“You have a moment,pyrokigirl?” he asked when he drew close. For Syris’s sake, he flashed a charming smile when he looked over at her. “You don’t mind, do you? In fact, I’ll have my friend help you back to the village with that. Nevin!”
The second guardsman came walking gingerly over.
“Help her back to the village with that basket, would you?” he told Nevin.
Nevin hid the flash of frustration on his face valiantly. “Sure.”
Syris looked back at me. “What about you?”
“I’ll be okay,” I told her. “I’ll see you back at the hatchery.”
“Don’t be too late,” she warned. After a brief nod, I watched her and Nevin begin walking up the slope, growing more and more distant.
Ryak crossed his arms over his chest, nudging the basket at my feet with the tip of his muddy boot. “What in Kakkari’s name is that awful smell?”
I wiped my arm over my forehead. “Feed. Soaked in blood and fat.”
Ryak scoffed. I didn’t know why his derision annoyed me, but I bit my tongue.
“Did you want something?” I asked pointedly.
His eyes regarded me as I watched a drop of sweat run down his tanned temple.
“Heard something interesting this morning,” he said. “About you and theirKarath.”
Unbelievable.
“I would think idle gossip beneath you,Darukkar,” I said, raising my brow. “And regardless, it’s not true.”
“I don’t need to remind you what we’re doing here,” he told me.
“Actually, you do,” I said, my palms upturning in frustration. “Because I actually have no idea what we’re doing here. Beyond what my brother initially told me, that is. And you haven’t exactly beenilluminatingeither.”
He stepped closer. “If you want to fuck the local villagers to fit in, fine. I’d even applaud your dedication. But do not fuck their damnKarath. Are you out of your mind?”
“I. Didn’t,” I bit out, glaring up at him.
He blew out a sharp breath of disbelief, his gaze cold. I imagined that he was the son of a wealthy noble. He’d probably lived in Dothik all his life—in the upper districts, of course. He’d probably passed warrior training easily, a paved little path laid before him, whereas people like my brother had limped home bloody and bruised just for a chance at hearing their name called for assignment.
He had that air about him. As if he couldn’t imagine someone doing something he didn’t want.
Gleefully, I remembered him hunched over with a rucksack full of stones. I only wished I had time to witness every session of rider training. His name, or who his family was, didn’t mean anything here.
“How’s the hatchery?” he asked.
I blinked, thrown by the question. “Why?”
“I don’t need a reason to ask. You answer to me, remember?” he informed me.
“It’s fine,” I told him, trying to unclench my jaw when I spoke.
“I heard they have some eggs this season.”
My eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
“How many?”
I frowned, suspicion pricking the back of my mind.
