Chapter 3 #2
It was disrespectful to look a horde king in the eye unless you were a friend, a blood member of his family, or a mate. And so, briefly, I lowered it on impulse. I’d never met a horde king in my life, had only ever lived in Dothik, but the stories had been imprinted on me from birth.
When I remembered that this was no horde king but a Karag rider, I lifted my chin and looked up. His gaze had moved on, but I saw they were a bright blue…crystalline and icy.
The rider went to the line of travelers going to Sarroth first. He was at least a head taller than all of them, I noticed. I’d thought, foolishly, that riders might have a more sinewy bulk, might be smaller in size. Only to realize I’d been very, very wrong.
He inspected the travelers, walking in a slow line, meeting each and every eye he came across. Remaining utterly silent. And I thought one or two of the Dakkari might wet themselves where they stood, the way they trembled under his inspection.
I didn’t know what he was looking for…but then he gestured back at one of his riders, who came forward and ushered the Sarrothian group toward two of the Elthika with the larger transport saddles on their backs.
I didn’t watch them climb up the mighty wings, each unsure of how to ascend, because then he came to us.
The four of us, held apart, going to Grym.
I was at the very end of the line, and he did the same thing as he did to the Sarroth travelers. He inspected the two guardsmen first, his face impassive.
Then he came to the farmer, whose tail flicked again, striking my legs, whose sweaty palm I could feel quake in my nearly numb grip.
Then I heard the soft thud of his boots come closer, crunching earth and gravel, though my eyes were still trained on his Elthika.
When his shadow fell over me, I remembered he was not a horde king…and so I lifted my eyes to his.
Up close, his eyes were even more piercing, even more haunting than I could have imagined. Craning my head back, I held them steadily, determined to show no fear. If he was trying to intimidate us, or to size us up, I wanted to give him no reason to find me lacking.
Something strange happened.
Our gazes held for impossibly long, time slowing. The rider frowned, a subtle and slight downturn of his full lips, as he peered at me more closely, his observation sharpening.
Then in a desperate panic, my heart lurched. I felt the pull of my heartstone magic wiggling in my chest, as if summoned by an unseen force. I nearly gasped as shock withered my veins.
Not here, not here, I thought.
Then where? a mocking voice replied. Not mine. A male’s voice.
His?
Impossible.
Don’t tell me what’s possible, little Dakkari, he replied, his voice a seductive whisper, threading through my mind and body like we were one. Shall I turn your mind inside out and see all your secrets spill?
I felt a surge of magic inside me—my own—and I envisioned a blade.
The connection broke, and I felt it like a cord pulled tight, severed. Relief came.
Suddenly I could breathe again. I bundled my magic up tight, shoving it back, locking it away as I struggled to calm my racing heart. Praying that no one had seen, hoping my eyes hadn’t been glowing.
The rider stared down at me, though I couldn’t read his expression. Behind him, his Elthika’s gaze sharpened on me.
Finally, the rider stepped back, and I almost went limp, as though I was a puppet controlled with strings. My hard swallow felt loud. I realized the farmer boy was trying to shake off my hand because I was holding him too tight, and I let go, feeling cool air rush against my sweating palm.
He was inside my mind, I thought in disbelief.
“I am Alaryk Arn’dyne,” the rider said. His voice sounded as it had in my mind. A rough velvet that made goose bumps spread over my arms. Calm yet cutting. “Rider of Samryn.”
He gestured back to his Elthika, who stomped its legs at the sound of its title, making the earth boom and my bones rattle.
Alaryk Arn’dyne’s gaze cut back to me when he said, “I am the Karath of Grym.”
Shock made me freeze.
Karath.
So this was the king of Grym…
I hadn’t expected him to make the journey personally.
My jaw was clenched so tightly I thought my teeth might pulverize. Maybe there was a reason you never met the gaze of a horde king. Maybe Karaths were the same. Maybe they could steal one’s soul. Maybe it was a warning.
“We will be seeing a lot of one another…though I doubt you’ll last the season,” Alaryk continued. His head inclined toward the remaining Elthika with a transport saddle. “There’s your way to Grym. Ascend. Or it’s your last chance to stay in your homeland.”
I cut a glance over my shoulder when the two guardsmen stepped toward the Elthika without hesitation. I looked at my mother and father. The tears streaking my lomma’s face shimmered in the rising sun. I offered a smile, one I didn’t feel.
It’ll be okay, I wanted to tell her. My father’s face was solemn at her side, though he offered me a small smile back, a slight nod. The steady pillar, always.
Then I looked at Kiron. He was looking at me now. He inclined his head, subtly, before straightening. They were the only representatives from the Dothikkar’s palace. Not even the king had come.
Crouching, I snagged my single satchel off the ground, everything I’d be living off of for the next season, before looping it around my shoulders.
Then my feet carried me to the dragon, noticing that the Karath of Grym had gone to one of his other riders, was speaking with him in low tones, the words of which I couldn’t make out.
The wing of the Elthika was stretched out toward the earth, the guardsmen having already ascended up it, taking a prime place next to the Grym rider sitting at the helm.
The farmer was halfway up, his strides well balanced and surprisingly agile.
I reached my hand out to touch the Elthika’s wing—though my prior awe was now shrouded in worry.
The wing membrane felt like layers and layers of thick, hardened leather.
I climbed up after the farmer, navigating the thick bones of the wing, the climb getting steeper and steeper the higher I went. Finally, I fell down into the saddle, taking my place beside the farmer, in the second row behind the guardsmen.
I looked over Dothik on the back of an Elthika, at the crowd that had gathered. At the towering building of my home in the Market District and then down at my family.
Samryn, the Karath’s Elthika, flapped its wings. I noticed the other Elthika had given it a wide berth, clustered together away from the red dragon. Alaryk had already returned to his place on Samryn’s back, and he was looking at me.
I remembered the whisper of his voice in my mind and forced my gaze away, just in case he could wiggle his way inside through the brief connection.
He had heartstone magic—that much was clear. But I had bigger issues now. Because if he could let himself into the door of my mind, this had just made the mission all the more dangerous. I’d never given thought to what would happen to us if we were caught spying for the Dothikkar.
Now I worried it would mean a certain death. For all of us.
“Thryn’ar,” came Alaryk’s call, the word short and commanding. An order.
The Elthika below us vibrated with energy, like it was pulling it from the ground around it. I heard the farmer cry out beside me, huddling deeper into the side of the saddle, hands scrambling for purchase on anything as we catapulted into the air on dragonback.
The shimmering scales of the Elthika caught sunlight. I pressed my fingertips over the half wall of the saddle, to touch the plating of its side. Just like pyroki scales—hard like metal, but flexible and shifting with its movements.
Familiar.
Halna was right. There was much to learn. Maybe we weren’t so different from one another. Our beasts certainly weren’t.
Behind me, I saw the stretch of Dothik, the tiny dots of people below, of everyone I’d ever loved made small and unrecognizable. The city sparkled, smoke rose from turrets, people milled in the markets.
Overhead, I heard a mighty roar. Samryn, bloodred, flew above us, taking the very tip of a flying formation.
Before us stretched the glimmer of Drukkar’s Sea.
And beyond that?
Karak.