Page 30 of Between Flames and Deceit (Dragon’s Heart Duology #1)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Kallias

C lay had that look about him. The kind that said he was up to no good.

“I have bred moon-spotted Kuh’lir,” he announced, his tone as proud as if he’d discovered a treasure.

Lounging in a deep chair, ankle resting on my knee, I felt a rare sense of peace settle over me. It had been too long since I last visited Clay’s manor. This sanctuary, with its stillness and the faint scent of aged wood and books, was a reprieve from the world outside.

I swirled the spiked cider in my mug, watching the liquid catch the light. “You have spotted goats,” I said, each word deliberate, as if speaking them aloud might make them sound less ridiculous.

Clay was particular about who he allowed in his home. He’d sooner house Tallon and Egath in the city than let their chaos touch his manor. Years spent tending wounded soldiers left him polite yet stubborn. He couldn’t be bothered with dramatics or being forced around people he didn’t care for.

And we were friends, so when he leaned forward, a boyish grin tugging at his lips, I scoffed but gestured for him to continue.

“ Moon spots,” he said, emphasizing the words like they were sacred. “They’ve only been seen in wild herds. Remember Stormcloud, the buck we caught last spring? He’s already sired his first batch of kids. Those marvelous speckles are a unique hair variation—”

He launched into an enthusiastic monologue about goat genetics. I let his words wash over me as I tipped my head back against the cushion, my eyes drifting shut .

What room would they give Nienna? Not that I intended to visit her chambers, aside from escorting her if needed. Clay’s minimal staff would handle such tasks, and the Sols were more than capable of attending her.

She would want a balcony. I cursed myself for not mentioning it earlier. Nienna belonged to the sky. She thrived in open spaces, where the wind kissed her skin and freedom called to her. My stomach twisted at the thought of her leaning too far over the edge. She’d been raised atop the Spire, where heights were second nature, but this wasn’t home. No dragons waited below to catch her should she fall.

Still, this manor could offer her its own kind of comfort. The stone walls held a quiet warmth, their surface worn smooth by time and care. It was a place that embraced its visitors, offering peace to those willing to let it in. She would find solace here. I was sure of it.

If they placed her in a western-facing room, she’d have a view of the sunset. I could picture the warm glow casting her in gold, setting her hair aflame. The light would wrap around her, softening every dip and curve. Her lips would glisten, tempting me—

My eyes snapped open. Clay stood by the towering bookcases, rifling through a shelf until he pulled a leather-bound volume free.

“Wouldn’t it be harder to dye the hair of spotted goats?” I asked, grasping at the thread of his earlier ramblings. “The colors wouldn’t take evenly.”

Clay whirled around, clutching the book to his chest with theatrical flair. “Kallias, you wound me!” He staggered toward a chair and collapsed into it with mock despair. “Wool is for dyeing. The hair of the Kuh’lir is for weaving. The natural patterns are prized art! Not something to tamper with!”

I sipped my cider, relishing the fiery warmth as it slid down my throat. “No dyeing then?”

He glared at me.

A low chuckle escaped me. I waved at his book. “Fine. Go on.”

Clay perked up, flipping through the pages with zeal. “Now, long-haired Kuh’lir come from the northern herds, but I’ve heard whispers of a herd with curls! Can you imagine it?”

I lifted the mug again, hiding my grin behind the rim. Clay’s passion was contagious, even when it was about goats.

“You look ready to face an army alone,” I said, scoffing as Greaves shrugged into yet another belt of throwing knives. He slung it across his chest like a bandolier, the leather taut against his frame. My arms folded as I studied his absurd array of weaponry.

Blades peeked from every piece of clothing. How he managed to move without the clattering of a blacksmith’s workshop was beyond me.

A hilt jutted from each boot, and the three curved knives strapped to his thigh gleamed in the firelight. At his waist hung a short sword, two daggers, and a throwing hatchet. Another pair rested at the small of his back, while ten more projectiles gleamed from the leather strap stretched across his chest. A longsword perched over his shoulder, its handle worn from use.

He adjusted the belt with practiced ease, revealing the glint of two blades at his wrists. I knew he had at least three more hidden beneath his clothing.

And that didn’t even account for the poisons tucked among his garments.

“A man can never have too many weapons,” he grunted, the words gruff but laced with satisfaction.

“Clay might disagree. Your arsenal’s an insult to his security.”

He smirked, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that made him look younger. “I bet your girl will be wearing her blade tonight.”

The shift of my feet betrayed my unease. My girl? Nienna wasn’t mine. But I knew she’d wear my dagger tonight, and my thoughts wandered to where she might conceal it.

Unlike Greaves, my attire was understated—far removed from palace formality. The weight of my usual mantle was absent. I wore a simple tunic beneath a green overcoat, with black trousers tucked into worn riding boots. No jewelry adorned me besides my signet ring. My sole weapon, a dagger, rested at my hip. I wouldn’t wear a sword in my friend’s home.

“She needs to know how to use that blade,” Greaves said, cutting into my thoughts. “Wearing it out is enough to deter some fools, but if anyone presses, they’ll realize she only knows which end to point at people.”

“And who should teach her?” I sighed, running a hand through my damp hair. The baths here left much to be desired, but I refused to show up to dinner reeking of horse.

“Jerek, of course,” he said, referring to the palace blade master. “But let’s not pretend you’ll let him. You’ll teach her yourself.”

“If she wants to learn, Jerek can handle it. Why would I interfere?” Turning on my heel, I strode toward the exit, already dreading what I knew was coming.

“Because you can’t seem to pass up an opportunity to touch her,” Greaves said, his laugh following me like a taunt.

My teeth clenched, and I grabbed the handle, yanking it open before stepping into the hall, not bothering to wait for him.

The thick carpet muffled my footsteps as I stormed down the corridor, irritation flaring hotter with every step. His words stung because they were true .

Whenever she was near me, I had to fight the urge to touch her. When something was said, I wanted to look at her and gauge her interest, figure out what her mind was thinking behind those dark eyes. When a joke was told, I found myself turning to see if she found it amusing. It was maddening, this pull she had on me. And I hated how easily Greaves saw through it.

I kept my composure, masking the distraction she caused, but it was a tenuous hold. My interest in her was a dangerous indulgence. She was off-limits.

Anyone could claim it stemmed from my years of celibacy since Tallon’s birth, but it went deeper than that. I encountered beautiful women before—stunning, graceful, magnetic—yet none of them were Nienna.

She saw the world through a lens few others shared. Duty didn’t frighten her; it shaped her. Despite her hatred for Tallon, she would marry him—an act driven not by choice, but by necessity, to save her people. The weight of that sacrifice was evident in her eyes, yet she carried it with a quiet strength.

More than a mere figurehead, she was the lifeblood of her land, a living symbol of Veridis. Her passion surged when she demanded what she desired, even if it defied the rules. Still, beneath that fire, there was a tenderness—she cared enough to ask about my faith, her curiosity genuine, as though each question was a bridge between our worlds.

My blood sang at the way she looked at me when I told her about my god. And when she asked about the painting of the Celebration of Life? Elohios himself was testing my restraint. I knew in my bones if she were queen, she would take that role and embrace it.

I clenched my fists as I walked.

Those weren’t safe thoughts.

The corridors of the Manor in the Mountains mirrored the grandeur of the palace, yet they carried a warmth the royal halls never could. I knew every turn and alcove as if they were etched into my memory. During the war, when rare moments of peace arose, Sol offered refuge. It lacked Eldeiade’s venomous existence, and in many ways, it was more like home than Reem itself.

A sanctuary. A safe haven.

Nienna’s presence here felt natural, as if this place had been waiting for her. After everything she’d endured, she deserved somewhere that offered both freedom and security. The manor’s defenses were nearly impenetrable—though not for the Kuh’lir.

On several occasions, we’d found the goats roaming the manor. How they slipped past the barriers remained a mystery. Since Clay denied sneaking them inside, windows seemed the most likely culprit.

The savory scent of roasted meat, spiced pastries, and herbs pulled me toward the staff kitchen. The room’s warmth embraced me as I entered, the crackle of a smoldering hearth mingling with the soft hum of activity. It was a cozy space, designed for function yet inviting with its worn oak table and the glow of brass lanterns.

“My king!” Will, the old cook, called out, his booming voice echoing over the clang of ladles against pots. His rotund frame shifted as he turned to bow, the aroma of gravy wafting from the platter he carried.

Clay sat nearby, a thick book spread open before him, his focus buried in diagrams. “Gayle’s fetching the princess,” he murmured, flipping a page.

I glanced at the table, noting an odd number of chairs. “You’re one short.”

“Bernard.” Will’s hands slowed as his face darkened with sorrow. “He didn’t make it through the winter. Caught the yellow fever, he did, and couldn’t shake it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that—what of his family?”

Clay flipped a page and adjusted the lantern to peer at the book. “We’re seeing to their needs. His wife receives his pay, and his sons are apprenticed. One’s married now, with a child on the way.”

“You honor them,” I said, settling into a chair. Clay’s dedication to his community was admirable, the kind of stewardship others could learn from. He didn’t merely care in words—he ensured their well-being.

“My people are good to me,” he replied, though his attention had already drifted back to the pages.

“Master Claydon’sol is mighty good to us,” Will praised, setting out the food. “We would be blessed if his daughter returned to the manor and continued his kindness.”

Clay slid a ribbon into his book, meeting my gaze. “About that–”

The door swung open, and a trio of figures entered. Gayle led them, her movements brisk, while Poppy trailed behind. But it was the woman in the middle that stole the breath from my lungs.

Nienna.

Golden hair, wrapped in a loose braid, framed her face in soft waves, wisps falling against bare shoulders. Her blue dress stretched across her chest to her arms, revealing a swath of creamy skin and a collarbone that flexed with tension. The dress was long, draping down her curves, but simple in structure.

There weren’t any slits.

Where was her blade? Was it under all that fabric?

I straightened, warmth prickling at the back of my neck. The room felt hotter, the hearth’s glow too intense. Clearing my throat, I gestured to the table. “Princess, Gayle’sol, Poppy.”

The young woman giggled, darting behind Nienna, whose cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. Her gaze swept over me, lingering just long enough to tighten something in my chest. When her teeth caught her lip, I swallowed hard, tugging at the neck of my tunic .

“Tipo and Ken?” I asked, sliding the chair to my left out for Nienna.

“The lad will show up soon,” Clay replied, pulling seats out for the other women. “Ken has dinner with his family now. They just had twins.”

“Girls!” Gayle chimed in, her smile radiant. “They’ll have their hands full if the babes take after their mother’s looks.”

“The climb’s too much for them these days, so Ken takes their meal down the mountain,” Will added, setting a platter of fresh bread in the center of the table.

Nienna eased into her seat, and I nudged the chair closer for her. The brief brush of her shoulder sent a current through me. My fingers itched to skim over her skin, but I locked them at my sides.

She twisted to grin up at me and I almost pulled her into my arms then. Her eyes sparkled with ease, her laughter weaving into Gayle and Poppy’s chatter. They’d made her feel at home—safe, wanted, loved. Any doubts I’d harbored vanished.

Greaves claimed the chair on Nienna’s other side, Will taking the one next to him. Only the spot beside Poppy remained unfilled, a plate resting in front of it, waiting.

The last time I’d seen Tipo, he’d been a wiry lad with wild hair, more interested in chasing the mountain hounds than learning to train them.

As I reached for the basket of bread, its scent—yeasty and rich—mingled with the steam curling from the loaves. “Are the rooms to your liking?” I asked, breaking one open to release the heat.

Nienna brightened. “They’re beautiful! I love the ceiling! Who thought to add mirrors up there?”

“It makes the room seem bigger,” Gayle answered as Will carved the roast. “The mirror makers toss out broken glass. Such a waste! We gathered the shards and used them here.”

Across the table, Clay barely looked up from his book. “They sat in a heap for months,” he muttered.

His wife elbowed him, sparking giggles from Nienna and Poppy.

Plates filled with roasted meat, warm bread, and spiced mead as conversation flowed, lively and unhurried. Between Gayle’s cheer and Nienna’s ease, the room pulsed with camaraderie.

“You were raised up there? So high?” Gayle asked, a hand to her chest as though steadying herself.

“I’d wager it’s no taller than your mountain,” Nienna teased, her eyes glinting. The casual tone—a reference to wagering like a commoner—hinted at her comfort. “And my mother stayed with me. My father took me on my first dragon flight when I was a few months old.”

Poppy leaned over her plate. “What’s it like? ”

Nienna paused, as if searching for words. “Flying is… freedom. It steals your breath—you have to time it with the dragon’s rhythm. But with them, you can go anywhere. They can fly for days straight, and nothing can defeat them, so there’s no fear of being hurt. Besides, dragons don’t let their riders fall.”

“Have any ever fallen?” Will asked, stabbing a chunk of beef.

“They train for it—practice jumping off.”

Clay’s fork froze mid-air, a piece of meat dangling forgotten. “They practice jumping?”

“They can’t fear falling. So they face it by jumping.” Nienna laughed, leaning back. “For a Rider, trust is everything.”

Will nodded, spearing a potato. “Same with a kingdom. We trust King Kallias, would give our lives for him, because he earned it.”

“More than that, he’s won our loyalty,” Clay added. “Seventeen years of war, and he refused to surrender to treaty demands. No other monarch would have endured that.”

“How many dragons does Draconia have?” I asked, steering the conversation back to Nienna.

“Sixteen,” she answered. “Though one, Tsunami, remains wild. So, fifteen with riders.”

The number hit harder than I expected. “And you’ve offered five for Radaan?” A third of their fleet—marriage alliance or not—was a staggering demand.

“Ten dragons can defend Draconia,” she replied, her gaze steady. “What could possibly challenge even one dragon?”

I pressed my lips together. Fair point.

"Dragons?!” The kitchen door slammed open, rattling the room.

Gayle clutched her chest, Clay’s book fumbled from his grasp, and Greaves had a blade drawn before I could blink.

The boy had gone through a growth spurt, all awkward limbs that tangled as he dropped into the chair beside Poppy. His knees banged against the table, and she hid a smile as she scooted closer.

Tipo’s parents had perished in the war, their village consumed by the chaos of battle. Afterward, he was taken in at Sol, the nearest safe haven, and grew up under Clay’s roof. Though still young, his skill with the hounds bordered on prodigious—a talent sharpened by years of instinct and an unyielding bond with the creatures.

With a sheepish shrug, he swept a messy mop of hair from his eyes and reached for the bread.

“Tipo!” Gayle’s sharp cry rang out as Will whisked the basket out of reach .

“What?” He froze, yanking his hand away as though the loaf had scorched him. “Spot chased a fox again! That’s why I’m late! Had to track him halfway down the mountain.”

Greaves settled in his seat, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, pulling the boy’s gaze like a magnet. With growing alarm, Tipo’s attention snapped from him to me.

His chair clattered to the floor as he shot to his feet, cursing under his breath. He stumbled into a hasty bow, but the movement was so rushed his forehead smacked against the table’s edge.

“Sea beneath!” Nienna sprang to her feet, her voice sharp with concern. “Are you all right?”

“My king!” Tipo straightened, rubbing the rising welt on his forehead. “My apologies! And… who’s this?” He squinted through unruly red curls, his gaze settling on Nienna.

“Nienna.” She laughed, easing back into her seat, assured he wasn’t injured.

“ Princess Nienna of Draconia,” I clarified.

His jaw dropped as though the floor disappeared beneath him. He fumbled to sit again, only to stumble when it wasn’t there.

A swift kick to my shin pulled my focus to Nienna. Her lips pressed into a tight line to match her glare. Apparently, announcing her title had been the wrong move.

“A princess!” Tipo scrambled to right his chair, awe wiping the confusion from his face. “So… you’re the one with dragons?”

“Aye,” Will grumbled, shoving the basket of bread toward the boy. “We were discussing their numbers before you barged in.”

“How many are there?” Tipo demanded, his attention bouncing back to me.

“Sixteen on the island, though only fifteen have riders.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

Nienna froze, her fingers tightening on the edge of her plate. Her brows pulled into a sharp V . “Nothing. Why would you ask that?”

“Ah, must be a predator thing,” he offered, his words rushing to fill the silence. “You know, they have fewer babies to keep the balance. How many eggs do they lay?”

“Several,” Nienna replied.

“And the matings?” He leaned forward, his curiosity sparking again. “Like eagles, right? Maybe the males aren’t inside–”

Clay’s book snapped shut with a resounding thud, startling the boy into silence. “Mind your speech, lad!”

“I was only trying to help!” Tipo grumbled, tearing into a piece of bread with his teeth, his voice muffled .

“To a Draconis, mating is as natural as breathing.” Nienna dipped her chin. “And dragons certainly aren’t subtle about it.”

I rested the toe of my boot against her foot in a silent warning. Her gaze snapped to mine, and I held her stare, my expression stern. Some topics, no matter how common in Draconia, were improper at a Radaanian table.

Such as any discussion of mating.

A faint blush bloomed across her cheeks. My mouth twitched as I fought back a smile, sensing her urge to push further.

Her leg shifted, brushing against mine before looping around it in a quiet, deliberate motion. My jaw tightened as I forced my attention to the plate in front of me, pretending my leg wasn’t tangled with a princess’ underneath the dinner table.