Freya laughed, hands on her hips as she surveyed the racks of dresses lining the walls. I eyed the food—seaweed cheese, kelp chips, dried fish. Sparse, compared to Radaan’s tables, but it would hold me through until dinner with the Kulletti.
“Red,” she said, lifting a dress to the light.
Crystals shimmered along the high collar, scattered down the sleeves, clustering at the wrists. The front split open, rider-friendly, though I doubted I’d need that tonight.
I winced. “Maybe I shouldn’t stand out.”
People would stare. The riders, my family—they understood what crossing the sea demanded. But nobles, ambassadors? They’d see only the fallen royal.
“You’re Draconia’s princess,” Freya snapped, spinning to face me. “Raised by dragons. Eyes will follow you no matter what you wear.”
I dragged both hands down my cheeks. “I should eat here. Skip dinner.”
She inhaled deep and released it slowly, as if leashing herself. Then she stood over me, stern and resolute. “You can’t undo the past. You move forward. Head high. Let them whisper if they dare. You were raised among dragons. Do not cower before nobles.”
Her words echoed something Edith once said. The memory stung. Edith still waited in Radaan. And Father? He’d ride for her or demand her returned on a ship—and be tempted to burn it down after she disembarked.
Freya was right. Better to face it now. Hiding would only make it harder later. I nodded and bit into a piece of crisp fish.
“But you’ll tell me everything tonight,” she said with a wink.
I cleared the tray and let her dress me. The crimson fabric hugged my throat and waist before loosening at the hips. The split revealed deeper red trousers tucked into dark boots. She hooked black pearls onto my ears and pinned my hair high, sliding the silver tiara into place.
Tonight wasn’t the night to shrink. I needed armor, even if it sparkled.
Freya worked carefully over my face and hands. She masked the bruises beneath my eyes, dabbed red stain over my split lip, then oiled my raw cheeks one last time.
When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t seem like someone who had just tumbled down the Spire.
“You don’t have to wait for me,” I called over my shoulder as I reached the door.
“Oh, I do. And I will. Happily.” She smiled, plucked a book from the shelf, and sank onto the chaise. “Go remind them who the Dragon’s Heart is. I’ll be here, waiting to hear every detail.”
Peace settled over me as she flipped the book open and disappeared behind its pages. Returning to Draconia wouldn’t be easy. But with her and my mother, I might manage.
I slipped from my rooms and moved into the corridor. No clatter of armor trailed me. No guards shadowed my steps. The absence struck me, strange and comforting in equal measure. This was still my home. No one would dare touch a Draconis.
The empty halls shimmered under lanterns. Black stone gleamed like quiet water, each flicker caught and mirrored. Thick rugs muffled my feet while paintings of dragons soared through vibrant skies; sails snapped beneath silent storms. I knew these images—the waves crashing against hulls, light glinting on scaled wings. Still, I missed the greenery of Radaan’s palace. Life pulsed in every corner there. Flowers spilled from vases while vines crawled up pillars. Vibrant and unrestrained.
I pressed a hand to the hollow in my chest, the ache unreachable. This was my future. The past couldn’t be undone. As Freya said—I could only go forward.
I steadied my breath and continued on. Servants passed like ghosts in the corners of my vision. I headed toward the Cireendium—the Spire’s heart.
These halls ran shorter and narrower than Radaan’s. Before long, the passage opened into the vast hollow of the Cireendium. Sound swirled through thecircular chamber. I stepped to the railing and leaned out. The void stretched into black, far enough to steal breath. The Nest crowned the Spire, and high above, a purple snout nudged over the ledge. Kalepsi’s golden gaze caught mine. She crooned, her voice rolling through the open space like thunder.
Heads turned. Staff and nobles drifted to the railings, peering up at her.
Heat crept up my neck. Eyes clung to me, too many and too sharp. A few bowed when they noticed my gaze, then scattered, retreating to whatever task they had abandoned.
The Cireendium spanned eight levels. Every inch of the Spire was accessible from here, though reaching the higher levels was faster with a dragon.
I brushed the railing with my fingers, hiding a smile as I descended. The fifth level, reserved for royals, was the only place Gyrak was allowed to land. As they grew, dragons were permitted in the Cireendium, but they caused chaos. Riders discouraged it, with Argos enforcing order.
Most beasts obeyed.
Tsunami didn’t.
I reached the fourth level—the last one open to the public—where the dining hall waited. The library stood nearby, tempting in its silence and promise of answers. I wanted to vanish into those shelves. Research blood oaths. Search for anything to preserve Radaan’s ties.
