CHAPTER 5
It started with the dreams. She spoke to me—beckoned me. Her call was so strong that one morning, I found myself walking. I left my family behind, traversing land and sea to the depths of a valley thick with vegetation.
There, in the deepest dark of the mountain, she consumed me.
No longer was I Jerris, son of Jaenis, brother to Patriol, and personal advisor to the young prince. These simple connections of blood and duty fell away as easily as the leaves from the trees. I became something else—something other.
Something more.
—Entry from the private diary of Jerris, Dragonbound
SERAE
Midsummer, Valmon 1036
Entering the city of Drakh was intimidating, to say the least. Great beams of iron and carved stone jutted from the front gates, twisting into the maw of a gargantuan dragon—the Great Dragon, as the Rihtlonders had taught me.
I had at first assumed this to be their name for the Creator, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Spiked and savage, this creature was nothing like the elegant dragon the Creator embodied.
No, he and the Nine Martyrs had no place in this wild, ancient land.
Rihtlond followed the Ancient Path, and I had not yet considered what this change from the Carmine Order’s teachings might mean for me.
Would I be forced to dance naked around a fire rather than partake in communal prayer on Creator’s Day?
Or drink from a goblet of blood on feast days rather than recounting the Martyrs’ Woes?
Dane Auldren called out to our party, halting us just inside the gates.
The city was built in concentric rings, easily double the size of Cavendaffe’s town—if not more.
My stomach lurched. If it ever came to it, escape from such a place, with its impenetrable walls, maze-like layout, and sheer size, would be near impossible.
The dane was welcomed as soon as we entered. He greeted every man and woman like an old friend—not their king. Trying to imagine Father doing the same with our townsfolk nearly had me laughing aloud.
As we progressed inward through the rings, we passed rows upon rows of carved stone houses, each roofed in a dark material resembling oil-slicked wood.
The houses gave way to shops, food markets, street vendors, and eventually schoolyards full of children.
Peals of laughter, shouts, and playful shrieking drew me in.
Ropes, logs, and beams formed an obstacle course in their play yard, and boys and girls alike scrambled over them, jumping and climbing.
One boy, no older than Brig, had found a giant stick and was whacking it against every pole and stump in sight.
This was something I understood, and I turned to Gerta to exchange smiles.
I guess children were the same everywhere.
Our party wound its way toward the castle’s thick retaining wall. A river surrounded it, splitting around the castle to form a natural moat, then continuing out the other side. Drawbridges spanned the river, all down and welcoming passage between the higher and lower rings of the city.
Once through the walls, we passed more rings of homes and shops.
Less of a traditional castle courtyard, the interior was a fortified town of its own, with a keep at its center.
Our procession halted before the mountainous keep, which threatened to overwhelm us—or Gerta and me, at least. Drakh Keep dwarfed our manor home, comically.
Its towers touched the clouds themselves, and stone carvings of the Great Dragon dotted every crenellation and topped every window and door.
Its sheer size was greater than anything I had encountered, and I had been to King Ruper’s palace at the capital.
How many lands must they have raided to fund all this? I frowned at the thought.
Before approaching the keep’s portcullis, we were brought around to a nearby stable, which was an impressive building in itself. There, a young stable hand offered a mounting block to help us dismount. She pointed a finger toward the dane but spoke no words.
“She’ll take the horses from here,” the gravelly brother advised. “You’re free to rejoin Dane.”
Dane Auldren led the way inside the keep personally, giving Gerta and me little more than a sharp glance to indicate we should follow.
A severe-looking woman stood waiting just inside the portcullis.
She dipped her head in a quick bow before addressing him directly.
I couldn’t make out what was said, but the woman’s eyes turned toward me and narrowed.
She finished her conversation with the dane and approached.
“Lady Cavendaffe.” She knelt into a deep curtsey. The contrast between this show of respect and the short bow she offered the dane was not lost on me. Had I not lived so many years with Merria, I may not have spotted it for the mockery it was.
“Please, call me Serae.”
“I am Kahvrah. I will serve as your reálta until you are better acquainted with the Riht and able to select one for yourself.” Her accent in Mayoran was thick, and her cadence was out of practice.
“My reálta?” I stumbled over the unfamiliar word. Hadn’t Bracht used it, as well?
“A sort of guide. This way.”
Kahvrah swept her long braid over her shoulder and proceeded into the keep.
I scuttled after her, Gerta at my heels.
The turns she took were nonsensical, so I kept my eyes locked on her golden braid and heather gray tunic until tapestries lining the stone corridors stole my attention.
They depicted dragons of all different colors alongside people whose helms twisted upward with horns and spikes, some of which covered glowing eyes.
Eventually, she led us up a staircase, down another hallway, and stopped abruptly.
We faced a wide corridor with a set of doors on either side.
“That door leads to your future quarters. Beside it is a shared sitting room.” Kahvrah pointed to the two modest wooden doors on the right. “This is the Training Hall.” She indicated the wide set of double doors with iron ring handles on our left.
“Training rooms?” I asked.
Kahvrah narrowed her eyes. “Yes.”
“What will I be studying?”
Her eyes sharpened even more as her brows drew together. After a while, she said, “How to be a Riht. Tests will follow. Come, I will show you to your temporary accommodations.”
My brow raised at the word tests. The dane had conveniently forgotten to mention anything about that.
“What about that one?” I pointed to the tallest door at the end of the hall that she hadn’t addressed.
“Off limits.” Kahvrah, not interested in giving out further information, led us back down the hall, taking several turns. I quickly lost track and stopped trying to memorize our path.
“Did they build this place to be intentionally confusing?” I whispered to Gerta in Inraen.
She only shrugged.
We halted at a long corridor lined on either side by many close-set doors, reminding me of our servants’ quarters back home.
I glanced sidelong at Kahvrah, who selected one room seemingly at random, and ushered us inside.
Calling the room narrow would be an understatement.
They had managed to squeeze in two cots abreast—barely.
One small window at the far end let in a sliver of light, and a table with two chairs crowded the entrance.
All in all, the room wasn’t much of an upgrade from the tent.
In fact, the tent had been far more spacious.
“Exactly how temporary is this…room?” I glanced at the bare walls already closing in on me. I tried to breathe through my rising panic—that sense of being trapped.
“Tonight, Dane wishes you to stay here. In the morning, I will return and help you with your clothes—”
“I dress her.” Gerta stepped in front of me.
Kahvrah’s gaze slid down Gerta’s form, something baiting in her eyes. When she spoke, the corner of her mouth quirked up. “I could do with fewer assumptions. I am not a dressing maid.”
Gerta’s mouth tightened.
I shivered, only just noticing there was no fireplace. It may have been summer, but these stone walls held in the chill.
“As I was saying”—Kahvrah’s eyes flicked back to me—“I will come in the morning to teach you about the clothing worn in the Riht. They are different from your Southern nonsense. You will have no need for what you brought. If your maid has questions on how to dress you, I will answer them at that time, but you should know—we Riht dress ourselves.”
Gerta and Kahvrah exchanged stony glances.
“A server will bring you meals. Dane asks that you do not wander.”
“Why?” I made the mistake of asking.
Kahvrah’s hard expression did not alter. “For your own safety. You will be safe within these walls, but there are those who oppose admitting a foreigner to Drakh. Stay here, and Dane can guarantee you are safe. Wander, and you may find yourself at the wrong end of a blade.”
I recoiled at the thought.
Kahvrah required neither thanks nor dismissal. She turned and left without a second glance, leaving us in confined isolation. The door clanged shut behind her.
Luckily, I knew the perfect way to spend my time. I rummaged through my trunk until I found my sack of quills and ink and sat down to encode everything I’d been storing up for the better part of a week—including the path to the elusive city of Drakh.
“BUT…THEY’RE pants!”
Kahvrah scoffed. “Of course they are not pants. They are leggings. What do you wear under your dresses in Inra? Nakedness?”
“No, we have underskirts.”
Kahvrah burst out laughing. It was not a pleasant sound. “More skirts beneath your skirts? No wonder you can barely walk. Here, you will wear these. Later, I will teach you how to tie your skirt up into your belt when you need more range of motion.”
“When would she need that?” Gerta asked.
Kahvrah shot her a look—hard eyes and one raised brow. She was fond of those. “You will both need it. I am here to teach you as well.”
“I return to Inra in three weeks.”