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Chapter 3KLARA
They came every year.
On the tenth month just after the shadow moon.
Sometimes with many dragons, sometimes with just a mere few. But they always came. Every year they left almost as quickly as they’d arrived.
Only this year, they lingered.
I felt the palpable tension in the air, thick like heavy, black smoke, when I stepped beyond the East Gate. My legs froze, my feet not catching up quick enough, and Da
The East Gate, unlike the well-manicured and paved northern entrance, looked out across the wildlands of Dakkar in all of its raw, unforgiving beauty. It was an entrance used primarily by Vorakkar—the horde kings—or the Sorakkar—the kings of the outposts—when they entered or exited our capital city.
I’d snuck through it often, a secret not even Da
For a moment, my eyes fastened on the blackness of the night, only lit by bright starlight. Tonight, however, the shadows of the mountains seemed ominous and the vastness to them seemed insurmountable.
The clearing had been made with lines that no one dared to cross. Bright torchlight illuminated the wide circle, my father and his legion of guards on one side, protecting the council, the Lakkari, and my half sisters, and a line of strangers on the other.
Behind them, a great dragon seemed to materialize out of the darkness. I felt my chest go tight, shock piercing through my lungs like a dagger.
“Strength,” Da
“Da
I felt my brother’s grip on my arm tighten before I felt him step in front of me.
The dragon roared, so sudden and violent that it trembled the earth beneath our feet, and I heard the startled cries from my father’s council. Da
On the wildlands, I heard the other dragons respond. Now we knew they were there, hidden in the darkness, the weight of them shaking the earth as they stamped their limbs like a warning rumble. It sounded like thunder.
Then all at once it went quiet. Not just quiet…silent.
“Zaridan recognizes you, aralye,” came the voice.
My eyes snapped open, fastening on the male who had stepped forward into the circle, breaking away from the line of the dragon riders that had come this night. Familiar eyes met mine, and all at once, I remembered the strength and warmth of his hand on my arm, leaving behind a glittering black dust.
It was him.
The danger I’d sensed in the marketplace with him only seemed amplified with the dragon looming over his shoulder.
“My wonder is if you recognize her,” he continued, never taking his eyes off me on his approach.
“Zaridan,” I whispered, blinking, the name stretched out on my tongue.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the guards trying to right my father, who’d fallen over at the dragons’ chorus of roars. Alanis stood away from my stepmother and Lakkis, who were safely hidden behind a circle of guards. My eldest sister was standing next to the Laseta Kalliri, the priestess’s lips pressed together as she regarded the stranger, her beautiful gown stained by dark earth at the hem.
“No,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I don’t.”
“She denies you, Zaridan,” the male a
Behind him, the dragon stomped and her hot breath blew into the circle, blasting my hair away from my face and snuffing out all the torchlight until I blinked into the darkness, my hand scrambling to find Da
“Get them lit!” came Alanis’s hiss to the guards.
“She is one of the ancients, you must understand,” came the stranger’s voice, amplified in the dark, and I saw those glowing golden orbs behind him, fastened on me, stealing my heaving breaths. “Proud in her bloodline. All of the Elthika are. But Zaridan has lived much longer, and she deserves your respect.”
“I…” I trailed off, and the torches began to light, one by one again, until I saw the male, standing closer than he’d been.
There were nine others behind him in a line. They hadn’t moved an inch, but all of their hands rested on the hilt of a blade at their hip. All were dressed in varying colors—dark greens and blues, silvers and blacks—but all of them wore the same scaled clothing that this male wore. Armor, I realized now. And they weren’t pyroki scales. They were dragon scales.
“I believe she does,” I replied, lifting my chin. I pressed my fingertips to my brother’s hand and gently stepped away from his grip, approaching the male. “Yet you give her name so easily for one to be respected.”
“Names should not be hidden, Dakkari,” the male rasped, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. Surprised that I stepped beyond my brother’s protection? “Names should be feared.”
“Then what is yours, dragon rider?”
The edge of his lip lifted. He moved. I heard the creak of leather on my brother’s hilt as his hand tightened on his sword.
The stranger circled me, and I stiffened when he ran his hand over my waist, sliding it down until it cupped my hip. That palm dragged over my backside, and when my brother made a sound in the back of his throat, I shook my head, my hand gesturing for him to stay away.
This male was sizing me up. Studying me and inspecting me, like I was something for purchase at the market.
His palm was searing through my thin dress. Strong and sure. When I looked down at my waist, I saw the same black dust glittering in the torchlight, smearing across the white material. A mark. A warning.
He came to stand in front of me, and it took everything in me to hold my tongue, to not swallow too loudly, to not tremble beneath his gaze. His hand cupped my cheek, tilting back my face so he could inspect my scar. Internally, I cringed though I held still. I couldn’t stand anyone to look at it. The curtain of my hair hid it, and I always made sure it was partially covered except when I was alone in the confines of my room.
But this male could do whatever he wanted to me with a dragon at his back. I knew that. Da
“I am Sarkin Dirak’zar,” he told me, his voice gentle like how I imagined a lover’s might be. But there was no mistaking the edge of malice in his gaze. “Rider of Zaridan. And king of the Karag horde of the Sarrothian.”
My lips parted as I stared, as my heart pumped mightily in my chest. I could feel the ripple of that name as it made its way across the clearing. I thought maybe even the stretch of mountains heard them and felt the quake of their power.
No, it wasn’t a name. It was a warning of what would come if we didn’t submit to him.
My dreams told me what he wanted. They’d been woven through my veins like a tapestry, and now the image they made was suddenly clear.
“And what is your name, aralye?” he asked, his tone slightly mocking, the dangerous glint in his gaze making my tongue feel like a heavy stone in my mouth.
“Don’t you already know it?” I asked, realization slotting into place.
In the market, he’d asked, Who are you really?
Those words had struck me as odd. Now I understood why.
He’d known who I was the moment I’d bumped into him. He’d known my bloodlines…but my scar had surprised him, taken him off guard. Why?
Sarkin’s eyes narrowed. Behind him, his dragon stomped, shaking the earth.
Strength, I thought.
“Klara of Rath Serok and Rath Drokka,” I told him. “I have no great name like yours, Sarkin Dirak’zar, rider of Zaridan, king of the Karag horde of the Sarrothian.”
Sarkin’s chin lifted, and behind him, the line of dragon riders made a simultaneous chanting sound, a rumble of deep, short thunder. Like a war cry that the hordes would make upon a Vorakkar’s return.
My gaze flashed to them. Six males and three females, I noticed.
Sarkin curled his finger under my chin, reclaiming my eyes.
I continued with, “I have no great name, but I am descended from greatness. From great Dakkari and humans alike who made this kingdom what it is now. I know what you want, Sarkin Dirak’zar. And I know you will only bring destruction in your wake if you take it.”
“It is not so difficult to guess what I want, Klara,” he told me, his lips pinched down, a glare in his gaze. He released my chin, and my head bobbed back from the force, my legs swaying underneath me, the pull of his eyes like a dizzying magic.
“I have seen your forests of heartstones,” I whispered to him. “Perhaps you’re greedy for just one more.”
Da
My loose tongue would get me into trouble, but I had spent the majority of my life tucked away in quiet places, out of sight and safe. For once, with the glowing golden eyes of a dragon upon me, I wanted to be fearless. With the Laseta Kalliri’s piercing gaze on me—her eyes hungry like a thief’s hand—I knew my fate had already been sealed. After tonight, I would likely be sent to the priestesses in the North Lands, just like my mother had always feared.
“Dothikkar,” Sarkin called out suddenly, making me jump. When my father said nothing, he continued, “You have a choice to make for your people.”
“Dakkari do not accept threats, rider, even if you proclaim yourself to be a king. You are no king here,” my father spat. “I am. You are in Kakkari’s realm now, and our goddess will—”
Zaridan’s roar drowned out my father’s words, and her mighty tail struck the ground behind her. After long moments the echo of it trailed away, though the mountains in the distance sung with it, and my father was silent. She was still snorting out sharp huffs, a low growl in her throat.
“We answer to the Elthika, Dothikkar,” Sarkin said with cold patience as his eyes ran over my face. I had the impression he was looking for a weakness or trying to memorize every fault. “They are our gods and our goddesses. We are not Dakkari.”