Looking at him now, however, didn’t assuage the worry gnawing in my belly. If anything, it made it coil tighter.
Myzalla was in attendance, standing next to…Brune. His lips curved up in a quiet smile, but mine pressed when I saw him. He gave a soft shake of his head, as if that would answer anything for me.
What had he told them?
As for the other two males within the room…
Both were similar in height, build, and coloring. Black hair, sun-kissed skin, sharp, cutting features that speared me in place as they regarded me.
For a moment, I thought they might be brothers. But as I stared, I began to notice the differences that told me the two couldn’t be more different.
“This is Sarkin Dirak’zar,” Alaryk told me, gesturing to the male closest to me. He had short black hair that curled at the nape of his neck and piercing, beautiful eyes. Golden in the center, molten brown, and dark forest green. I watched the pupils narrow on me, his riding vest creaking with his smooth shift. “You know of him, I’m sure.”
“I do,” I said quietly. I recognized the name. He was theKarathof the southern territory of Sarroth. The Karag king who’d come nearly a year ago to take the princess of Dothik, one of theDothikkar’s own daughters, Klara, to wed. Of course everyone knew the story. An act of punishment that had led to love.
I remembered the night when he’d come to Dothik, demanding the princess. It had been all anyone could talk about forweeks.
And here he was, the villain made flesh.
“And this is Vaedrin Malik,” Alaryk continued, gesturing to the other male in the room.
The name didn’t register with me, not in the way Sarkin’s had…but there was no mistaking what he was. A king in his own right. AKarath? I wondered.
“He is theKarathof the northern territory of Kyloth,” Alaryk answered for me, as if hearing my wonder. “Rider of Aeras.”
Now I realized why the group of Grymian villagers had gathered to gawk at the Elthika. Because how often was it that you saw two Vyrin next to one another, up close and in the flesh?
That was how I felt faced with not two but threeKaraths.
Vaedrin Malik had black hair, wavy and wind-swept, that brushed the tops of his broad shoulders. There was a cloth hood that was draped around them and thick hide leather that molded to his chest like armor. A silver buckle was strapped around the middle of his chest, the hilt of a dagger flashing when the cloak’s fabric shifted.
And his eyes…they werepurple. A soft violet that was almost too pretty for such a brooding, stark face. I’d never seen their likeness before, not here or in Dothik. His face was perfectly symmetrical, too handsome to be real, not a single flaw. It almost hurt looking at him, and I had to look away.
I averted my gaze back to Alaryk’s, just as he said, “This is Amaia of Rath Savenal.”
“Savenal?” Vaedrin’s voice came, deep like thunder but strangely smooth like glass. “You’re from the West Lands?”
I cut him a sharp look, surprise making me forget his beauty. “My family,lysi,” I replied. “How…how did you know that?”
Vaedrin spread his hands over the table as he leaned forward. “I am fond of the West Lands.”
Sarkin cut him a sharp look. “Elysom gave you orders.”
“And I haven’t been back, have I?” Vaedrin replied, but he kept his eyes on me. His piercing observation made me squirm in place.
I cleared my throat. “My family lived in a horde there once, decades ago. But I was born in Dothik. I’ve never stepped foot in the West Lands.”
As much as I wanted to.
“A shame,” Vaedrin replied. “There is much beauty there. In the land and the people.”
Then he fell silent, staring down at the map.
I licked my lips, looking back to Alaryk. “You needed me for something?”
My voice sounded strained, even to my ears. Nervous too.
“Something about Ryak?” I asked, very aware of Brune’s presence. “Have they been found?”
