“No Karag will ever deny the part the Elthika have played in our good fortune,” I told her. I tipped up her chin so she met my eyes. “But no other race has bonded with the Elthika like the Karag have. No other race has dared to try. Does that not deserve your respect, now that you have been on the back of Zaridan? Now that you have seen her capabilities firsthand and felt the humbling awe of your own fear entwined with her might?”

“Are you fearful every time you fly with her, then?” she asked. Clever girl. “Even after all this time?”

“Of course I am,” I said. Surprise flitted over her face, as if struck that I’d admit to it. What she didn’t understand was that all riders would. “If you are not, you do not respect your Elthika. But you will learn that concept in time. Sarroth produces more riders for the Karag than any other of our nations. If you are to be the Sarrothian queen, you will learn that fear better than most. Your people will expect it of you…and they will never accept you otherwise.”

A soft exhale escaped her.

Tonight had proven what I’d needed to know. Tonight had proven why I’d trusted my instinct with Klara, why I’d made a split decision the moment I’d seen her scar—the bonding mark of my own Elthika, meant for me to see.

Tonight I’d woken in a strange state from a dead sleep, feeling a pressure at the base of my neck. I didn’t know how to explain it, but I knew it was Zaridan’s call, though I’d never felt anything like it before. That ability—that bond with an Elthika—had been long lost with the diminishing power of the heartstones. It might not be until the next generation, possibly even two, where riders would feel that connection again…and that was only if we were able to find more heartstones.

But I’d felt it tonight. I’d felt Zaridan’s restlessness, and it had driven me immediately from bed, sensing that something was wrong.

Zaridan had saved Klara’s life, not me.

Klara had been on Karak soil for no time at all, and already I felt a blooming connection with Zaridan that hadn’t been there before. Tonight had proved to me that this was the right choice. Despite what I wanted, Klara was an important piece in helping to restore Karak to what it had once been.

Zaridan knew that. Now I did too.

But it was my own oversight that had nearly cost Klara her life. What would we have lost if she’d fallen tonight?

“Do you often wander in your sleep?” I asked, my tone harsher than I expected. “Sarroth is an elevated city, especially the citadel.”

“Tonight was the first time,” she said, watching me wind a bandage around her palm. “Another reason to fear sleep, I suppose.”

The words were quiet. They made discomfort wiggle in my chest.

“No need to fear it anymore,” I said, blowing out a sharp breath.

“Why?”

I met her eyes before packing up the healing kit, pleased that her wounds were cleaned and tended to.

“From now on, you’ll sleep with me. I’ll tie you to me at night if I must,” I informed her. Her lips parted, a red, enticing flush coloring her cheeks. “Let’s rest now. Even after the events of tonight, we still leave for the Arsadia at dawn.”

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Chapter 12KLARA

“Stay with Zaridan,” Sarkin ordered me. “We’ll make camp here for the night.”

He left me sitting on the back of his dragon, but I was too exhausted to protest. I could feel others’ eyes on me, a sensation I’d been well acquainted with back in Dothik.

A thrum of sudden longing went through me, a cutting ache. I missed my home. I missed my life. I missed Dannik and Sora, the quiet of the archives, walking the Spine early in the mornings when the city was still sleeping, and the desolate beauty of the wildlands in the evenings. The soft wind curling through my hair like Kakkari’s touch.

Tears started swimming in my eyes, but I refused to cry. I was just tired, I reasoned. We’d traveled all day, with only a single break in the middle. Ever since I’d left Dothik four days ago, I’d had very little time off Zaridan’s back. Last night, at Sarkin’s citadel, had been my longest respite, and it had been a restless one. It was punishing…but everyone else around me was used to this.

The rider horde was studying me as Sarkin walked away. I could feel it. I’d felt their eyes on me all day, even mid-flight. They were sizing me up, trying to determine if I would be a hindrance…dead weight.

Zaridan hummed underneath me, and I tapped on her wing. She extended it, and I maneuvered off her back. When I didn’t stumble and thereby make a fool of myself in front of Sarkin’s horde, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Which quickly morphed into a sharp inhale as I took my first step. Ignore the pain, I coached myself. I hid my wince, my legs numb, my back throbbing.

To distract myself, I asked a passing male, “Can I help you with that?”

He was a rider, though I knew he wasn’t one of Sarkin’s prime group—the ranks and orders of which I still didn’t quite understand. He was carrying two buckets of water, heading in the direction of a small group of people who were preparing fresh meat for the traveling horde.

His eyes narrowed on me. “No,” he grunted.

Then he walked past as if I hadn’t spoken at all. My throat felt tight, embarrassment taking root. I walked a short distance away, determined to make myself useful even though my entire body screamed in protest.

The camp was a flurry of life and activity. I heard the Karag language being spoken, jovial laughs, and orders being barked. I got the attention of a young female who was going around refilling waterskins.

“Can I help you with that?”

She frowned. She gave me a strange look, mumbled something in the Karag language, and then pushed past.

I felt the prickle of Sarkin’s gaze on me, and when I looked up to meet it, he had his chin tilted back, regarding me over a fire that had already been built on the earth. Something a Dakkari would never do. Fire should never touch the earth. It was an insult to Kakkari.

But you’re not in Dakkar anymore, I thought sadly.

Sarkin was speaking with his commander, the one who’d flown with us from Dakkar, the one who’d been present on the terrace yesterday. Feranos, I’d determined his name was, hearing it lobbed around at various points throughout the day. That was another thing that was strange—to know the given names of horde members that I’d barely even spoken to.

Why did I feel like I had something to prove to him? To these people?

Because they won’t accept you if you don’t, I reminded myself. Sarkin had said something similar to me last night. Just because Sarkin intended to make me his queen, it didn’t mean the Sarrothian would welcome me with open arms.

But this was my life now. This was where I would live. I wanted to be accepted by them. I wanted to be comfortable with them, like I had been with our own horde, growing up on the wildlands of Dakkar. The horde had been like a family. A strong community of people, working together. When my mother and I had moved to Dothik, it had been like losing a limb.

“Let me help with those,” I said, reaching out to touch pelts that an older female was distributing. She jerked the pelts away, and I stood there, reeling and mortified, as she turned her back.

I spun on my heel back to Zaridan when I felt the tears sting my eyes. The last thing I wanted was the horde to see me cry. I wouldn’t be able to stand that.

“It’s just been a long day,” I whispered under my breath. “It’ll get better.”

Gingerly, uncaring who saw this time, I sought comfort next to Zaridan. I didn’t think I would be able to stand a rejection from Sarkin’s dragon too…but Zaridan accepted my touch. She lifted her wing so that I could maneuver next to it, steadying myself with her at my back as I slowly slid down her side, close to her forelimbs. She was sitting, her wings curled almost demurely around her, and I could feel her radiate heat. Her head was raised, observing the encampment just as I was, a quiet sentinel on the edge of the forest.