I’d always been detached from my lovers, given what I’d experienced growing up. When they drew too closely, I pulled away. I recognized that part of myself. But Klara was my wife now. Just that thought alone brought dark pain rising. I shouldn’t have been surprised that I was struggling to let her in.

I thought this all while knowing that my mother was only one of the wounds that I kept buried deep, enclosed in the unyielding tomb of my chest. How long would it be before Klara wiggled herself inside? How long would it be until she saw the depths of my grief, the scared boy who feared love?

“I haven’t been fair to you,” I said quietly.

Her breathed hitched. “What?”

“I’m not easy, Klara. I know that,” I admitted. “But I do believe in you. If I haven’t told you that before, let me tell you now, in no uncertain terms. I believe that you can do this, aralye.”

“You do?” she asked. My chest squeezed when I heard the quiet hope in her voice.

“Lysi,” I said, inclining my head at her. “I would not lie to you about this.”

She took a deep breath as she studied me. I would’ve given a lot to hear her thoughts at that moment, wondering what she thought of me, wondering what she saw.

Then she flashed me a surprisingly bright smile. “What will you have me do tonight?”

Her quiet determination was impressive.

“You will practice mounting a real Elthika tonight,” I informed her, knowing the best way I could show her I cared was to do everything I could to ensure she succeeded. “No harnesses in rivers. That’s for children.”

“Where?” she asked, trying to hide the mild apprehension in her tone.

I jerked my head up at the mountain behind us. Her neck craned back to take in its spectacular size.

“There.”

“Again,” I said, voice even and calm with my hands tucked behind my back.

She’d been unsuccessful for the last hour, and I could see the overwhelming fatigue on Klara’s features. What impressed me, however, was that she never gave up. Even when she tried to hide the way her arms trembled from the strain of pulling herself onto the harness, over and over again, or the way she swallowed her fright and fear with every leap off the cliffside onto Zaridan’s back.

We were high up on the cliffside, intentionally so. Despite what she might’ve believed, being higher allowed more time to recover her if she happened to topple off Zaridan. If she tumbled off one of the lower cliffs, there wouldn’t be enough time to react before she met the ground. She was wary of heights, I’d realized, which never boded well for a rider. Most Sarrothian overcame that fear very young, but she was a Dakkari. One with the earth, not the sky, as she’d pointed out to me the other night.

I hadn’t realized what a hindrance that would be to overcome.

“Sloppy,” I assessed after I watched her make another attempt, this time barely sliding her leg over the harness, causing her to grapple for the stabilizing bar in a panic.

She was huffing as Zaridan hovered close to the edge of the cliff. She rested her forehead briefly on the bar as she tried to catch her breath.

Though frustration was rumbling in my chest, I knew there was a delicate balance of when to push and when to rest. If I pushed her too hard tonight, she wouldn’t perform well with Kyavor come morning, perhaps losing out on vital skills.

“Enough for tonight,” I said. “Faryn, Zari.”

I heard Klara insist, “I can keep going.”

“No,” I said. Her back hunched, her eyes catching mine. I backed up a few paces and then launched off the cliff, landing behind Klara in the harness.

“You do it so easily,” she observed in defeat as my hand came to her waist. Our bodies jolted forward as Zaridan gusted her wings, circling away from the mountain and back down toward the village.

“I’ve had years of practice,” I said into her ear, my lips brushing the sensitive flesh, my tone coming out gruffer than intended, and I caught her shiver. “Remember that. Today was your first time.”

“I’m not used to doing things not well.”

When Zaridan landed back on solid ground, I thought of Klara’s dagger tossing at the celebration feast. She’d surprised even me.

“Patience,” I said. “We’ll continue tomorrow night. This is one of the most difficult skills you will need to master, and it is the foundation of riding.”

“How long did it take you?”

My second attempt, I thought. But I didn’t tell her that, not wanting her to get discouraged. I’d studied Elthika riders closely when I’d been young. I used to watch them for hours in our village outside Sarroth, long after the sunlight had faded, more as an excuse not to return home than anything.

Most importantly, I’d grown up with an Elthika, even though I was not a blood born.

“Long enough.”

“Gods,” she groaned. “You’re lying to me. That’s exactly what someone would say when it took them no time at all.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” I grunted, tapping on Zaridan’s joint, feeling the vibration as she extended her wing for our descent. “I never pegged you as a pouter.”

“I’m not pouting,” she argued.

“You just don’t like failing,” I finished for her. “I hate to tell you this, aralye, but you will fail more than you will succeed when it comes to the Elthika. The sooner you accept that, the easier time you’ll have. Do not focus on perfection. Focus on consistency. Think like this instead: There is no right way to ride an Elthika. All that matters is that you can.”

Klara was looking up at me, her lips parted, as we both stepped off Zaridan’s wing, onto the earth.

“All that matters is that I can,” she repeated softly, and I saw her consume those words. “I can work with that.”

“Good.”

Then she sighed, bending down to stroke her fingers over the moss-covered dirt.

“If I fail during the first flight,” she began, “will you or Zari let me fall?”

I flinched, the reaction her words brought forth. A flash of Haden’s face flickered to life in my mind, the fear and realization I’d seen, and I squeezed my eyes shut, momentarily trying to dispel that harrowing image.

“What?” I said carefully.

“Never mind,” she breathed, her fist clenching into the earth in finality, as if squeezing that worry away. “The soil is so rich here. So full of life.”

I was still frowning when she stood. Between us, she held out a clump of dirt. I could smell it, the damp musk.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

I’d always been too busy looking at the horizon. Not the land.

“My people believe that the same power that created the red fog in the Dead Lands, the fog that almost wiped out our entire race, had happened before. Nearly four hundred years ago when the mrok illa star was shining in the sky,” she said, her eyes rapt on the dirt, pressing her thumb into it.

I hadn’t heard that, nor had our spies or scouts ever mentioned anything like it.

“It was a disease in the soil, leeching the life out of the land, sickening everyone. Or perhaps it was a heartstone curse,” she said. “Maybe once, the earth of Dakkar was like this. But we don’t have beautiful soil like this back home.”

I remembered Dakkar. While it held a wondrous, raw beauty, the wildlands could be desolate and punishing. It was a particular way of life, and I marveled that Klara had grown up living it.

After last night, there were stories milling around the horde about her, mostly positive, which boded well. After her dagger display and the questions the acolytes had peppered her with afterward, it was becoming apparent to the Sarrothian that they had perhaps misjudged her.

As had I.

She wasn’t a spoiled princess who’d had an easy life. She’d grown up like many of my own people and not without her own challenges. But questions of her lineage would undoubtedly rise. She was the child of an affair, one of the highest dishonors among the Sarrothian, and I knew that many would not look kindly upon that, even if Klara herself had had no part in it. She was marked by it and would be forever.