Ronan crashed into my back, and my skull cracked against Gyrak’s neck. Pain split my vision. Salt water blasted upward, stinging like thrown gravel.
The beast let out a broken cry, fighting to stay upright. Staggering, he found the sand, dragging his wings through the surf, his head hung low.
Argos circled once, then dove for the beach.
Gyrak barely reached dry land before collapsing. The ground trembled as our father’s dragon landed nearby, a living shadow that devoured the sun. The massive beast snarled, then nosed Gyrak’s wet wing with a puff of contempt.
My brother sagged against me, unmoving. “Ronan.” The name peeled my lips. My voice cracked.
What price would he pay, forcing his dragon through such strain?
Draconis poured from the seaside homes, drawn by the crash.
I had tomove, had to stop my father before he plunged into war with Radaan.
With Kallias.
My fingers fumbled at the straps binding my leg, too weak to undo the buckles. My head swam as I leaned sideways, straining to free myself. They held fast. Ronan’s weight pinned me. Pain pulsed behind my eyes while my hands trembled, useless.
Father climbed Gyrak’s shoulder with fluid ease, navy leathers gleaming with silver thread and pearls. He drew a knife and sliced the straps clean through. The blade hovered at the skin of my thigh, and his piercing gaze flashed from my leg to my face.
“What happened?!” Concern warred with his rage. His brow knit, lips peeled into a snarl as he wrapped an arm around my waist, but I reached for him first.
“Please—don’t–” My voice cracked. My eyes burned, but no tears came. We’d gone too long without water.
My father carried me down, setting me on the sun-warmed sand. “Is Radaan at war?”
“No.” I choked on the word, desperate to get more out around my slow tongue.
“Then they shall pay.” Crimson bloomed beneath his white beard, and his gray eyes sparked as I gasped, clutching his chest.
“Fa–”
The world pitched. His arms caught me before I hit the ground.
“Erin!” His bellow rang out, cold and authoritative. A king’s command.
“I’ve got her, Your Majesty!”
A woman sprinted to my side, canteen in hand. She knelt, bracing her knee behind my back. I leaned into her thigh, grateful for the support. A thin smilesplit my lips, and fresh blood trickled down my chin as Father turned to climb Gyrak again—for Ronan.
Argos snorted at Gyrak’s collapsed body. The smaller dragon couldn’t lift his head. His sides heaved, panting in ragged bursts that kicked up sand around the gathering crowd.
I slumped into myself, eyes fixed on the waves churning between the dragons. Ronan’s jacket hung heavy on my shoulders—I pulled it tighter, swaying. Sitting upright cost more than I had. Muscles screamed for rest. Nausea twisted my gut, and the ground trembled, as if we hadn’t landed at all.
I planted a bloody hand on the beach. A shell bit into my palm, sharp and real, but it didn’t clear the fog from my mind.
“Princess, here.” Erin swept blonde braids over her shoulder and pressed the drink to my lips.
I tried to lift my hands, but they fell weak and useless in my lap. Cool water met my tongue, though my throat refused to swallow. Liquid spilled down my chest, soaking my torn dress. I coughed, each spasm draining what little strength I had left.
“Abyss!” she hissed, yanking the canteen away.
“Ain, Baer—see Ronan to the Spire,” Father called out, voice steady and sharp. “Ned, take your crew. Make sure Gyrak is fed.”
Sunlight lit the blue of his leathers, wrapped snug around his broad frame. His body bore the power of a Dragon Rider—solid, honed, unyielding. Two men stepped from the hushed crowd, lifting Ronan between them.
Then Father turned toward me.
