My belly swooped low when a large shadow cut across us, blotting out the rising sun. When I looked up, I caught a flash of red. Human-blood red, like mine.
The Elthika landed in front of all the rest. And suddenly Ididfeel a sharp, momentary bite of pure terror. My hand flew up to my pendant, a nervous habit, as if I could pour my fear into the gem enveloped in the metal.
This Elthika was the largest I’d ever seen, with maroon scales like dried blood. The flare of its wings alone could decimate my entire block. I even doubted it could land comfortably within the large paddock of thepyrokienclosure.
When it lowered its head, I saw that the eyes were a blazing red—a striking color matching its scales. Given the Elthika’s size, I couldn’t make out the rider on its back, if there was one. It studied each and every one of us, slow like an inquisitive serpent might.
Next to me, the Dakkari male’s tail twitched uncontrollably, batting at the back of my calves repeatedly. He made a soundwhen the Elthika’s eyes cut to him, a cross between a choke and a gasp.
Dropping my pendant, I snatched up his hand, giving it a squeeze. Though we didn’t even know one another’s names, he gripped it for dear life.
There were four of us going to Grym, and we were separated from those going to Sarroth. They were a group of eleven, a stark difference. I wondered how many of them were spies for theDothikkar.
The guardsmen—who would go into rider training at Grym—looked like all the rest I’d ever seen patrolling the city. Standing tall, chins held high, eyes narrowed, as if anticipating the worst. One of them was a handsome male with black hair and hooded red eyes. He sported the look of someone afraid who could not show it…and so he overcompensated with a look of indifference, though I could see the way his lips were pulled tight around the corners. The other was unassuming, a male with brown hair that shone russet in the sunlight, slightly leaner and taller than the first.
The male whose hand I held…I assumed he was the one who’d be working the croplands, to gain intel of the Karag’s food supply for the capital. He was no trained solider. He looked to be around my age and he was strong. I felt the callouses on his palms from farm work to prove his reason for being here.
He was a farmer. And I had only ever worked withpyroki. We were the outliers here, the weak links in the armor theDothikkarhad patched together for this ridiculous mission.
The thud of someone landing on hard earth made my pointed ears twitch. The red Elthika’s wing raised…
And there was its rider.
Vorakkar.
That was my first thought, which whispered through my mind like a certain thing.
A horde king, like one of the ancient kings who’d roamed our wildlands, a fearsome leader, a merciless warrior.
Though he was no horde king. How could he be?
He was a Karag, who rode on the back of a terrifying Elthika, who had come from across the sea. And I wondered who was insane enough to try to claim an Elthika such asthisone.
Its rider stepped forward, his wide palm pressed against the scales of his dragon. I wondered if they felt likepyrokiscales, like unyielding metal.
The hush that drenched the crowd was almost too intense. The silence was only broken up by the thud of wings of the patrolling Elthika still flying overhead…and by the booted footsteps of the rider as he approached.
His hair was silver, though his age seemed at odds with the color. The top half of the silky strands was pulled back from his angular face, and the rest fell past his wide shoulders. His jaw was a hardened line, cut so sharply as though with a whistling sweep of a sword, and a long scar ran down his face, curving to his neck.
The scar, however, did nothing to diminish his otherworldly beauty. It only made him more menacing, and I had to fight the urge to flinch when I saw his gaze sweep over us all.
It was disrespectful to look a horde king in the eye unless you were a friend, a blood member of his family, or a mate. And so, briefly, I lowered it on impulse. I’d never met a horde king in my life, had only ever lived in Dothik, but the stories had been imprinted on me from birth.
When I remembered that this was no horde king but a Karag rider, I lifted my chin and looked up. His gaze had moved on, but I saw they were a bright blue…crystalline and icy.
The rider went to the line of travelers going to Sarroth first. He was at least a head taller than all of them, I noticed. I’d thought, foolishly, that riders might have a more sinewy bulk, might be smaller in size. Only to realize I’d been very, very wrong.
He inspected the travelers, walking in a slow line, meeting each and every eye he came across. Remaining utterly silent. And I thought one or two of the Dakkari might wet themselves where they stood, the way they trembled under his inspection.
I didn’t know what he was looking for…but then he gestured back at one of his riders, who came forward and ushered the Sarrothian group toward two of the Elthika with the larger transport saddles on their backs. I didn’t watch them climb up the mighty wings, each unsure of how to ascend, because then he came to us.
The four of us, held apart, going to Grym.
I was at the very end of the line, and he did the same thing as he did to the Sarroth travelers. He inspected the two guardsmen first, his face impassive.
Then he came to the farmer, whose tail flicked again, striking my legs, whose sweaty palm I could feel quake in my nearly numb grip.
Then I heard the soft thud of his boots come closer, crunching earth and gravel, though my eyes were still trained on his Elthika.
