Gyrak cut through the sky. Ronan pulled his goggles down while I pressed my face into his shoulder. Wind clawed at my eyes when I tried to look. I gaveup and held on, whispering prayers to Veridis—or any god listening—that he hadn’t sent a ship here.
We dipped low. Gyrak groaned as he fought to land on the choked beach. Dragons packed the shore, scales glinting in a riot of colors. Some stood knee-deep in the surf, riders still mounted.
My gaze swept the water. Hope curdled. Air fled my lungs.
A Radaanian banner snapped from the mast of a sleek ship.
Ronan dropped from the saddle without waiting. Across the way, Father dismounted from Argos’ massive shoulder. The black bull snarled, lips curled, eyes murderous.
I swung my leg over and slid off Gyrak—graceless, stumbling through the sand as I raced after them.
Dockhands bolted from the green-flagged ship, retreating behind the wall of dragons. No one wanted to be caught in the blast.
And that’s what the ship risked.
Ronan and I sprinted after Father’s navy coat. His shoulders squared, his stride relentless as he charged the ramp. Radaanian crew leaped from the vessel, ropes in hand to moor it.
“You get a single breath to haul anchor and leave our waters!” Father thundered.
My boots thudded on the dock. I grabbed Ronan’s arm, holding him back. We didn’t need more kindling thrown on this blaze.
“Begging your pardon–” one began.
“But they’re under my orders.”
My knees buckled. A sob caught in my throat.
Kallias stood atop the ship. Greaves loomed behind him, his shadow as always. Sunlight flared against the golden mantle. The wind stirred his silvered hair. I couldn’t see his face at this distance, but I knew that voice. It clung to my nightmares.
Argos roared. The blast whipped the sails and strained the ropes that held the ship in place.
Ronan yanked me to a stop behind Father. A ramp crashed down from the ship’s deck, thudding hard against the dock.
He shouldn’t be here.
Even in my wildest dreams, he never dared. He couldn’t. Father would kill him.
“Don’t do it.” Father’s voice dropped—quiet, deadly. A promise.
The air swirled around us, tugging at my dress. Sparks crackled over his clenched fists, blue and bright.
Kallias stepped onto the ramp.
Argos lunged. Water exploded beneath his pounding stride. His gaping jaws rushed past me—teeth wide, aimed at Kallias.
I was wrong.
Argos would kill him.
Chapter Ten
Kallias
“No!” Nienna’s voice split the salted air, sharp as shattered glass.
Gods above, if the last thing I saw was her face—wind teasing sunshine strands of her braid—the mad sail across the sea would have been worth it.
Even I flinched when the black dragon—vast enough to eclipse our ship—recoiled from Nienna’s cry. Its horned head snapped toward the clouds.
