I stood, swaying lightly, and Sarkin stepped forward to take my wrist, pulling me so that his hand was at my back and I was tucked close at his side.

I waved goodbye to Sammenth and Ryena, realizing that Sarkin was right. I’d waited over a decade for answers. Would I be satisfied if I never answered all of them?

I might not have a choice, I knew.

“Are we friends again?” I asked quietly, peering up at Sarkin as he led us away from the dwindling celebration. We passed an older male, snoozing at the table, still laden with food.

In the quiet of the horde, Sarkin said, “You are not my friend, Klara. You are my wife.”

“I can be both,” I said, a little drunkenly. “We can build this to last, you and me, and I think being friends would certainly help. Don’t you think?”

Sarkin stopped in the middle of the pathway. We were alone, everyone either in their beds or still at the feast. “Is that truly what you want?”

I thought about Lishara’s temple. The magic I’d felt there. The raw passion, the ache, the frenzy of it. Of Sarkin’s lips at my throat, his cock deep inside me, my nails digging into him as I’d needed more, more, more.

“Yes,” I said, a little breathless, feeling a flush come on, and I hoped that Sarkin just thought it was from the wine. “That’s what I want.”

Sarkin said nothing.

And we walked back to his—our—stone dwelling at the top of the village in silence.

It didn’t feel like a truce at all.

Yet…right at the doorway, as I turned to look back over the celebration one last time, I heard the quiet words: “I can be your friend, Klara.”

I looked up at him, hope springing in my chest. A stray breeze pushed a wavy lock across his forehead as his dark eyes burned into mine.

“At least, I can try,” he amended, brow furrowed.

I figured that was as good as I’d get tonight.

“Friends,” I agreed.

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Chapter 22KLARA

“This is a jest, surely,” I said quietly under my breath, seeing the small group assembled just inside what Sarkin called the landing field.

It was the field to the west of the village, the same one we’d left yesterday for our ceremony at Lishara’s temple. Only now there was only a single Elthika in the field, sleek with scales of shimmering blue.

A familiar male was standing in front of a group of young adults. No older than eighteen or nineteen. Hell, one of them appeared to be a teenager.

“You will learn with them,” Sarkin informed me, his arm brushing my shoulder when we stopped on the outskirts of the fence. “Lysi?”

He was using my own language to try to charm me?

I wasn’t in the mood. Thanks to the wine from last night’s celebration and my poor decision to continue drinking it with each new opponent, my head was throbbing, my jaw tight.

The rest of my body wasn’t faring so well either. While the majority of the rider burn between my thighs was healing—I could at least walk without feeling like the skin was chafing and raw—I was acutely aware of new aches, courtesy of Sarkin and the blessing that his dragon goddess had bestowed upon us.

In my bath this morning, I’d uncovered bruises from his fingertips, tender red marks where he’d nibbled and sucked, and a sharp ache between my thighs whenever I moved a certain way.

And now…it was my first official day of Elthika riding training.

“I’ll be training with children?” I asked softly, eyeing the group, eleven in total.

“Yes, and you have some catching up to do,” Sarkin informed me unhelpfully, making my head pound even further. “They’ve already been in training for five weeks.”

I shot him a look. I had the distinct impression that Sarkin enjoyed poking at me when I was so obviously grumpy.

“I trust that you’ll handle it,” he told me. “I have to fly north today.”

“Why?” I asked. I had noticed he was in his riding leathers, but since I knew very little about his daily life—or that of the Karag in general—I hadn’t thought much of it.

“Patrol” was all Sarkin said. When I waited, he added, “There was an Elthikan stronghold along the northern coast of the Arsadia. We received word from another Karath that they appear to have left.”

“You want to investigate why,” I guessed.

He inclined his head.

“Does it have to do with the heartstones?” I wondered.

“Perhaps,” he said. “There are so few now. The heartstone’s energy is like the sun to them. They need it. They will instinctively seek out wherever they feel their energy. At least the remnants of it. That’s why we saw that Elthikan horde by Lishara’s temple yesterday. They are new to the territory. And whenever hordes start encroaching…well, Elthika are notoriously territorial and will defend their land if necessary. The Karaths fear another Elthikan war with so many dragon hordes living closer and closer to one another.”

Again I was reminded that there was so much to learn. My gaze went to the familiar male, standing tall in front of the group of young riders, his hands clasped behind his back. Last night I’d seen him speaking with Sarkin when I’d been talking with Sammenth and Ryena. That was why he’d looked so familiar.

Was he to be my instructor? If so, perhaps I could begin my Elthikan education with him, one I desperately needed, as long as he wouldn’t mind my endless questions.

“I didn’t realize that there were territory disputes and politics among the Elthika themselves,” I said. How would I be able to cram in a lifetime of education as quickly as possible?

To anyone else, it might’ve seemed daunting. To me, it was a worthy challenge. I felt a spark of determination light up my chest. Part of my reason for coming here was to learn. To understand the Karag and the Elthika. They were one in the same…but also apart. The Karag didn’t own and care for the Elthika. Not like the Dakkari hordes with their pyrokis. There was a very special and careful relationship between them. And I was beginning to realize that the Elthika were a race all their own, one that worked in tandem with the Karag, not for.

Given what I knew, I could understand why the Karag revered and respected them. Why they spoke of them in such a particular way. There was a healthy mixture of understanding and fear. Because if you feared something, you respected it. Sarkin had alluded to that once.

“Go,” Sarkin urged, pressing his hand to my low back, the heat seeping into the stiff material, and giving me a nudge. “I’ll be back after nightfall.”

It was just after dawn, the Arsadia encampment quiet behind us, especially after the celebration last night.

“Be safe,” I told him, giving a small smile. His eyes flicked to mine. “We’re doing all right at this friend thing, don’t you think?”

It was meant to lighten the mood between us, which still felt a little stilted and strange.

But the moment I said the words, I thought of us at Lishara’s temple, flashes of sensations—pleasurable and intense—returning to me.

What was worse was that I could see Sarkin thinking the same things, remembering the same things.

I cleared my throat, cheeks going warm, and Sarkin let out a growl—one I had the impression he hadn’t meant to make—before taking a step away.

Last night, though he’d slept on the floor with me, in the bed of furs still haphazardly slung onto the ground, with our ankles tied together again, we’d both made an effort to stay as far away from each other as possible.

“I’ll return tonight” was all he replied, and I couldn’t help my sigh when he finally turned away.

There was a group of riders that had assembled—Sarkin’s main wing—down the pathway. Levanth was among them, and I felt my throat go a little tight, blinking when I saw her smile at him in greeting.