elder stepped from the final boat.
She embraced the woman, whispered assurances, then passed her to a guard. Her gaze found mine.
The beach pulsed with anguish and glory, fear braided through relief, while voices full of questions carried low on the breeze.
Would they return? Could Radaanian ships outmaneuver the blockade? Would they twist our strength against us again?
Mother’s fingers drifted down my arm, her whisper barely louder than the wind. “It’s time.”
She stepped away without hesitation, and Ronan moved with her, his face unreadable. Kallias lingered, eyes flicking between us—this wasn’t part of the plan.
But there was nothing left to debate.
Our people wept with their families. They trembled in uncertainty. And Galdoni had already made his move.
He had reached for the Dragon’s Heart. He would reach again.
I lifted my chin and strode toward the Spire. “Light the pyres.”
The command rose from a place older than thought, deeper than flesh—an instinct, a promise written into my bones.
The sky split open.
Dragons burst through the mist, wings unfurling in violent elegance. Their roars shattered the silence as they dipped low, then climbed, circling once before banking toward the enemy ships. Bronze, onyx, copper, scarlet—every scale caught the dusk like a spark.
The hush that fell was immediate and total.
Kallias turned, gaze fixed on the horizon.
Then came the fire.
The roar of it cracked through the sky.
Cheers erupted on the shore. Cries of joy, revenge, justice. Their dragons had been used, their families held hostage. Those actions would never go unpunished. No one would hurt or threaten my own and get away with it.
This was my vow to them.
We were Draconis.
Our enemies were naught but ash.