We broke through the treeline just as Argos dropped from the sky.
My hand flew to my mouth. He spiraled downward, wings faltering under his weight. The left buckled. He crashed into the beach with a guttural cry, the impact rattling the ground.
Father stood apart from the tents and men. Alone. Hands folded behind him. Chin high. Shoulders stiff as he watched the wounded creature right himself with a weary groan.
Whatever brought Argos here, Father had chosen to face it.
Kallias’ hand settled at the small of my back with a gentle push. I didn’t need more. I descended the hill in long strides, breath catching at the sight before us.
The dragon’s wing hung limp, its tip dragging a trench behind him. Labored breaths hissed from his flared nostrils. His head lifted and snapped at the air, gold eyes narrowed to fierce slits. Massive claws shredded the shoreline, spraying white sand.
I reached Father’s side. Wind tugged at his beard. He never blinked—his gaze held fast to the dragon, locked in a wordless exchange.
He drew in a breath, and fury hardened his features.
Argos mirrored him. A snarl curled his lip, and he dropped his head, rumbling deep enough to shake my bones.
“I ride for Draconia,” Father said, stepping forward.
“What happened?” I stayed close, matching his hurried steps. His dragon wore no saddle—it would be a long ride. And if he collapsed mid-flight, both of them would die at sea.
“The Innaki are coming.”
Laughter burst from me, disbelief masking my fear. “You’re joking. A messenger, maybe. Surely not an attack. Galdoni wouldn’t dare.”
“They’ll breach our waters in two days.”
Sea beneath. He dared?
I watched, frozen, as Father climbed onto Argos’ bare back. Horror curled tight in my belly. The Innaki had never launched a real threat. Sharp tongues, yes—insults wrapped in politics—but never open war.No onehad.
They knew we haddragons.
Kallias stayed behind me, quiet. Steady. There’d be no talking Father down. He would not remain idle while raiders approached. Not when his queen, the riders, and his people were in danger.
Ronan and Gyrak could defend the island. Mother could rule if needed. But this—this need to be at their side burned in his marrow as fiercely as it did in mine.
Argos lifted his head, muscles flexing, pain twisting his form.
“He can’t fly!” I screamed, surging forward.
Kallias caught me around the waist, pulling me back while Argos threw himself into the air with a strangled shriek. The left wing wobbled. He veered and dipped with a shriek. Father jostled like a doll strapped to a charging horse.
My chest clenched. I grasped at the feeling, as if I might hold them to the ground with sheer will.
With strangled grunts, the black dragon struggled into the sky.
No backward glances. No hesitation. Only a king riding to war.
I couldn’t stop him.
I spun, ripped from Kallias’ grasp, feet pounding the sand—then stopped. Looked back.
He stood, head tilted, watching. He didn’t speak. Didn’t push. He let me choose. With a flick of his chin, he gestured toward the ship. I didn’t need to wait for him, for his permission. He’d follow my lead here. He gave me the helm.
And I took it.
We set sail before nightfall.
