He thrashed as I shifted the spear tip beneath his chin. The blade pressed into soft flesh. He kicked at the shaft, trying to shove it away, breath wheezing through his bloody teeth.
“Today you die, Tallon of Vellos. Renounced heir. Traitor to Radaan.”
I released him.
His weight drove him down. The blade punched through his chin and into his brain with a sickening give. His arms dropped to his sides. The body slackened. The spear tip burst through his skull, blood arcing from the wound in a violent spray.
Numbness seeped through me, cold and heavy. It was done. The boy was dead. A strange sense of loss brushed against that truth, thin as smoke. I shoved it aside for another day.
Screams and shouts crashed into my ears, and my awareness snapped to the battlefield. I yanked the spear free, flung Tallon’s body to the ground, and ran toward Nienna’s slumped form.
Grass tore free under my knees as I slid to her, cradling her head. “Nienna. Curse it all, I didn’t rescue you for you to come back!”
Her eyelids fluttered, and a weak curve touched her mouth. “Do I ever listen?”
“Not nearly enough.” I pulled her against my armor, feeling the tremor in her limbs, and scanned the chaos.
Dragons were not made for ground combat. Not against Velli surges that swarmed like fire ants, overwhelming through sheer number.
“Tell those who are bleeding to take to the sky. If a Cruor gets their blood, we’re back where we started.” I used her as my messenger, relief cutting through me when Artorious and Dyre shot upward, wings carving through smoke. “Get Tsunami over here. Gyrak secures our perimeter. Matalino to the eastern flank.”
Orders flowed without effort. Calculation steadied me. From the ground, I anticipated movements, slicing through the enemy’s momentum. Above us, Gyrak galloped past, claws flashing inches from my face, clearing space. Tsunami barreled in after him, jaws wide, leaving a sweeping trail of flame that swallowed Velli whole.
Nienna sagged, struggling to support her own weight. I lifted her, letting her wrap around me, legs locking at my hips, arms tight at my shoulders. Tsunami snarled but flattened herself to the scorched earth. This time I pinned Nienna between my body and the dragon’s scales, hating the way her breath hitched at the pain. Still, she never complained as we took to the sky.
That day, Vellos burned. The palace collapsed into embers. The city hub became a wasteland of flame and falling stone.
Tsunami’s wings beat hard, wind tearing at my hair. Gyrak flew alongside us. The rest of the fleet fanned outward, darkshapes against a bruised sky. In the distance, they swooped low, smoke trailing behind them in thick black ribbons.
Radaan wouldn’t stop with the capital. We’d burn cities, towns, houses—reduce them to skeletons of charcoal. Anything east of the Craggs would feed the fire. Smoke would hang for weeks, dragonfire devouring the land like a starving god.
This marked the end of the kingdom of Vellos and the beginning of a new reign in Radaan.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Nienna
“Iam perfectly capable of walking on my own.” I hissed, though my knees wavered and my weight sagged against the arm braced at my waist.
“Of course you are,” Claydon assured, steady as oak as he guided his wife across the room. “You’re only doing this for our benefit.”
Kallias lounged in a chair, ankle crossed over his knee, boot swaying once before going still. A folded letter rested in his hand. He tried to hide his smirk, shifting to press his fingers over his mouth as if the parchment required deep study.
The healer ignored my protest and bore most of my weight as I limped toward the cushioned chair across from Gayle. Each step tugged at the stitches buried in my thigh. Gayle’sol lowered herself into her own seat, fully capable of walking unassisted. I had watched her bustle through my chambers that morning, brisk and nimble, dusting shelves and snapping linens straight. Still, she took the excuse to lean into her husband’s side, milking the journey for affection.
I would have bitten Kallias if he’d tried the same.
Which was likely why he stayed planted across the room, safely beyond striking distance.
Pain settled deep in my back once I sank into the chair. The seam along my thigh pulled tight, a hot line beneath the bandage. A servant arrived with a carved game board, its surface divided into colored squares worn smooth by years of use. Gayle hummed under her breath, a lilting tune that drifted through the space as she opened a small velvet pouch. Tiny goat figurines spilled into her palm with a soft clatter, their painted horns chipped from past battles.
There were countless matters waiting for me. Stacks of orders. Reports sealed in wax. Messages that required my signature. Yet when Gayle asked me to play, citing her own mental well-being with theatrical gravity, refusal felt cruel.
“Manuella had her kids today,” Clay stated as he lowered himself into the seat beside Kallias.
He rolled his sleeves with a habitual tug, exposing healing scabs and fresh bandages that crossed his forearms. The worst of the Velli brutality had faded to angry pink ridges. His collar stood buttoned to his throat, stiff linen guarding wounds still too vulnerable to be seen.
I knew that shame.
