Freya waited, patient, coins ready in her palm.
“This is where the workers eat their midday meal,” I said, motioning toward the civilians trickling from thin paths between buildings. Weary laborers sat on soft sand, stealing a brief rest, food in hand.
“This is the craft district?” he asked, sun glinting off his mantle. He wore his traditional fashion of green and gold, but donned a tunic and vest over heavier layers. A wise choice in this heat.
“Yes, K’bar is where the makers and creators work,” I said. “Districts belong to Radaan. Here, we only have cities. They return home to K’dan or K’seer when the day ends.”
Draconia felt so small now. In his country, traveling from one city to another could take days on horseback. Here, we could walk the island end to end with ease.
“I’ve seen the skill inside the Spire. Your people are talented.”
His words brought a pleased smile to my face. Around us, stiff shoulders began to ease. Passerby bowed as they moved through the crowd—busy, but listening. Eyes lingered on Kallias.
“Four Stick’ems with spicy tartar!” the vendor called out, holding up skewers loaded with fried fish, orange sauce sliding down the crisp batter. My breath caught. Messy food and public company weren’t the best mix.
It wasn’t the act of eating in front of Kallias that bothered me—it was thestagingof it. A mouthful of dripping tartar in full view of the people? That felt… unseemly. As if a bit of sauce on the chin might chip the polish from our reputation.
As Freya handed out our portions, Greaves eyed his with suspicion, then gavea short shake of his head.
“I will eat later.” His voice—quiet, gravel-edged—still startled me.
My friend frowned, casting a bewildered glance my way.
“Perhaps he’s not as skilled with Stick’ems as he is with a blade.” I chuckled, steering toward a cluster of boulders further up the shore.
Greaves grunted. Agreement or protest—I couldn’t tell. Kallias took a bite as we walked. He blinked and cleared his throat.
“Hot?” I asked, claiming a boulder before committing to my own battle with the sauce.
“Both temperature and flavor.” He settled beside me, gazing at the shimmering surf. Foam scattered across the tide like dancing lace.
“We get our spices from the Kulletti. Their food makes you feel as if you’re a dragon breathing fire.”
Right on cue, Tsunami swept low over the water, wings stretched wide. Her eyes caught the light as she veered toward us.
Above, Borj and Artorius circled—the black scales sucking up the sun, white horns shimmering. She wouldn’t harass the vendors, not outright. But rules had never stopped her before.
I ate quickly, nose prickling from the tartar’s heat. Tsunami’s tail dipped, carving through the shallows with a splash.
A chorus of groans and yelps followed as workers scrambled back. She prowled forward, nostrils flaring, her sea-slick head lifted high. Green and blue scales shimmered like wet glass.
Greaves edged between her and his king, every movement coiled tight. Freya huffed and picked up her pace, scarfing the rest of her second stick as if she feared the wild dragon might lunge for it.
“I can’t tell if I should worry for my lunch or my life,” Kallias muttered, craning back to study Tsunami as she blocked out the sun.
Borj landed with a thud behind her. His midnight beast eased between Tsunami and the crowd, but she didn’t waver. Her attention stayed locked—on Kallias.
She snorted. Tongue flicked out, tasting the air.
“Don’t make me harm a dragon, Princess,” Greaves muttered, one hand already on the hilt of his sword.
I laughed. The movement showed off her fangs and threw small sparks from her mouth—it was a harmless move, but one that could seem threatening if someone wasn’t familiar with dragons and their antics.
“She smells something unfamiliar,” I said as she lowered her head. Chin resting on the tide, waves frothed around her jaw. One golden eye tracked Kallias, then Greaves, then back again. “You’re Radaanian. Apart from your envoys, she’s never scented you.”
“Exotic,” Borj called as he made his way over. The large man strolled across the beach, dark hair wild, grin on full display. “Artorius says you smell like sun and soil, Your Majesty.”
Kallias huffed a laugh. “There are worse scents.”
