The quiet anticipation is heavy. The women along the edge of the gathering allow me through. Some offer light touches to my shoulder in encouragement, while others look away with disdain. My mother isn’t the only one whodisapproves of me continuing the hunts now that I’m a carremai. Each movement I make creates a ripple through the crowd and any chance I had at going unnoticed is lost. I feel the eyes of every member of the Sar Dyeus’s elite hoard on me as I make my way towards the center. When I’m near enough, I place my hand on Kalixta’s elbow and she wordlessly moves to make space for me to stand at her side. The tension of the crowd presses on me, but still I lean in to place a kiss high on her cheek, my fingers lightly grasping my nephew’s toes as he sleeps in my sister’s arms. On her other side, my mother holds my niece. Only after I greet my sister do I turn to the hoard.
Standing in a V formation near the sloped opening to the caverns are thirteen men, each beautiful and ethereal, all unique in their own ways. However, it’s the Sar Dyeus, front and center, who never fails to steal my breath. His hair is the color of a solitary cloud on a clear blue day. His skin is as pale as the polished alabaster walls lining the underground fortress we call home. His dark eyes, the color unreadable in this low light, are pinned to me, his dark brows and stoic expression giving no insight to what he may be thinking or feeling. He doesn’t look a day older than he did on my eighteenth year presentation. He and all shifters, are granted with long life and ever-lasting youth, with skin smooth and unmarred by time. Even the oldest among the hoard appears no older than forty years. I finally offer a bow in acknowledgement of his presence, my eyes staying trained on him until the very last moment. Even then, my gaze stays on his hands, watching them flex before relaxing at his side. After a moment I rise, his stare holding mine for less than a shallow breath’s time before focusing on Kalixta and my nephew.
Silence permeates the air. Beside me, Kalixta remains completely still. Her eyes are trained on Thrace, the sire to her children, to the immediate left of the Sar Dyeus. Her expression is strained, her skin pale and dewy. She shouldn’t be on her feet like this mere hours after giving birth. This is the way it has always been though, for as long as I can remember. A woman gives birth. The hoard comes. The SarDyeus marks the girl and takes the boy. Flames fan in my chest so fast and swift I want to scream.
Thrace is the picture of a perfect breeding partner. His eyes hold tenderness. Love, even. I’ve always enjoyed the interactions I’ve had with him during my visits to Dyeus, but that’s natural. All shifters are pleasant and amicable. The longer I stare, though, the more I notice. There’s an underlying emotion on his face, a tension. Worry? I look back and forth between him and my sister, and finally see Kalixta’s lips are pulled tight in a thin line.
I clench my jaw and put my arm around her waist and after a beat her weight sags against me, a sigh escaping her lips. My mother shoots me a look, brows drawn tight together, but smooths when she sees the paleness of my sister’s face. Thrace seems to relax a little.
Standing to the right of the Sar Dyeus is Alixor’s father, Selnor, an almost untraceable sneer raising his lip at the display. I wish I could slap that expression from his face. The Sar Dyeus doesn’t comment though, so the hoard remains silent. Behind Selnor stands Alixor, who offers me a wry smile that I don’t return, since I’m certain that baring my teeth at him wouldn’t do anything except satisfy my anger.
The soft thrum of the Sar Dyeus’s voice breaks the silence. “What are we to claim and defend?”
My mother clears her throat and I’m grateful for her speaking on Kalixta’s behalf. “A daughter—” she says, then proudly, beaming, as if having her daughter give up her child is nothing, “and a son, Your Highness.”
“A female to continue hosting our mighty bloodlines and a male, who we hope will be granted with the gift,” Selnor announces, loud enough for the whole gathering to hear. Even though his words are meant to honor us, they sound hollow in my ears, bland and bleak.
The Sar Dyeus doesn’t comment. He simply holds out his hands. “The female.”
My mother takes a step forward, and Thrace meets her, taking his daughter into his arms for the first time. For most of the dragons, it’s the only time they hold their daughters. Some come again, visiting during the postpartumperiod. But after a few weeks, even that stops. Thrace gazes down at his daughter, a fond smile gracing his lips. His face was meant for smiling. His broad mouth and lines by his eyes brighten everything about him. For all of my grievances against the way things are, I’m glad he chose my sister. I sense he will be one of the ones who comes again. Perhaps for another brood, as is sometimes—though very rarely—the case.
Thrace places the baby in the Sar Dyeus’s arms, grasping his forearm once the child is settled. There’s a quick exchange as they meet each other’s eyes, fleeting, but tense. I cast a glance around to see if anyone else noticed. Everyone seems as usual, somewhere between serene acceptance and strain at what’s to come next, except Antir, who outwardly frowns.
Then, Thrace steps back while the Sar Dyeus works. The king handles her delicately, but without affection. He’s done this hundreds of times in his long life and will continue to do so long after I’m gone. His voice is a soothing drone through the chamber. “Daughter of the hunters, females of the earth, as your sovereign king of the sky and all that lies beneath and above, you shall be blessed with protection from the rogues, and all that threaten your lands, hence forth from this day.” Adjusting her so that she lies flat against his forearm, head cradled in his palm, he presses the pointer finger of his other hand to the bottom of her chest bone. My niece wails a short, sharp cry, and it’s over. The Sar Dyeus gives her back to Thrace. He takes his time soothing her, shushing her, and startlingly, placing a kiss to the top of her head. Her cries are quieter now, and he carefully hands her back to my mother, her small fluttering chest now marked with the sigil.
“Now the male,” the Sar Dyeus says, his focus solely on Kalixta.
I feel her clutch the boy to her, and I tighten my hold on her in response. What would happen if she said no? A part of me wants her to. A part of me wants to rear up and defend her choice to my last breath. My mother murmurs something to her so soft I can’t hear the words, and my sistergives a faint shake of her head. Thrace’s face is drawn tight. He’s probably hoping she won’t be indecorous. I catch Selnor narrow his eyes. After a moment, Thrace approaches Kalixta, and her body softens in my arms at his approach. I let her go as she straightens to move toward him. Before she can even take a step, he’s there in front of her.
“Kali,” he whispers as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
Silence is required in the hoard’s presence, but the air shifts as the women around us take in sharp breaths, the sound of women holding their tongues. Such displays of affection outside of our visits to Dyeus are uncommon.
Kalixta’s lips tremble, her eyes glassy as she looks at him. They hold each other’s gaze for so long I wonder if the Sar Dyeus will say something, but when I look to him, his attention is on me. I lift my chin, daring him to stop this moment. Daring him to rush my sister into giving up her child when he will get to keep him for his own use for centuries. Movement at my side finally breaks my concentration, the feel of Kalixta leaning on me again. Thrace brings my nephew to the Sar Dyeus, and he’s so intent on Thrace and the child, that I wonder for a moment if I imagined our entire exchange.
The Sar Dyeus holds my nephew’s head in the palm of his hand, the rest of his small body stretched lengthwise down his forearm, tiny feet pressing lightly into the tailored white jacket covering his bicep. The Sar Dyeus places a hand over the baby’s chest, illuminating the truth lying in my nephew’s bones. My chest is wound tight, waiting for the words that will either take him to Dyeus as a shifter, or send him to the farm fields when he turns five.
“He is strong, this one, but—” he pauses, the quiet so thin you could hear the fall of a feather. Then a faint tick at the corner of the Sar Dyeus’s mouth. A smile? “He is strong-willed, too. We welcome this new shifter into our midst.” The Sar Dyeus turns, placing the child in Thrace’s arms. By the grand smile gracing Thrace’s strong, handsome face, he’s thrilled. Of course he is—he’s proved to the hoard he’s capable of producing one of their own. Whateverstatus he has will only grow stronger from here. In my arms, Kalixta begins to shake, her hands balled into fists, pressing into her chest.
“Peace and security has been granted to these new lives,” Selnor announces. “Now, to the skies.”
My sister blinks, looking from where Thrace holds her child, back to the Sar Dyeus. In a flash her face changes, panic swelling. “No. No—please. Not yet.”
“Be still, Kalixta,” my mother hushes, tugging her back by the shoulder.
The Sar Dyeus looks at my sister with a soft expression. “You have done well. As is custom, you’ll visit him when Thrace calls for you.”
“Only until he’s three,” I hiss. The quiet words leave me so fast that I don’t have time to think to stop them. Kalixta hears me and her fingers find my wrist. My mother hears me and snaps her head to me, aghast. And the whole elite hoard hears me, too.
Alixor’s tan face pales. The Sar Dyeus tilts his head, a piece of his perfectly swept-back hair falling to the side with the motion. “Indeed. By then he will have had his first shift. Any distractions would be dire for him, and those around him. You would not wish harm to befall your nephew? Your sister? Now would you…” he pauses, his mouth forming a word, and for a moment, I think he’s going to say my name, as if he knows it, but then he turns his head vaguely in Alixor’s direction. “What is her name?”
“Kaisa,” Alixor provides, but his voice comes out clipped. Tense.
“Kaisa,” the Sar Dyeus sighs. I have to physically force myself not to shiver at the sound of my name on his lips. “Above all, it is my duty to keep your people safe. I will not let harm befall your sister. See that you behave yourself.” Beside me, Kalixta tenses, and my eyes brim hot with anger. He straightens his head, once again becoming the great, unruffled leader, his attention finally drifting from me to his hoard. “Let us depart.”
Together the hoard stamps their left foot, then their right, looking for the world like tantruming children. Asone, the hoard turns, exiting the great hall and marching up the ramp that leads outside. Kalixta watches Thrace leave with her son, chest rising and falling quickly as if she ran across the whole of the Sere. My mother whispers to her, lifting the girl child towards her arms, trying to remind her of the living, breathing thing before her.
Many women follow to bear witness to the new shifter child ascend to the sky kingdom. The mother is traditionally encouraged to stay inside while the hoard departs with the male. I suspect it’s so they don’t have to hear her heartbreak. I press a hard kiss to Kalixta’s temple, once, twice, and follow the hoard out. Perhaps it makes me a coward, too, but I cannot stand to watch her suffering right now. I will return for her, but now—now there is nothing to do except witness her child being taken. The realization will set in for her later, and when she rages, when she cries, when she’s broken and struggling to pick up the pieces—that’s when I’ll be there.
