The Sarrothian could be a judgmental people, one of the things I’d hoped to change when I’d taken over command of the territory. But one could not erase centuries of preconceived notions.

The rest of the Karag viewed the Sarrothian as a rigid, unyielding people. But it made trade more difficult, negotiations more tense. It would benefit us to be more open to outsiders. Perhaps a large part of that change could come with Klara.

If she can bond with an Elthika, I knew. That one sacred oath that the Sarrothian expected above all else.

It wasn’t enough that Zaridan had given Klara her sy’asha. It wasn’t enough that I’d chosen her as my wife. It wasn’t enough that Lishara had given us a blessing at her temple—the memory of which was still a constant reply in my mind, a constant erotic reminder.

Klara dropped the clump of earth she’d picked up, wiping her hands together. I cleared my throat, the night returning to me.

To Zaridan, I said, “Sen endrassa.”

She made a sound like a half groan, half purr, energy being pulled in from the ground all around her before she unleashed it, catapulting up into the air.

“What does that mean?” she asked, watching Zaridan fly, tracking her toward the mountain.

“It is a term of respect, appreciation.”

“Like a thank-you?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And where does she go? She sleeps in the mountain? Does she have a family of her own?”

“Zaridan? No. She has chosen no mate and, as such, has no brood.”

“Are all the Vyrin like that?”

I cast her a look as we walked back toward the horde. It seemed she’d learned much today. “When you get to be as advanced in your years as the Vyrin, when you have made a name for yourself among your kind and wield the power of ethrall, with all of its responsibilities, you have the luxury of being particular.”

“Are mate bonds not seen as desirable among the Elthika? I would think it would strengthen them.”

“They do. But equals are hard to find among the Vyrin. And they would never settle for less than their equal.”

Klara looked up at me, and I could see what she was wondering. If I considered her my equal and…vice versa.

My spine straightened at the thought, frowning.

“Zaridan’s brother…”

“Lygath,” I told her.

“Lygath,” she whispered, and a strange look came over her face. “Where is he now?”

My jaw tightened. “He is near. When Zaridan is present in the Arsadia, he is always near.”

“And what is he like?”

“Unyielding” was the immediate word that spilled from my mouth.

“I’d…I’d heard that…” She trailed off, as if uncertain how to form the words.

I made a sound of derision in the back of my throat. “Though the Sarrothian pride themselves on being principled, they sure do like to talk.”

“Ignore me,” she relented. Her cheeks pink, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

Briefly, I debated telling her. It wasn’t a secret. In the end, I couldn’t stomach it. Not right then. “I don’t enjoy talking about it. Don’t take it personally.”

She nodded and thankfully remained silent on the subject. There was a sudden restlessness building up inside me, despite my fatigue. Brought on by the memory of Haden? Lygath? It started slow, like an itch beneath my skin, but it made my heart race. My pace quickened too, like I was trying to escape it, drawing nearer and nearer to my home. Our home, I realized.

“Did you find the Elthika you were looking for?” she asked instead.

“No sign of them,” my voice clipped, which she tried to ignore.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not yet.”

We walked the rest of the way in silence as my restlessness grew. When we reached the steps that led up the door, I stilled, and Klara looked back at me with confusion.

“I’ll post a guard out the door tonight,” I told her. But the thought of going inside with her, feeling the heat of her skin next to me on the furs on the ground, the strap around my ankle, surrounded by walls…I couldn’t bear it.

“You’re not coming in?” she asked, her lips frowning. “Sarkin, I’m sorry about⁠—”

“It’s not that,” I growled. It was exactly that. When I caught the flash of hurt on her face, I couldn’t stand it. Frustration and self-loathing cut through me. I’d wanted to move forward with her, but like I feared, there were many wounds that kept her away. “And please understand, Klara…this…this isn’t about us. This is me. And only me. Go. Sleep.”

This was why it had always been easier to be alone.

Now I feared I could never be right for her. That I could never be what she needed me to be.

“And where will you sleep?” she asked.

“I won’t. I’ll see you tomorrow night for another session with Zaridan.”

Then I left, heading toward the spray of the waterfall, trying to get Haden’s face—and Lygath’s roar as my friend had fallen—out of my head.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter 24KLARA

“Uncoordinated,” came Sarkin’s growl. One of his favorite critiques whenever I launched myself on the back of Zaridan, limbs flailing.

I was dripping in the wet night air. I’d come to learn that depending on the direction of the wind, the nights were either cool and damp or warm and only slightly humid. Tonight it was warm, but the humidity mingled with my exertion until I was constantly wiping my slipping palms on my pants.

“You’re not locking your legs when you land,” he told me when I walked off Zaridan’s wing again, his gaze cool and assessing. His arms were crossed over his chest.

“I’m trying,” I argued, hunching over, dragging in breath. “I don’t have that much time to make the jump!”

Zaridan was so massive that she temporarily had to tuck her wing that was closest to the cliffside during the drills, using her other to keep herself airborne. Otherwise she’d be too far away for me.

Today Kyavor had pushed us on endurance. We’d run for miles over the terrain, dodging through thick forests and crawling over any boulders we could find, even if they weren’t in our way. It was a good way to get a feel for the surrounding land that rippled away from the village—the Arsadia was quite beautiful—but I couldn’t appreciate it enough given how out of breath I’d been, on the verge of losing my morning meal.

The archives in Dothik hadn’t exactly afforded me the physical endurance of the average Karag rider. Perhaps if I’d still been living on the wildlands, it would’ve been easier.

I’d been in instruction with Kyavor—and Sarkin—for the last four days.

And Sarkin still hasn’t returned to bed, I couldn’t help but think. I didn’t see him in the mornings or afternoons. He only came to collect me during the evenings.

“You perfected it with Kyavor yesterday, didn’t you?” Sarkin asked, letting me catch my breath. I could feel his eyes on me in the darkness as Zaridan flew away from the cliff briefly, stretching her wings. It was an exercise for her too, to keep herself stationary, just underneath the ledge of the cliff.

I thought back to the river exercises. Even my grumpy little partner, Vyaria, had been begrudgingly impressed when I’d nailed the harness landings three times back-to-back.

“Yes,” I answered, a swell of pride making me straighten. I wiped my arm over my forehead.

“You’re frightened,” Sarkin guessed.

I bit my tongue. He didn’t have to tell me that.

“I see it. The hesitation, right before you jump,” he said. “Every single time. Get it under control, Klara.”

Irritation made my lips press together. “Oh, I had no idea it was so easy. Thank Kakkari, I’m cured!”

Sarkin blew out a sharp breath at my sarcasm. “We’re done for the night.”

Even I could see his exhaustion. His kya’rassa, his most trusted riders, had been on patrol for days on end. I knew he’d had a meeting with the Karath of the North yesterday too—it was all anyone could talk about.