When Ronan summoned us the next day, I was suspicious. He never brought good news—but Nienna laughed it off.
His rooms were suspiciously tidy—a mockery of Tallon’s mess. He waved, beckoning me to his desk.
“This is the Dragon Ship’s layout,” he said, sliding aside a stack of letters and placing weights on the blueprint corners. “Gyrak’s nearly too big. We keep livestock penned here normally.”
He tapped the ship’s main deck, where space had been constructed for a dragon’s bulk.
“He can make the flight, but he’ll be starving when you land. You’ll need to plan for provisions.”
He stretched, locking his hands behind his head like his part was done.
Nienna lounged on the couch, flipping through a book. Greaves stood watch at the door, as always.
“There’s not much before Reem,” I noted. “Some pastureland between the port and the palace. He might have to veer west. There are some sheep farms out that way. How many will he require?”
“No cattle?”
“Are you making menu requests?”
Ronan scoffed and rolled his eyes. “After that flight? Four sheep. And he’ll need to be grounded for a day.”
“Done. Anything else?” My gaze drifted over the table. Shells and stones anchored the paper—childhood habits clashing with royal council duties. But the documents beneath told a different story. Orders. Reports. Rider logs. Proof of the boy’s responsibility and level of maturity.
A word caught my eye.
‘Radaan.’
I knew that handwriting.
After shoving aside the blueprint, I scanned the letter.
“Oi!” Ronan snapped, reaching, but I angled away, pulse spiking.
‘Nienna is homesick. I worry about her.’
Mythroat dried. This was the missive Tallon sent to summon Ronan. That rat never worried about anyone other than himself—unless it served him.
‘Fyrn says she doesn’t sleep at night.’
Cold prickled my scalp. My eyes darted to the date. Days before the assassination attempt. He and Fyrn had been fooling around already?
“Look, I meant to toss it,” Ronan muttered, trying to reach for it again, but I stepped clear. My ears roared.
“Kallias?” Nienna’s voice sounded far away.
My gaze narrowed on another line.
‘Without magic.’
“Did you tell him?” My words came rough, torn. “You told Tallon she was a poor Vessel?”
Ronan blinked, confusion playing over his expression. “We never talked about it.”
The answer from Elohios was blood, but it hadn’t been mine—I knew in my bones I hadn’t sired Tallon. If he was half Velli, he could use blood to control others. I had checked Egath, locked him away while my bastard son ran free.
How did he know Nienna had no magic? Could the Velli sense that?
The pieces slotted into place, the letter’s words swirling along the page. My hands trembled. Gods, it was bold—even for Tallon. Banishment was no longer a just punishment. This was treason, attempted murder. He would hang for this.
