I shut my eyes. My heart cleaved. He hated Kallias—but he was safely on the other side of the sea. Father had come to offer peace. A truce. He came tometo reconcile.
He was my father. My family. And I had walked in like a storm, torn open the court with truth and grief, thrown my word against my brother’s, confessed love for a man I should never have touched. I shattered a blood oath and expected him to welcome me with open arms.
Nothing about this was fair.
His strong arm wrapped around me, tugging me against his strength. A sob tore loose as I crumpled into him, resting my head on his shoulder.
Solid. Steady. Safe.
He was still my father—my home.
Chapter Nine
The next morning brought worse news. The Innaku were sailing home, pulling every one of their people from our island.
We ate a meager breakfast. Tension crackled between my father and me, frayed further by the steady stream of messenger doves and Chief Jehoikim’s demands for answers.
If he didn’t back off, Argos might eat him.
I ended up in the soup kitchen again, sleeves rolled, ladle in hand beside Freya and Miral. Together we fed the crowd—our people—though a hush hung over them, a shadow of grief clinging to their shoulders. The cries of rock gulls echoed above their murmurs. They’d watched the Innaku ships vanish over the horizon—along with our last steady supply of bread.
It wasn’t my fault this time, but I still stood at the center of it. Disaster spiraled around me like a whirlstorm, dragging everyone into its eye. I was a curse in human skin. The story of Nienna, the first Dragon’s Heart, resonated with me. She vanished into the sky—and I wished I could too. If I knew how to fly alone, I might not come back.
An elbow jabbed my ribs. I sucked in a sharp breath as hot broth splashed down my front.
“My apologies, Your Highness!” Freya deadpanned, her reproving expression unrepentant. “Perhaps it’s time to return to the Spire?”
The sun had begun its descent, orange bleeding into the clouds. I’d spent the day in the heat, handing out portion after portion, yet the line stretched on.
Some would leave hungry.
I bit back a curse and glared at her. “I’ll stop when the beach is empty.”
“Begging your pardon, Princess,” Miral said, passing another steaming bowl, “but we’re nearly out. Best you go on.”
I glanced at the hunched woman, shawl clutched tight as she peered into the pot. She was right. We’d refilled it four times from the mage light bubbling in the corner, but it wouldn’t last much longer.
The line had thinned. Mothers clutched tired children, some already turning away, heads bowed—not all would eat tonight.
“Come, Princess. King Nereus will be waiting.” Freya gestured toward the narrow door at the back of the kitchen. I managed a tight smile and placed the ladle beside the steaming pot.
“I’ll return in the morning!” My voice carried to Miral over the clatter of pans and hiss of boiling broth.
She nodded without looking, busy with another bowl.
We had barely stepped down the stone stairs before Freya cornered me.
“They won’t starve. This is just extra to their rations and whatever they can buy. You act like they’re wasting away.”
“They are,” I snapped, slipping into a shaded alleyway between buildings. The sun couldn’t reach us there.
“Are we out of fish? Kelp? Salt?” She scoffed. “Have the coconuts fled the island? No, they’ll grumble, but they’ll endure.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. She wasn’t wrong, but the knot in my chest didn’t loosen.
There was nothing I could do now.
Onward.
