Page 4 of Feathers of Ash and Hope

Dar is right; the suggestion keeps playing through my mind.

“You can go over if you want to,” the female skyrider offers and pushes a strand of dark hair out of her face. My gaze catches on the markings running down her arm to the back of her hand.

Would it work for me, too?

Then I notice the markings on everyone around me. Gifted people surround me, and I forgot my gloves.Great.

I place my hands behind my back.

“I would love to,” I answer the rider’s question, and she accompanies me over to one of the Rukhs, who bends down to greet her. She lovingly runs her hand over its beak.

“This is Neven, my Rukh. Rukh and Strix are the most common and most approachable of the birds. As long as you treat them with respect, you’ll be fine.” She smiles at me.

“He’s beautiful,” I whisper. So close, the Rukh looks even more majestic and more than a little intimidating, his intelligent blue eyes fixed on me. I approach cautiously and only dare to run my hand along Neven’s chest after his rider nods encouragingly. The feathers are sleek and far softer than I ever thought possible on such a fierce-looking creature. I keep the contact short when something inside me reacts to the Rukh’s magic.

“How long do skyriders train?” I ask the question that has bugged me since her first comment.

“Only two years, as all candidates come already trained in combat.” My chest becomes heavy. I don’t have two years.

“And you bond with your birds at the end of that?” I fight hard to keep the disappointment out of my voice. I really hoped for it to be an option.

“Gods no.” She laughs. “Picking is after three months.” I perk up.

Three months could work.

“Do skyriders start in winter?” I ask. “Like infantry?” The woman throws a cautious look in my brother’s direction, but he’s talking to Ian.

“Yes, Assessment is two weeks earlier, which gives the ones who don’t make it the chance to join the infantry instead.”

Maybe that is where the rivalry comes from. I grin to myself, suddenly feeling giddy. Maybe if I talk to Dar and Ian and explain the situation…

“Are there many women in the skyriders ranks?”

The woman snorts at that.

“No, only one or two out of ten recruits are female. That’s why I mentioned it earlier.” Her gaze flies to my brother again, and she falls quiet when she sees him watching us with narrowed eyes. Thankfully, his wife, Elena, and my niece come flying through the front door, drawing Dar’s attention.

“Thank you for letting me meet Neven.” I smile at the bird and its rider before taking my leave and heading to the infirmary.

Giving my mother what she wants is an excellent excuse to get out from under my brother’s watchful eyes.

The infirmary is at ground level and easily accessible from the courtyard. I hurry past a group of soldiers on horseback, getting ready to head out. The horses dance around, nervous because of the three huge birds launching into the air.

The soldiers are probably going to help with the preparation for the equinox festivities down in the village. The voices, bellowed commands, and clacking of hooves on paved ground fall away as soon as I close the door behind me. The scent of herbs permeates the air, and the soft murmur of my mother’s voice guides me to the back room, the one she uses to prepare medicine.

I find her and my brother with their heads bent over a big leather-bound book, probably working on improving the recipe of some salve or whatever else is cooking over the fire.

“Mom, you wanted to see me,” I say by way of greeting, but they keep on talking. I tap my fingers on the wooden worktable, waiting. They’ll ignore me until they finish, so I save my breath.

My eyes wander over the drying bundles of herbs and the meticulously neat workspace around me and end on the copper cauldron hanging over a flickering violet flame. Magic flames are more efficient since they need much less fuel and burn without sooting.

“Tamara.” My mom turns and smiles at me. “Perfect. I need to take your measurements. It’s only half a year until your birthday, and I want a whole new wardrobe for you by then.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing now?” I ask, and my mother laughs.

“No, none of your dresses will do when you are in Avina, and I will not send my daughter off to court wearing fashion from ten years ago.”

“Mom, we talked about that. We don’t think—”

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