“I’ll be fine,” I informed him, my voice firm when I met his eyes. I’d been cranky too, irritation and anxiousness a constant companion today during our flight. I was tired of being hungry. I was tired of my body burning and aching with every step. I was tired of being tired.

For the foreseeable future, I wanted to stay in one place.

And it looked like I would finally get my wish as my eyes fastened on a horde spread out before us, vast and sprawling and on solid ground.

“Please tell me we’ll be here for a while,” I pleaded quietly, nearly stumbling into Sarkin when we took our first steps away from Zaridan. He frowned, reached out to steady me, and the heat of his hand felt so good against my back. Like a hot stone, loosening the soreness of my body.

“We will be here through the riding season,” he answered. “Yes.”

Relief and a twist of dread warred within me. Ever since I’d learned that I was actually expected to claim a dragon of my own, riding on the back of Zaridan had taken on a new trepidation. I’d begun to study other riders, sizing up their build and strength, only to realize that my future husband had been correct in his assessment…

I was small and weak compared to them. Perhaps I shouldn’t have spent so many years tucked into the quiet folds of the archives, where my only form of physical activity was walking the Spine of Dothik in the mornings and evening and pulling books and scrolls out from high places.

The Sarrothian were like the darukkars—the horde warriors—I’d grown up admiring. Only they held themselves in the strictest regard and were uncompromising in their work. Watching them interact among the camp, I saw they worked tirelessly and without complaint, even after long days on dragonback. I felt like a child compared to them, and I’d endeavored to hide my pain even more, to bite my tongue when I’d been on the verge of asking Sarkin for a reprieve.

I didn’t want them to think me weak. I couldn’t allow that.

Before my very eyes, I saw a horde. Only it was in a much different place, on an entirely different continent. And considering we’d crossed over another ocean today to reach the Arsadia, I wondered if I’d just stepped foot onto the third continent of my life. How many Dakkari back home could say that? None that I knew of, despite the mystery of the hordes along Sarroth’s coast long ago.

It might’ve been a horde, but it was a Karag horde and there were very stark differences to that of a Dakkari one.

“This is a permanent outpost,” I noted, realization hitting me when I saw structures that resembled the stone solikis in the Dakkari outposts, the permanent villages spread across the wildlands.

“Lysi,” he rasped, and my lips parted as our eyes met. Lysi meant yes in the Dakkari language. It was an odd sensation, hearing that word here, hearing it fall from his lips…but I liked it. It felt comforting, even if it only highlighted how far away from home I truly was. “The mountain village. We call it Rysar—the Sarrothian outpost in the Arsadia.”

“Rysar,” I repeated softly.

Unlike the domed tentlike structures called volikis in a Dakkari horde, here there were taller structures, made of a dark gray-blue textured stone that had marble streaks of black running through it like a river, glittering in the lowering sun. Not unlike the little home that was nestled in the wild gardens behind Sarkin’s citadel in Sarroth.

Some of the stone buildings even had carvings in them like the citadel’s, depictions of elaborate Elthika and Karag alike. Some homes were flat to the earth, others raised slightly depending on the elevation of the land, the entrances of which could be accessed by winding staircases.

In the distance, behind the horde was a tall mountain, much like in Sarroth. The top of which I couldn’t even see because it disappeared in the cloud covering. A gentle mist was floating, the air damp and alive here, which likely accounted for all the dark blue and green moss I spied.

To the east, I saw a circular building, taller and larger than any other here. To the west, I saw what I thought were training grounds, a vast section of the forest cleared away. Many of the riders’ Elthika were perched there, resting after the long journey. Others had already flown up into the mountain or had flown north, swooping in the sky as if pleased to be home.

Flying over the Arsadia, which was what the Karag called the Elthika’s homeland, I saw that it was a lush and vibrant place. Sarroth had been covered in deep, dark forests and mountainous valleys that gave way to rivers flowing out toward lakes and coastlines. As we flew farther north, the landscape had shifted subtly. There were open plains or vast hilly country surrounded by some of the tallest mountains I’d ever seen in my lifetime.

And here in the Arsadia? It was covered in forested land, but there were also open plains we’d flown over. At the base of this mountain, it was almost like the Trikki back home. A lush rainforest, giving way to tumbling waterfalls and vibrant life.

I couldn’t see the waterfall, but I heard it—the sound of rushing water violent and powerful. I wondered if that was why the air was so damp.

It smells good here, I thought. Wild and fresh and alive.

“This is a saruk,” I noted softly, peering up at Sarkin after I’d observed all that I could from this vantage point. “Perhaps we are not so different after all.”

“Perhaps.”

“People live here permanently?” I questioned, confused about that small detail, but it was obvious that Rysar was inhabited year-round. People milled about, welcoming the rider horde like they were old friends, helping them with their supplies. One of the novice riders, who was friends with Sammenth, went up to someone I thought might be his mother and pressed a kiss to her cheek before embracing her hard.

My heart twisted, longing going through me at the beautiful sight they made.

“Yes,” Sarkin said. “I live here nearly half the year. For the rider season and the mating season.”

I stilled and asked carefully, “The mating season?”

Sarkin leveled me a hard look. “For the Elthika.” He waved his hand to the east of the horde. “The hatchery.”

Amazement shot through me, momentarily making me forget about the pain in my body and the way I was attracting the attention and whispers of the horde as we passed by. A millions questions bubbled up in my mind.

“Ah, ah, aralye,” Sarkin said, surprising me, his hand still on my back, guiding me down a stone pathway. Was my curiosity so evident? “My priority is not to answer your questions this night. It is to get your wounds checked and get you rested, so I can attend to my saruk, as you call it.”

“I don’t have any wounds,” I lied.

He snorted with derision. “You forget so easily that I was once a new rider myself.”

“I’m not a rider,” I said quickly, a large part of me still rejecting the idea of what was expected of me.

“Yet you will be, Klara. Your instruction begins in the morning, which is why you need to sleep tonight.”

I sucked in a deep breath as we started up an incline. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am deadly serious,” he replied, cutting me a sharp look. “And I never say anything in jest when it comes to the Elthika. You’d best remember that.”

“Can I not have one day to rest, Sarkin?” I asked, stopping in the middle of the pathway when the muscles in my legs tightened so painfully that they began to spasm. I clenched my jaw. “Please,” I whispered, so onlookers wouldn’t hear my pleading.

Sarkin studied my features, those colorful eyes flitting back and forth. I wondered what he was looking for.

Finally he nodded. “Very well. One day of rest. Instead of your instruction beginning tomorrow, we will go seal our marriage bond in the temple of Lishara.”