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

Chapter 31

KLARA

The new bed was waiting for me when I stepped into our dwelling. There was a break in our training for the afternoon, and I wanted to escape the plethora of activity in the horde, opting instead for quiet and peace.

Gone was the simple pile of fur blankets and cushions we’d been sleeping on. Instead, there was a padded and plush cushion—the largest I’d ever seen and hand sewn with embroidered silver patterns—where Sarkin’s raised bed used to be. On top were some of the softest pelts of white-and-brown furs. I sank down onto the cushion, testing its give, and spread my hand through the blankets.

It was heavenly.

Sarkin had done this for me?

I didn’t want to get it dirty—I was caked in mud from the river and sweat—so I rose immediately, backing up a few paces to admire it more fully. A smile played over my lips. It was one of the nicest gifts I’d ever received, though admittedly, I hadn’t received that many in my lifetime. But it was the meaning behind it that made it special.

There was a permanence about it. I’d told him that I’d like to sleep closest to the earth, to feel more grounded and rooted with our goddess, Kakkari. He hadn’t complained once, though we’d been, essentially, sleeping on the floor.

Then my smile died into a sigh. I went to all the windows and opened them up, placing the sprig of a blooming vine across the high table, admiring the way it draped over the edge and the colors that the pink blossoms added. It was sunny and bright in our dwelling. I went to the ice box along the wall, pulling out an orb of fruit I’d learned was called slime fruit. The texture was more jelly than solid, but I enjoyed the subtle sweetness and the cool glide across my tongue. It was especially good spooned over Mazra’s hot cakes, the grumpy cook always slightly pleased when I asked for one or two from her kitchen.

Unlike a Dakkari horde’s voliki , Karag dwellings had small kitchens and hearths. Though there was a central cooking hub in the village and most of our meals had been brought to us, hot and delicious, I’d learned most households cooked their own food throughout the day, which accounted for the little gardens I’d seen next to many of the dwellings here. Families traded each other for meat and spices or worked for meals from the cooking hub, performing jobs and tasks around the encampment. The Sarrothian who lived here were free to hunt in the forests in the Arsadia. They hauled in their own water from the river.

It was a more independent lifestyle than the one I’d grown up in, but there was still a sense of community and belonging, which was achingly familiar. It was comforting.

I sat at the table, watching a ray of sunlight beam off the pink flower as I munched on my snack. The quiet was nice. To hear my own thoughts. To let my guard down. To not feel anyone’s eyes on me.

The tension between Sarkin and myself this last week had already been tiring enough. Though, truthfully, I barely saw him, and if I did, they were only brief moments in the horde, usually around dusk, after his scouting party had returned. He’d been gone once on an overnight trip. To Elysom, I’d later learned, the Karag’s capital city, situated on a small island west of here. Another trip had been made to the Karath ’s territory in the North. He’d finally located the missing horde of Elthika, but they’d taken up dangerously close to the Hartans’ borders, so he’d gone on a scouting mission there.

Over the week, some of my anger had deflated. I realized that Sarkin couldn’t possibly have been so calculated to take me as his wife for the purpose of using me if the heartstones were found in Dakkar. It was laughable…and if it were true, it meant Sarkin had visions of his own, which I highly doubted. I’d been hurt, yes. I still was. But I was determined to move on. I couldn’t change that I was Dakkari. I couldn’t change who my father was. Of course it would come up. Of course it would be used by the Karag as leverage. Sarkin would have little control over that, especially if it meant greatly benefitting his own people.

I just wished he could understand why it had stung. I just wanted him to acknowledge that. I just wanted him to acknowledge how hypocritical it was for him to question my loyalty when he would use me for the Karag’s gain.

Yet…he hadn’t. We’d been distant. He still slept beside me at night, though I’d only seen him once. He came to bed after I fell asleep and was gone before I woke. The only evidence that he’d been there at all was an obvious indentation and lingering warmth from his body in the mornings. Once, I’d woken in the middle of the night to find him sleeping, his arms wrapped around me. I’d lain awake, savoring the heat and scent of him, pressing my hand to his chest, before I’d gone back to sleep.

That had been the extent of our interactions.

There was a knock at the door. For a moment, a pulsing of hope went through, wondering if it was Sarkin, but then I realized he wouldn’t have knocked on the door of his own dwelling.

I finished up the slime fruit and answered it, finding Ryena on the other side. The horde was bustling today, I’d noticed on my walk back home. I couldn’t help but wonder why, but in the distance, I saw a decorative vine being hung near the flying field.

“Hi,” I greeted, smiling. “Please come in.”

When I stepped away from the door and let Ryena slide past, I saw her gaze go to the bed. Then she turned to me and said, “I’m just dropping this off for you. Sammenth wanted you to have some, but she’s out on patrol right now with the Karath ’s unit, much to her delight and much to my worry.”

She’d grumbled that last bit, making my lips quirk, though I wondered if it was really all that dangerous, if I should perhaps be worrying more when Sarkin left.

“Oh,” I said, tucking a strand of hair that escaped my braid behind my ear. My gaze dropped to the basket she was caring, a delightful aroma rising. “What are they?”

“The meat pies she told you about. Our father’s own recipe.”

“Right! The one she said might’ve been a Dakkari recipe.”

“Precisely,” Ryena said, folding back the cloth that kept them warm. “She pulled them from the hearth before she left. They’re still warm. You want one now?”

“Yes, I’m starving,” I told her.

She wrinkled her nose, seeing the spiky pit on the table. “Slime fruit not cutting it?”

“Not with Kyavor’s training, no.”

“I remember Sammenth cleaning out my ice box daily when she was in training. These will help weigh you down,” she said. We both took a seat at the table. I’d left the door open, finding the breeze pleasant as it slid over the back of my neck. “How have you been?”

“Busy,” I told her, taking a bite from the pie. It was really more like a ball, a flaky crust with a savory meat filling. The flavor burst over my tongue, and I nearly gasped.

“What?” she asked, smiling as she watched me.

“It tastes like home,” I said quietly, feeling the sudden sting of tears rush in my eyes, and I was immediately embarrassed. Sarkin wouldn’t like me calling Dakkar home , not to one of his horde members, and my hand dropped into my lap, gazing down at the small pie that tasted exactly like braised wrissan , marinated in trilikki pepper, that smoky spiciness blooming over my tongue. Comforting and warming.

Ryena’s hand came to my forearm, and when I looked up at her, she was frowning. “What’s wrong? If you need to talk, Klara, I’m here.”

“No, it’s…nothing.”

Her sad smile was knowing. “I know what’s it like. Maybe not like you do, but I watched my father get treated differently. Sammenth and I have always felt like outsiders, not so much here, but if we ever stepped beyond our village in Sarroth. It can feel overwhelming. I just want you to know you’re not alone. You don’t have to try to hide it.”

I blew out a shaking sigh. I was touched by her concern and the meaning behind her words. But I didn’t know how to tell her that Sarkin and I had been fighting about the relations between her people and mine, not without betraying my husband’s trust or revealing my vision.

“ Kakkira vor, ” I said, giving her a small smile as I cleared my throat and blinked my tears away. Thank you, it meant in Dakkari. “I’m just a little homesick,” I admitted. That wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t quite the truth either.

She nodded her head. “I was like that when I first came to the Arsadia. I do miss Sarroth. You always miss home because that’s where you have so many memories.”

“Why did you decide to live here?”

“There are plenty of healers in Sarroth and the villages that dot around it. Here? Not so much. Plus, our hatchery is here. That’s where my real interest lies,” she told me, patting my forearm. “I miss home, but this is my home now. It’s where I’m happiest, where I find the most purpose in my work. I still visit Sarroth, though I hate being on Elthika-back.”

I took another bite of the meat pie, biting back a smile. Thinking of that day at the Tharken cliffs, of feeling powerful and terrified all at the same time.

Kyavor had been impressed with my overnight progress when we’d returned. My next turn on the practice mount had seemed laughably easy. Sarkin had been right about that.

“Sammenth tells me that you’re turning out to be an accomplished rider. That you’ve even outshone some of the blood borns during training,” Ryena told me. A prick of pride made my cheeks heat, but I took another bite to mask it. “Maybe Sarkin will let you join his unit.”

“Oh no.” I laughed. “That’s the last thing I want. I’m not destined to be a rider. I only want to bond with an Elthika of my own, and then…”

I’d had the stray thought that had been growing more pressing with every day. Thinking beyond the Arsadia, thinking what would give me purpose in Karag. Ryena had said her purpose was here. I thought mine lay back in the South Lands of the Sarrothian territory.

“Then?”

“I’m thinking about archiving Dakkari history in Karak,” I said. I’d told Sarkin once, but the idea had taken root and wouldn’t let go.

“Oh,” Ryena said, surprised.

“History interests me. Stories. It helps piece together a broader understanding of being . Of living. I’ve been thinking that when we return to Sarroth after the rider season, maybe I’ll spend time at your village and the ones around it, to chronicle their stories, anything they might remember so that I can better understand my people who made Karak their home.”

“That…that sounds like a wonderful idea,” Ryena said, softly pensive.

“This,” I said, holding up the food in my hand, “is what I want to understand.”

“Meat pie?” Ryena joked.

I grinned. “Yes, I would like the recipe. Please tell your sister that. But…ultimately, what I want to understand is the melding of two races and everything that happened—the good and the bad—for that to be possible. I think that’s important. If I don’t, I fear those stories and those memories will be lost forever.”

Just like my mother. The visions she saw of these people…I wished I’d asked her more about it. I wished I’d recorded some of our conversations. Now I only had my memory, and it was growing hazy. I hated that sometimes I couldn’t remember my mother’s face.

Ryena’s gaze snapped to the open doorway, and I sensed his presence before I saw him.

“Oh, you’re back early,” I commented, eyeing Sarkin as he stepped more fully into the doorway. How much had he heard? “Ryena brought some meat pies that Sammenth made. Their father’s recipe. Would you like to try one? They taste just like the skewers I used to get from the wrissan vendor in Dothik.”

Sarkin’s gaze was burning into mine, a soft understanding there, and I suddenly realized he’d likely heard all of our conversation.

“There’s somewhere I’d like to take you tonight,” Sarkin answered. “And yes, I would like to try one. Bring them—we’ll have them for our evening meal.”

“You want to leave now?” I asked, frowning, as Ryena stood, ready to excuse herself.

“No, after your instruction this afternoon. We can meet on the landing field at dusk. Dress warmly, lysi ?”

He left, and I stared at the open doorway.

Ryena was smiling when she skirted the table. “You’re going to see the starfall up close tonight,” she said, her tone teasing. “How romantic.”

I flushed. “The what?”

“The celebration tonight? The starfall? It’s the time of year the Elthika begin their migration to the Tharken cliffs. It marks the beginning of the end for the riding season. There will be a feast tonight to celebrate and to watch it happen.”

“Then why don’t we just stay with the horde?” I questioned, though it was more to myself, confusion swelling.

“Because he wants the best for his new bride,” Ryena teased. “Enjoy it. It’s a beautiful thing to witness.”