“I just worry that Elysom will use any excuse to cut you out, Alaryk,” she said quietly. I huffed out a breath. “They thought you were a spy, on Muron’s blood! There’s no telling what they’ll do if another Hartan war comes.”
“And it doesn’t matter that I ended the last one?” I asked her. But we both heard the sarcasm in my tone.
“Especiallybecause of how you ended the last one,” Myzalla hissed.
Elysom might get their wish sooner then they think,came the dark thought.
“They’ll only ever see me as a Hartan,” I told Myzalla. I’d come to terms with that a long time ago, as she well knew. “But they can’t take Grym away from me.” I grinned. “And I will enjoy how much that cuts them for as long as I retain my position asKarath.”
Myzalla sighed.
“Probably even until I’m dead,” I added. We resumed walking toward the perimeter of Grymia, a stone road that wound and slashed its way throughout the outpost, leading to every door, every building. “Otherwise everything’s in order?”
“Yes.”
“The riders?”
“Training well.”
“Even the Dakkari?”
She made a face. I knew how she felt about Dakkari being inserted into training. She thought it a joke, a farce. “Passable.”
“And the other two?”
“They’re both settling in well,” Myzalla told me. I could hear the surprise in her tone. “Brune is much-needed strength for the old farmer, and he knows a lot about soil nutrients.”
“And the girl?” I asked.
Myzalla cast me a knowing look. “Amaia is…exceptional with her assigned hatchling.”
I threw a look of disbelief over my shoulder. “Tarkosh actually said that?”
“I heard it directly from her myself,” Myzalla said with a small tug on her lips. She shrugged. “A Rythback hatchling, apparently.”
The girl was another problem I’d deal with in due time…but it pleased me to know she wasn’t incompetent. Or that the Dakkari hadn’t lied about her qualifications.
“Feast tonight,” Myzalla called after me. “Don’t forget.”
As if I could.
Chapter 8
AMAIA
“On Muron, I love feast nights,” Ethrisha cried out, creating a rumble of laughs around her as people cheered in agreement.
Syris crossed her arms, throwing a look over to Moak across the numerous couples dancing to the beat of the drums, accompanied by a stringed instrument that sounded like wailing to me. Combined, they created a strange but intoxicating music, one that made me sway, my arms lifting over my head as my hips rocked.
Ethrisha was a delightful new friend, a childhood friend of Syris…though the two females couldn’t be more different. Ethrisha worked as a craftswoman, her specialty in jewelry, using precious gems she mined herself from the Arsadian mountains. She was occasionally gone from the outpost—which I’d discovered was called Grymia—for a week or two at a time, on the hunt for more materials.
Her prices were high, but I’d discovered that blood borns—those from bloodlines that were mostly made up of riders—believed that certain gemstones attracted Elthika and brought them good fortune during the rider season. And those bloodborns paid a hefty price for a pendant or a sturdy cuff imbedded with such gems.
Ethrisha herself was chiming and glittering as she danced. The bracelets made a long trail up her forearm, making music all their own, as gems shimmered from piercings along her pointed ears, which I’d never seen before.
Syris looked uncomfortable as her friend’s dancing grew more and more frenzied, as more wine flowed and the music pounded louder, vibrating the very earth.
Brune watched Ethrisha over the rim of his own goblet, his swallow heavy, his cheeks flushed from the heat of the bodies…or perhaps from the way Ethrisha moved.
