She said something to him I couldn’t make out, and I heard his responding chuckle. Jealousy burned in my belly, discomforting but real. I hadn’t expected it to bother me so much. He was my husband now—we were bonded together in his culture and mine.

So why did it bother me that another female—one I knew he’d had a romantic history with—could make him laugh and smile?

You’re being ridiculous, I thought, shaking myself, and I resolutely turned around. Of course she would make him happy. They were old friends and riding partners. I was just a stranger he’d made his queen.

“Ah, Sorrina,” came the voice. I looked up, giving the group of riders and my instructor an uncertain smile as I stepped toward them. Their faces were so serious. One, a girl with stern lips, even looked me up and down, as if sizing me up for competition. “The Karath told me you would begin instruction today.”

“You can call me Klara,” I said, joining the group, realizing that even though they were over a decade younger than me, most still towered over me.

The male shook his head. “I will call you Acolyte, for that is what you are now.”

I nearly gulped.

“You may call me Kyavor,” he said. “I’ll be your riding instructor. Now, fall in line with the rest of the acolytes.”

I swallowed down the sudden knot of nerves in my throat, suddenly apprehensive about what the day would bring.

“Yes, Kyavor.”

By nightfall, it hurt to even move and Ryena was patiently and courteously listening to my whining as she mixed together more salve. Sammenth, on the other hand, was trying to stifle her laughter.

“And then the look she gives me,” I said, my eyes wide, a soft chuckle filling Ryena’s home, which she shared with her sister when she was in the Arsadia. “You’d think I’d committed a grave atrocity against her.”

“Vyaria is a blood-born rider,” Sammenth informed me behind her sly smirk. “She’ll be harsh, even to you. During rider training, rank doesn’t matter. You’re all equal. It’ll be her one and only chance to chastise her queen, and she likely knows it.”

“I noticed she doesn’t have a tail,” I said quietly. “The majority of them don’t.”

“Most are blood borns. It’s the easiest way into rider instruction, especially with Kyavor. He’s one of the greats. Even the Karath from the North will send his acolytes to be trained by Kyavor some years, if they show any great potential.”

Vyaria, the blood-born rider, had nearly sent me scurrying from the training grounds in shame that afternoon. I’d been partnered with her to do practice mounts. Kyavor had placed an Elthika harness—with no extra padding—on a boulder in the very center of the river. Off of a ledge that jutted out near the stone, we were expected to jump onto the saddle and secure ourselves into place.

With the rushing river, it was our partner’s job to ensure that we didn’t get caught up in the current if we missed the mount. One time, I swore that Vyaria had been debating whether to throw me the tether to save me before I’d tumbled over the waterfall’s edge. Only at the very last moment had she thrown me the braided leather.

“Well, this blood-born rider wants to kill me,” I deadpanned.

“Ahh, I miss the afternoons of river mounts,” Sammenth said, her tone wistful. “When you’ve barely enough strength to hold on to the harness, much less fight the current. One of the acolytes during my year went over the falls. They don’t put the net out yet to catch the riders. He was unconscious for the rest of the day.”

I nearly shuddered, remembering my fall off the cliffside in Sarroth. If I thought I’d been tired after riding Zaridan for nearly three days straight, I’d been sorely mistaken. My limbs felt like jelly. I was scared to stand up in case my knees gave out.

And tomorrow! Gods, how would I ever survive?

“Finished,” Ryena announced, spooning the last of the fresh salve into the jar for me, the reason why I’d come in the first place.

“Kakkira vor,” I murmured. “Thank you.”

“I’ll have more ready for you tomorrow,” she promised, patting my shoulder. “Try to stay alive until then. Or at the very least, try not to let a little acolyte murder you.”

“She wouldn’t murder me,” I said. At least I didn’t truly believe so.

“She just wouldn’t save you if she could,” Sammenth cackled, snickering. “On Muron’s strength, I don’t miss rider training.”

“You’re still in rider training,” Ryena pointed out.

“I meant I don’t miss the training before I bonded with my Elthika,” Sammenth amended. She looked at me. “It gets better, I promise. During training, all riders are equals, including the blood borns who come from a long line of riders. No favor is given. The instructors don’t make it easy—they don’t believe in that. Hardship creates mental fortitude, discipline, and willpower. All are necessary to bond with an Elthika, and all are necessary to become a rider for the horde.”

“And bonding…how does it happen?” I asked, sliding my elbows onto the table.

“At the end of the season,” Sammenth said, nodding at her sister when the healer brought her a cup of steeped tea, “the riders who are of age are taken to the Tharken cliffs.”

“Of age?”

“Yes, eighteen years and above. You can be in rider instruction as young as twelve though, you just can’t participate in the illa’rosh.”

“At Tharken?”

Samment nodded. “It’s a mountain range, northwest of here, where unclaimed Elthika gather during the silver moon. You’re given the opportunity to bond with an Elthika of your choosing, but they must choose you too. That happens during the first flight. You have to claim an Elthika—without a harness, mind you—and if they accept you, they won’t throw you off their backs so that you plummet to your death. It’s called the illa’rosh.”

My chest squeezed. My first thought was that Sarkin—or Zaridan—wouldn’t let me be thrown off and fall…but I wasn’t so sure. In order to fully be accepted as queen of the Sarrothian, I had to bond with an Elthika. If I was rejected during the first flight…that would make me the queen of nothing. I would lose the respect of Sarkin’s people.

I would lose his if I had it at all.

“How many have been rejected?” I asked, not entirely sure I wanted to know the answer.

Sammenth shared a look with Ryena. The healer set a cup down in front of me, steam curling from the top. She’d told me the tea would help with muscle aches, to help with the pain that would undoubtedly come tomorrow.

“Plenty,” Ryena said. She shook her head, a shiver working its way up her spine. “When Sammenth wanted to be a rider…I swear, I couldn’t sleep for years until she bonded with Orelle.”

Orelle must’ve been Sammenth’s Elthika.

“The Karath’s best friend, when they were younger, was rejected during his first flight,” Sammenth said quietly. “Sarkin had to watch him fall. That, I imagine, is worse.”

“What?” I whispered, shock rooting me into place on the bench.

“That’s not our place to talk about,” Ryena said sharply to her younger sister.

Sammenth breathed in deeply, flashing me a small, apologetic smile. “No one in my kya’rassa was rejected.” I remembered that word. Sarkin had used it once. It meant rider horde, though he’d used it to refer to his best riders, the ones he’d chosen, the ones he trusted to keep the entire horde safe. “It happens less than you think. The Elthika are choosy about their riders, but only a few rejections end in a death fall. Most will return the rider to steady ground. The Vyrin…those are the ones you need to be careful of if you select one.”

“The Vyrin?”

“It’s a name for the ancients, though they aren’t truly old—not in years at least. They are high-ranking Elthika from strong bloodlines. Zaridan is a Vyrin, for example. Vyrins can afford to be very particular about their chosen rider. They’re the ones that are dangerous during a first flight.”