find him, only to give up so easily? Tauran knew he should be relieved.
But Falka was right. He’d been fucking brilliant. So had she.
He closed his eyes. Don’t think about her when you’re drunk.
He looked at the note on the table with a strange sense of déjà vu. Eight years ago, after Tauran got kicked from the Ground Guard, Falka had found him in a bar in Valreus, much like this. Offered him a spot in the elite, among the rulers of the skies, at just twenty years of age. Tauran had barely believed his luck. He’d been ecstatic. Naive. Stupid. He pinched the note between two freckled fingers and glared at it.
A shriek, and the distinct smell of burning wood made Tauran turn.
Near the bar, a smashed oil lamp on fire rapidly ate away at the plank floor. The bar keeper cleared the bar and slapped a rag onto the flames. Soaking with oil, it caught fire, too, spreading to the curtains, all the way to the ceiling in seconds.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Tauran went for the stairs as fast as his uncooperative leg allowed him, staggered up and pounded his fist on the rows of doors in the corridor. “Anybody home? Better get your asses outside!” He pushed the door to his room open and grabbed his belongings, mostly clothes, and tossed them into his bag. When he returned to the corridor, the air was thick with smoke, alarmed faces peeking from open doorways. Tauran pulled the shirt collar over his nose and pressed it tight, taking the stairs down more carefully.
“Everybody out!” The bar keeper shouted, his figure almost indistinguishable through the smoke.
The flames were growing fast, curling against the ceiling. Tauran bumped into a woman and wrapped his arm around her. “Come on!” he said, coughing as he pulled her to the door.
Tauran stood in the darkness outside and watched the barkeeper and his servers killed the last embers with water from the horse trough.
Tauran tugged on his small tufted ponytail and shook his head. As if tonight couldn’t get any worse.
At least he wouldn’t have to pay to sleep in the stable.
* * *
Kalai had killed a man.
Or rather, Arrow had.
Kalai struggled to wrap his head around it. He wasn’t a killer. Neither was Arrow. All Arrow ever killed was sheep and silverhorn, and the worst crime of Kalai’s life was the sugar pear he’d stolen from the market when he was six years old. He’d been too guilt-ridden to eat it and had thrown it in a river.
Kalai shielded his eyes and gazed to the sky.
He hadn’t seen Arrow in the two days since the incident. As much as Kalai missed him, it was also a relief. This close to Kal Valreus, there’d be more guards.
He had no idea if the body had already been discovered. He hadn’t exactly tried to hide it. He’d just hightailed it out of there as fast as he could, running until his stomach started protesting, then vomiting at the side of the road.
Kalai rubbed his brow with two fingers. If only he’d known about the stupid law, he would have kept Arrow far away. But despite how much he’d read about Kykaros and its capital city, Kal Valreus, with its grand gardens and waterways, its fascinating schools and libraries, and its modern, progressive people, he had failed to realize that civilians having dragon companions was, in fact, strictly forbidden. So little information about Kal Valreus’ proud Sky Guard made it to Sharoani literature.
And now, a man was dead because of his mistake.
But he couldn’t go back, now. Not after he’d come so far. He had spent six years learning Kykarosi. Besides, there was no future for Kalai in Kel Visal beyond a lifetime of farming and goat-rearing. But in Kal Valreus, all his dreams could come true. He’d just have to find a way to keep Arrow safe. A hint of guilt sparked at the thought of Aunt Iako all alone in their small family home, but she had assured him she would be all right, and Kalai had promised her it wouldn’t be the last time they’d see each other.
Kal Valreus rose from the morning mist like a waking dragon. Subconsciously, Kalai sped up, stopping on the next peak to take in the sight of the city he’d read so much about.
And what a sight it was.
Quaint little farm houses lay scattered around the white city walls, surrounded by neat, square cornfields and silverhorn pens.