Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kallias
The dragons torched everything. Fire poured over the raiders’ fleet, their hulls erupting in bursts of flame, splinters, and limbs scattered like kindling across the sea.
Nienna didn’t flinch. She turned her back on the blaze, spine straight, head high—leaving ruin in her wake.
When I arranged her marriage to Tallon, I expected the usual mold of royalty: sweet, sheltered, easily steered. But she wasn’t raised to bend. She carried the heat of dragonfire and the brilliance of sunlight. Fierce, brilliant, and on my side.
Radaan needed that fire. That edge. Not another polished diplomat, but a weapon sharpened to defend its borders. Someone who would burn down a threat without flinching.
I always thought I’d shoulder the burden alone. Make the brutal choices, carry the guilt. But today—she showed me she could carry it too. She would kill for those she loved. Radaan needed that steel, that ruthlessness.
Pride surged in my chest as we moved through the Spire. The halls swelled with voices, windows crowded with onlookers. Laughter tangled with disbelief, wonder thick in the air.
Without ships, what could Innaku do now? Rebuilding a fleet would take years—and Draconia would be ready for them.
Based on the fervor with which the dragons flew, it would be a wonder if Galdoni even survived.
Nienna passed our floor, her steps leading upward through the winding Cireendium. “I want to see my father,” she murmured.
I caught the note of weariness in her tone, the quiet fray at the edge of her resolve. She leaned into my arm, fingers curling against my elbow for support. She was exhausted, drained by the demand the last few days had put on her.
“He never should’ve risked the storm.” A heart-heavy sigh chased her words. “What good did it do?”
“I can’t imagine he would have listened to anyone but Nyxaria,” I said, rounding a corner into a bright corridor.
“Don’t sound so smug.”
A chuckle slipped out. “I would’ve done the same. Charged through wind and sea to reach you? I wouldn’t hesitate.” If the Velli laid a hand on Nienna, I’d make the last war seem merciful, child’s play compared to the havoc I would wreak among them.
“If I ask you to stop,” a hint of desperation lingered in her tone, “just stop and listen.”
The way her father dismissed her warning and flew off without a backward glance bothered her. She wasn’t only clever—she was intuitive. Sharp. To ignore that was to discard a blade mid-battle. I wouldn’t make the same mistake. I’d be a fool to toss her opinions aside.
Outside the door, I framed her face with my hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You are the other half of my soul. To disregard you would be to rip out my heart.”
A soft breath escaped her lips. She kissed me once, quick and chaste, before stepping inside.
The hairs on the nape of my neck bristled. I wasn’t supposed to be here. This was Nereus’ domain. His air. His walls—but I remained at Nienna’s side.
The space pulsed in deep blue. Couches dusted in navy velvet circled the spacious receiving room, cushions plush and welcoming. We passed through two quiet chambers and into the bedchamber.
There, the king lay still beneath a canopy. Gauzy curtains swayed in the breeze, hazy gray daylight bleeding through the open window.
He didn’t look broken—only asleep. His face full, skin warm. Beard trimmed. Hands resting together over his chest. His silver signet ring caught the light, a flicker of authority untouched.
“He looks like he’s sleeping,” Nienna whispered. She eased down beside him and brushed his hand. A twitch answered her touch, but his eyes stayed shut.
“It wasn’t magic that drained him?” I asked.
“He didn’t use any,” Ronan answered, appearing in the doorway.
Sun above, I couldn’t imagine the children just walking in unannounced when their father was well.
“He hit his head,” the prince continued. He tossed me a frown before moving to sit near Nienna. “We think it happened when Argos hit the sea. He didn’t even send a flare. We heard the dragon’s scream and sent Artorious and Naksula to pull him out, while I carried Father back.”
Nienna shook her head. “I told him not to go.”
“When have we ever listened to women?” Ronan smirked.
“A wise man listens to anyone with a knowledgeable word,” I said.
“Father would’ve listened to Mother,” she muttered with a sniff. “Argos never should’ve flown to the Wild Shores—let alone made the return without rest. What is it with you men and your black dragons?”
“We protect what’s ours.” Ronan raised his brows at me like I was meant to back him up. “He’ll wake in a few days.”
“And Argos?” Nienna’s voice dipped low.
Her brother paused. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Might take longer.”
She read his face, as if searching for answers. “Will he fly again?”
“You couldn’t stop him from trying.” He shrugged. “But I doubt he’ll sire another clutch.”
“What happens to the hatchlings?” I asked.
She stroked her father’s hand once more, then stood. “They’ll find riders—or fly south.”
“With five going to Radaan, perhaps more will choose to stay,” Ronan muttered, barely masking his irritation. As if the very idea of dragons leaving was a personal insult.
I studied him—sun-bleached hair pushed back by worn flight goggles, blue irises bright with fierce loyalty. Smile lines had already begun to form at the corners of his eyes. He would make a fine king one day—once he matured.
“Only time will tell,” Nienna said with a shrug. “Ronan, let Mother know we won’t be at dinner.”
Back in our rooms, she stumbled toward the bed. I bit down a smile and shut the door behind us. Greaves had finally been sent to rest—he needed it. The past few days had taken their toll, and though my body screamed to lie down, Nienna required care.
She collapsed face-first onto the blankets, limbs spread wide in a very undignified heap of exhaustion.
“I’m afraid you’ll need to bathe before sleep, my queen,” I called, unlatching the chains at my shoulders. The laces of my tunic came loose as I headed for the bath chambers. Praise Elohios—Freya had drawn a hot bath. Our delay at Nereus’ side gave her just enough time to prepare.
“I’m a queen,” Nienna groaned. “I do what I want.”
The golden yoke slid from my shoulders, its links clinking as I set it on the stand. I unbuttoned my vest, peeled off the rest, and bolted the lock to our door.
“You are a queen.” I crossed to the bed, then rolled her onto her back. “But even queens don’t always get their way.”
Her eyes roamed over my naked body and she bit her lip. “Too tired.”
“I have no intentions beyond seeing you clean.” I frowned at how her mantle twisted around her neck. “Start with that.”
She groaned but rose, her fingers fumbling with the chains while I loosened the side laces of her dress. In moments, the mantle hung beside mine, and I pulled her dress over her head.
She kicked off her boots and wriggled out of her trousers, flinging them across the floor. I gathered her up. My back ached in protest, but her body sank against my chest, warm and limp, her breath feathering against my throat.
Once we were scrubbed and rinsed, I plucked a limp sprig of mint from her hair and carried her to bed.
I kept my word—held her close but nothing more. Rest claimed us fast. Not only had the past days drained our bodies, facing down an enemy nation demanded a level of energy that would take time to recoup. Sometimes mental fatigue was worse than physical.
So I held her—and let the queen of Radaan sleep.
“You’re with the living!” Nienna burst into the private dining room, flinging her arms around her father. He wore his leathers, calm as if it were any other morning.
She kissed his cheek and dropped into the seat beside him.
“I didn’t know I was ever with the dead,” he muttered, nodding my way as I pulled out a chair.
“You might as well have been, for all the good you did.” Nyxaria sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, while Ronan threw his boots onto the table like a delinquent court jester.
“I heard you torched Galdoni’s fleet,” Nereus said, sipping from a cup of flavored fish water. The minty, briny scent wafted through the room.
“If they want war, they’ll get one.” Nienna shrugged. “They’ve got years of shipbuilding ahead of them.”
“Forty percent of their workforce was on those ships,” Nyxaria added.
“Should’ve flown to Innaku to remind them not to mess with us,” Ronan grumbled. “Elmo’s scorched from nose to tail. We were too far to shield them properly.”
Nereus turned to me. “You had a hand in the strategy. Thank you.”
“I’m no sailor,” I said. “But war is war, and that much I understand. Hiding the dragons in the Spire was a trick we used in the Battle of Gad at the base of the foothills. We lured the Velli in, then dropped the charge from the mountain.”
“When was that?” Nereus asked, tipping his cup.
Ronan snorted a laugh. “Was Nienna even alive then?”
The king choked, and the corner of my eye twitched with the urge to put the boy through the nearest wall.
The rest of the evening passed easy. Nienna’s family folded me into their little group without pretense or suspicion.
I’d told myself for years all I needed was Greaves, that anything else was a liability.
People always wanted something. But Nienna didn’t take—she and her family gave.
Their only condition was that I protect her.
When Ronan summoned us the next day, I was suspicious. He never brought good news—but Nienna laughed it off.
His rooms were suspiciously tidy—a mockery of Tallon’s mess. He waved, beckoning me to his desk.
“This is the Dragon Ship’s layout,” he said, sliding aside a stack of letters and placing weights on the blueprint corners. “Gyrak’s nearly too big. We keep livestock penned here normally.”
He tapped the ship’s main deck, where space had been constructed for a dragon’s bulk.
“He can make the flight, but he’ll be starving when you land. You’ll need to plan for provisions.”
He stretched, locking his hands behind his head like his part was done.
Nienna lounged on the couch, flipping through a book. Greaves stood watch at the door, as always.
“There’s not much before Reem,” I noted. “Some pastureland between the port and the palace. He might have to veer west. There are some sheep farms out that way. How many will he require?”
“No cattle?”
“Are you making menu requests?”
Ronan scoffed and rolled his eyes. “After that flight? Four sheep. And he’ll need to be grounded for a day.”
“Done. Anything else?” My gaze drifted over the table. Shells and stones anchored the paper—childhood habits clashing with royal council duties. But the documents beneath told a different story. Orders. Reports. Rider logs. Proof of the boy’s responsibility and level of maturity.
A word caught my eye.
‘Radaan.’
I knew that handwriting.
After shoving aside the blueprint, I scanned the letter.
“Oi!” Ronan snapped, reaching, but I angled away, pulse spiking.
‘Nienna is homesick. I worry about her.’
My throat dried. This was the missive Tallon sent to summon Ronan. That rat never worried about anyone other than himself—unless it served him.
‘Fyrn says she doesn’t sleep at night.’
Cold prickled my scalp. My eyes darted to the date. Days before the assassination attempt. He and Fyrn had been fooling around already?
“Look, I meant to toss it,” Ronan muttered, trying to reach for it again, but I stepped clear. My ears roared.
“Kallias?” Nienna’s voice sounded far away.
My gaze narrowed on another line.
‘Without magic.’
“Did you tell him?” My words came rough, torn. “You told Tallon she was a poor Vessel?”
Ronan blinked, confusion playing over his expression. “We never talked about it.”
The answer from Elohios was blood, but it hadn’t been mine—I knew in my bones I hadn’t sired Tallon. If he was half Velli, he could use blood to control others. I had checked Egath, locked him away while my bastard son ran free.
How did he know Nienna had no magic? Could the Velli sense that?
The pieces slotted into place, the letter’s words swirling along the page. My hands trembled. Gods, it was bold—even for Tallon. Banishment was no longer a just punishment. This was treason, attempted murder. He would hang for this.
Someone banged on the door, startling us all, then it burst open.
Fallione barreled in, white-faced and grim. He ignored the room, heading straight for me. In his outstretched hand, a tightly rolled scroll from a messenger dove, its seal broken.
My stomach dropped.
One look, and I knew.
Every instinct screamed. I felt it like a blade at my throat.
The letter fell to the desk as I took the scroll. My heart slammed against my ribs while the mantle’s damning weight pulled on my shoulders.
A hush fell over the room.
I fingered the broken wax seal and read the words that would shatter us all.
‘Tallon has taken Radaan.’