Page 67 of Wild Flame

“I swear,” Rin sighed, “sometimes she acts more like a hatchling than a fully grown dragon.”

Zara just shook her head at Mesmera, but I could see the laughter dancing in her eyes.

I had busied myself pouring tea and now handed them both a cup.

“No, thank you, I hate tea.” Rin made a face, and my lips twitched. She instead settled for the fruit juice I was so fond of. As she reached for her glass, my eyes caught on her leftforearm. She wore the traditional sleeveless black Baldorian riding leathers, so her arms were bare. She had a large, faded scar that covered most of her inner forearm, the skin waxy in the daylight. What caught my attention, though, was that the scar looked just like the ones on my back.

A burn scar.

“You know, you’re not nearly as intimidating as I thought you’d be,” Zara confessed, pulling me back to the conversation at hand. I was glad of it. The last thing I wanted was for Rin to catch me staring.

Rin laughed. “I leave that up to my broody better half. Rake’s intimidating enough for the both of us.”

I still couldn’t wrap my mind around her calling one of the most feared and respected dragon riders of our age, Rake. It seemed too . . . informal, somehow. My eyes strayed to her scar once more.

Rin noticed. “It’s from a burn.” She stretched out her arm, twisting it this way and that. “I got it the night Rake caught me stealing from the castle. I tried to flee and Naasir gave me this for my trouble.”

Zara’s eyes grew wide, and her voice sounded as incredulous as I felt. “Wait, Councilor Rakim is the one who caught and imprisoned you? And his dragon . . . his dragon gave you that?”

Rin nodded.

“But then how are you—” Zara’s nose scrunched up as if she were trying to think of an appropriate word choice. “. . . together? Didn’t you hate him?”

Rin laughed. “Yes, I did. Or, at least, I thought I did . . . at first.”

“What changed?” Zara asked.

Rin’s face transformed as it softened, as she no doubt thought of the man himself. “Rake . . . surprised me. He was everything I thought, but at the same time, not at all what I was expecting.We’re so different that we shouldn’t work. I told him we couldn’t, but . . . it turned out that wasn’t true at all. We are the same.” Then she glanced up, as if remembering we were there, and sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“We have time,” I murmured.

Rin shook her head. “Enough about me,” she said. “I want to hear more about you and Malik and how this all came to pass. And when will this wedding be?”

“In Zehvi we call it a Marking Ceremony,” Zara explained. “It’s not so formal as your wedding ceremonies. It is similar to your handfasting, though it is much more intimate than that. You’re each marked—” she paused, then frowned. “Malik should really be the one to explain all this.” She stared at me. “Have you really not spoken to him at all about it?”

I shrugged sheepishly. I knew nothing. Though I vaguely recalled asking Sura about her mark that day in the Healing Pools.

Zara looked surprised, then annoyed, then resigned. She sighed. “Whathaveyou two talked about?”

Remembering our fight last night and our confrontation this morning, I shrugged again.

Rin hid a smile behind her hand. Then both women suddenly looked up as if they knew something I didn’t. Their dragons must have alerted them, I realized, because a few seconds later I heard wing beats above us.

Crimson scales filled my vision as I looked up and watched Azrun descend. Malik dismounted and Azrun shifted to his minor form.

Malik strode over to our table, Azrun close behind. Malik eyed our feast. “I hope you ladies are enjoying your meal.”

“We are,” I replied. “Zara was just explaining to me about the Marking Ceremony and how, because of that, there will be noneed for a formal wedding. Something my betrothed failed to mention,” I said coolly.

Malik’s attention shifted to me, and he eyed me now, picking up on my tone. “I would have told you, but there has simply not been time. Though Zara is right, there is no need for a traditional wedding ceremony, there will of course be a celebration for the sake of the people . . .” He trailed off when he saw the look on my face. “What is it?” he demanded, that gaze of his studying me all too closely.

Suddenly feeling very aware of all the eyes on me, I stood. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I was just not aware that—um . . . if you will excuse me, I suddenly feel rather warm.” Turning and fleeing across the lawn, I only made it a half dozen paces from the table before Malik halted me and turned me to face him.

Stupidly, I felt the sting of tears and glanced away in embarrassment. “It’s fine, Malik. I was just simply not aware that I would not be able to be married in a temple, with my sister in attendance.”

“I see I have made an error,” he observed aloud, almost as if speaking to himself. “I was not aware that a Halmarish ceremony would be so important to you, and I should have been more sensitive to your customs.” He studied me. “But this is easy enough to remedy. We shall have both. The Marking Ceremony first, since my people will expect it, and then a Halmarish ceremony in a few months. That will give us time to plan and give those who you wish to attend time to make travel arrangements. Is this satisfactory to you?”

I blinked. “Just like that?”

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