Ryns.
The soldier caste of dragonlings, a particularly vicious species of shapeshifters.
Dragonlings are dangerous.
Ryns are deadly.
Born and raised to be a bloodthirsty soldier, Anita's life has never been her own. She always knew her fa...
There are kings and queens who believe their word is absolute, and that the might of the colony relies solely on them. This is not so. Our power comes from every dragonling, from the unhatched egg to the ancient elders, and all of us are given strength through our ancestors. This is what every leader must know.
This is Our Law.
~ From the Dragonling Grimoire
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In less than a day, I was already deeply regretting my decisions.
Queen Dominika and the remnants of her colony left less than a sunleap after the Davnishniy announced the end of the solstice and King Andrei insisted I leave almost as soon.
I say remnants since more than half of the Ryns who had accompanied Queen Dominika had stayed behind. They milled aimlessly around, their eyes invariably finding their way to me as I had a mild mental breakdown.
"I don't even know what I'm supposed to do," I hissed to Dmitri as he guided me out of the cavern and away from prying eyes. We had shifted, as had many others, to be less conspicuous, but it wasn't working very well.
Lords and ladies of various colonies approached me to either introduce themselves and offer advice or scold me for my supposed impudence. I fixed a smile to my face and escaped every conversation as soon as I could.
"I don't think I can do this," I added as yet another lord from some distant colony tried to reprimand me.
"You chose this." Dmitri reminded me under his breath.
"That was before. You know, before I suddenly had to create a colony?"
"There's no going back now," Dmitri replied. "So start thinking about the future now."
"My future probably includes-" my snarky reply was cut off as a tall fyn stepped in front of us.
"Anita Rhyan," the fyn said as if he was trying out my name. "You looked caught off-guard up there. Was becoming queen not what you wanted?" His words were pointed, intended to get under my skin.
I may not have been good with diplomacy or politics, but I could recognize someone wanting a fight. "The Davnishniy gave me my wish. Who am I to deny her design for me?" Giving the fyn the sharpest smile I could, I took Dmitri's hand. "Now, we have to go... who are you?"
The fyn's face flickered with indignation. "You don't know? Surely you must have more brains than that."
"Pasha Luzgin." Dmitri suddenly said, his voice calm. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I heard the underlying rage. I frantically tried to recall just who Pasha was, but nothing came to mind.
"It would be King Pasha to you." The fyn shot back.
"You're a murderer and a con," Dmitri replied. "I will never call you a king."
