Chapter 3
Veyora
The sun rises blood-red. The morning of the Bloodmoon always feels like a curse.
To my surprise, my bed is empty. Kat, the girl who grew up refusing to get up before dawn, is out doing gods only know what.
I turn toward the window and watch fire bleed across the sky, ablaze from horizon to horizon, as if it already knows what’s coming.
Smoke from a thousand festival pyres stains the air, and the skin beneath my scar hums in response.
I don’t have the luxury of fear. Cattle and horses still need feeding. Reins need mending. Colts need training. Routine keeps the ghosts quiet.
I drag on my leather pants and tunic, every mechanical motion grounding me. The scent of roasted meat and sweet bread drifts through the open shutters, festive and cloying. Even miles from the city, Veyora’s noise and smoke reach the ranch. The Dragon Song has begun, low and steady as heartbeat:
Come, god of flame. Come take her away.
This bride is yours forever.
We give her heart. We give her soul.
Bring prosperity and good fortune to us all.
Let fire cleanse. Let ashes fall.
The cool morning air and heavy fragrances greet me as I head to the stables. My mare Ashwing greets me with an excited whinny, nickering playfully as she grabs her brush between her teeth and bobs her head up and down, demanding that I brush her.
“Alright, alright.” I reach into my pocket. “A biscuit for the brush.”
I hold out my hand just in time to catch the grooming tool before it clatters to the floor. Ashwing takes the treat from my hand in one bite, slobbering me in the process. I chuckle. She really loves her morning biscuit—especially now that she’s eating for two.
I gently brush her and clean her feet. Her coat is as black as cooled coal, patterned in smoky gold lines that curve like wings mid-beat. Her mane catches the pale light like frost, and her eyes, storm-touched and fierce, study me with an ancient wisdom, as if she remembers what the sky forgot.
She’s due to foal in a few months. Here, in the hush of the stables, the world still makes sense.
“You’ll work yourself to death before the sun sets,” Kat calls from the doorway.
I glance up, my loose hair fluttering across my eyes, still half-dreaming. “Someone has to. The horses won’t train themselves.”
She grins, holding up an apple. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure. Isn’t that right, Maximus?”
Her gray gelding nickers, then lifts the latch with his teeth and trots over to her, earning his morning treat.
“Of all the things to teach him,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“What?! It might come in handy someday,” she says simply.
I laugh, remembering Rooster, the skunk she once tamed. “Just wait until he unlatches his own gate and disappears.”
“Then he’ll finally see the world,” she says with that nose-scrunching laugh that feels like sunlight streaming through cloud cover. Then, quieter, she adds, “You didn’t sleep.”
I keep brushing, not meeting her eyes. “I’m fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar.” She brushes a strand of hair from my face, and for a moment, I see the child she once was, barefoot and wild. Unbroken. Now, barely seventeen, she still believes in mercy.
I want to tell her not to go to the Selection, not to wear that red dress, not to trust gods who demand blood, but the sound of boots interrupts me.
“Tobias!” she cries, rushing into his arms.
He’s all soot and strength, the scent of iron still clinging to him. His smile is for her alone. Even today, they’re so carefree. Watching them twists something sharp in my chest.
“Didn’t I give you the day off?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Just checking if the horses need new shoes,” he says.
“They’re fine. But double-check anyway, I suppose, since you’re here. We leave for the city in an hour,” I say, tossing Kat a wink.
She grins and mouths, Thank you.
I leave them there—the forge boy and the councilman’s daughter—and send up a silent, forbidden prayer to Rexen, our mother’s god, that their love survives the day.
By midmorning, the road to Veyora blazes with color. Kat rides beside me, crimson gown billowing, gold ribbons woven through her braid.
A thundering of hooves splits the quiet.
“Oh no,” Kat mutters under her breath.
I glance back just as a massive figure rounds the bend. He’s clad in obsidian armor chased with silver sigils, his helm concealing all but a pair of piercing blue eyes. His massive, jet-black stallion skids to a halt in the dust, foam flecking its bridle.
“Lady Katherine.” His voice is deep, formal, and absolutely dripping with disapproval.
“Morning, Dain,” she chirps, far too brightly.
“You ditched me again.”
“I didn’t ditch you,” she protests. “I just took a scenic route.”
“Yes, across ten miles of unguarded road. Alone,” he says flatly. “The Council and your father will have my head if anything happens to you.”
Built like the statues guarding the Temple gates, Dain is broad and immovable, a weapon forged into a man. Every familiar is.
Their kind are purchased young, trained by the Order of Veilkeepers, and sworn to preserve the “virtue and safety” of unmarried noblewomen until marriage or death, whichever comes first. Their faces remain hidden, bound by their oath.
“You can remove the helmet, you know,” Kat says. “It’s not like I’ve never seen your face.”
“Not while I’m on duty,” he replies curtly.
“You’re always on duty,” I remark, earning myself a glare that could melt iron.
Dain nudges his mount into step beside us. Kat rolls her eyes and leans close. “See? Cage with legs.”
I can’t argue with that. In Solmere, the cages just have prettier locks. Nevertheless, I level a glare at my sister so she knows I’m being serious. “You have to stop ditching him.”
A clatter of hooves sounds behind us, and I turn to see Tobias trotting up, holding his reins with the relaxed grip of a rider who knows his steed. His tanned face cracks into a roguish grin.
“She only ditches him when she’s got better company,” Tobias says, and Kat nearly chokes on her laughter. He’s always been comfortable where others aren’t supposed to be—too close to our family, too free with his words, too familiar with Kat’s smiles.
Dain glares but says nothing, turning forward and scouting ahead. I catch Tobias’s wink at my sister. Gods help us all.
Crimson petals fall like rain from balconies, and the scent of incense curls through the streets. The capital gleams, proudly flaunting its marble arches, gilded domes, lies polished until they shine.
The Dragon Song echoes again, this time from every direction: Come, god of flame. Come take her away… As we pass, whispers ripple through the crowd about the Selection at noontide and a mysterious twist in this year’s race.
Chief Officer Garvin meets us at the pens. We dismount, and he sets to work inspecting Sterling, my best gelding. “Still as steady as you claimed?”
“Even more so, sir,” I answer.
He nods his approval. “Two hundred scales.”
I sign the parchment, half-listening to Kat making small talk with Garvin about an old horse we sold him years ago. When he says it’s retired to a farm and gentle with children, something warm flickers in me. A small mercy.
I shake the massive officer’s hand, sealing our deal, then watch as he leads Sterling away to his new life serving the captain of the capital guard.
“My beautiful Katherine!”
I freeze. That voice.
Our father, Councilman Fairchild, cuts through the crowd, his in gold-trimmed silk standing out among even their festival garb. He’s smiling wide, an expression I’ll never get used to.
Kat beams, returning his toothy smile. I grit mine.
His eyes sweep across our group and land on mine. “Selene,” he says. His smile doesn’t falter, but his eyes lose their warmth.
“Councilman.”
Behind him, a scrawny boy clutches a ledger. His new scribe. I used to be that shadow.
“No,” I say before he can speak.
He lifts a quizzical eyebrow. “Pardon?”
“I’m not entering the race.”
He just shrugs. “A pity. The purse is historic. And rumor has it that this year brings… a particular prize.”
“You have nothing I want.”
He leans closer, voice low. “Win, and petition the Council to pass my trade agreement. Ten-year rights to the Northern Route.” His smile sharpens. “Do that, and I’ll restore your name—and all that comes with it.”
I stiffen. “No man should hold the power you crave.”
His hand closes around my arm, light but venomous. “For once in your life, Selene, be useful. Don’t you want your inheritance? Your title? Your—”
“I have my inheritance,” I say, cutting him off.
“The ranch? Yes, yes, but you could have so much more. Power, status—even the right to marry.”
“I don’t want more, and I don’t wish to be married.”
“Come now, Selene! Marriage is the best thing for a woman. It’s time you remembered who you are.”
“I’m no longer your pawn, Father.”
The word burns. He releases me as if scorched by the venom in my voice.
“I’ll see you after the Selection,” he says frostily. He gives a warm nod to Kat, and then he’s gone.
The silence roars in his absence. I flinch as Kat’s hand grazes my shoulder.
“You didn’t have to be so cruel,” she gently chides me.
“And you shouldn’t let him use you,” I snap.
She sighs. “He’s lost so much…”
“Then let him name you his heir. Or the son Lori will most likely bear him.”
“He can’t,” she says, shaking her head, “not until I’m twenty-one. And Lori won’t deliver for another six months.”
I grip my reins tighter. “You always defend him.”
“You don’t know everything he’s been through.”
I grip the lead rope tighter.
And you don’t know what he almost let happen to me, I think.
My breath catches at the memory, and I look away.
“The Selection’s soon,” I say quietly, changing the topic. “I’ll sell the mares and meet you there.”
I watch as she turns toward the fire, toward the music, toward her fate. I want to follow, to drag her back, but my feet stay rooted.
The fire always takes the best of us.