Chapter 8
AMAIA
“On Muron, I love feast nights,” Ethrisha cried out, creating a rumble of laughs around her as people cheered in agreement.
Syris crossed her arms, throwing a look over to Moak across the numerous couples dancing to the beat of the drums, accompanied by a stringed instrument that sounded like wailing to me.
Combined, they created a strange but intoxicating music, one that made me sway, my arms lifting over my head as my hips rocked.
Ethrisha was a delightful new friend, a childhood friend of Syris…
though the two females couldn’t be more different.
Ethrisha worked as a craftswoman, her specialty in jewelry, using precious gems she mined herself from the Arsadian mountains.
She was occasionally gone from the outpost—which I’d discovered was called Grymia—for a week or two at a time, on the hunt for more materials.
Her prices were high, but I’d discovered that blood borns—those from bloodlines that were mostly made up of riders—believed that certain gemstones attracted Elthika and brought them good fortune during the rider season.
And those blood borns paid a hefty price for a pendant or a sturdy cuff imbedded with such gems.
Ethrisha herself was chiming and glittering as she danced. The bracelets made a long trail up her forearm, making music all their own, as gems shimmered from piercings along her pointed ears, which I’d never seen before.
Syris looked uncomfortable as her friend’s dancing grew more and more frenzied, as more wine flowed and the music pounded louder, vibrating the very earth.
Brune watched Ethrisha over the rim of his own goblet, his swallow heavy, his cheeks flushed from the heat of the bodies…or perhaps from the way Ethrisha moved.
“Come dance with me, Dakkari,” she teased, crooking her finger at him. As if pulled by a string, Brune stumbled forward once he rose from his seat. His big body was awkward, but Ethrisha grinned up at him and taught him steps he couldn’t have possibly known.
I laughed, slumping back down into the seat Brune had just vacated next to Syris, who sat stiffly, sipping on her own goblet. Not of wine but of unfermented juice.
“Are you having fun?” I asked her, shouting over the music and the laughter and the voices.
I was used to large gatherings like this. My mother knew half of our district, and every moon, the streets of Dothik were filled with food and dancing just like tonight. This felt like home…and instead of making me sad, it helped the ache. Or maybe that was the wine.
And Karag wine, I’d discovered, was a bit stronger than Dakkari brew.
“I hate when people ask me that,” Syris shot back. “Of course I’m having fun.”
I hid my smile at her frown, especially when that frown turned into an even deeper scowl when she caught sight of Moak flirting and kissing yet another girl who wasn’t her. As well as the girl he’d brought back to the hatchery my first morning there.
Syris harrumphed, tossing back her dark indigo hair.
“Wine?” I asked, offering my goblet to her.
She seemed to debate for a moment before accepting it from my hands and taking a steady chug.
“Easy,” I laughed, snatching it back. “We might have a new hatchling tomorrow.”
The egg was on the verge of hatching, or so Tarkosh believed.
I couldn’t wait to witness it, had even been hesitant to come tonight, almost volunteering to stay behind at the hatchery.
But Tarkosh had waved us off. We’d been cleaning out nests all morning, continuing their prep, as the Rythback hatchling, who’d been named Kyr, had raced around us, creating havoc. She thought we deserved the break.
Now that I was here, I was glad I came. Nearly all of Grymia was in attendance, spread out on the landing field, which was the only large enough open space to accommodate everyone.
The loom of the forest directly around us made the gathering seem more intimate, torchlight and glowing orbs casting the party in shimmering gold.
The wine flowing over my tongue made everything seem softened around the edges.
I was having fun with these Karag, and even Ethrisha had commented how at ease I seemed with such a large group of strangers.
But I was used to people around all the time. Being alone was what scared me. That was when I was out of my element, when I felt the most vulnerable.
And maybe that was why I’d felt so betrayed by Kiron leaving us. I knew it was necessary, but there was still a part of me that mourned his absence when he had always been part of us. Like a limb he’d willingly severed.
But tonight I was far from alone, and I was enjoying the feast with my new friends.
I laughed as Ethrisha teased Brune, dancing around him in a circle while his eyes traced her.
I observed the Karag all around me, old and young, coming together.
And while I saw certain looks cast my way, I liked to imagine that they were only in curiosity, not distrust or malice.
It was only natural, I knew, so I didn’t let it worry me.
The feast, it seemed, was in celebration of the Karath of Grym, finally returned to the Arsadia, where he would apparently stay until the end of the rider season.
My gaze was unwillingly pulled to his form, sitting at a table with a group of his chosen riders, Myzalla near him with her husband.
They were speaking while Alaryk looked at ease and relaxed in his chair, which he made look more like a throne.
There was a laziness to his surveillance of the gathering.
I’d caught the prickle of his gaze on me once or twice, but I had refused to assuage my curiosity, only sneaking peeks at him when I thought it was safe.
Only this time, when I looked at him, his gaze snapped to mine, like he’d been waiting for it. I was so startled that I found my eyes trapped, unwilling to leave his, trying to figure out what he wanted, what he would do.
The blue of his eyes seemed to shimmer across the field. He still spoke with Myzalla, but his attention was on me. I felt my heartbeat begin to thunder. My blood rushed in my veins, but whether it was from the music and the wine or the Karath’s pretty, dangerous eyes, I couldn’t be certain.
When I felt the prodding of his heartstone magic, seeking like tendrils, I nearly gasped, conjuring something like a shield in my mind and tearing myself away before he could get inside.
The moment made the wine in my belly turn sour.
I needed to remember myself and the danger I could be in.
The guardsmen hadn’t approached Brune and me in the last week of our being here.
I could almost believe that we were just here to experience the life of the Karag.
Desperately, I hoped that was all it would ever be.
“Are you all right?” Syris asked, looking at me with a frown. “You’ve gone a little pale.”
“Too much wine, I think,” I lied, thrusting my goblet back into her hand. “You finish mine.”
She nodded. When I chanced another look back over to the Karath a long time later, I found that his attention had been pulled by a female who had perched herself on the edge of his chair, leaning down to speak into his ear.
Fascinated, I watched.
“Who’s that?” I asked Syris. “Speaking with the Karath?”
“Rivenna,” she answered. “She works in the smithery.”
I cast a look over at her, my brow raised.
“Yes, if that’s what you’re asking,” Syris told me, a little smirk perched on her lips, the wine already relaxing her. “They’ve been…involved.”
“Interesting,” I murmured.
“She’s one of the only ones who dares,” she added, sparking my interest.
“What do you mean?”
Syris pressed her lips together, her cheeks going a little pink. “I shouldn’t have said that. This is why I don’t drink wine. It turns me into nothing more than a gossip.”
“And don’t we love to see it,” Ethrisha exclaimed, throwing herself down into the seat across the table from us, Brune taking a place next to her. “What are we gossiping about?”
They were both breathing hard, and Brune was smiling.
“The Karath,” I supplied when Syris wouldn’t. “And his lover.”
“Which one?”
I laughed.
Ethrisha looked over her shoulder. “Ah. That one.”
“How many does he have?” I asked.
“Enough for an unclaimed Karath, I suppose,” Ethrisha said. Then she grinned, wicked, her eyes twinkling. “And not nearly enough for someone so beautiful.”
Brune coughed into his fist.
“Have you ever…?” I asked, fighting a smile.
“Me?” Ethrisha asked, eyes widening comically. “On Muron, no. I wouldn’t know what to do with a Karath. Especially Alaryk.” She leaned across the table, and I leaned over to meet her, like she would tell me a secret I desperately wanted to know.
“Tell me,” I mock-whispered.
“His father was Hartan, you know. His mother was Karag.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. I’d gathered that the Hartans were a neighboring people in the east, on the borders of Grym. So, naturally, it would make sense that bloodlines would mix, wouldn’t it? Just like humans and Dakkari. It was inevitable.
“Hartan males pierce themselves,” she told me with a smirk. My gaze flashed to her ears. She touched one. “Like these. But…” She looked over at Brune, placing her fingers on his chest, trailing them down until his face grew hotter and hotter. “Down…here.”
Just before Ethrisha’s touch landed on his pelvic bone, she snatched her hand back, laughing. Poor Brune looked like he was torn between throwing her over his shoulder or expiring on the spot.
But her meaning wasn’t lost on me. “They pierce their…”
She nodded, the jewels in her ears flashing in the light, twinkling almost as brightly as her mirth-filled eyes.
Brune’s wince was loud as my jaw hung. “With gems?” I gasped out.
Ethrisha, and even Syris, giggled. “No! With metal.”
Brune groaned.
“But why?” I asked, unable to keep my gaze from drifting back to Alaryk. Rivenna was nearly in his lap, his hand spanning across her hip lazily.
It might’ve been the wine, but I was…intrigued.
“Warrior sons of Harta get them when they come of age,” Syris said, her voice positively prim, like we weren’t talking about the Karath’s cock piercing. “It’s custom.”
“Surely he had a choice if his mother was Karag,” Brune chimed in.
“Oh, he did,” Ethrisha said, laughing. “And he chose the piercing. I respect it.”
I laughed in disbelief. “How can you even be sure?”
“Because when a Karath beds a female, they all like to brag about it. You hear the same story so many times, it becomes a well-known fact,” Ethrisha informed me, taking a long sip of her brew.
I saw her hand move beneath the table, going to Brune’s thigh.
He shifted in his seat, while the temptress herself suppressed a smile.
“And who doesn’t love to gossip about an unclaimed Karath? ”
When I looked back to the head table, I saw that Alaryk and Rivenna were gone. I gazed around, searching for a silver-haired male, but found none.
Ethrisha leaned into Brune. “Let’s go.”
Some things, I realized, as I watched a red-faced Brune and a grinning Ethrisha rise from the table and disappear beyond the landing field, were the exact same among the Dakkari and Karag.
After all, I’d lost my virginity at a gathering much like this one, with a Dakkari boy who’d worked at the docks.
Years ago, he’d whisked me away from the party after a night of brew and dancing.
And to this day, the scent of the briny sea reminded me of that clumsy night.
Syris sighed. Her eyes flicked back over to Moak, saw him kissing a pretty Karag girl. She looked down at her lap. “I’m going back—I’m tired.”
“I’ll stay a little while,” I told her, not ready to return to my quiet room quite yet. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
She nodded. And left. And even though I was surrounded by dozens and dozens of people, I found I was quite alone after all.
I was humming to myself, an old tune my mother would sing late into the night as she finished up her sewing. I would hear it on occasion, seeping into the walls of my bedroom, a muffled song that helped lull me to sleep.
I’d been in Grymia for nearly a week, and I was sleeping horribly. At first I’d thought it was because the bed was too high, so I’d dragged the mattress to the stone floor. But I still tossed and turned.
I realized, belatedly, that it was the quiet more than anything else. The hatchery sounded like a tomb. Empty and echoing. Even Kyr slept soundly in the nesting area and only roused when dawn light broke.
Syris had told me that once more hatchlings were born, I might not be able to sleep at all for all the noise.
And truthfully, I welcomed it. I could feel the silence crawl over me at night like a nightmarish creature.
And in those early-morning hours when I couldn’t sleep, I roamed the grounds of Grymia, walking by torchlight, encountering not a single soul.
But the looming darkness of the forest or the jagged peaks of the mountain ranges scared me less than my sleeping quarters.
And so, long after the feast had ended and the landing field had gone quiet, the embers of the bonfires glowing as they slowly died, I walked.
My cheeks felt flushed and warm from the wine, my legs a little heavy.
I’d thought maybe it would help me sleep, and so I hadn’t protested whenever my goblet had been filled up… and I’d drunk every last drop.
The outpost was quiet, but the cool wind across my flesh helped distract me. As I passed stone houses along the road, some were dark, but in others I could still make out muffled laughter and the weaving of two or three or four voices, which made longing fill my breast until it was hard to breathe.
Overhead, I heard the unmistakable sound of Elthika wings slicing through air. I looked up sharply, thinking it odd a dragon would be out this time of night when they were usually tucked away in the mountain.
In the darkness, I saw the mightiness of a fully grown Elthika, shooting off the mountain cliff, circling over Grymia. It was too dark to make out its color, but something in the way it took flight made me still on the path, cocking my head as I studied it.
Its movements were sluggish but jerky. It began to veer left, toward the line of the thick forest before it righted itself sharply. It circled again but then seemed to…fall.
I gasped, then frowned, the haziness of the wine dissipating. The Elthika resumed flight, but only for a moment. It let out a call, low and rumbling, a mournful thing that tugged at my rib cage like a metal thread imbedded into the bones.
Then it was falling, and I was running.