“If I did, do you think I’d keep it from you?” Her eyes studied mine. Narrowed. Crow’s feet deepened at the corners. “You’re my daughter. I wantyou to be happy. If it was possible to release King Kallias from the threat of war, I would tell you.”
She stared into her bowl. “I know of nothing but death and dragonfire. Still, widen your search. Don’t just study the Oath—look inward. The magic in his blood binds your father—drives him toward vengeance. That same blood runs through your veins. And I hate watching you rot in a library, clawing at loopholes set in stone. You should embrace your status, your power, not run from it.”
“You want me to forget him.” I leaned away, tucking the sting of betrayal away. My blood may have come from the Well of Draconia, but I was a faulty Vessel.
“I want you to remember who you are.” Her hiss cut sharp, and her fingers curled over mine. “Love hurts. But you were the Dragon’s Heart before you ever met him. If he changed you for the worse, then I’m afraid he’s hardly worth the days and nights spent in a library searching tomes that will give you no answers.”
I jerked my hand back and rose. Her words sliced deep, stripping away hope I’d barely dared to hold. I thought she’d understand. Maybe she did. But I wasn’t just a daughter—I was a princess. Locked into a tidy, little mold. Expected to fill it.
“And if Father died,” I said, voice rising, “would you mourn him for three days, then carry on, unscathed?”
She sighed. “Kallias Sunspear is not dead.”
“Yet.”
The door creaked. We both turned.
Father entered, boots striking hard across the floor. Ronan trailed after, goggles pushed into his hair. He dropped into a chair, snatched a slice of bread, and slathered it in marmalade without looking at me.
“Father.” My voice caught. He seldom spoke to me now, and when he did, it cut.
“Nienna.” The word fell cold.
Dread crawled through me, icy and sharp. How much had he overheard?
Did he know what I was trying to do?
He took the seat beside his queen, set his flight goggles on the table, andreached for his bread.
“How was your flight?” Mother nudged the conversation elsewhere, pushing her bowl aside.
“Well enough. We may fly to Little Island tomorrow. I want to see how the crops fare.”
“What did you plant?” I asked, hoping to ease the tension. The isle was too small and wild to house anyone, but we’d tried to tame the hills with crops.
“Mostly potatoes. A few orange trees.” He grunted and shoved a bite into his mouth, eyes never meeting mine.
“The last whirlstorm tore through it.” Ronan spooned up broth. “Might’ve shredded the lot.”
“If it did, we’ll replant,” Mother said.
“Any word from the Innaku?” I asked, sliding into a chair.
“Jain and Naksula left this morning to check in.” My brother drained his bowl and set it aside. “If we’re lucky, they’ll bring fruit. I’m sick of fish and kelp.”
Guilt struck hard. I stole a glance at Father, who wouldn’t look at me either—but the crimson flush under his beard said he blamed me as much as I blamed myself.
If I hadn’t ruined the union, we’d have more food than we could carry.
“We eat what the common folk eat,” Mother reminded. “If we share the harvest, we all survive.”
“We need to colonize the Wild Shores.” Ronan leaned back, raking fingers through his hair. He tore off his goggles and tossed them on the table.
“You can be the first to move in,” I said.
“No dragon will stay the night,” Mother warned.
“Gyrak can leave him there.”
