Father sat back in his seat. His stare clung to mine for a breath, then dropped. My breath hitched in my chest, air rushing into my lungs as if I’d been drowning.
Abyss, he loathed me.
The urge to flee rose, sharp and sudden. I gripped my napkin, knuckles pale. I wasn’t a child who ran when scolded. If he meant that as a rebuke, I’d take it as a woman.
Mother found me in the library’s study the next morning. I sipped my tea, letting the salty mint settle on my tongue as she approached with a worn leather book in hand.
“Back at it, I see,” she murmured, stopping at the table to flip covers and skim titles.
I shrugged. “I’ve nothing better to do.”
“You might spend time with your people instead of your books.” Her gold dress whispered behind her as she crossed to the window. She paused in a shaft of sunlight and studied the cities below. “Draconia is hungry—for food, for inspiration. If you can’t feed them, walk among them. Bring the Dragon’s Heart to the people.”
Grateful Freya wasn’t here to add her voice, I stared at the silver in Mother’s hair. “Shall I paint for them?”
I was a princess—trained in courtly customs, raised to sip tea and dab pastels on canvas.
She turned, half-shadowed in the glare, but her disapproval pressed into my skin like thorns. “You are the symbol of hope. Of a better future–”
“Ruined that one, didn’t I?”
“Nienna.” She stormed toward the table and slammed a book down, gaze full of fire. “Self-pity does not become a princess.”
Dragon Queen, indeed.
I bit my tongue. The words I wanted to hurl scorched the back of my throat. She’d stood by me, helped convince Father to stay. I didn’t want to drive her away. I needed her.
But pretending this was just another inconvenience—a minor nuisance I could brush off and smile through—hurt.
“What would you have me do?” I bit out, glare sharp as glass.
Her eyes glittered, lips tightening with approval. “See Williard. He’ll find something for you.”
She didn’t wait for an answer; only walked away, trailing gold and silence behind her.
Williard. Kite maker. Steady as stone. A pillar of K’bar. He would know where the peoples’ pain festered most. But what good could I do? A tarnishedprincess dressed in shame. I blew a strand of hair off my cheek and shoved aside the book Mother left.
Gold glinted in the corner of my vision. I frowned, tugging it closer.The Heart of Dragons, the title stamped in flaked, gilded filigree across the cover. I’d never seen it before. The leather felt unfamiliar beneath my fingers, its pages worn and tattered. A strange scent clung to it—dried herbs, old smoke, something sharp underneath.
The spine gave with little resistance, pages crackling as it fell open.
The Tale of Nienna, the First Dragon’s Heart.
I frowned, squinting at the faded ink.
Born Year 17 After the Calamity, daughter of Mad Queen Violet and King Beorn.
The Calamity—the whirlstorm that stranded the dragons in Draconia—was common knowledge. So was Queen Violet; her portraits lined the second-floor gallery, painted in varying shades of red.
But this? Nienna?
How had I never known?
I closed the book. The leather cracked beneath my palm, rough and dry. With all the books held by the Spire, it would seem impossible to read them all—but I had. I knew every title, every shelf.
This one wasn’t from here.
It was Mother’s.
