“The mantle won’t protect me,” I said, clarifying his point.
“It makes you a target. They know my face. If I am seen beside you, it invites trouble before we are prepared.”
He didn’t want to bring me because I’d be a liability. Yet the thought of him walking into danger without an army or a dragon at his back tightened something fierce in my chest.
“Take Ronan.” My shoulders stiffened, my body rebelling against the suggestion. “Gyrak can stay with me on the shore, and my brother may remain with you. If they choose violence, his dragon will fly to your aid.”
His eyelids lowered in a slow blink. “You wish me to take your hot-blooded sibling on a stealth mission?”
I cringed, shrugging one shoulder. “If he understands the stakes, I trust him enough to keep his magic locked down.”
It was true. My brother was an arse, too quick to react for my liking, but he would be an asset to Kallias. If danger found him, Ronan would be the only thing capable of shielding him from an irate mob.
“He cannot wear his leathers.”
They bore no resemblance to Radaan’s linen and loose cuts. My brother would stand out the moment he stepped into the city, drawing unnecessary attention.
But convincing him to remove them would be another matter entirely.
“He’ll don a cloak.”
“I’ll take him if he changes,” Kallias said. “I’ll not risk it falling open and igniting trouble I could have prevented.”
My lip caught between my teeth. I worried it, weighing the cost of forcing the issue.
“Then he’ll change.” I rose from the bed, already surrendering the hope of sleep.
When would rest come again? This was only the beginning of the strains we would face.
Kallias hummed his agreement as we set our mantles across our shoulders. He would wear his, keeping it ready should it be needed. Perhaps a show of the rightful mantle, and the intimidating presence of a king, might prevent a fight before it began.
His hands moved with care as he fastened the final chain at my collar. Precision guided each touch. His gaze stayed lowered, distant, consumed by thought.
These moments mattered. Quiet. Hushed. Allowing him space to think while trusting me enough to let his guard slip. That was intimacy.
Without speaking, we stepped onto the darkened deck.
Soft cries from seabirds cut through the black hush of early morning. Gyrak crouched along the ship, attempting to make himself small. The effort bordered on absurd for a creature of his size. Ronan stood at his shoulder, one hip braced against midnight scales. His pale face stark against the dragon’s hide, mouth drawn into a sharp line.
“You’re going ashore?” he asked, voice kept low.
At times, he managed tact.
“With Gyrak. You’ll go with Kallias.” My hand slid along the beast’s snout. He purred, the sound like stones grinding together.
“Sh,” I hissed, and Ronan snapped his head around, leveling a glare at his dragon.
Gyrak flared his nostrils and huffed, displeased with the correction.
“Kallias has clothes for you,” I said.
Ronan grimaced. “Clothes?” His gaze dropped to his leathers as he adjusted the flight goggles tangled in his hair.
“You can’t enter the city looking like a Dragon Rider.”
“Then I’ll wear a cloak.”
“And when it falls open?” I asked, borrowing Kallias’ reasoning.
