We were supposed to do this together. All of us. If Ninon is undesirable, if this hinders her chance at being selected, then she’ll be all alone. She has no one but us. I have no one but her. Kalixta has always been favored by our mother. After all, it wasn’t Kalixta who shamed her by giving her two daughters. It was me. It wasn’t only that; it was our behaviors, too. While Kalixta would obediently affix herself at mother’s side, being groomed beyond necessity for her future role as a carremai, I would sneak off and avoid any and all preparation that wasn’t required – and when I did, there was always Ninon. Ninon, who strangely was no twin at all, but whose mother adored me as her own.
With my focus snagged on Ninon, I don’t notice the Sar Dyeus moving on to me. I don’t notice his hovered hand, nor do I lower my head as I ought to. I stand transfixed by Ninon’s wide eyed expression. At the relief etched on her face. Never once did I consider she might not want this. And I realize, I never once considered ifIwanted this. It hadn’t occurred to me that not wanting to become a carremai was an option. My mind whirls, dizzying me until unexpected whispers shake my attention, belatedly catching my mother hissing my name, trying to grab my attention.
Blinking, I finally turn to face him. The dragon king’s dark gaze bores into me. Heat radiates across my skin as his palm hovers over my lower sternum, over the mark he gave me and has given every one of us women at birth.
I can’t leave Ninon. I can’t.
I won’t.
My sternum burns as hot as steel in a fire. I grit my teeth. His nostrils flare and his chest heaves. The muscle in his jaw flutters and he lowers his hand.
He stares at me for a beat. Then another. The air is muffled with the tension. I don’t think a single person is breathing, all of us caught in this electric silence.
Finally, firmly, the Sar Dyeus speaks. “Undesirable.”
Without another word, without another look, he moves on, marking everyone else as acceptable while my ears ring with his word and the sound of my mother’s weeping.
Ninon’s hand slips into mine and she squeezes. I squeeze back, though it trembles violently in her grip. I look from her to my sister, whose gaze is transfixed on the elite who chose her, who will breed her…and who will leave her once she’s fulfilled her duty. I wanted what she got. I prayed to the gods and willed it with my entire being and yet…I think this is the only moment of my life where I haven’t envied her. A ragged breath leaves my chest.
The dragons choose their carremai, and Ninon and I are not among them.
We are undesirable.
We are unchosen.
I will not bear a son to give the sky kingdom, as I always thought I would.
And I am utterly, unreasonably relieved.
CHAPTER ONE
SEVEN YEARS LATER
The smell of birth is not all that different from a fresh kill. That same metallic tang of blood and the deep musk of an animal’s hide stains the air. The thought draws more tension to my muscles as I brace Kalixta against me. She rests her cheek on my chest, her breath skittering across my sweat-damp skin, panting, eyes wide like dying saiga I’ve claimed as mine. I stroke my fingers along her ribs and back, slow and soothing. Her forehead rolls from side to side. Slowly at first, then thrashing. With her teeth bared, she’s as wild as the rogue dragons that haunt our night skies. She bears down to push, then stills, in much the same way a creature does in the moments leading up to their final breath. My lips press together tight at how thin that line is between life and death.
The rough-hewn birthing cavern is warm and damp and crowded. The three nursemaids, my mother, Ninon, and myself take up most of the space in the small room.The discordant sounds of Kalixta grunting and breathing through her birth mingle with the quiet reverberations of the nursemaid’s melodic voices. I lock eyes with Ninon and mouth, “Blood?” not wanting to add to the cacophony as much as I don’t want to alarm my sister.
Ninon’s gaze darts down to where Kalixta’s knees are pressed wide on the birthing mats. Her eyes narrow a fraction, discerning in the dim lamplight, and my chest tightens with her hesitation. “Fine,” she murmurs back.
Fine isn’t good enough. Too many mothers have lost this battle before. Not that Dyeus cares once we’ve bred their offspring. The three nursemaids in attendance mutter prayers to Ervosvis, seeking comfort in the deity who presides over life and death. They murmur their request to have the god’s two-sided face be set as life in this moment. I have not spoken to the gods in years, but today I add my silent prayers. Today, I hope they can do more than receive our departed souls from the talons of the dragons of Dyeus.
Kalixta’s hands clasp my elbows, her grip firm, but slippery with sweat. “Kaisa,” she mumbles my name, twisting her face into my chest as her body coils, readying for another push.
“I’m here.” I brace myself for her again. Her forehead slides down until the crown of her head presses under my breasts, where we’ve been given our marks of protection: a crescent moon upturned like a bowl, rays like the sun streaking out from the curved bottom with one long, vertical line slicing clean through the center of our chest bone. A promise that we are safe from rogues as long as we are underground or within the narrow boundaries of Nevoba. Though often, I’m not.
Kalixta cries out with one final push, and the nursemaids move in tandem, murmurs of encouragement and reverence passing their lips. I hold my breath, waiting, same as I do before the slice of my arrow pierces a rogue dragon’s eye.
My mother presses a hand to her mouth. “A boy,” she says from behind her fingers, her eyes darting briefly, unconsciously, towards mine before flickering away. Havingtwo daughters is a bad omen, and for me, being the second, it was like having a black mark on my existence. For years, she hardly spoke a word to me after my selection ceremony. At least—until I was chosen after all, without want or warning. Then it was as if the four years she ignored me never happened.
The child is quiet as he enters the world, and my gaze locks on the woman crouched at Kalixta’s opening. After a moment, we hear him, the tiny sputters and coughs marking him alive. “He’s well,” one of the nursemaids says. Kalixta nods, a smile wavering onto her mouth, but this is not the end of her birthing journey. She remains in position on all four of her limbs, leaning heavily against me.
“Remember, your body was made for this,” another nursemaid says as I run my hand down the back of Kalixta’s head. I bite my tongue against what I want to say, which is to remind her is that this isn’t the only thing her body was made for.
“The next will come more easily,” the third nursemaid says as she passes the baby, still wet and attached to the cord, to my mother who crouches by Kalixta’s knees.
“Can I see him?” my sister asks. I steady her so she can comfortably turn to look upon her son. Her smile puts the light of the sun to shame and I turn from her to look at Ninon. A reassuring nod is all I need to know that things are progressing as they should. I stare down at my new nephew and pray again to the dormant gods that the next is a girl. I pray on silent breaths to their deaf ears that the boy stays quiet and mild before the eyes of the Sar Dyeus, that he won’t be a dragon shifter like his father and my sister will get to keep him, at least for a time before he’s sent to the fields.
“He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Kalixta says, breath wispy and disbelieving. I hum, agreeing, a smile curling in the corner of my cheek. His complexion favors his sire, slightly darker than the pale tawny brown Kalixta and I share. Our mother looks to the nursemaids and they nod. I help Kalixta support herself back on her heels so she can hold her child for the first time.
