I waded through the river, my boots soaking through, navigating to the metal plank, bracing myself when I turned my back to the river current. The plank was thick and sturdy but barely wider than my booted foot.

Briefly, I turned my head to regard Sarkin. He was standing along the riverbank, his arms crossed over his chest, Feranos at his side. I saw Levanth too, though she was speaking with Ryena.

This exercise would be child’s play to a rider like her, a little voice in my head reminded me.

Sarkin reclaimed my gaze. I swore I could still feel the strength of his grip on my hips from last night. My breathing went even more shallow, thinking of his warm skin and the sweep of his tongue.

I’d fallen asleep in his arms last night, but I’d woken alone this morning. This was the first time I was seeing him since our lovemaking, and I found myself looking to him for comfort. For assurance?

He inclined his head at me, those dark eyes intense and watchful, and I took a deep breath.

“Everyone falls their first time,” Kyavor’s voice came, loudly. “That should make you feel better, Acolyte.”

“It doesn’t,” I grumbled under my breath, inhaling deeply as I placed my slippery foot on the metal plank.

As I steadied myself, I looked out over the view from the top of the river. I could see endless forests, valleys, and majestic mountains. The sun was casting everything golden, highlighting every inch of beauty of the Arsadia. I thought of the quiet but dark archives, the whisper of paper and the murmuring of hushed voices. I wondered where I would rather be at this moment.

And with the memory of Sarkin’s kiss and the knowledge that he thought I was beautiful…I thought that I wouldn’t trade this view for anything.

Even if fear made me tremble.

I balanced myself, holding my arms out parallel, as I stepped fully out on the beam. Belatedly, I realized that most riders would have done a running jump mount, but it was too late for that.

Navigating the beam was easier than expected, and I was relieved when I dropped onto the harness, assuming the rider position—back straight but bent low over the Elthika’s body, thighs tight and braced, and with a steady grip on both tethers. Riders could either use the tether or just keep their hands on the bar that ran across the harness. Sarkin had always used the tethers for Zaridan, however, and so I didn’t think twice about reaching for them. Everything was wet from the spray of the waterfalls. Perhaps on purpose, to prepare for any situation on Elthika-back.

It was my mistake to look down. I went a little dizzy when I saw the drop and the rushing violence of the waterfall.

“Ready?” Kyavor called out.

I heard my own gulp over the noise, my hands tightening on the leather straps.

I can do this, I thought. I have to.

Kyavor’s system of levers and pulls was a surprisingly intricate mechanism. The mount jolted into motion, the force and strength of which surprised me. My first thought was it did actually feel like riding Zaridan, but then panic set in when my grip began to slip.

My eyes flicked down the drop of the waterfall, my heart beginning to pound so fast and hard that it felt like a punch in my chest.

Stop, I wanted to cry out. Tears pricked the inner corners of my eyes, and it took everything in me not to plead to Kyavor. It would embarrass Sarkin. It would make me look weak in front of his entire horde…because word would spread like wildfire through Rysar.

My thighs slid, and I let out a little cry before I could stop myself, my hands scrambling to hold on to the tethers tighter and tighter. They were slippery in my grip. I released them, instead using the bar in one last attempt to hold on.

Kyavor was merciless with his machine. It was what I imagined trying to ride on the back of a wild wrissan felt like. He was trying to make me fall.

When my thighs slid off the harness when Kyavor tilted the body of the Elthika model, there was no stopping the fall. There was a part of me that wanted to fall, if only to end this. This fear, this panic. When my hands let go, I didn’t know if it was willing or not.

I heard the collective gasp from the horde when I tumbled off the side. My gut dropped, an unpleasant fluttering beginning in my throat as my scream escaped me. I was freefalling, my thoughts wild, hands flailing out to try to grip something, to try to catch my fall. It reminded me of Sarroth, of tumbling off the side of the cliff. If Sarkin hadn’t been there, if he hadn’t caught me in time, I would be dead.

My eyes squeezed shut, willing the world to stop.

Please, please, please, I prayed. To Kakkari? I didn’t know. To anyone—god, goddess, or Elthika—who would listen, more likely.

The net knocked the wind right of me. I lay there in disbelief, tears dripping out of the corners of my eyes, mingling with the mist of the falls as I stared up at the sky. Gasping. Trying to breathe. Trying to understand that I was alive.

My hands curled into the weave of the rope net beneath me, using it to stabilize me. The rough scratch of it felt comforting. I was halfway down the cliffside, and when I caught my breath, I crawled off the net, keeping my eyes up and not on the drop below me. I made it to the staircase that led back up to the landing on shaking legs.

Reality hit me. I’d maybe lasted a few seconds on the mount, though it had seemed a hundred times longer. Above me, I watched as Vyaria did a leaping mount onto the Elthika model, and mortification burned. I pressed my back into the cliff wall, watching as my partner easily maneuvered through the exercise, no matter what Kyavor threw at her. Her position was unmovable. I didn’t see her slip once.

I heard footsteps on the stone steps. When I turned my head and saw Sarkin, I bit my lip, tilting my head back.

“Don’t lie to me…how bad was it?” I asked, eyeing Vyaria.

“I told you before—your fear of falling will only hinder you. You must overcome it,” Sarkin replied, making me blow out a breath.

“I can’t go back up there,” I breathed. “All those people watching…”

Sarkin came down the final few steps. I felt his hand come to my cheek, tilting my face up toward him. He was warm and solid. I wanted to reach out a hand to press against his chest, to feel his sturdy and stable heart, to let it ground me. But I didn’t know if it would be welcome. So much was still uncertain between us, though last night had been a step forward.

“Is that a factor? The horde watching?” he asked.

“It doesn’t help,” I admitted, catching his eyes. Above us, Vyaria was still on the mount. Clang, clang, clang, the machinery went, bumping above the strong metal stabilizing plank. “I know I’ll be watched more than others. And I don’t like…I don’t like being bad at anything. I don’t like other people to see me fail.”

“That is all riding is in the beginning,” Sarkin told me. His eyes were beautiful in the shadowy light of the cliff. The mist from the waterfall danced between us, sparkling in the sunlight. “Everyone expects you to fail…until you don’t anymore.”

“I felt like I was watched in Dothik all the time,” I admitted. “The bastard child of the king. Everyone was waiting for me to slip up. I’ve heard all sorts of things said about me, my mother. Horrible things. Here…the Sarrothian expect greatness because I’m now your wife. I hate…I hate being laughed at.”

“No one is laughing at you,” Sarkin said immediately, his tone inviting no rebuttal. “That’s all in your head.”

They were sweet words, meant only to comfort me, but I knew the truth. If I couldn’t master riding an Elthika, I would never be one of them.

“Come,” Sarkin said, his grip trailing my face to take my hand. “You don’t want an audience? We will train in private.”