“Good day, Your Majesty!” Their voices joined in unison, accompanied by a flurry of bows and curtsies.
Alea stood beside her governess, struggling to hide her restless grin.
“I see you’ve been keeping up with your schooling?” I asked. Enthusiastic nods answered me. I found an empty chair and sat with care. “Then show me.”
They swarmed at once, voices tumbling over mathematics and letters, pages thrust into my hands. Runes marched in neat rows, numbers lined in tidy columns. I took my time with every sheet, offering praise and gentle correction. The older boys tried for indifference, broad shoulders squared in practiced nonchalance, but I caught the flush of pride on their cheeks.
“You’ve done wonderfully,” I said at last. “But too much time indoors isn’t healthy. Would you care for a stroll?”
Happy shrieks burst free, followed by swift reproach from the governess. I laughed as two girls clasped hands and spun in a clumsy circle. They looked nothing like the hollow-eyed children we’d found locked in the siege rooms.
The sun still held warmth when we reached the grounds, Gyrak passing overhead like a low thundercloud as the carriage carried us toward the training field. The name fit now, the space crowded with horses and dragons learning to move together, soldiers shouting commands into the wind.
I lifted a hand to shade my eyes, watching the land roll past. Autumn had settled over Radaan. Dusk came earlier, the air sharpening with the promise of winter’s approach. In Draconia, the season meant cool days and endless rain. But here?
“What is winter like in Reem?” I asked Ish’neer, seated across from me with Seraph’tal bouncing on her lap.
She tucked a strand of straight brown hair behind her ear, gaze drifting to the window. “Wet. Cold. Dark. The sun rises late and leaves early.”
“Like my brother!” Seraph blurted.
Laughter slipped from me as I tilted my head. “Then he’ll need a proper education if he’s to rule Tal.”
“He’s dead.” She smiled as though commenting on the sky and returned to twisting Ish’s necklace between her fingers.
“She wasn’t first in line,” the older girl said, voice flat. The carriage fell quiet. “He resisted, so they disposed of him and took Seraph.”
The light drained from Seraph’s face, her small hands freezing on the silver chain.
“Thank you for explaining.” I spoke gently, though inside, my heart thrashed with grief. I turned the conversation elsewhere, back to safer territory. “Did you know dragons don’t shed their scales unless they’re ill or dying?”
“Truly?” Another girl leaned forward, eyes wide. “They aren’t like snakes, then? Do they overlap? Grow individually? Are they born with them?”
Questions poured out, and I welcomed them, steering curious minds away from remorse and fear. The urge to demand names, to hunt down those who had delivered these children so neatly into Tallon’s hands, burned hot beneath my skin. I wanted their heads on a pike.
The bastard prince couldn’t have taken them all himself. Had he sent Ichors into the districts? Was this Velli work, or had our own people betrayed them?
A practiced smile held my mask in place; years of training concealed my fury. Tallon hadn’t paid for his treachery yet. But by my hand, he would face dragonfire, or something far worse.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kallias
Faint tingles ran through my fingers, and I flexed against the sensation. Tanned skin pressed to the hilt of my sword as I stared at my hand. When Nienna had curled against me last night, I draped my arm around her, my palm resting just below her navel.
A silly, pointless thing.
If she were with child, there would be no kicks, no sign of that life for months. Still, my touch slid against her soft skin as if my wishful thinking—dreams I shouldn’t dare dream—could plant a babe inside her.
Shaking out my fingers, I scanned the soldiers riding past the large red dragon. Horses moved in straight lines, keeping close to the beasts without faltering. Ruby scales glinted in the sun, deep and rich, outlined in black skin. Elmo was blood solidified, the magic we would unleash against the Velli’s own.
“We’re cycling them out. Nearly all the horses have been desensitized,” General Xzaphin said, sitting tall in his saddle as he surveyed his men. Sandy brown hair marked him as theyoungest of my generals, but at thirty-two, he had more than proved himself.
“I expect them to be fit to march in a week,” I replied.
One week.
Barely time to catch my breath before tracking Tallon.
