Kiron, what have you gotten me into?I wondered.
“I’ll see you around,” Ryak told me with a smirk. “Pyrokigirl.”
Chapter 13
AMAIA
When the thick shell cracked and split, my gaze felt hollow on it. Syris nudged me, and when I looked over at her, she gave me a hesitant smile. She’d known how excited I was to witness the birth of an Elthika.
But now?
All I could hear was Ryak’s threat in my mind.
I conjured a small smile just for her, so she wouldn’t think anything was amiss. But I thought she’d noticed my quiet once I returned to the hatchery, lugging the basket of oats, my arms trembling. My hands too, but that had had nothing to do with the weight and strain of the walk back.
Tarkosh was standing at the edge of the small, raised pen. It had low sides enclosing the squared space—apparently because sometimes Elthika werejitteryat birth. Syris told me one Elthika a couple years prior had emerged from his egg in the middle of the night and taken a topple off his nesting place. They’d found him limping the next morning. And while he’d eventually healed, Tarkosh preferred the added assurances to keep the newborns safe.
One thing I’d learned in my week at the hatchery—and inGrymia, truthfully: Beyond all else, the Karag revered the Elthika. EspeciallytheirElthika, the bonded of Grym…and their hatchlings. Tarkosh, I’d learned, was one of the most respected residents in the Arsadia because of her talent and expertise working in the hatchery.
I admired that. It reminded me of how thepyrokishad once been treated, centuries before, when the ancient hordes had known that their sacred and special way of life wouldn’t be possible without their revered creature companions.
Now?
At least in Dothik,pyrokiwere seen as a status symbol, if one could afford to purchase and keep one. But many owned creatures had still been relegated to our care. And it saddened me to know that the respect they deserved was long past, deadened with time.
I saw the edge of a long snout, pointed rather than rounded, poke from the egg. And for a brief moment, I felt awe. For a brief moment, I felt reprieve from the fear that Ryak had installed within me and I could marvel at this wonderful little miracle, which was only possible in Karak. I felt blessed by Kakkari that I washere.
Because in that moment, as I watched a hatchling—another Rythback—break through the egg with all the might and strength of a creature three times its size, I found that…
I was exactly where I was meant to be.
The feeling, the realization was startling. It stole my breath for a moment. The only thing that could distract me from looking away as the hatchling emerged in a tumble, a thin mucus covering its body, as it let out a rasping squawk, was the smile on Tarkosh’s face.
I figured she’d witnessed a hatchling birth more than a hundred, perhaps a thousand, times by now.
But that smile struck me. Because it was like she was seeing it for the first time. That same sense of awe lining her features,when I’d never seen an expression that wasn’t drawn and stoic on her face before.
A lump lodged in my throat.
Would I have to betray these people?
Tarkosh approached the small pen. “Never wipe away this lining, Amaia,” she told me, gesturing to the glistening mucus coating the hatchling. “Always let it dry naturally. We don’t handle the hatchlings until that happens. Unless they are born injured.”
“The lining gets reabsorbed into their scales,” Syris informed me. “Makes them stronger, until they have their first shed. It’s what makes hatchling scales so important. It’s used in clothing, armor. Nearly impenetrable. Everything that makes us strong…it’s because of them.”
Fascinating,I thought, watching the hatchling stretch its wings. Off balance and clumsy. I couldn’t help but grin.
“Kyr, get down,” Tarkosh ordered. “Faryn.”
I knew that word meantstop, and I watched the hatchling I was meant to monitor clinging to the stone walls of the incubation room, halfway up.
“Sorry,” I apologized, racing over to him. I plucked him off the wall, his sharp talons scratching against the stone as he tried to resist my pull. “Kyr.”
At my firm word, he nearly went limp. I almost laughed because it felt like he was pouting. Elthika, like newbornpyroki, had little personalities that usually involved seeking trouble.
I held him up, but my arms shook. He weighed as much as a small boulder, solid and thick. Even in the last week, he’d grown. I’d watched him devour the oat mixture, which Tarkosh merely called their “feed,” just moments before Syris had pulled me away for the birth.
“You little troublemaker,” I scolded softly, looking into his bright gold eyes, feeling a swell of affection, which I tried to tamp down.
