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

Chapter 12

KLARA

“Stay with Zaridan,” Sarkin ordered me. “We’ll make camp here for the night.”

He left me sitting on the back of his dragon, but I was too exhausted to protest. I could feel others’ eyes on me, a sensation I’d been well acquainted with back in Dothik.

A thrum of sudden longing went through me, a cutting ache. I missed my home. I missed my life. I missed Dannik and Sora, the quiet of the archives, walking the Spine early in the mornings when the city was still sleeping, and the desolate beauty of the wildlands in the evenings. The soft wind curling through my hair like Kakkari’s touch.

Tears started swimming in my eyes, but I refused to cry. I was just tired, I reasoned. We’d traveled all day, with only a single break in the middle. Ever since I’d left Dothik four days ago, I’d had very little time off Zaridan’s back. Last night, at Sarkin’s citadel, had been my longest respite, and it had been a restless one. It was punishing…but everyone else around me was used to this.

The rider horde was studying me as Sarkin walked away. I could feel it. I’d felt their eyes on me all day, even mid-flight. They were sizing me up, trying to determine if I would be a hindrance…dead weight.

Zaridan hummed underneath me, and I tapped on her wing. She extended it, and I maneuvered off her back. When I didn’t stumble and thereby make a fool of myself in front of Sarkin’s horde, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Which quickly morphed into a sharp inhale as I took my first step. Ignore the pain, I coached myself. I hid my wince, my legs numb, my back throbbing.

To distract myself, I asked a passing male, “Can I help you with that?”

He was a rider, though I knew he wasn’t one of Sarkin’s prime group—the ranks and orders of which I still didn’t quite understand. He was carrying two buckets of water, heading in the direction of a small group of people who were preparing fresh meat for the traveling horde.

His eyes narrowed on me. “No,” he grunted.

Then he walked past as if I hadn’t spoken at all. My throat felt tight, embarrassment taking root. I walked a short distance away, determined to make myself useful even though my entire body screamed in protest.

The camp was a flurry of life and activity. I heard the Karag language being spoken, jovial laughs, and orders being barked. I got the attention of a young female who was going around refilling waterskins.

“Can I help you with that?”

She frowned. She gave me a strange look, mumbled something in the Karag language, and then pushed past.

I felt the prickle of Sarkin’s gaze on me, and when I looked up to meet it, he had his chin tilted back, regarding me over a fire that had already been built on the earth . Something a Dakkari would never do. Fire should never touch the earth. It was an insult to Kakkari.

But you’re not in Dakkar anymore, I thought sadly.

Sarkin was speaking with his commander, the one who’d flown with us from Dakkar, the one who’d been present on the terrace yesterday. Feranos, I’d determined his name was, hearing it lobbed around at various points throughout the day. That was another thing that was strange—to know the given names of horde members that I’d barely even spoken to.

Why did I feel like I had something to prove to him? To these people?

Because they won’t accept you if you don’t, I reminded myself. Sarkin had said something similar to me last night. Just because Sarkin intended to make me his queen, it didn’t mean the Sarrothian would welcome me with open arms.

But this was my life now. This was where I would live. I wanted to be accepted by them. I wanted to be comfortable with them, like I had been with our own horde, growing up on the wildlands of Dakkar. The horde had been like a family. A strong community of people, working together. When my mother and I had moved to Dothik, it had been like losing a limb.

“Let me help with those,” I said, reaching out to touch pelts that an older female was distributing. She jerked the pelts away, and I stood there, reeling and mortified, as she turned her back.

I spun on my heel back to Zaridan when I felt the tears sting my eyes. The last thing I wanted was the horde to see me cry. I wouldn’t be able to stand that.

“It’s just been a long day,” I whispered under my breath. “It’ll get better.”

Gingerly, uncaring who saw this time, I sought comfort next to Zaridan. I didn’t think I would be able to stand a rejection from Sarkin’s dragon too…but Zaridan accepted my touch. She lifted her wing so that I could maneuver next to it, steadying myself with her at my back as I slowly slid down her side, close to her forelimbs. She was sitting, her wings curled almost demurely around her, and I could feel her radiate heat. Her head was raised, observing the encampment just as I was, a quiet sentinel on the edge of the forest.

Though my shoulder protested, my hand spread up to her side, feeling her chest rise and fall with her powerful breaths. Watching the Karag mill around the darkening camp, I whispered, “ Sen endrassa .”

It was what Sarkin had murmured to her. By his tone and body language during that moment, I figured it was a term of respect.

A rustling filled the clearing, a sound I’d heard before though it was quieter. Zaridan’s scales. The sound was like a song.

Sy’asha, Sarkin had said when we’d heard a similar thing on the wildlands of Dakkar. I’d heard that word again when he’d spoken with his aunt upon landing in Sarroth. He’d told her he’d heard his Elthika’s song and that it was more powerful than any binding ceremony.

I wondered what it meant. Sy’asha .

I noticed the clearing go quiet. Most of the Sarrothian horde stopped, freezing in their places, to regard Zaridan. To regard me as her song weaved throughout the entire encampment.

With the sudden attention of an entire horde, I swallowed thickly and dropped my hand away, straightening my spine. My stepmother had always hated when I slouched, even when sitting.

I thought I had done something wrong, but when I sought out Sarkin’s gaze once more, I thought I spied approval on his features. His brows were furrowed, full lips pursed. The fire highlighted the sharpness of his face, and from this distance, it appeared as if his eyes were pitch black, like a starless night.

“ Tarosh, ” he barked out suddenly, and the horde jolted into movement again, though I still caught whispering and long glances cast my way among the different factions of the horde.

A short while later, as the activity began to die down, and as the delicious scent of cooking meat and bubbling broth filled the clearing, a female approached me. I’d noticed her before because I thought she looked more Dakkari than Karag, with her slighter build and straight black hair. Her skin was dark, and unlike the Karag riders, she had a tail, like any full-blooded Dakkari might. But her features resembled the Karag, straight and sharp, all hard, cutting lines with very little softness.

She had a rounded chin, though, which only sharpened when she smiled at me. I was not used to being smiled at by the Karag, and so I blinked at her, almost in disbelief.

“Hungry?” she asked. She stopped a good distance away from Zaridan, who turned her broad head to regard the new female. She chuffed out a sharp breath, lifting her wing slightly. The female approached, and I realized it was because the Elthika had given her permission.

I struggled to sit up taller, my back against the unyielding hardness of Zaridan’s scales. But given the coldness of the Karag’s reception to me, I still vastly preferred them. At least Zaridan’s body was warm, seeping into my skin and sore muscles.

“Meat, broth, and bread,” the young female added, crouching before me to lay the tray she’d brought on my lap. “The delightful meal of travel. Though maybe you are used to it.”

“What do you mean?” I asked softly.

“I had heard rumors you lived in an actual Dakkari horde.” She dropped her voice like it was meant to be a secret.

“Oh,” I said, giving her a small quirk of my lips, warming to her. Maybe she just wanted to get intel for her Karag friends, but it was the first time a Sarrothian was actually speaking with me—willingly—so I didn’t mind. It was no secret. “I grew up in a horde on the wildlands.”

“And where is that?” the girl asked.

“Well…everywhere,” I answered truthfully. “The wildlands of Dakkar are everywhere. Hordes move from place to place, tracking different game throughout the seasons. Wrissan herds to the East Lands, bveri in the North. We would travel three, four, five times a year if necessary.”

The girl listened to me, seemingly rapt. Perhaps the Karag were as curious about the Dakkari as we were about them. But I didn’t think they feared us like we did them. There was no need for it with creatures like Zaridan at their backs.

Her tail swept over the ground, my eyes catching on it. Curiosity got the best of me when I said, “May I ask you a question? But I hope it won’t offend you.”

The girl quirked a brow. “There is very little that would offend me. Why ask permission? It wastes time. Just ask.”

“Why do you have a tail when others do not? I’ve noticed that the majority of the riders don’t.”

Including Sarkin.

“ You don’t have a tail,” she pointed out.

“No,” I said. “But that’s because many of my ancestors were human. And I don’t think that’s the case with the Karag.”

She drank in that information slowly. I didn’t know what she thought of that, but she said, abruptly, “Riders have their tails cut off. It is called the thryn’rosh . The final commitment.”

I froze. “What?”

“Many do when they are young, for riders from the ancient families. Blood borns, we call them. They get off easy. Some don’t even remember it. But others, who came into riding or who were not meant to, like our Karath , get them cut off during the oath-taking ceremony, as a sign of their dedication and honor to the Elthika.”

“That’s…that’s…”

Barbaric? Was that the word I was going to say?

But who was I to judge? Given the old Vorakkar trials of our own people, the insurmountable obstacles and tests of physical strength and how well one could withstand pain.

“It’s the Elthika’s plating. Trust me, it’s for the best. My oath-taking ceremony is next season. I’ll be glad to get rid of mine. I’m so worried sick almost every flight that I’ve begun to strap my tail down my outer leg.”

“Plating?” I asked.

“You might have noticed on Zaridan,” the girl said, jerking her chin back at the Elthika. “The way her scales overlap near the beginning of her tail. Our own tails can get caught there if a rider isn’t careful. During flight, it can get ripped right off. You can bleed out on the back of your Elthika. Many have died that way. It happens.”

For the first time, I was glad not to have a tail, when I’d been teased about it mercilessly, growing up in a horde.

I hadn’t noticed the plating on Zaridan, but I would surely look for it now. Not that it mattered—I’d been riding in front of Sarkin, his strong chest pressed to my back.

“Do you think that you’ll miss yours?” I asked, the question popping out before I could stop it.

The girl grinned, a small chuff of laughter falling from her. “I haven’t given it that much thought. But I suppose I will. I’ll learn to live without it though. I heard the first couple weeks, you’re off balance.”

Across the clearing, I watched as a female rider—one of those who had traveled to Dakkar—approached Sarkin. Her hand touched his arm, and he turned to regard her. They spoke briefly and then he nodded, following her—alone—into the darkness of the forest beyond the clearing. I didn’t know why, but I felt a pinching in my belly, watching them disappear together, how closely they walked next to one another.

Then I couldn’t help but notice Sarkin’s rider’s reactions. Their shared looks, smug smirks.

I swallowed, jerking my gaze away. When I met the girl’s gaze, I knew she’d seen it too. She gave me a soft, knowing smile. “You don’t have to worry about that . That’s long been over.”

So there had been something?

I shouldn’t care . Then again, I’d witnessed my stepmother’s bitterness for over ten years. She’d been humiliated when my birth had been discovered. It had been a mark against her, an insult that she had never recovered from.

That was the only reason, I argued silently, that I felt a lump in my throat, watching her and Sarkin go off alone.

“This marriage is happening because he threatened to kill my people,” I found myself saying. My tone was matter-of-fact, almost soft. The Karag female blinked, her brow furrowing. “I don’t mistake what this is.”

But it bothered me that others might. That I would turn into my stepmother, that despite all of her strength, despite her good family name, everything she’d accomplished…it could still be tarnished at the hands of her husband.

That was why I could never blame her for her hatred of me.

I’d made the air between us tight and uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” I breathed. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean it quite like that.”

“The Karath is a good leader,” she told me. “Any of us would be glad to follow him. He is bound in honor as well. It includes all vows made, even to you.” She dropped her voice. “I’m sure it’s overwhelming. I’m glad I’m not you, to be honest. Thrown into a new life as you were.”

I swallowed, turning my head to regard the edge of the forest where Sarkin had disappeared before I forced myself to look away.

Though it was strange to ask, I realized that I could. “What is your name?”

The girl smiled. “Sammenth.”

Pretty name. I wondered what it meant.

“I’m Klara,” I said. “You’ve been kind to me. I won’t forget it.”

She looked down at my untouched tray of food. “The Sarrothian, I know, are a difficult people to connect with. They don’t like outsiders. And they certainly don’t like outsiders who will become their queen.”

“Then why, Sammenth, have you been so kind to me?” I asked, trying to understand.

“Because I know what it’s like to be an outsider,” she confessed. “I am not a true Sarrothian. Half of my ancestors were Dakkari.”

A jolt went through me. I heard myself exhale a sharp, small breath.

A million questions bubbled in my mind, but I kept my lips firmly pressed together. I would scare her away if I bombarded her with questions.

Instead, I asked a single one. “How?”

“Sammenth!” someone called. A group of riders were looking at her expectantly, one waving a loaf of bread in the air. They were all young, I noticed. Their faces unlined by the seriousness and intensity of Sarkin’s riders. Novice riders? I wondered.

There was eagerness on Sammenth’s face when she turned back to me. “We’ll talk again, and I’ll tell you. I promise. Eat now. And rest. We have another long travel day tomorrow.”

And before I could protest, she stood and walked back toward the group, stretched out on their sides or sitting on tree logs they’d pulled from the forest around us. Sammenth grinned, gladly accepting a bowl of broth thrust into her chest. She pushed off a male from the log, who toppled over with a sharp laugh, and took his seat.

She’d learned to be accepted. A Dakkari…just like me.

I could scarcely believe it. But how that was possible, I didn’t know. Though I had my suspicions…guided by the stories my mother had told me all my life. Fantasy stories, I’d always thought. But ever since her death…I’d begun to see them as truth, especially as my own gift had manifested quicker and stronger as I’d aged.

“Finished eating?” came the gruff question.

Sarkin appeared, peering down at me and my full tray of food. He crouched, snagging my bread, bringing it up to his lips and tearing off a bite.

“Have you ?” I returned, raising a brow when he dropped the bread back onto the tray. I studied him, looking for unkempt clothing or any laces undone.

His chin lowered to regard me. “What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Your tone implies otherwise.”

I didn’t want to talk about this, especially since I didn’t even know what I was feeling. “How did the Dakkari come to be here? In Karak?”

Sarkin exhaled sharply. “They came on ships. Long ago. There were hordes along the southern shores for nearly a century. I figured you would have known.”

My jaw dropped. “Of course not. There’s no record of it in our archives.”

“Ah, but you knew, aralye , didn’t you?”

My nostrils flared. His hand reached out to grip my chin, studying me, his eyes flickering to my scar.

If not for this scar, he never would’ve looked at me twice, I realized. It was because of this scar that I was here.

And perhaps I should’ve been grateful for it because he’d been ready to use the ethrall on all of Dothik.

“Finish eating. We’re sleeping up on the cliffs tonight.”

I gaped. “Why?”

After last night? Was he insane?

“Zaridan won’t sleep on the earth, and I’m taking first watch. Since you sleep with me, you go too. No exceptions.”