“Perhaps it’s better they think that,” I mused, watching Tsunami and Dyre bicker before she settled in the center of the field, curling onto her paws.
Gyrak chuffed, irritated by the interruption, then returned to the circling horses.
The women hesitated, but when Tsunami closed her eyes, basking in the sun, they crept forward again, retrieving their paintbrushes from the ground.
I swept my own brush across the canvas, mind drifting as the strokes took shape. One day, I might be brave enough to revisit the sketch of Kallias I’d begun long ago—the one that betrayed my feelings. That would be a gift only I could give him.
A smile tugged at my lips. Eldeiade had painted him as she saw him: a beaten king. I could paint him as I knew him: strong, kind, compassionate, loyal. Every scar, even the newest from the Spire, would be present. It would show his determination, his love.
I bit my lip, scrutinizing the rough shapes forming under my brush, torn between starting anew or continuing. I dabbed yellow in deliberate blotches. This canvas would hang for all to see—but the painting of Kallias as I saw him? That would be for him alone, a gift worthy of a king.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Nienna
The painting consumed my mind, the idea digging into my brain, sinking its claws into me. I barely noticed when Claus pressed closer, a subtle but telling move.
A frown pulled at me as I searched the hall for what had set him on edge—and my gaze landed on Penelope.
“Your Majesty.” Her greeting fell flat, more declaration than welcome.
“Penelope.” I narrowed my eyes and waited for her to bow.
Her lips curved in a condescending smile instead, head tipping a fraction. “I wonder if I might speak with you for a moment?”
Unease slithered through me, warning bells clanging in my skull. I needed to be cautious with her. Kallias already anticipated she’d be a problem, and the red rings beneath her bloodshot eyes confirmed it. Grief clung to her. I hadn’t known her long enough to tell whether she shared Verad’s ideals or had simply loved him without question.
Either way, she was hurting. And therefore—dangerous.
I didn’t have the patience to test her loyalty or offer comfort when she’d been bound so closely to someone who tried to unseat Kallias and steal our kingdom.
“Radaan is at war.” My fingers flexed against my dress as I turned to face her, tension threading through my spine while I lifted my chin. “As your queen, I have little time to spare.”
It was a power play. I knew it. Still, I waited for her move. Would she apologize and offer a proper bow, or retreat like a shark sensing shallow water?
Calculation crossed her face. Then she spread her skirts and sank into a deep curtsy. “Of course, Your Majesty. Please forgive my forwardness.”
“Come,” I said, accepting her apology. “You may walk with me for a moment.”
I would hear her, at least.
“Thank you, my queen.” She hurried to my side, keeping a respectful distance as we moved down the hall. “I only wished to compliment your dragons. They are such fearsome creatures.”
“All the better for dealing punishment to traitors.” A tight smile touched my mouth. “I saw your painting. You captured Dyre’s calm composure quite well. The flowers were a peaceful touch.”
“They aren’t native to this land,” she said. “They grow in the foothills, along the lower ravines. It isn’t proper to place them on a plain when they thrive in frigid shadow, but I wanted to bring a piece of my homeland to them.”
“A rider will be stationed in Gog once Radaan settles,” I told her. “You won’t have to wait long before one stands among your beautiful flowers.”
“Yes.” Her response fell flat. Cold. A reminder that she was still unraveling.
Perhaps I’d been cruel, telling her dragons would reside in her home, but Gog required watching, and consequences followed betrayal.
Her lips formed a smile that never reached her tear-ridden eyes. “I’m quite eager to continue painting them. May I ask which dragon will be bound for Gog?”
I chose my words with care as I turned down another hall. “We haven’t settled on it yet.”
I’d planned to visit the heirs, but something tugged at me, a quiet warning not to bring her anywhere near them. I didn’t trust her. Her ties to her betrothed ensured that, and guilt still twisted in my chest knowing she might never have chosen it. Choice or not, consequences waited all the same.
