Mother caught my arm, hauling me upright. “Zane flew you through the Cireendium while Argos distracted Kalepsi. You probably owe more to Tsunami—the pest nagged at them both.”
She referred to the blue-and-green dragon, who had yet to claim a rider or move on to the Wild Shores. A ship-sized dog with wings, an irritating menace—but one we all adored.
We pivoted down another corridor, and the contrast struck me like a slap. Reem’s palace breathed warmth—lush with creeping vines, guarded at everyturn. The Spire gleamed with polished black stone and mirrored lantern light, yet it pulsed with motion. Servants wandered, their stares blatant, their whispers trailing behind us. One rider in full flight leathers darted past. The only sign of unrest.
A reminder that Radaan had clawed its way from war’s shadow—and I was the last thread holding it back from another.
Mother opened the door, and dread punched the air from my lungs.
A massive table took up the battle room’s center. Dragon Riders circled it, flight leathers creaking, goggles slung around necks or perched on windswept hair. Silence crashed into the space as every gaze snapped to me.
Shock. Outrage. Faces sharpened with both. A few drew in sharp breaths—but my eyes found only my father.
He leaned over the table, goggles clenched in one fist. His other hand fell from where it had gestured across the map—toward Radaan. His blue uniform stretched over corded arms and broad shoulders. He wasn’t soft. He was a warrior, poised for battle.
Jagged shells crowned his epaulets, the mark of the Dragon King—as if the circlet nestled in his white hair left any doubt. His flushed face twisted with fury, jaw twitching beneath his snowy beard as his gaze flitted between Mother and me.
I froze. Part of me longed to run to him, to bury myself in his arms and let him shield me from those gawking stares. The other half itched to flee—to escape the outrage smoldering behind them.
“Nereus. A word.” Mother’s voice held no room for refusal. Her hands dropped to her sides, chin high. Sunlight caught the gold and silver in her hair, setting her crown ablaze.
“Wait in the hall.” Father’s order cracked through the silence.
He stepped from the table as the riders murmured their respect and filed out. His hand—calloused, warm—cupped my cheek. My throat burned with the rise of familiar tears as he brushed his thumb over my skin.
“Nienna,” he said, voice cracking as he tugged me into his arms.
A sob tore free as he folded me into him. His scent wrapped around me—salt and wind and Argos’ smoky musk. Safe.
He pulled back, wiping the lone tear that slipped down my wind-chapped cheek. “I will kill him.”
No.
The warmth of his embrace turned to frost. My heart stalled.
“No, Father–”
“I told him,” Ronan’s voice slurred from the chair, drawing my attention. He looked like death. Pale skin. Dark hollows under his eyes. “Everything, Nienna.”
“You didn’tknoweverything!” I hissed. “Father—call off the riders.”
The tenderness in Father’s face vanished, scorched away by rage. “I’ll fly to Radaan. We have an oath to uphold.”
“This wasn’t his fault!” How much had Ronan told him?
“This time? Or the times before?” My brother’s sneer cut as if a blade plunged between my ribs.
“It happened before?” Father jerked back, hand dropping as if I’d burned him.
“No! Nothing hap–”
“Bucking between your legs like–”
“Ronan! Mind your tongue!” Mother hissed, her command a whip crack. “See yourself to bed.”
“I’m a rider first. The Dragon King rallied his riders.” My brother slumped deeper into the plush chair, eyes closing.
“You’re in no state to fly,” she said, then pressed her hand to my shoulder.
