“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 kingwanted, 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 makedemands?”
“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.
