60. Chapter Sixty
Letting go of Trinte is probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done a lot of hard things.
With one final kiss and quick goodbyes to everyone else, he walks over the rope to the center of the circle. His father already waits, eyeing his son with the kind of hunger that makes me queasy.
But Trinte is proud, with shoulders back, hands relaxed, and head held high. My body aches to chase him; to join him. Foolish, but a wish anyway.
Teale meets them at the center, sorrow a crushing weight in her expression. Racidious stands to her left, hands clasped behind his back, staring at Trinte, who glares right back, his bulky mass taut with tension, fists clenched.
The crowd quiets until the only sound is crunching snow under boots and claws. The five of us huddle together, with Orliana on one side and Talia on the other. Fynn has an arm around Orliana’s waist and his hand is on my arm. Strong and steady; two things I don’t feel.
“Welcome Weyr Wingside to the Gleanscale Cairanin. It has been a long time since this tradition was witnessed, and it is quite unfortunate for it to be under these circumstances.” Teale’s throat works before she can continue. “The accused will now face his challenger.”
My heart skips a beat as Trinte turns to face the crowd, eyes immediately finding me. He clears his throat, now scanning the crowd. There are so many people here, most looking intrigued.
“Weyr Wingside, I called the Cairanin for a single moment born of many other moments. Rivers are built by rain drops and the current has led us here.”
He’d never admit it to anyone else, but Trinte’s been practicing this speech for days. He claimed to need the Weyr to fully support him, and Dragons love a little showiness.
Trinte turns toward his father again. “Racidious Gleanscale, you’re hereby accused by your progeny, Trinte Gleanscale, to a Cairanin for the crime of incest and abuse of your kin.”
The crowd gasps. I’m taken aback at how confident and commanding he sounds, even though I know those were some of the hardest words he’s ever said. In front of a crowd of hundreds, all of whom will undoubtedly gossip about this for years to come.
But he doesn’t want there to be a single question or moment of speculation.
Teale turns to her brother. “What say you?”
Racidious’s jaw ticks as he assesses the crowd’s reaction. Some people seem to be in denial, shaking their heads. Others exchange looks and appear … unsurprised?
The red Dragon’s tail thumps on the snow. Shame deepens his frown, and he looks at his feet. “I do not deny it.”
Trinte recoils as if the words were a physical blow. Fynn inhales sharply, and Orliana grabs his hand. Talia makes a startled sound of surprise, as if she also expected a denial.
Leaning against her shoulder, I whisper, “Did you not know?”
“I did,” she murmured. “At least, I suspected. But to hear him say it …”
“… I know.”
Trinte recovers quickly enough, now looking confused. He’d expected an argument; a rebuttal. This? Admission without hesitation?
Unfathomable.
Teale’s eyes glisten as she announces, “The Cairanin will begin in forty-five seconds. May Fortuna favor the fortunate.”
Teale stumbles toward the crowd in a daze, as if her brother’s words yanked her world out from under her. A few other women bundle her in hugs and comforting words.
Trinte and Racidious square off, with the latter appearing … remorseful.
Joulian looks at Orliana with fear. “He’ll be okay, right?”
“Yes,” she says firmly.
When he looks at me, I put a hand on his shoulder. “He’d never leave me behind.”
This seems to satisfy him. He turns back to watch as the two male Dragons wait for the signal.
A horn blows and the men shift. My heart lodges straight in my throat, making it hard to breathe. Two Dragons appear, slamming their wings down and rising in the air.
The crowd roars, but it might as well still be silent, thanks to the pounding of blood in my ears as I watch Trinte fly higher and higher.
“How do they know when to stop?” I ask Fynn.
“The Cairanin magyck will signal.”
The Dragons fly upward for five minutes, stopping thousands of feet in the air. They hover, facing one another. When the horn sounds one more time and they slam into one another, I nearly weep from terror.