I was King of Radaan. Her crime belonged to my people as much as to me. They would witness her end.
I released her.
She recoiled at once, curling onto her side, hands tangling in her hair as she sobbed.
“Lock her up.”
I turned my back and strode from the room. One head of the snake had fallen—but two remained.
Chapter Forty-One
Nienna
He saw me.
Guarded cornflower-blue eyes locked on mine through the smoke and across the distance, fury flaring so bright it felt physical, a strike to the sternum. Anger lit that stare, banked rage waiting for release. Even Gyrak sensed it. The great dragon’s chest vibrated beneath us, a low warning rumble rolling through muscle and bone into my spine.
Then he vanished. Swallowed by stone, by shadow, by the chaos below.
“Brace yourself!” Ronan shouted.
His arm shoved me forward just as Gyrak launched. The force snapped my teeth together. Air dropped away beneath us, the ground tilting as wings beat once, twice, hard enough to jolt my lungs. I clutched the worn leather of the saddle, and my brother’s hold locked around my middle, crushing, unyielding. Pain flared along my ribs. If he squeezed any harder, something would splinter.
Wind roared in my ears as we caught an updraft. Gyrak banked away from the mountain, vast wings slicing through cold currents. Below, the army fractured with startling precision. Cavalry split from infantry in a rolling surge, metal flashing, hooves striking sparks from stone as they charged toward the mountain path we had carved open. They would follow Kallias through the manor and take the hidden route to Sol.
Nothing about it would be easy. We were dividing our strength, daring fate to exploit the fracture. A war fought on two fronts devoured men whole. Still, if we cut into the Heart of Sol and ruptured it from within, victory was possible.
Breon streaked past in a blur of green, small compared to Gyrak yet brilliant as a shard of emerald glass. He angled toward the city, releasing a questioning trill that sliced through the wind. Nakos flattened along his back, fingers hooked into harness straps, dark hair plastered to his skull.
“Let him test the ballista!” Ronan called, voice ragged against the gale. “If he finds one, we can take it!”
“No!” I twisted, the motion clumsy in the saddle. My head cracked against Ronan’s jaw. He grunted. “Don’t risk the dragons!”
“Let him go, Nienna. Trust me!”
Gyrak’s wings stretched wide, catching a smoother current. The rhythm of his glide steadied my pulse. Ahead, Breon’s scales caught the light, flashing green and black. He chirped again, questioning, before adjusting to the undercurrent and leveling out.
He was the fastest. The lightest. Agile enough to turn within his own shadow. He could bait the weapons and drop clear before the bolts struck, unless another lay hidden beyond sight. Kallias had been clear. He did not want the dragons drawn close to the city walls. He understood what their fall would cost. To thepeople, the beasts were invincible. Untouchable. If any of them fell from the sky, faith would fracture like glass under a hammer.
Ronan understood them in a way no one else did. He felt each shift of wing, each change in breath. He would not gamble them without cause. They were not beasts to him. They were blood—his friends, his family.
I tasted copper where I’d bitten my lip. Kallias would hold me responsible if this failed. “Make it worth it.”
Ronan’s grip eased by a fraction, his relief evident by the way he relaxed against my back. Beneath us, Gyrak released a sharp chuff and jerked his head toward Sol, smoke smearing the skyline. Breon answered with a bright squeal and shot forward, wings tucking tight to his sides. His wingbeats shortened, quick and precise. His tail lashed in controlled snaps to guide his course.
Approval rolled from Gyrak’s chest, a deep vibration against my thighs. He climbed higher, granting me a clearer vantage point. The air thinned and cooled. From above, Sol spread wide and pale, its terraces layered like carved bone.
Breon arced toward the outer districts. At first, I saw nothing but scattered motion. Then it sharpened. Tiny clusters of soldiers converged on specific points, abandoning their patrol patterns. On a higher platform, another group did the same, rushing to gather in tight knots.
They were swarming to their weapons.
Wind tore at my hair, strands lashing across my mouth. I pushed them aside and felt my lips curve. Pride bloomed, fierce and bright, at my brother’s calculation. He had forced their hand without firing a single bolt.
Gyrak clicked, the sound almost conversational. Satisfaction colored the note, dry and knowing, as though he had predicted this from the start. His massive head tilted, tracking each surge below. He was mapping them, committing every franticmovement to memory. Soon we would send our men to dismantle those engines piece by piece, ripping the teeth from Sol’s walls.
Below us, the city braced.
Above it, we watched.
