My breath shuddered out. What was he saying? That we were already married? Because of that singular, unexpected moment?

“You still have to go to the Arsadia to bind it,” she said quietly.

“Which is why we leave at dawn,” Sarkin answered, and I could hear the smugness in his tone. “Or will you try to have her killed before then?”

I stiffened.

“Don’t tempt me,” his aunt replied, her tone clipped, her eyes practically burning holes into Sarkin’s head. The hostility between them was even greater than my stepmother’s hatred of me.

“If you try, you will have three kings to answer to for her death. One old, one new…and her husband,” Sarkin replied. I swallowed, my breath shuddering out of me. One old…my father? One new? He must’ve meant Dannik. “She is of royal blood. Dakkari, yes, but ancient lines all the same.”

The aunt’s glare cut to me. “What is your name, Dakkari?”

My tongue felt stuck to the roof of my mouth. A long moment of silence passed. Even the group quieted behind her, waiting for me to speak. It was discomforting, I realized, to give my name so freely to strangers. But this was the Karag way, I remembered.

Names should not be hidden, Dakkari. Names should be feared. Those had been Sarkin’s words. A part of me liked the sentiment.

“Klara of Rath Serok,” I answered, “and Rath Drokka.”

Murmuring went through the rest of the group. Were they the council she had spoken about? Advisors to her? Or to Sarkin?

“The Dothikkar’s daughter,” the aunt said, her tone cold and measured. Her eyes—yellow as gold—swept me up and down, calculating. They fastened on my face, and I felt them touch on my scar. Her lips parted and she moved forward. When she reached for my face, I heard the whistle of a blade. Sarkin’s reflexes were quick, a dagger at the ready, glinting in his grip. She paid it no mind, as if this were a common occurrence.

For all I knew, it was.

“Watch yourself, Kethra,” Sarkin warned, tone low.

“Will you spill my blood here for the council to see?” she answered. “Just as your father did to your mother?”

I sucked in a sharp breath, but then her fingers pressed into my scar. Her lips parted, her brows rose.

“I see,” she breathed, eyes narrowing. Then Kethra laughed, the sound booming as she took a step back. The sweep of her tail brushed my ankles when her back turned. “Such an unremarkable girl to bear such a mark.”

A pit lodged itself into my belly. Was I to be shunned here too? Cast aside? Looked down upon? I was a long way from Dakkar, and still…my problems would be the same?

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Sarkin,” Kethra snipped.

She stalked away, her strides short and clipped. A few members of the group followed until only a couple lingered.

A dark-skinned male stepped toward us, his blue eyes regarding me before fastening on Sarkin. He inclined his head briefly, his eyes closing. When he opened them, he touched silver markings below both of his eyes, the right, then the left. He touched the middle of his forehead and then gestured to Sarkin.

“Karath,” the male said.

“Endrassa, Gevanth,” Sarkin said, pressing his fingers to his own forehead. A Karag sign of greeting, I assumed.

The male’s voice was booming and rich when he said, “And thank you for riling her up. It will be a long journey home now.”

“Difficult to break old habits” was what Sarkin replied. He stepped forward, clutching Gevanth’s outstretched forearm with his own.

“It is when you don’t try to break them,” Gevanth replied. “She would know that better than anyone. You have more in common than either of you would ever admit.”

“Blood is blood,” Sarkin rasped.

“I’ll need your patrol report. The council will call a meeting once we have it.”

Report…on my home? On the Dakkari? To find weakness?

“I’ll send it” was all Sarkin replied. “I’d ask you to stay and rest, friend, but with all due respect, get out of Sarroth. I have enough Elysom problems. I don’t need a dozen more staying in my citadel.”

Gevanth laughed, gruff and short. “Kethra, I’m sure, is already on dragonback to Elysom.”

“Then make sure she stays there,” Sarkin returned. “I meant what I said, Gevanth.”

“I know,” the male replied, inclining his head. His eyes cut to mine, I felt him observing my scar, and then he turned. Without so much as a goodbye—not that Sarkin seemed to want one—he left, the last of the council leaving with him. Until the stone terrace was cleared out, save for myself, Sarkin, and his rider, whose name I still didn’t know.

“That went well,” the rider declared, the sarcasm dripping from his tone.

“Next time,” Sarkin said, “keep the citadel gates locked. They can rot outside for all I care.”

“I was as surprised as you were.”

“How did they know?” Sarkin growled.

“I’ve been trying to figure that out. A watch, perhaps. On the south coast. But we’ve had no reports of riders crossing our territories.”

Sarkin sharply exhaled. “Elysom always knows things they shouldn’t. And you know how that usually happens? A weapon. But now we have our own.”

My spine snapped and I frowned. “I am not yours to use.”

“That’s exactly what you are,” Sarkin answered, so dismissively it made my hackles rise. “Mine to use however I see fit.”

Impossible male! I thought, frustration making my jaw grit. I was tired, hungry, and so sore I didn’t want to move.

“Why don’t you just knock me out so I can dream for you?” I asked, my voice intentionally sweet.

Sarkin came close, dropping down until our eyes were level. He brushed his thumb across my scar and murmured, “Tempting. Should I?”

The rider cleared his throat as I glared.

Sarkin rose. He gestured to the far corner of the garden, to the small structure I’d seen tucked along the stone of the mountain.

“Your accommodations, princess,” he said. “Enjoy the bed while you can. We leave at dawn, and we’ll be staying in wild territory. Just like your hordes and Vorakkar of old.”

“If you think that scares me, you’re sorely mistaken. I grew up in a horde,” I said, my chin raising. “On the wildlands of Dakkar.”

“But you’ve never seen wildlands like these,” he said quietly, studying me as if surprised by the discovery. Softly, like a lover, he murmured, “That I promise you.”

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Chapter 10KLARA

I was surprised that Sarkin left me on my own, though I shouldn’t have been. According to him, Zaridan had my scent. She could find me anywhere. And I believed that. I was trapped without the bars of a dungeon, held tethered and leashed by his dragon.

Not that I had anywhere else to go. I’d agreed to this. And on the journey to Sarroth, I’d vowed to myself that I would take advantage of this surreal situation, to learn whatever I could about the Karag, to learn about the Elthika, and to learn about my purpose here.

Because I had a purpose here. Sarkin had made that clear. But I wasn’t going to explore that purpose for him. It was only for me. To answer the questions I’d had for years. To understand the strange stories my mother had whispered about for my entire life.

Something greater was happening now. I was no longer in control of my own fate, and I accepted that.

When I stepped inside the small structure, I saw that it was clean, if spartan. Perhaps it had belonged to a groundskeeper…whoever had once tended to the overgrown garden swallowing it up.

The inside comprised of a simple room with a raised bed—just like in the Dothikkar’s palace, though I preferred a nest of furs on the floor like in the hordes—a high table, chairs, and a stone hearth on the opposite side. There was a room off the back wall, and when I inspected that, I saw it was a washroom with a sunken-in bathing pool flush with the floor. It was steaming, already filled with water. I’d never seen one so large.