The Horde King of Shadow (Hordes of the Elthika #1)

Chapter 9

KLARA

I hadn’t quite known what to expect when I’d heard Sarkin mention “the citadel.” But we’d been up before dawn, the storm breaking in the night. And just as the sunrise peeked out over the horizon, we flew over a deep mountain valley, a twinkling river winding its way at the very base.

At the very end of the valley was a tall, jagged mountain though I could see decorative markings etched into its face even from a great distance. Reliefs carved into the rock of Elthika, their tails curving around the mountain like an embrace.

Below that mountain, spread out among rolling hills that rippled out toward flat land was a city. A towering stronghold made of gray stone overlooked it all.

That was the citadel, I figured, my eyes widening at the sight. Momentarily, I forgot my fear, riding on Zaridan’s back when I could feel every muscle of my own body ache in protest. Momentarily, I forgot my pain and the fact that my legs felt like needles were pricking into my flesh over and over again.

I was awestruck. In the rising sun, it was beautiful, the land lush and vibrant, so unlike the wildlands of my own homeland. The river of the valley—which cleaved the city into two—led to a wide lake in the distance, and even there, I saw structures dotting close to the shore. It was a sprawling, expansive city…and Sarkin was its king?

“You call this a horde?” I asked. “It’s larger than Dothik.”

I didn’t think Sarkin would be able to hear me over the rush of wind.

But he responded, “Sarroth. The stronghold of the South Lands.”

“A stronghold against what ?” I couldn’t help but question.

He didn’t answer me.

Instead, I heard a dragon’s roar. No, not quite a roar. A call. The gust of wings funneled toward us, and I saw three Elthika flying overhead in formation. Beneath me, Zaridan responded. I could actually feel the way her lungs expanded before she mimicked the sound, bright and trilling into the sky, so unlike the deadly and powerful roar she’d unleashed in Dothik.

This was power, I realized. Not to control a creature that could decimate an entire civilization. But to ride with one. To bond with one. To feel that power and trust they wouldn’t use it against you.

Was that how the Karag felt? Dannik’s words returned to me, how he’d said they’d had no fear. This was why. What was it like? To feel so certain in your safety, knowing that no danger could ever compare?

Beyond the mountain, I could see Elthika flying. I watched as one latched into the side of the rock face, disappearing into a hidden entrance. My lips parted. Their home?

As we neared Sarroth and began to fly lower, heading straight for the citadel, I heard horns sound from below. Perhaps to herald Sarkin’s return? Squinting over Zaridan’s side, I ignored the great distance to the ground, ignored the way it made me feel dizzy, because I wanted to see it all. I needed to.

Karag milled around throughout the city, even this early. The horns were placed at regular intervals along what I assumed was the main road, set up on small platforms, and I wondered if this was their only purpose.

The city likely held a smaller population than Dothik, but it was certainly larger in size. It was widespread to accommodate the Elthika, I realized, eyeing a dragon casually perched on a wide ledge that overlooked crop land on the outskirts.

The structures and homes were grouped together, like they made up smaller villages within the larger city, all connected to a wide, winding road. Like the Spine in Dothik. The road crossed the river at the bridge before spiraling up the hills on the other side, dotted with smaller structures, smoke rising from a few. Nearest the citadel, the structures were more tightly packed, even multiple stories high. I thought I spied spaces for markets, training grounds, and shops along a paved road.

I’ve seen this before, I realized, jolting.

The citadel itself was separated from the main city by a steep, winding incline. It was nearest the mountain, the back section abutted against it. It was smaller than the Dothikkar ’s palace in Dothik and much less opulent, but I had the sense the citadel had been standing for much, much longer. There was longevity in the lines of its structure, made up of solid columns and gray stone. There was a timelessness to it.

As we got closer, I saw the stone of the citadel’s facade also had etchings of Elthika, like the mountain above it. A history, perhaps, one I was itching to inspect and study.

What surprised me the most were the sprawling gardens at the back of the citadel, however. Zaridan flew over the stone keep and circled around, beginning her descent to land. It was a massive area, meant to accommodate multiple dragons, I thought, judging by the empty stone slab that led off the citadel’s back gates. There was even a private training ground nearest the mountain.

But beyond the stone slab was a large plot of land, filled with overgrown shrubs, trees, vines. At the very back of the garden was a smaller structure, similar in architecture to the citadel but kept apart.

Zaridan landed on the stone slab, surprisingly graceful for one so large. Just then, one of the three Elthika that had accompanied us to the citadel landed—an Elthika and rider I recognized.

The other two continued on, circling back toward the main city.

Behind me, I felt Sarkin dismount. I would never admit it to him, but I’d felt safer flying with him at my back. I’d felt more protected, and I was silently grateful that he’d changed our positions for the rest of the journey.

“Get down,” he grated from below. I bit my tongue, my lips pressing together. Even being the outcast of the royal line in Dothik, I hadn’t been ordered around this much in years.

I huffed, but instead of sliding off Zaridan—I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching me struggle to dismount—I reached over and tapped at the joint of her wing, just as I’d seen him do the night before.

Triumph and relief went through me when she extended it in response. I hid my wince when I swung my leg over, my limbs feeling like boulders, and then carefully navigated down the flattest part of Zaridan’s wing, taking my time though I felt the burn of Sarkin’s eyes.

When I stepped off and looked up at him with mild smugness, he was studying me—his expression neutral, his jaw clenched. He wasn’t glaring, at the very least, and I thought I almost caught a hint of approval.

Sarkin broke our gaze to retrieve the satchels, and as he did, I felt Zaridan’s stare. When I moved my head, I bit the edges of my tongue, regarding her carefully. Once, she’d been my nightmare. I’d feared sleep because I’d feared she’d kill me in my dreams. But now I wondered if I’d had it wrong. She hadn’t hurt me. She’d marked me. Why? To lead me to this place?

She’d showed me Sarroth before. I’d caught glimpses of the river, of the city, though they’d been like wisps of memories, uncertain and blurred. She’d showed me…but for what purpose?

And what of the other dragon that haunted my dreams?

Sarkin stepped between us, and I felt like I could breathe again. He placed his hand on her wide snout, inspecting her eyes, turning her this way and that way like he was a concerned parent.

Then he murmured something in the Karag language, which sounded like beautiful, soft whispers, so unlike the harshness of the Dakkari tongue.

I watched the exchange, rapt and intrigued, though it felt oddly like spying. They’re bonded, I thought. What was that like? The Dakkari revered the pyrokis , our great, powerful creatures that rode across the wildlands with our hordes. But this felt different. This felt fated.

Sarkin ran a wide, calloused palm down her snout, raising his chin as he stepped back.

“ Thryn’ar esh lyiss, ” he said. “ Sen endrassa. ”

“ Thryn’ar, ” I whispered under my breath, studying the way Sarkin’s lips formed the words. He’d said that word before, and so I memorized it. “ Esh lyiss. ”

Zaridan pressed low to the ground, her muscles bunching, power in every small, minuscule movement. Then she launched herself into the sky, the gust in her wake nearly knocking me backward.

A pair of hands righted me, and I looked over my shoulder, startled, only to find Sarkin’s rider there. His dragon followed Zaridan, leaving the three of us standing near the back gate of the citadel.

He released me, then approached Sarkin, leaning forward to murmur something into his ear. I caught the way Sarkin’s mouth tightened briefly before he nodded.

Then the commotion came behind me—footsteps and chattering voices. My movements were limited given the stiffness of my limbs, but I still stepped back, seeing a small group of Karag approach.

They were all of differing ages—some old, some young. Some were dressed in rich purple or dark green robes, others were in more fitted clothing, dragon scales stitched into them like a plating of armor.

I could feel the burn of every one of their eyes, could feel the palpable tension in the clearing when they approached. I could feel them sizing me up, and one older female narrowed her eyes on Sarkin, Karag words tumbling from her lips.

Sarkin replied, his voice cold and unyielding.

Then her eyes snapped to me. In my language, she demanded, “You. Dakkari. What is it that you think you’re doing here?”

I didn’t react. With calm I didn’t feel, I replied simply, “I believe I’ve agreed to marry Sarkin Dirak’zar.”

A sound left Sarkin. All at once, the group erupted into chaos, and I took a step back in retreat, only to meet my future husband’s unyielding hand, pressing into my spine, holding me in place.

“Coward,” he rasped. A gasp left me, my back going ramrod straight as my neck turned sharply to regard him. Those swirling eyes were looking at the group, and I thought I caught a hint of gleeful malice in his gaze. He liked to see them in disorder? Who were they? “Never run.”

“I wasn’t,” I gritted out. “I haven’t, have I?”

His eyes cut to mine. “No. You haven’t, princess.”

“What is the meaning of this?” the older female demanded, stepping toward us. She was dressed in light purple robes that brushed the stone. “Sarkin. This is reckless, even for you.”

Sarkin’s thumb brushed up my spine. Once. Twice. I blinked quickly.

“I’m honored you traveled all the way from Elysom to meet my new bride,” Sarkin replied. “But you came in vain. We leave for the Arsadia at dawn.”

More travel? I thought in dismay, feeling my body painfully throb in response.

“On Muron, you will not,” she snapped. “Elysom has forbid this union until we can make contact with?—”

Sarkin stepped forward, blocking my view of her.

“I am a Karath ,” he growled. “You do not choose my wife. Or have you forgotten your place, Aunt?”

His…aunt?

“You stubborn bastard,” she said quietly, so quietly that I thought the rest of the group couldn’t hear. The words were meant only for Sarkin. “You couldn’t stand it, could you? You never liked to be told what to do. By anyone .”

Behind her, I noticed a long tail sweep the stone. So the Karag did have tails…just like the full-blooded Dakkari. So why didn’t Sarkin? Or any of the riders I’d seen? My eyes swept to the group behind her. Most of them had tails as well, save for a handful.

“Only when they were wrong,” Sarkin corrected, his voice just as low, and I had the strangest sense I was stumbling onto some very rooted issues between the two Karag. His aunt scoffed as Sarkin stepped forward until they were only an arm’s length away. “Elysom gave me two mysar commands to repay what my father did. I have now fulfilled them both. The last of the Dakkari patrols are over. I have secured a wife of my own choosing. Elysom will no longer give me orders. My freedom is mine, as is Sarroth’s. Don’t forget that. Or you will answer to Muron’s wrath.”

My lips parted, hearing a heated passion in Sarkin’s voice that I hadn’t expected. No longer cold or detached.

“You disgrace the Karag to choose a wife such as her. And you know it,” his aunt returned. Never run was what Sarkin told me. Well, she wasn’t backing down either. “The council will decide on this once we return to Elysom.”

“It’s already done,” Sarkin rasped. His aunt froze, a glare forming. “Zaridan has accepted her. I heard the sy’asha . An Elthika’s song is more powerful than any binding ceremony in this mortal life. But you wouldn’t know that, would you?”

The sy’asha ?

An Elthika’s song?

Immediately, I knew what he was referring to. That moment on the wildlands, outside the East Gate. It seemed as if Zaridan’s scales had whispered, a song only we could hear. It had been mesmerizing, lulling. I still remember the heat of Sarkin at my back, the brush of his thumb across my neck, the rhythm and softness of it.

My breath shuddered out. What was he saying? That we were already married ? Because of that singular, unexpected moment?

“You still have to go to the Arsadia to bind it,” she said quietly.

“Which is why we leave at dawn,” Sarkin answered, and I could hear the smugness in his tone. “Or will you try to have her killed before then?”

I stiffened.

“Don’t tempt me,” his aunt replied, her tone clipped, her eyes practically burning holes into Sarkin’s head. The hostility between them was even greater than my stepmother’s hatred of me .

“If you try, you will have three kings to answer to for her death. One old, one new…and her husband,” Sarkin replied. I swallowed, my breath shuddering out of me. One old…my father? One new? He must’ve meant Dannik. “She is of royal blood. Dakkari, yes, but ancient lines all the same.”

The aunt’s glare cut to me. “What is your name, Dakkari?”

My tongue felt stuck to the roof of my mouth. A long moment of silence passed. Even the group quieted behind her, waiting for me to speak. It was discomforting, I realized, to give my name so freely to strangers. But this was the Karag way, I remembered.

Names should not be hidden, Dakkari. Names should be feared. Those had been Sarkin’s words. A part of me liked the sentiment.

“Klara of Rath Serok,” I answered, “and Rath Drokka.”

Murmuring went through the rest of the group. Were they the council she had spoken about? Advisors to her? Or to Sarkin?

“The Dothikkar ’s daughter,” the aunt said, her tone cold and measured. Her eyes—yellow as gold—swept me up and down, calculating. They fastened on my face, and I felt them touch on my scar. Her lips parted and she moved forward. When she reached for my face, I heard the whistle of a blade. Sarkin’s reflexes were quick, a dagger at the ready, glinting in his grip. She paid it no mind, as if this were a common occurrence.

For all I knew, it was.

“Watch yourself, Kethra,” Sarkin warned, tone low.

“Will you spill my blood here for the council to see?” she answered. “Just as your father did to your mother?”

I sucked in a sharp breath, but then her fingers pressed into my scar. Her lips parted, her brows rose.

“I see,” she breathed, eyes narrowing. Then Kethra laughed, the sound booming as she took a step back. The sweep of her tail brushed my ankles when her back turned. “Such an unremarkable girl to bear such a mark.”

A pit lodged itself into my belly. Was I to be shunned here too? Cast aside? Looked down upon? I was a long way from Dakkar, and still…my problems would be the same?

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Sarkin,” Kethra snipped.

She stalked away, her strides short and clipped. A few members of the group followed until only a couple lingered.

A dark-skinned male stepped toward us, his blue eyes regarding me before fastening on Sarkin. He inclined his head briefly, his eyes closing. When he opened them, he touched silver markings below both of his eyes, the right, then the left. He touched the middle of his forehead and then gestured to Sarkin.

“ Karath, ” the male said.

“ Endrassa , Gevanth,” Sarkin said, pressing his fingers to his own forehead. A Karag sign of greeting, I assumed.

The male’s voice was booming and rich when he said, “And thank you for riling her up. It will be a long journey home now.”

“Difficult to break old habits” was what Sarkin replied. He stepped forward, clutching Gevanth’s outstretched forearm with his own.

“It is when you don’t try to break them,” Gevanth replied. “She would know that better than anyone. You have more in common than either of you would ever admit.”

“Blood is blood,” Sarkin rasped.

“I’ll need your patrol report. The council will call a meeting once we have it.”

Report…on my home? On the Dakkari? To find weakness?

“I’ll send it” was all Sarkin replied. “I’d ask you to stay and rest, friend, but with all due respect, get out of Sarroth. I have enough Elysom problems. I don’t need a dozen more staying in my citadel.”

Gevanth laughed, gruff and short. “Kethra, I’m sure, is already on dragonback to Elysom.”

“Then make sure she stays there,” Sarkin returned. “I meant what I said, Gevanth.”

“I know,” the male replied, inclining his head. His eyes cut to mine, I felt him observing my scar, and then he turned. Without so much as a goodbye—not that Sarkin seemed to want one—he left, the last of the council leaving with him. Until the stone terrace was cleared out, save for myself, Sarkin, and his rider, whose name I still didn’t know.

“That went well,” the rider declared, the sarcasm dripping from his tone.

“Next time,” Sarkin said, “keep the citadel gates locked. They can rot outside for all I care.”

“I was as surprised as you were.”

“How did they know?” Sarkin growled.

“I’ve been trying to figure that out. A watch, perhaps. On the south coast. But we’ve had no reports of riders crossing our territories.”

Sarkin sharply exhaled. “Elysom always knows things they shouldn’t. And you know how that usually happens? A weapon. But now we have our own.”

My spine snapped and I frowned. “I am not yours to use.”

“That’s exactly what you are,” Sarkin answered, so dismissively it made my hackles rise. “Mine to use however I see fit.”

Impossible male! I thought, frustration making my jaw grit. I was tired, hungry, and so sore I didn’t want to move.

“Why don’t you just knock me out so I can dream for you?” I asked, my voice intentionally sweet.

Sarkin came close, dropping down until our eyes were level. He brushed his thumb across my scar and murmured, “Tempting. Should I?”

The rider cleared his throat as I glared.

Sarkin rose. He gestured to the far corner of the garden, to the small structure I’d seen tucked along the stone of the mountain.

“Your accommodations, princess,” he said. “Enjoy the bed while you can. We leave at dawn, and we’ll be staying in wild territory. Just like your hordes and Vorakkar of old.”

“If you think that scares me, you’re sorely mistaken. I grew up in a horde,” I said, my chin raising. “On the wildlands of Dakkar.”

“But you’ve never seen wildlands like these,” he said quietly, studying me as if surprised by the discovery. Softly, like a lover, he murmured, “That I promise you.”