“I need Fallione with me.” His tone leveled, iron beneath it. He could be swayed—and he would be. I refused to be left behind in some gilded cage dressed as protection.
“Then let Alma and the staff do their work. Have the Threshers secure the palace. We end this with Tallon. Chase him to the mountains and toss him off.”
“If he crosses the Craggs, I’m not following.” His shoulders tightened, mantle chains chiming softly.
“You would let him go?” The thought scraped raw. I had no interest in chasing a spoiled brat into enemy territory, but after what he’d done to me, the idea of Tallon roaming free felt obscene.
His eyelids lowered, sealing away the sky of his irises. Lines etched deeper across his face before he opened his eyes, conflict laid bare. “As much as I crave justice and wish to see him pay for his crimes—I’m too old to survive another war. I will not start one.” His gaze settled on the swell of my belly. “I spent my life chasing a future, and I forgot to live. Now happiness stands within reach. I won’t let him take that from me.” A crooked twist touched his mouth, closer to ache than humor. “You married a man past his prime. I have few days left to squander. If he retreats over the Craggs, I’ll wipe my hands of him, post dragons along the peaks, and return to Reem. I shall happily live the rest of my years with my family in peace.”
Peace. That single word beat beneath every choice he made. With Eldeiade beside him and Tallon forever at his heel, it had always remained a distant horizon. He secured that much-needed calm for his nation, yet his soul would never hold that same rest. Now he tasted the possibility, fragile as early frost. But with that monster loose in the world—it threatened that quiet. Would Kallias ever relax enough to stop looking over his shoulder? Sleep without listening for pursuit? Would I?
Could we trust that Tallon would make a home in Vellos and leave us alone?
I wiped dirt from my palms and met his gaze. “Then we best find him before he crosses.”
Alma huddled beside Fallione, heads bent over a scatter of reports and supply logs. Parchment rasped beneath their fingers. Ink smudged the edge of Alma’s thumb. They leaned so close their shoulders brushed, her thigh pressed to his as their voices dropped to a murmur. I doubted they even noticed their proximity.
I smothered my smile, though warmth tugged at the corner of my mouth as my handmaidens readied my things. “The black one.”
Kallias glanced toward the gown Freya tucked into the trunk, pitch-colored silk threaded with gold along the bodice.
The journey would be swift and punishing, a mirror of our mad dash from Mon. Freya would ride with me while Edith stayed behind.
She had argued in her restrained way, pressing her palms together, chin lifted in polite defiance. No queen should travel without a midwife—not in my condition. I refused her. Yearsweighed on her bones, and the road to Phares would show little mercy. Besides, it was too soon to know whether my body would carry this child to term. If that loss came, it wouldn’t be from saddle or strain.
A painful ache squeezed my chest at the thought. What if I lost the babe? Guilt coiled low in my gut. Sea beneath, it would crush Kallias. He’d never admit it, but hope frightened him more than war ever had. His voice always lowered when he spoke of a family, gaze searching for listening ears. He chose every word with care, barely mentioning ‘babe’ or ‘child’ outside of whispers in my ear.
Enough. I couldn’t dwell on it. Whatever happened, the gods would shoulder what they willed.
A gasp snapped my focus back to the room. Alma jerked upright, cheeks aflame as she eased away from Fallione. He blinked, rubbing the nape of his neck before shifting a careful inch to the side. She nudged her spectacles up and gathered her papers into a neat stack, stealing a glance at me.
Caught.
I hid my smile with another command. “The dark boots. One pair will suffice,” I said, keeping my tone neutral as Freya folded the leather with a soft thud.
Fallione might have been older, but he was sweet and kind. Loyal, too. If Alma entrusted her heart there, she would not be mishandled.
Still, that was a matter for matchmakers. Not queens.
“It will be a hard ride to Phares,” Kallias said, rolling a tunic tight before slipping it into his pack. “Then we head east.”
“If he lingered in the villages before heading for the Craggs, we can overtake him,” Fallione replied, tapping a marked route on the map.
“We have dragons. Why not send Erwin and Artorious ahead to scout?” I lowered the book resting in my lap, the leather cool beneath my palm.
“Their presence could drive him deeper into hiding.” Kallias shook his head. “I can’t afford to lose any advantage.”
“Artorious can climb high enough to pass as any speck against the clouds. Unless you fear he will descend and burn the traitor where he stands.”
A faint crease formed between my husband’s brows. “While I have every faith in your authority over your dragons—I’d rather they stay with us. They must land eventually, and Radaan is not prepared for beasts dropping from the sky without warning.”
“Then we ride to Phares first. After that, they scout ahead.” I held his gaze. Dragons were not ornaments. They were power. Why have them if we weren’t going to use them? Because he didn’t trust them, and worried over the damage they might cause? It would take time, but he would learn to wield them. That was part of why he married me. I understood my hatchmates. They were mine as much as I was theirs.
He paused, tunic half folded. “They do not engage. They do not land. Scouting only.”
“Agreed.”
Greaves released a low snort that sounded suspiciously amused before he resumed his packing.
