It didn’t take long to exchange clothes. Freya’s garments were plain enough to help me pass as a servant. Her hair, a vibrant red, would draw attention, but mine vanished beneath a worn hooded cape. I ducked into the hall, keeping my gaze low and my face hidden.
The dungeon lay below the Spire’s main level. A long descent. I moved fast, my thoughts racing faster.
Would I need to drug him? Could Greaves smuggle him out? Every possibility collapsed under the significance of what I didn’t know.
People clogged the path. Civilians wandered about in stunned clumps, their shock a shield as I slipped through unnoticed.
The stench hit hard. Damp and dank. Stale and musty. Heavy air pressed close, the reek of mildew clinging to my throat. It seeped into my skin, clung to my breath. Nothing like the rest of Draconia—where sunlight and wind kept the rot at bay. Mage lights flickered, barely more than a glow, swallowed by the dark.
The cells, carved from solid rock and braced by slabs of iron, lined the walls. I veered off the main path, keeping to a narrow trail that curved behind the guard station. Few guards lingered—Vessels didn’t need numbers. Their magic was enough to keep the worst prisoners caged with a look.
We’d never had a high-profile prisoner such as a king—and I was lucky to slip into the dark corridors before they brought in more reinforcements.
Cold gnawed at my skin, sank into my ribs and curled along my spine. A tremor rippled through me, but I didn’t stop. Kallias needed sunshine—everything in Radaan revolved around it. It was seen as a blessing from his god, and Father threw him in a cave.
Voices sharpened near a bend. I lowered the mage light and tucked it at the base of the wall, casting the corridor in a soft, silvery pulse. This side stood empty. Of course it did—Father wouldn’t risk Kallias talking to anyone.
“You were foolish.”
My mother’s voice. Quiet but cutting, almost lost beneath the thunder in my ears.
“Perhaps.” Kallias sounded flat. Tired.
“We denied you safe harbor, and still you came. You have doomed yourself—and if what Nienna claims is true, you’ve cursed your lands to be ruled by a child.”
“Radaan appreciates your concern.” His tone shifted into the one he reserved for foreign courts—measured, composed, not quite warm. “However, I left my kingdom in capable hands.”
Silence followed, broken only by her sigh. I pressed my back to the cold stone and shut my eyes.
“Why did you come?”
“I told King Nereus–”
“What he wanted to hear.” She cut him off. “I’m not asking as queen, but as Nienna’s mother. Why are you here? You knew you’d find no kindness on these shores—you’re lucky Argos didn’t eat you alive. Haven’t you broken her enough?”
I clenched my jaw and folded my arms tight. They always blamed others for my wounds. Never saw the way they tore me apart from inside.
“Queen Nyxaria,” Kallias said, the tortured soul mirroring my own slipping through. “I came to make it right.”
I heard him then. The man I knew.
Silence answered. Thick. Strained.
Far off, something skittered. My eyes flew open—please, no rats.
“Nereuswill never grant you mercy.”
“Which is why I’ve asked for a private audience.”
“If you met him alone, he’d gut you before you spoke.” Her voice dropped. “You tampered with forces you don’t understand. And because of that, you’ve dragged our people into your mess. You will answer for that.”
“Do you not fear you’re reacting to a half-truth?” Kallias bit out.
“You shattered our trust when you took our daughter—someone else’s betrothed.”
“I nevertookher!” Steel clanged. Bootsteps followed. “Excuse my bluntness, but I never bedded her—ask her; she’ll say the same.”
“If I may be bold enough to match your tone, it doesn’t matter,” Mother hissed. “My son found her sprawled across your desk, half-dressed and face marred with passion. Perhaps you didn’t bed her then, but there’s nothing to show you’ve had a shred of restraint before.”
