Dragonfire seared the earth, leaving scorch marks gouged into the fields. Our horses snorted at charred patches of grass that still smoldered. Dragons circled high above, watchful as we crossed the last sloping hill.
Reem appeared ahead, shimmering like a gem under the midday sun. The outer villages stood stark against the walls, yet the massive gates remained open, welcoming us in.
Kallias’ mantle gleamed with the same warm glow, a reminder he hadn’t come to fight those who would accept him in peace. He wasn’t taking Reem by force. He was usurping a traitor.
Still, his hand curled around his spear. He would protect what was his.
No celebration greeted us. No cries of joy for a king returned. Dust rose beneath our horses’ hooves on the hard-packed road as men and women bowed, voices murmuring thanks and blessings. Children lingered behind doors and gates, faces caught between shy smiles and wide eyes edged with fear.
Radaan’s way of life—Reem most of all—had been torn apart. Time would be needed for the people to settle, to trust that Kallias would care for them. We still had no idea how many Velli hid among them. Weeks, perhaps months, would pass before Tallon’s rot was fully unearthed and undone.
Beyond the mighty wall, the crowd loosened. Citizens lined the streets, some scattering petals along the path.
We rode abreast toward the courtyard where Gyrak waited. The horses pricked their ears, steps quickening. My mare worked the bit, metal clicking against her teeth, and I held my posture steady, determined to appear more adept at riding than I was. The dragons still made them uneasy.
Kallias reined in as we entered the courtyard, keeping a careful distance. We dismounted, and he passed his spear to a boy, then surveyed the space. It looked much as it had when Ronan flew me to Draconia. One overturned pot lay near Gyrak’s massive form, but little else showed disturbance.
A line of men knelt before the dragon, their hands bound. Claus stood beside them with three more Threshers. One struck me with a painful twist of recognition.
“Lynx.”
The big man dipped his head—a great acknowledgment from him.
“Who are these people?” Kallias demanded, extending his arm for me.
“They are traitors, my king,” Claus said, his hand resting on his sword. “They are those who surrendered as we swept the Golden Palace.”
Which meant those who hadn’t ceded were dead.
Their heads hung, shoulders curved inward. None dared to speak or meet their king’s gaze. They waited in silence for mercy or death.
“Those who surrender to my coming shall be granted a fair trial,” Kallias declared, his voice ringing across the courtyard. “Those who refuse will be slain on sight. I expect each to swear fealty to me and Queen Nienna the Dragon’s Heart before judgment is passed.”
Fallione and Greaves followed as we crossed the expanse. Tsunami dropped, attempting to land, and her shadow sent the horses into chaos. One rebel screamed, throwing himself flat against the ground. Gyrak snarled, defending his space, then drove her back into the air with a snap of his teeth. She shrieked in fury, wings beating hard, forming clouds of dust and debris.
Inside the palace, the wooden doors clanged shut at our backs, and an eerie stillness filled the halls; the unsettling hush of staff walking on eggshells.
“My king,” Fallione murmured. “May I advise that Queen Nienna be taken to her rooms without delay?”
I frowned, glancing up at Kallias. I would follow where he led, rest when he did. There was no way I’d be tucked away until everything was pretty and suitable for a lady.
“The palace hasn’t been cleaned,” he rumbled.
“I go where you go,” I said, prodding gently.
Tallon’s damage belonged to both of us. I refused to let him shoulder it alone.
His gaze lingered on my face. “The bodies remain.”
“I would view the demise of those who supported that traitor,” I replied. “They don’t deserve closure, but their fate deserves to be witnessed.”
His jaw tightened, muscle flexing beneath the skin. Neither of us wanted this.
“And I’d like to see the heirs with my own eyes,” I added, squeezing his arm. “I need to know they’re safe.”
Kallias inclined his head. “So be it.”
The King of Radaan led me through his palace; once lush with climbing vines reaching toward high windows, now it lay in ruin. Shattered vases littered the floor. Paintings hung torn and crooked. Tapestries bore scorch marks, edges blackened. Blood streaked the sandstone walls.
