“You wound me, sister!”
“Enough.” She pushed to her feet, brushing Father’s shoulder. “I’ll check on the kites and see K’dan about supplies.”
“Take three crates of dried grapes. They’re low,” Father said, turning to kiss her hand before she left.
My heart twisted at the tenderness between them. I wanted that. Those small, intimate moments. I’d had a taste once—with Kallias—before it all collapsed.
The ache curled inward, sharp and familiar, a craving I didn’t know how to name.
“I’ll be in the library.” I pushed out of my seat, ready to follow.
“Oh, Nienna?”
I froze. Glanced back.
Father stood and crossed to me.
“Seeking to break a Draconis Blood Oath is treason.”
“Going to hang me?” I bit my lip, the sting sharp. My mouth always moved faster than my wits; provoking him never led to anything good.
“You? No.” His boots thudded past. At the doorway, he glanced back. “But don’t drive me to fly Argos north.”
I spent the day in the library. Was it rebellion? Determination? Hope? A refusal to accept defeat? I didn’t know. Freya brought tea. Kienna brought books.
Dusty tomes and brittle parchment buried the study table. Mother’s words gnawed at me—something about magic driving Father to retaliate. The texts offered little insight. Most claimed honor alone compelled men to fulfill their oaths. Only one mentioned King Durani, nearly two centuries past. His dragon urged him to secure an oath of protection for his queen with the Innaku. She died of sudden illness in their care. Durani lost his mind soon after.
Blood oaths were supposed to be symbolic.
There was no magic in them. No bond to twist a man’s mind. Surely, I didn’t have to fear my father unraveling just because I kept him from flying to Radaan.
Chapter Six
Isquinted at the leather boots and trousers Freya set out for me. She pulled a sapphire-blue dress from the rack, silver threads catching the light as she hummed and laid it across a chair. I hadn’t moved from the threshold of my dressing room, still staring as she bounced about, brimming with excitement.
It reminded me of Scythe.
“Those are traveling clothes,” I said, when she snagged a pale-blue shawl that shimmered like fish scales.
“Indicating we will be walking today.”
“I walk every day.” I tried to keep the bite from my voice, but it slipped out anyway.
“You’ve not been to the cities since you returned,” she said, planting her hands on her hips, leveling me with a challenging glare.
“I have other things to do.”
“What? Spend more weeks buried in books? You’re so pale, you’re an embarrassment to Draconia. A ghost! And for the love of the sea, you need a deep-fried fish or two.”
“Then I’ll ask the cook for one. I’m not going anywhere today.”
“Don’t make me get your mother.”
I scoffed. “Threatening to tattle?”
She shrugged, stepping closer. “If you’d rather I tell her I’m worried about your health and fetch George to confirm it and prescribe a walk on the beach, I will.”
I didn’t budge. She paused before me with a mischievous grin. George, our healer, had long been wrapped around her finger. If she called, he’d come running, and agree without hesitation: I needed air and sunlight, and the dragons’ landing wouldn’t suffice.
