“She’ll seek to secure Lon for her daughter,” Kallias said, calm and calculating. “Prove herself trustworthy and earn my favor.”
“She knows we intend Elwood to rule until we settle in the capital. I expect she will try to sway you to her cause.”
“Was she loyal to Tallon?” I asked, remembering her pale, fearful expression. “Or merely afraid for her child?”
“The only reason Mai remained here instead of being locked away in Reem is that Tallon already had Lon’s support. Do we suspect Sarai would betray her husband?” Kallias shook his head, glancing at Greaves.
“They were inseparable at court.” His guard shrugged—always observing, catching the smallest detail.
Fallione sighed, raking a hand through gray hair. “My advice is to hear her. Lon desires stability. They will follow, but we cannot forget it was divided. Elwood has proved loyal. He opposed Kai—so much that he ended up in prison. Balance may serve better than forcing obedience.”
“The city will stand with us,” Greaves muttered, hooded eyes on Kallias.
Could we trust Lon not to side with Tallon? A misstep could trap us like a fish in a crab’s claw.
Silence settled. My husband stared at the floor, a muscle twitching beneath his jaw.
Freya adjusted my hair and fastened my boots, making a quiet circuit before I dismissed her.
“I will hear her,” Kallias said, lifting his gaze to mine. “For Mai’s sake, I owe her that.”
We moved through silent halls, servants darting out of sight as we passed. Smoke clung to the white walls, acrid and persistent. Dragonfire had that effect. It would take weeks before the sharp smell faded—but the people would never forget the horror of fire raining from a cloudless sky.
I flexed my hand against Kallias’ forearm, offering a tight smile. My impression of Sarai had been brief, but her concern had centered on her daughter. She hadn’t lingered when Iescorted her to the rooms—not while her husband’s blood still stained my dress. Even amid Kai’s terror, her attention remained on the child. When she carried the girl away, her wide eyes betrayed no tears, only determination.
The dining hall stretched before us, the table crowded with food. Guests rose as we entered, their stares tracking to our seats at the head.
Greaves took his place behind Kallias. Fallione settled to his left. To my right, a young man with dark hair met my gaze. A crooked nose, a stitched gash across his brow, bruises shadowed beneath his eyes.
He offered a wry smile, lifting a hand to his face. “Good evening, Your Majesties. I apologize for my appearance.”
“Your loyalty to Radaan requires no apology,” Kallias replied, settling into his chair, his attention sliding toward Sarai beyond him. “Thank you, Elwood of Lon. I expect there are others in the city like you.”
The widow beside him sat pale and taut. A corner of her mouth twitched in a failed smile, and her gaze dropped to the empty plate before her.
“Lon supports her true king,” Elwood said as we all sat. “Those denying the King of the Plentiful Plains and his queen, the Dragon’s Heart, reside in the prisons to face trial for treason.”
“Sir Elwood is correct, Your Majesty,” Sarai agreed. “Not everyone supported the coup. Only a tyrant would condemn the good with the wicked.”
“Yet how would we know the righteous if they never stood?” I asked, keeping my tone soft. “Elwood bears the marks of his loyalty.”
Her kindness and compassion meant nothing here. Lon needed a leader willing to oppose those who would attack Kallias. Tolerance alone would only repeat the battle.
“Some marks cannot be seen with the naked eye,” she murmured, eyes fixed on her plate.
Kallias placed a hand over mine—a silent warning not to press her. “Conversations are more cordial when bellies are full.”
“Agreed. Please bring the meal.” I squeezed his finger and nodded toward the servants lining the wall.
Radaan’s food would always astonish me. Draconis meals were nourishing, salty, plain. Radaan’s were decadent. Butter and thick cream slicked every dish. Bread aromas drifted in endless swirls. Roasted vegetables glistened beside cuts of beef, all drenched in rich gravy.
One day, I might crave the briny pate of home, spread thin over a cracker—but not tonight.
The meal passed with little to note—quiet, polite conversation and the clink of cutlery against porcelain.
“–and we are grateful you returned!” Elwood’s voice followed Fallione’s commentary on our travels.
“I would not abandon my people.” Kallias dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, leaning back as a servant took his place. “Kahve, please.”
