Chapter 2 #2
But the Dothikkar and his advisors had demanded one more thing of the Karag, given the immense power imbalance between the two nations.
The Karag had a special bond with the Elthika, their dragons, who could breathe out a weapon called ethrall.
It was a deadly fog that sickened anything it touched…
and it would eventually turn lethal, if the Elthika itself didn’t snap you in two between its mighty jaws first.
Every half year, a group of Dakkari would be chosen from a highly experienced applicant pool and sent to specific territories within the nation of Karak.
To learn from them, to live their way of life, and, for those brave enough, to try their hand at bonding with an Elthika of their own.
The riding schools were rigorous, intense, and, at times, fatal.
And no allowances or mercies were offered if you were a Dakkari.
But there were other opportunities that weren’t rider training. Like working their farmlands or apprenticing under a healer or learning ancient recipes from their seasoned cooks or journeying to their sacred places, infused with heartstone magic, for research.
“The Dothikkar and his advisors believe that the Karag are planning an attack soon,” Kiron told me in a mere whisper. I sucked in a sharp breath, a spear of fear sliding into my belly.
“What are you saying?” I whispered back, utterly still. “On Dothik?”
“The Dothikkar has tasked a select group of his guardsmen,” he said with a nod, “with a mission of getting information throughout Karak’s territories.”
I realized what he was saying. “You mean to spy.”
He inclined his head. When he said nothing else, I felt an odd prickling sensation across the back of my neck, which trailed down my spine.
“You want…me to be a spy for the Dothikkar?”
The words left my lips in a tumble that nearly made me laugh.
“Lysi,” my brother said.
A stuttered breath escaped me. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Are you out of your mind?”
“I wouldn’t ask this of you unless I had no other choice.”
“Why don’t you go?” I tossed out, half-panicked when I heard the seriousness in my brother’s tone.
When he remained quiet, I felt my panic shift, fear rising for a different reason. “I might have to.”
“Not for rider training, surely,” I hissed softly, grabbing his arm. “Kiron.”
Three Dakkari had already died in the attempt during the last exchanges. No Dakkari had ever succeeded at claiming an Elthika of their own. Well, save for the princess, Klara.
“The territory of Grym has capped the exchange positions to four this season. Two guardsmen are already approved for rider training. Another is the eldest son of a retired guardsman. He’ll be there working the land to learn about their food supply, imports, exports.
The last position would fall to me. And it would be to fill another slot in the rider training. ”
“No,” I said sharply, my belly dropping. “Kiron, you can’t. Surely there’s…”
But I trailed off. Knowing that this was the other option.
Me.
Something settled inside me. A fresh bloom of fear, but also one of acceptance.
“I’m no fool,” Kiron said with a wry smile as he leaned harder against the balcony, looking out over the shimmering of Drukkar’s Sea in the distance.
The moon reflected off its surface, a faint sliver, like a curved blade, hanging in the night sky.
“I have no notable skills other than combat fighting. I learned to be a good guard, to protect, to patrol, to keep the peace. I like to think I’d do well on the back of a dragon…
but the truth is that it terrifies me, Amaia. ”
“You want me to take your place in Grym,” I said quietly. “But…if there’s a space open in the rider training, then—”
“Not as a rider, Amaia,” Kiron said firmly, turning to me, catching my shoulder so that I faced him. “I would rather plunge off the back of an Elthika myself than make you take my place there. There is one other position open for the exchanges.”
“What is it?”
“A position in the hatchery.”
“The hatchery,” I whispered, looking at him with an unfocused gaze. “An Elthikan hatchery?”
He inclined his head.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my mind hardly able to process it. A much safer option, I thought.
“Why can’t you take the hatchery position?” I asked.
“I tried already,” Kiron said, rubbing the back of his neck. “The Karag have to approve all applicants who volunteer for the exchanges. They give the assignments. I was accepted into the rider training only because of my background as a soldier. But you…”
“They accepted me already? When you submitted my name?” I asked quietly.
“You would be well suited there,” Kiron continued quietly.
“The star apprentice of the pyroki master? No one will think twice about why you’re there.
You’re more than qualified, and the Karag thought so as well.
Even my commander thought it would be a good choice, as long as there was someone I trusted on my behalf in Karak.
Blood relations only. And it’s only for a season. Then you’ll be back home.”
“Kiron,” I said, shaking my head. “I really don’t like this.
It feels…it feels wrong. Me? A spy? What am I even supposed to do?
What are we going to tell Lomma? And our father?
And what am I going to tell my mrikro? ‘Thank you for training me for all these years as your apprentice, but I’m leaving for Karak at week’s end’?
The second birthing season is here. I can’t leave him right now when—”
“Amaia,” Kiron interrupted.
And with just my name, he struck me silent.
I realized that I was being selfish because the choices were clear: let Kiron risk his life every single day trying to claim a dragon, or go in his place to work, safely, in a hatchery.
To be a spy for my homeland.
I glanced back at the closed door of the home we’d grown up in.
I thought of my mother and had the vivid image of her grief if we learned of Kiron’s failure in Karak.
I thought of my own grief, knowing I could have done something and had chosen to turn my back on my only brother when he’d needed me.
Just like the heartstone magic, there was no choice. Only the illusion of one.
I heard heavy footsteps making their way up the wooden stairs. I would recognize the slow and steady thumps anywhere, and when my father finally appeared on the porch landing, seeming surprised to see us there, Kiron went to him.
“Son,” our father said, brow furrowing. He hadn’t known Kiron would be here tonight, evidenced by their tight embrace. My throat burned when I spied my father’s eyelids squeeze tightly together, a male who rarely showed emotion save for his quiet contentment.
“I’m staying for supper tonight,” Kiron told him, pulling back and cutting me a look. “We’re just catching up.”
Our father didn’t say much, merely bobbed his head in a nod. “I’d better go wash up, then. You know how your mother gets,” he said before disappearing through the front door.
The warm, spiced smell of wrissan stew floated out to us, followed by our mother’s quick exclaim of “There you are! I was beginning to worry. Did you see—”
The door closed, and it was just me and my brother once again.
“You have a choice in this, Amaia. I know I ask too much of you, but—”
“There is no choice,” I said, cutting him off. “I’ll go.”
Silence spread between us. It seemed as though Kiron was holding his breath. “You will?”
“Lysi,” I said, feeling that answer settle in my bones.
It didn’t feel real. But I had a feeling reality would catch up with me in the morning.
I would enjoy tonight, I decided. With my family.
“And like you said, it’s only for the season.
My mrikro will understand. I’ll figure out something to tell him. But Lomma…and Pattar…”
“Leave them to me,” Kiron said. “I’ll explain. I can have a missive signed from the Dothikkar for your mrikro so that he knows you’re going in duty to Dakkar.”
“It’s settled, then,” I said quietly, gazing out over Drukkar’s Sea and Bekkar’s Shield, the mountain range just before it.
“Amaia,” Kiron said, catching my hand when I turned toward the front door. “Kakkira vor. Thank you.”
I pressed my forehead to his when he embraced me. “I missed you too.”
He released me, and I could see a large weight had been lifted off him. I wondered how long he and his group of guardsmen had been discussing me as a potential alternative.
A pressing question rose. “When do I leave?”
“In three days,” Kiron replied.
I swallowed. Hard.
So soon. So much to do before then.
But Kiron was wrong. I wasn’t doing this for Dakkar. Or the king. I was doing this for my brother only. And that was all that mattered.
“Let’s go inside and eat,” I said, a little numb, turning to the door. “They’re waiting.”