The rider waited until all four of us where there. She peered at the group that had gathered. Karag looked no different than we did, especially in Dothik where bloodlines mingled. Some had darker skin, some lighter. Some had tails, some did not. The coloring of their eyes were all different shades, catching in the moonlight—some blue, some yellow, some red, some brown.
There were both young and old. Children hiding behind their parents’ legs to peer up at us with wide eyes. I smiled down at a boy who couldn’t have been more than five years, and he turned his face to bury it into his mother’s hip, shy.
I thought of my own mother, hoping she wasn’t too worried about me.
My heart was beating quickly, uncomfortable with so many eyes on us after the long flight we’d had.
“These are the exchanges from Dakkar,” the rider announced to the crowd. “And since I know you lot love the gossip, let me assuage some of your curiosity.” She pointed to the guardsmen. “Ryak and Nevin. They’ll be trying their hand at rider training this season.”
I heard snickers and murmurs rise up from the crowd, and I nearly arched in satisfaction at what a blow to Ryak’s ego that would be.
“Better head back to Dothik now, boys,” came a roughened voice. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourselves.”
Laughs erupted, and the female rider bit out a sharp, weary sigh.
Ryak spoke, his arms crossed, voice firm: “I’m claiming an Elthika, or they’ll send my lifeless body back home. There are no other options.”
“That’s if there’s a body to find,” came another voice. “A death fall at Tharken? You’ll be splattered into pieces.”
I nearly shuddered, thinking of Kiron.
“Enough,” the female rider said. She gestured over to me. “This is Amaia. She’ll be training at the hatchery.”
Dozens and dozens of eyes turned to me, momentarily freezing me in place when I was still imagining the horrific vision of my brother falling off the back of an Elthika, his mouth in an open scream.
I inclined my head, dropping my gaze. Luckily no one had anything to say. No baby dragon maulings of their handlers in the hatchery, apparently.
“And this is Brune. He’ll be working the outer croplands for the season.”
Brune’s tail was flicking in apparent nerves, braced for barbed words. His shoulders relaxed when he received none.
“Right.” The female rider sighed. “Rider acolytes”—she gestured to Ryak and Nevin—“you’ll stay in the bunks for now. Erm, Syris? Where is she?”
“Here, Myzalla,” came a soft, husky voice. A female stepped forward as the crowd parted, dressed in a thick brown dress that brushed the tops of her booted feet. She had long indigo-colored hair, as dark as the night sky, braided in a neat plait. Her eyes were yellow, and there was a deep scar running vertically through the outer left of her lips, leaving a gash like a thick seam.
“Ahh,” the female rider murmured. Myzalla, I would endeavor to remember. “You have room in the hatchery, yes?”
“Yes, Beyla stayed in Grym for the season.”
“Good. Take Amaia and get her settled there. Bring her to Tarkosh in the morning.”
My gaze connected with Syris, and she gave me a hesitant smile, one I returned.
“And Brune…Nysa and his son have agreed to let you stay with them for the season. You’ll be working with them closely.”
An older Karag male stepped forward, his silver hair tied at the nape of his neck. There was a streak of mud on his black trousers.
“Well, what are you waiting for? I’ll be sleeping for two days, so no one bother me,” Myzalla barked. Laughs rose from the crowd. I knew the dozens of Karag who were in attendance couldn’t possibly be all of the village we’d seen from above…but it was late.
“Good luck,” I said to Brune when he turned to me.
“See you around?” he asked.
“Of course.”
Then with a deep inhale, though eager for a bed and a meal, I approached Syris, who stood waiting on the outskirts of the crowd.
“You must be tired,” she said when I reached her. She was shy, a little uncertain of her words, which were spoken as if they were a question.
