I swung my leg over her back, sliding down her shoulder just before she took off again. Communication with the other riders was impossible while on her. I kept my pace deliberate, controlled, as her tail whipped above my head. The whoosh of dragonfire heralded fresh screams, each one a punctuation of her fury.
Heavy bodies landed beside me, fearsome beasts forming a wall between me and the Velli army.
I strode toward the palace, each footstep unwavering. I would plow through them like an ox just to reach my destination. No more games or politics. No protocol could stay my hand. Not anymore.
This was no longer a fight between kingdoms, confined by the rules of war—it was personal. He had taken my wife.
And he would pay.
A single figure pulled free from the mass, dark hair clashing with pale skin. He staggered with every step, cocky and arrogant, even in the face of his doom.
I didn’t shout. Didn’t wait. Armor jangled with every step, a drumbeat of death—our collision as certain as sunrise.
“That’s far enough,” Tallon called, stopping ten paces away. His sword hung at his hip, but it was the canteen in his hand that jarred me.
I kept walking.
“Father, I said that’s close enough!”
I shook my head, laughter rough and short. “I was never your father.”
His brows lowered, concentration tightening. He lifted the canteen and drank deep.
The hairs on my neck pricked. Was it poison—some kind of vile concoction he meant to spray at me?
He swallowed, then grinned. “Kill him.”
Wails filled the air—not Velli screams of agony, but dragons shrieking in fury.
I twisted just enough to see a claw descending. I threw myself sideways, staggering as the golden paw slammed into the dirt where I had stood.
Orren’s hands braced against his dragon’s neck, face pale. “Run!”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Nienna
“—not an ounce of Draconis blood in him.”
Everything hurt. My back stung as if laid open by hot iron, my skull battered by the invisible fists of a whirlstorm. Even my fingers throbbed, nail beds pulsing with a deep, blunt ache that matched the beat behind my eyes.
“Then he just says, ‘Be right back!’ like I’m a dog to sit and stay.”
Wind slid over my bare feet, cool against torn skin, carrying the copper scent of blood and ash. A dragon-sized snort rolled through the clearing.
Air scraped into my lungs in a staggered pull. The sky above burned too bright. My arm rose to shield my face, instinct over sense, and pain ripped through my muscles. A groan tore free before I could swallow it.
“Rest, Nienna. I’ve got you.” My brother’s voice sharpened, his thigh shifting beneath my head, fabric warm and solid against my cheek.
“Kal-lias?” My lips were split and chafed. My tongue felt swollen, throat scraped raw. Water. I needed water. And something to quiet the hammering inside my skull.
“Gone—back to the palace. He’ll return after he burns it to the ground.”
Deimos was dead.
My heart stumbled, catching hard against my ribs. The previous night flashed sharp and fractured. Egath was dead. But Tallon still lived. For the first time, Kallias chased someone with the intent to kill instead of waiting for an enemy to step into his reach.
Sunlight pierced through my heavy eyelids, spearing the back of my brain. Gyrak lowered his massive head over me, blotting out the glare. Shadow washed cool across my face, and I sank against Ronan. The great black huffed, breath hot and sulfur-sweet, sniffing at my clothes until the hem of someone’s tunic brushed my thighs.
