At last, the incline gave way to flat stone. A crowd of Draconis in earth-toned garb filled the chamber. Their clothes weren’t tattered, but bore evidence of labor. The women wore split skirts and trousers like the ones I’d seen Nienna wear so many times.
They shoved me forward through the crush of bodies. The ceiling stretched far above, voices bouncing off the stone. To my left, a dark throne rose on a platform sculpted high above the floor, visible even to those crammed near the back. Small balconies honeycombed the walls—like a termite nest carved into the rock. The Spire had to be hollow, riddled with unseen halls and passageways.
A thunderclap of wings tore my gaze toward the massive opening at my right. My spine snapped straight. Nereus’ dragon landed on a stone outcropping, neck snaking into the tower’s heart.
I clenched my jaw and held my ground as the crowd shrank from me. The beast halted a handspan from my face, lips peeled back. Its snarl sounded like boulders grinding down a mountainside.
Still, I wasn’t dead. Yet.
Its jaws snapped shut with terrifying speed. I winced, bracing for the strike. It didn’t come. The dragon lifted its head instead, golden eyes searing into mine, pupils thin and sharp as knives. Nereus slid down its shoulder and landed with fluid grace, armor whispering as he hit the stone.
He marched straight toward me, fury etched into every step.
I needed a private conversation, a chance to explain. But from the fire in his eyes, he meant to make a spectacle of this. Nothing I said would stop him. It would be my word against his son’s. I could only pray Fallione’s counsel had earned me some ground.
He sneered as he passed. I turned, careful to keep my attention on his silver-threaded blue leathers, though every instinct screamed not to turn my back on his dragon.
Right now, Nereus was the greater threat.
He spun and dropped onto the black-stone throne. The stairs beneath bore sea beasts and waves, but dragons held dominion at the top.
“Kneel!”
A hand shoved hard between my shoulders. I hit the floor with a grunt. Pain flared through my knees, but I stayed upright, jaw clenched as I stared at Draconia’s king.
“Kallias Sunspear,” Nereus thundered. His voice rang through the Spire, silencing the murmurs. “Have you come here to die?”
Chapter Eleven
Nienna
Ronan’s hand snagged the back of my dress, but I jerked free, slipping down Gyrak’s shoulder before his claws touched stone.
“Nienna, stop!”
As if I ever obeyed my brother.
Gyrak’s talons struck the landing with a thunderous crack. I hit the ground beside him, stumbled, snatched up my skirts and bolted for the throne room.
Kallias was here.
He came for me.
But instead of joy, terror sprouted in its place. Here, in this cursed stronghold, Father would kill him. I’d already begged, pleaded—he chose Ronan’s lies instead. Kallias would only stoke that fury, incite his rage, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
The vast sea protected him. My lie about the blood oath, flimsy as it was, had kept him hidden. Distance had dulled Father’s wrath—but now?
He washere.
I tore across the wide space, feet slapping the marble, heart in my throat. Empty corridors blurred past. Servants scattered from my path, eyes wide, but I didn’t stop. No time to offer apologies.
Father would treat him as a traitor.
A man who defiled his daughter and mocked a sacred oath. Perhaps I could plead madness on his behalf. What sane person dared defy a promise backed by dragonfire? Maybe I could twist the truth before the judgment fell.
I threw open a door. Four noblewomen shrieked, bolts of silk fluttering as they rose. Mother’s gaze snapped to mine, sharp and assessing. Her pale brows dipped, and I opened my mouth too late.
“We will discuss the festival later, ladies.” Her tone sliced clean as a blade. She stood and rushed toward me, her dress twisting around her like wind-driven sails, features set into a hard mask.
