It takes me a moment to realize that the Temple Crone has finished her conversation with Zabriel and has approached me. I look up into her old, lined face. She’s thin but strong, like a length of old rope.
“Why wouldn’t I be, Grandmother?” I say flatly.
Her eyes fill with sadness. “I have not seen Minta among the flare. Neither have I seen your former ward. I’m filled with sorrow for you, dragonmaster.”
I grit my teeth and turn back to the flames. She is the only one who has noticed their absence.
There have been many deaths in battle as we have reclaimed Maledin, and I have watched as dragons, riders, and soldiers have been given dragon rites. Grieved in the proper manner. They have been remembered, but not Zenevieve and Minta. I’ll never even know how they died, or where. They’re just gone.
“If you wish it, I will burn knot grass with you,” she says gently.
People have gathered to cast knot grass into the flames, murmuring prayers to the gods as the smoke rises through the temple. Will the gods even remember Zenevieve after five hundred years? How vibrant she once was, alight with boundless love and energy. As fast as lightning on her dragon, laughing as the wind whipped her black hair around her face. And then I remember what I made of her. How I cursed her, rail-thin with haunted eyes and sores around her mouth. Hollowed out with loneliness and pain because of my selfishness. I still treasure her in my heart when I have no right to do so and no right to grieve her. If she rests easy now, my prayers will only cause her bitterness.
“I do not wish it.”
I turn and walk out of the temple, my body aching with every step I take.
The human woman the king is taken with is afraid of the dragons, so I must order the flare not to fly over Lenhale. I might take little pleasure in victory flights over the city, but my fellow riders deserve their celebrations, and it is a foul offence to curtail the freedoms of our dragons. But this idiotic village girl who has so besotted Zabriel must have her way, and I wonder who I am serving. Maledin, or a spoiled prince? Why have I bothered to slaughter hundreds in his name?
But it turns out she’s not just any human. She’s not human at all. She’s Maledinni, and she’s the king’s Omega.
Zabriel has found his Omega.
Though I try and deny it to myself, I am sick with jealousy and resentment. The gods put his mate five hundred years in the future, and he still found her. Zabriel is so taken with the girl that he hasn’t noticed that Zenevieve is not among us. Zenevieve, who once held him dear as a friend, has not crossed his mind.
A little Omega dragon chooses the girl for her rider, and Zabriel’s mate, Isavelle, doesn’t want her.
She doesn’twanther dragon.
This spoiled, petulant child has been chosen by the gods to mate with the king and ride a precious Omega dragon, and she wants neither.
It never crossed my mind that one of our own could not love a dragon. Such a heinous thing shouldn’t be possible. Many of my fellow riders are celebrating what they’re calling New Maledin, but there is nothing left of what I love in this time and place. No order. No honor. No Zenevieve. No esteem for our dragons. The world has been turned upside down.
I hate New Maledin.
Nilak bulliesme into staying alive, knocking me out of dismal thoughts with her massive head and sending me sprawling. Reminding me with indignant blasts of emotion that I have long been the strongest Alpha in Maledin, the other dragonriders look up to me, and the flare needs me. Where is my strength? Where is mypride?How dare I feel sorry for myself when there is so much to be done.
She’s right. I shut out everyone and focus on the dragons. Many are injured after so many battles and need my care. I look after them, and I speak to no one.
I reclaim my old rooms in the castle, though I have to stand for a long time in front of the door before I’m able to open it. The rooms are much changed and neglected and in need of dusting, sweeping, and scrubbing. It takes me many days before I can look inside the room that was once Zenevieve’s. After that, I haveto keep that door closed or else I keep expecting to see her in there. I eat all my meals in silence.
After Zabriel’s coronation and the majestic displays by our dragons, the people’s fear of our mounts seems to relax a little. I don’t wait for Zabriel’s approval. I tell the dragonriders that they may fly over the city in the old manner, and they and the dragons are happier for it.
Esmeral, the little Omega dragon fated to Zabriel’s Omega, needs an annoying amount of attention from me because she has neither mate nor rider. But I must do it, because an unhappy Omega is more vulnerable than a hatchling, and I am not so soured in my heart that I would permit her to become injured.
Some evenings, I take walks through the city, relearning my way around the streets. Some things have changed. The main market has moved to the east side. The street sellers hawk unknown dishes. The ruthouse I used to frequent has become a private residence.
Some public houses are still known by the same names. The tanner’s district and the smithies are where they used to be. The gates are once more guarded by men and women who wear Maledinni livery.
Sometimes I think I catch a familiar scent, and it stops me in my tracks, making my heart squeeze painfully in my chest. On my next breath, the scent is always gone. It was never there in the first place.
A dead woman is haunting me.
Her memory flays my soul, leaving me shaken and gasping for breath. I do not begrudge her this revenge. I deserve to be haunted for the rest of my life.
I manage to conceal my torment from everyone, until the day it nearly costs me my head.
I pass Lady Isavelle in the castle grounds as she comes in through one of the city gates. I ignore her and keep walking, but then a scent reaches my nose, mingled with hers.
