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“You just don’t like failing,” I finished for her. “I hate to tell you this, aralye, but you will fail more than you will succeed when it comes to the Elthika. The sooner you accept that, the easier time you’ll have. Do not focus on perfection. Focus on consistency. Think like this instead: There is no right way to ride an Elthika. All that matters is that you can.”
Klara was looking up at me, her lips parted, as we both stepped off Zaridan’s wing, onto the earth.
“All that matters is that I can,” she repeated softly, and I saw her consume those words. “I can work with that.”
“Good.”
Then she sighed, bending down to stroke her fingers over the moss-covered dirt.
“If I fail during the first flight,” she began, “will you or Zari let me fall?”
I flinched, the reaction her words brought forth. A flash of Haden’s face flickered to life in my mind, the fear and realization I’d seen, and I squeezed my eyes shut, momentarily trying to dispel that harrowing image.
“What?” I said carefully.
“Never mind,” she breathed, her fist clenching into the earth in finality, as if squeezing that worry away. “The soil is so rich here. So full of life.”
I was still frowning when she stood. Between us, she held out a clump of dirt. I could smell it, the damp musk.
“I hadn’t noticed.”
I’d always been too busy looking at the horizon. Not the land.
“My people believe that the same power that created the red fog in the Dead Lands, the fog that almost wiped out our entire race, had happened before. Nearly four hundred years ago when the mrok illa star was shining in the sky,” she said, her eyes rapt on the dirt, pressing her thumb into it.
I hadn’t heard that, nor had our spies or scouts ever mentioned anything like it.
“It was a disease in the soil, leeching the life out of the land, sickening everyone. Or perhaps it was a heartstone curse,” she said. “Maybe once, the earth of Dakkar was like this. But we don’t have beautiful soil like this back home.”
I remembered Dakkar. While it held a wondrous, raw beauty, the wildlands could be desolate and punishing. It was a particular way of life, and I marveled that Klara had grown up living it.
After last night, there were stories milling around the horde about her, mostly positive, which boded well. After her dagger display and the questions the acolytes had peppered her with afterward, it was becoming apparent to the Sarrothian that they had perhaps misjudged her.
As had I.
She wasn’t a spoiled princess who’d had an easy life. She’d grown up like many of my own people and not without her own challenges. But questions of her lineage would undoubtedly rise. She was the child of an affair, one of the highest dishonors among the Sarrothian, and I knew that many would not look kindly upon that, even if Klara herself had had no part in it. She was marked by it and would be forever.
The Sarrothian could be a judgmental people, one of the things I’d hoped to change when I’d taken over command of the territory. But one could not erase centuries of preconceived notions.
The rest of the Karag viewed the Sarrothian as a rigid, unyielding people. But it made trade more difficult, negotiations more tense. It would benefit us to be more open to outsiders. Perhaps a large part of that change could come with Klara.
If she can bond with an Elthika, I knew. That one sacred oath that the Sarrothian expected above all else.
It wasn’t enough that Zaridan had given Klara her sy’asha. It wasn’t enough that I’d chosen her as my wife. It wasn’t enough that Lishara had given us a blessing at her temple—the memory of which was still a constant reply in my mind, a constant erotic reminder.
Klara dropped the clump of earth she’d picked up, wiping her hands together. I cleared my throat, the night returning to me.
To Zaridan, I said, “Sen endrassa.”
She made a sound like a half groan, half purr, energy being pulled in from the ground all around her before she unleashed it, catapulting up into the air.
“What does that mean?” she asked, watching Zaridan fly, tracking her toward the mountain.
“It is a term of respect, appreciation.”
“Like a thank-you?”
“Yes,” I said.
“And where does she go? She sleeps in the mountain? Does she have a family of her own?”
“Zaridan? No. She has chosen no mate and, as such, has no brood.”
“Are all the Vyrin like that?”
I cast her a look as we walked back toward the horde. It seemed she’d learned much today. “When you get to be as advanced in your years as the Vyrin, when you have made a name for yourself among your kind and wield the power of ethrall, with all of its responsibilities, you have the luxury of being particular.”
“Are mate bonds not seen as desirable among the Elthika? I would think it would strengthen them.”
“They do. But equals are hard to find among the Vyrin. And they would never settle for less than their equal.”
Klara looked up at me, and I could see what she was wondering. If I considered her my equal and…vice versa.
My spine straightened at the thought, frowning.
“Zaridan’s brother…”
“Lygath,” I told her.
“Lygath,” she whispered, and a strange look came over her face. “Where is he now?”
My jaw tightened. “He is near. When Zaridan is present in the Arsadia, he is always near.”
“And what is he like?”
“Unyielding” was the immediate word that spilled from my mouth.
“I’d…I’d heard that…” She trailed off, as if uncertain how to form the words.
I made a sound of derision in the back of my throat. “Though the Sarrothian pride themselves on being principled, they sure do like to talk.”
“Ignore me,” she relented. Her cheeks pink, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”
Briefly, I debated telling her. It wasn’t a secret. In the end, I couldn’t stomach it. Not right then. “I don’t enjoy talking about it. Don’t take it personally.”
She nodded and thankfully remained silent on the subject. There was a sudden restlessness building up inside me, despite my fatigue. Brought on by the memory of Haden? Lygath? It started slow, like an itch beneath my skin, but it made my heart race. My pace quickened too, like I was trying to escape it, drawing nearer and nearer to my home. Our home, I realized.
“Did you find the Elthika you were looking for?” she asked instead.
“No sign of them,” my voice clipped, which she tried to ignore.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Not yet.”
We walked the rest of the way in silence as my restlessness grew. When we reached the steps that led up the door, I stilled, and Klara looked back at me with confusion.
“I’ll post a guard out the door tonight,” I told her. But the thought of going inside with her, feeling the heat of her skin next to me on the furs on the ground, the strap around my ankle, surrounded by walls…I couldn’t bear it.
“You’re not coming in?” she asked, her lips frowning. “Sarkin, I’m sorry about—”
“It’s not that,” I growled. It was exactly that. When I caught the flash of hurt on her face, I couldn’t stand it. Frustration and self-loathing cut through me. I’d wanted to move forward with her, but like I feared, there were many wounds that kept her away. “And please understand, Klara…this…this isn’t about us. This is me. And only me. Go. Sleep.”
This was why it had always been easier to be alone.
Now I feared I could never be right for her. That I could never be what she needed me to be.
“And where will you sleep?” she asked.
“I won’t. I’ll see you tomorrow night for another session with Zaridan.”
Then I left, heading toward the spray of the waterfall, trying to get Haden’s face—and Lygath’s roar as my friend had fallen—out of my head.