I stared at them where they sat beside the basin, soaked with darkened blood. Those had been my good pair. Supple leather, molded to my feet over years. Now ruined.
Frustration flared, and not just from the inconvenience. It wasn’t about the boots. It was about the risk. The narrow margin between life and death.
I reached for my spare pair.
The cot creaked under my weight as I sat and pulled them on, fastening the buckles tight. Only hours ago, I made love to Nienna on this bed. Her breath had warmed my throat. Her nails had pressed crescents into my shoulders. I had compromised, let her coax me into believing I could give in to her demands.
I caught her gaze across the small space.
Nothing in her expression was hidden, heavy as wheat ready for harvest: the set of her jaw, the tightness of her lips, the wrinkle between her brows. She saw the fracture between us as clearly as I did. I had yielded, surrendered to her, knowing the danger. I allowed her to persuade me against my better judgment, and the night nearly claimed her for it.
My body stilled, gaze locked with hers.
I did not look away. I let her see the tension in my face, the grind of my teeth, the weight in my glare. Words would only inflame the wound.
It would not happen again.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Nienna
He didn’t ask me to join him with Fallione. The omission hit like a stone to my chest, a weight I hadn’t anticipated. I sank into the lone chair in our tent, fingers brushing over the smooth fabric of my skirts, staring at my hands while Kallias rattled off war tactics and mapped the siege in precise, methodical strokes.
A simple conversation was all it would take to ease this pressure. A single, honest exchange. It wouldn’t undo the attack or erase the fact that I was a liability on the battlefield, but it could bridge the distance, forge an understanding between us.
Kallias excelled at understanding.
And yet, sitting there, staring at my useless hands, feeling the cold, hard reassurance of Greaves’ dagger at my waist—my last resort—I questioned my own clarity.
I felt discarded. Though in my heart I knew it wasn’t true. He would have asked me to join him if not for his anger. He wouldn’t have refused me outright if I had shown up andclaimed a seat at his side, demanding to be included. But the oversight burned anyway, an ember lodged in my chest.
Frustration coiled, taut and restless, cracking like an avalanche about to tumble. He wouldn’t let me join the siege. I knew it in my bones. I would remain on the plains, nestled safely within the camp, while my brother barked orders from the air. He only required my permission, not my presence—and I would give it without hesitation.
If my dragons had to clear the landing at the top of the mountain pass to the tunnel, he would gladly unleash Gyrak’s fire and incinerate anything in their path. He needed no encouragement.
Ronan.
I straightened in the chair and fixed my gaze on the tent flaps. Of all people, my brother might understand. Kallias, bound by rigid codes and morals, had long been set in his ways; the mantle of leadership had forged him into a man of unyielding habit. But Ronan bore Draconis fire in his veins. No command could quell that flame. No warning could curb his instincts.
Biting my lip, I rose, smoothing the folds of my skirts over my legs. Kallias would undoubtedly erupt in fury if he knew, but perhaps the lesson was worth the risk. I was more than a pawn. More than a queen in name alone.
The clang of armor followed my stride as two soldiers trailed me, announcing every step with boots and metal. For once, I longed for the Threshers. With their eerie silence, I could almost pretend they weren’t there.
The rattling croons and chirps lured me across the camp. The dragons, grounded for guard duty along the southern flank, exuded raw impatience. Irritable growls, the snap of massive jaws, and the scent of scorched earth told me I was near.
Dragons were never meant to be still. They hungered for the sky, for freedom. Even being tempered by their riders, their spirits chafed against their baser instincts. They needed space.
I paused at the edge of the camp, admiring the beasts nestled in the shallow valley. Muscles coiled beneath scaled hides, wings flexing with quiet frustration. Tsunami swept toward me, nostrils flaring, sensing my approach. Of course Kallias set the riders’ tents at the edge of camp—a single line of humanity between beast and man.
A tent flap swung aside, and Ronan’s head poked out, his leathers half-fastened, goggles missing.
“Nienna?”
Without a word, I ducked inside and claimed the bed, fingers brushing over the thick, uneven wool of the blanket Mother had knitted. Loose threads curled beneath my touch, gaps in blue and green showing the human rhythm of imperfection. She had taken up the hobby while pregnant with him, determined to craft a prince’s blanket, only to abandon the task once finished, declaring knitting a curse.
“We’re attacking tomorrow.”
Ronan let the canvas flap drop back into place. His chin tilted down as he studied me, eyes flicking with that mix of mischief and weightless judgment. “You ventured across camp just to tell me that?”
