Tallon had replaced the nation’s colors. Defiled them. Twisted them into something false.
Heat flushed my cheeks, though beside me, Kallias did not move. He remained carved from stone, discipline etched intoevery line. Greaves mirrored him from behind, both locked forward, unyielding. As I should’ve been. I set my jaw and drew my shoulders back. Gilded scales shifted over my gown, scattering sunlight in subtle flashes.
Two riders broke from Lon’s ranks, their red standard advancing with them.
Cool air filled my lungs as we rode out to meet them. King. Queen. Kingsguard. Advisor. The true colors of Radaan lifted between us.
We slowed on the plain, halting close enough for me to see the brown of the banner bearer’s eyes. Both men wore traditional plate, though the lead rider draped red along his bay’s flank.
“Hail!” he called. No title.
An insult.
“You bar the path of your king.” Kallias’ voice cracked across the field, sharp as a drawn blade.
The man scowled. “Kai of Lon denies you passage.” He shifted in his saddle, arm resting against his horse in false ease. “You have abandoned your people.”
“I am Chosen of the Gods. Blessed by Elohios.” Kallias dismissed the barb. “I demand entry.”
“You are denied. Lon does not answer to a man leashed by a woman who–”
Steel sang.
In the space of a breath, Kallias’ spear leveled at the man’s throat. “Lower that blasphemous flag.”
“Or?”
The banner bearer paled, mouth pressed thin. Terror flickered, but fear would not save him. Obedience might.
“Radaan has no place for traitors beneath her skies.” Kallias spoke with measured calm, as if the outcome had never been in doubt. “Her grain will not feed rebellious mouths.”
This soldier, whatever name or rank he once held, mattered little. Honor traded for defiance carried no weight.
This began with me. From the beginning, this mess was my fault. Borne of want, of choice. The very second we were discovered and my brother snatched me away…
Kallias leaving his nation was my guilt to bear.
But I was not only a burden.
“Her waters will not quench the fire that will consume you.” My voice cut clean, chin lifted, spine locked in steel.
Confusion flickered across the soldier’s face—then his horse spooked and reared.
Gyrak hit the ground with a thunderous crash, hurling clods of earth as if they were nothing more than plumes of dust. His tail lashed, teeth bared in a promise of death as a bone-rattling snarl tore from his chest.
Our horses danced beneath us. Lon’s did not. Instead, they reared and screamed, the banner tumbling free as the smaller mount bucked hard enough to throw the plated soldier to the ground.
The messenger wrestled his horse under control, hauling back on the reins, sawing at the tender corners of its mouth. “Lon will not accept a cuckold king!”
“Burn him.”
My order barely carried on the wind, but Gyrak heard. A terrible roar split the air, and even our horses shied before flames poured from his jaws and engulfed man and beast.
The man’s shrieks ended almost as soon as they started, steel turning his armor into a coffin. The burning horse tore across the plain, a streak of living fire carving through the grass.
“Burn them all–”
“Nienna!” Kallias’ rebuke cut into me like a knife, his expression dark.
