She didn’t reply, even knowing the dragon’s words at least rang partly true. They could not kill her because they needed her. Just as much had been true all those years ago when she had been ripped from her family.
They approached a large, grassy clearing at the edge of the camp, figures awaiting them with torches. The people grew larger and the ground loomed, but Thessa glided to it smoothly, though her landing was enough to shake the earth. As the people saw her, their eyes widened, and Soren could see a few of their mouths dropping in shock.
Goodnight.
Soren took a deep breath.Goodnight, Thessa.
Shakily, she slid off the dragon’s back and unfurled the ladder. Her heartbeat doubled as she climbed down, her limbs aching from the position she had been holding all day. Ahead, Cion’s dragon landed, and she heard a dull thud behind her, signaling another.
But there was no fourth.
As she made it to the ground, Ilav swept past her, his hair windblown and his teeth chattering. She waited a moment to see if Elaana and her dragon were coming.
“She’s dead.”
Soren whirled to find the princess behind her, face pale and body trembling.
“What?”
“It’s fairly common, I hear. Elaana wasn’t able to stay on as her dragon took off. She fell off and impaled herself on a rock. I saw it.”
Soren swallowed, her throat tight. “I see.”
“Come,” Cion said, speaking as she always would. “We need to meet with our commander before bed.”
Soren resisted the urge to bow her head, instead keeping her back straight as she followed Cion out of the clearing. Whispers followed in their wake. She could guess what they were saying.
More eyes landed on them as they walked through the camp of small canvas tents. Some sat around small fires while others talked or simply stared. Soren supposed the three of them, the new riders, were the main attraction. Jealousy soured many of the faces along the dark path.
Cion stopped at a larger tent in what appeared to be the center of the camp. Soren watched her take a deep breath before calling, “Commander Eton. Princess Cion Levii, Heir of Aren.”
Soren wondered if it felt odd to announce yourself like that. Then again, others normally did it for her.
There was no reply for a few tense seconds, and then a gruff male voice called, “You’re late, princess.”
Cion walked ahead first, Soren following. Inside, the tent was warm, lit by a fire in the middle, smoke funneling up through an iron tube. A large table sat on one side of the tent, covered in scrolls, maps, and open books. On the other side, Ilav sat cross-legged on a worn pillow. Only one pillow remained.
The gruff man, whom Soren assumed was Commander Eton, didn't look up as he said, “I assume you think because of your station, you will be treated differently here, princess. I would be remiss not to inform you, this will not be the case. You chose to join our ranks as a rider. There are certain expectations I wish to uphold. I do not like tardiness.”
“I did not receive any indication of a specific meeting time,” Cion said crisply. “I was only told to come here once we arrived.”
Commander Eton turned, and Soren held in a gasp.
“Another pup?”
“Barely,” the dark-haired man said, gaze darkening.
“Jadis. We’re not to touch them.”
Now she had a surname for him. This was the man who cut her mother’s head from her body, the same man who had torn her from Kelshie’s arms. Jadis Eton.
The scar cutting his features in half was his most notable feature, but what she really remembered were his cruel, jade-green eyes. His hair had once been shorter, but he now wore it in a topknot. Whereas he had been a grunt soldier all those years ago, he was now decorated in metals worn proudly on his leather armor.
From the way his gaze skirted over her body, she knew he had no memory of her.
“Watch your tongue,” he growled. “And send your slave to your tent. She isn’t permitted here.”
Cion smiled slightly. “She isn’t.”
