Then the drums struck—deep, sudden, thunderous.
I searched the stage. No sign of them. The drummers had to be tucked near our box, hidden behind the draped panels. The rhythm lasted a breath, maybe two—just long enough to call her forth.
She stepped from the shadows.
Black curls spilled down her back in thick ropes. A stark white dress clung to her bronze skin. Her eyes—dark and unyielding—spoke of island blood. Notfully Draconis, not with that shade and midnight gaze. Their kind wore sunlight in their hair and sky in their irises.
She gripped her skirts and dipped into a bow, snowy fabric billowing around her legs.
“Rise, woman, and tell us your name.” Nereus’ booming tone cut across the murmurs. Silence followed.
“My name is Ciana, Your Majesty.” Her words curled with richness, weighted by an accent I recognized—the same as the Kulletti chief I’d once dined beside. “And I bring you the Dance of the First Light.”
The drums erupted.
She spun in a tight circle, faster than expected, then slammed her foot down with an abrupt snap. She faced away from us. A white hood swept over her head, and when she turned…
A dragon stared back.
Gold eyes shimmered in the stitching, so intricately embroidered they seemed alive, watchful.
She danced with the drums, skirts sweeping in wide arcs. This wasn’t the measured rhythm of Radaan’s court dances—no matched pairs, no slow, precise pacing. This felt like the Sols: quick, sharp, independent.
Nearing the end of the dance, she bent and angled her face to the sky. Fire shot out of her mouth with such force, my hand twitched.
A Vessel.
“She’s not Draconis?” I kept my voice low, just for Nienna.
“Ciana’s father is,” she murmured. Her breath brushed my jaw. “Her mother’s Kulletti.”
I watched the dancer flick arcs of flame skyward. “So the blood doesn’t have to be pure.”
“Some mixed children channel it with no issue,” she said softly. “Thinking of Radaan?”
“We’ve no use for magic. But…” I let the words trail. If magic was a usable resource, Clay would find a way to bend it to our benefit.
“They have to carry Draconis in them. No rider would share power with someone outside the blood. It’s our inheritance. Even if the blood’s thin, any Draconis has the right to be a Vessel—if they can bear it.”
“But the riders choose.”
“They search the mind.” She applauded as Ciana bowed, her dance complete. “The process is complicated. I’ve only been part of it twice.”
A flicker of shame slipped into her tone.
I nudged her knee with mine. “You need no magic, Dragon’s Heart.”
Her eyes rose to the sky, mage lights casting flickers across her face. “Something’s changed since I returned. The connection feels distant. I can’t hold their power—but I still feel them. Somehow.”
Another dancer stepped forward. The drums surged, loud enough to drown her out. I leaned closer.
“You’ve searched the records?” I asked. “Of the Hearts before you?”
“There are so few.” Her mouth moved again, but the rising beats smothered her words.
I ducked lower, giving her my ear. My gaze stayed forward—on the line of female dancers now circling the stage.
Her lips brushed my skin. Her palm settled on my thigh, fingers pressing into the muscle. Heat flared through me, sharp and immediate. I clenched my jaw, fighting the primal urge to move her hand higher. My body wanted it. I refused it.
