Текст книги "The horde King of shadow"

Автор книги: Zoey Draven

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

“Welcome home, Karath,” I said quietly.

“What a beautiful welcome it is, Sorrina,” he answered, stepping down into the bath to join me, those swirling eyes never once leaving mine.

I licked my lips as I watched him approach.

“Do we leave in the morning?” I couldn’t help but ask.

Sarkin reached me, sinking down to take me into his arms. I pressed my face to his neck. He smelled like Zaridan. Like salty coastal air and crushed leaves. I breathed him in harder as black Elthika-scale dust floated in the water around us from his palms.

“Yes,” he replied. “I made sure to fly over Tharken on our way home. The Elthika are waiting. They are ready. We will leave at dawn.”

I ignored the sizzle of nerves. I would worry about it in the morning. Nothing would change now.

“Then let’s enjoy tonight.”

“Yes,” he rasped, pulling back so he could capture my lips. His hands roamed, and I arched into his touch, a gasp driving away all thoughts of the choosing. “Let me enjoy you, my aralye.”

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Chapter 35SARKIN

My fingertips trailed down Klara’s spine, skimming over the swell of her cheeks, making her twitch and shiver, making me smirk.

“Sensitive?” I asked, rolling into her in our bed, tugging her into the crook of my arm. How long it had been since I was so comfortable with a lover…

I thought it a blessing that I felt this way with my wife.

“Yes,” she said. Though I couldn’t see it, I heard her smile.

I smelled her hair, savoring this with her before the rush of the morning began. I rubbed my lips over the delicate—and sensitive—tips of her ears. I knew she needed to sleep, but I just wanted a few more quiet moments with her. We wouldn’t get any during the illa’rosh.

“Why had you never taken a lover in Dothik?” I asked, a question I’d been curious about ever since learning she’d been a virgin in Lishara’s temple. “Surely you had males vying for your attention.”

Saying the words out loud brought a discomforting feeling with it. One I thought might be jealousy. It was strange and foreign. It made me feel restless, and I hated the feeling. By nature, I’d never been jealous over past lovers. Some had tried to make me so, but not once had they ever succeeded.

And now I was jealous over faceless Dakkari or human males who might have tried to seduce my wife into their beds, long before I’d ever known her?

It was laughable. And irritating because I was getting jealous over a hypothetical, not a truth.

“Most men stayed away from me,” she said softly. “My scar kept many away. I’d learned most people don’t like to look at it, so I’d tried to hide it a lot. Keeping my face down, not making eye contact, keeping to the edges. Never bringing attention to myself.”

I jolted. To the Karag, scars were meant to be displayed. On females, they were considered attractive, alluring.

“I liked the archives. I never needed to hide there,” she told me. “Though in a way, I guess I was. There were other males, but I could always see their true intentions. They wanted to get close to me to get close to my family. Dannik usually scared them off, and I didn’t care for a single one.”

“You never wanted to experience sex? To know what it felt like, being with someone that intimately?”

“I did,” she said, her head lolling back onto my arm so she could meet me eyes. She smiled lazily. We’d made love twice—once in the bath, once in our furs. We were both sated, sleepy. “And now I do.”

I chuckled. “Is it everything you thought it might be?” I teased gently, capturing her fingers when she traced my lips. I nipped at them with my teeth.

“Oh, yes,” she whispered, all seriousness even though her eyes twinkled in the golden light of our dwelling. “No complaints at all.”

I grunted.

“Do you wish I was more experienced?” came her unexpected question.

“What?” I asked, frowning, rolling onto my side more so I could see her better.

“I’m not bad at sex, am I?”

I scoffed. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” she said, her tone earnest. “You’re my first lover, Sarkin.”

“And last,” I growled, a delicious possessiveness curling low in my belly.

She smiled. “You’re my first husband too.”

“And last.”

It looked like she wanted to say something else. Perched on the edge of her tongue, her smile dying as a shy expression overtook her teasing amusement. My heart picked up pace in my chest.

Come on, aralye, what are you going to say? I wondered, though I thought I knew.

You’re my first love too was what went unspoken, a silent thing between us.

And last, I would inform her.

Klara swallowed the words, and I stroked my fingers over her exposed shoulder, feeling the softness of her skin, still warm from our bath.

“Because I’m inexperienced with these things,” she said instead, going back to where the conversation had deviated. “I’m only acting on instinct.”

“Then I will tell you, wife,” I rasped, my lips replacing my touch, trailing them up her neck to her ear. A full body shiver racked her, a little gasping breath shuddering from her. “That you have only the most perfect of instincts.”

And it’s madness…wanting you this much, I thought, capturing her lips for a gentle, lazy kiss.

For the first time in my time as Karath to the Sarrothian, I wanted to lock myself away with her. Just for a little while. I didn’t want to burden myself with Elthika migration or Elysom politics or the heartstones in Dothik or the preparations for the journey back to Sarroth.

Selfishly, I just wanted to stay in this bed with Klara. I wanted to fall asleep beside her and wake up to her, with no pressing obligation of needing to be anywhere else.

When had I ever felt like this before?

“I brought you gifts,” I told her, pulling away from our bed of furs to snag the satchel from the ground near the doorway.

She rose onto her elbow, her full breasts on display. “Gifts?” she asked, hesitant but hopeful. Curiosity rose in her luminous and inquisitive gray eyes. “Really?”

“From Elysom,” I said. “One day, you will see our capital city yourself. It is quite a beautiful place. But until then…”

I crouched down and dug into the bag.

Klara gasped when I pulled out a beautiful floor-length dress, made of silver hatchling scales with shimmering jewels sewed into the bodice.

“Sarkin, it’s so lovely,” Klara murmured, reaching out to touch the material. “I’ve never seen anything so fine.”

“I thought you might want to wear this on Akymor. It’s a special day in Sarroth—it marks the end of the Elthika’s mating season, before they begin to nest with their eggs. I hold a celebration at the citadel for my kya’rassa, and there are small parties in each of the villages. I try to visit them all through the night.”

She was staring at me, that shy expression on her features again. She looked down at the dress when her cheeks flushed, rubbing the material between her fingertips. “I would like that.”

Satisfaction burned in my chest.

I pulled out my next gift. Her eyes alighted on the pair of them, jeweled hair clips, crafted of the purest of silvers.

“So you never have to hide your scar,” I told her, thinking of what she’d just told me. “Especially not from me.”

She sucked in a quiet breath, meeting my eyes. I thought hers went a little glassy before she blinked swiftly.

“Thank you. I…I don’t know what to say. You spoil me with these pretty things,” she said, touching the clips when I placed them in her palms, running her fingertips over the etched metal.

But pretty things didn’t make her truly happy, did they?

I thought my last gift might though.

“One more,” I said.

“More?” She laughed.

“I saved the best for last.”

Her eyes nearly bugged out of her skull when I pulled an Elthika scale–bound book from the bottom of the bag.

“Sarkin,” she breathed. “That’s a…that’s a…”

“A book?”

“Yes!”

I chuckled, knowing I made the right decision. Books weren’t usually for sale in Elysom’s collections, but I’d offered a price to a private collector, one he hadn’t been able to turn down.

She reached for it eagerly, and I grinned, shaking my head when I saw her hands were trembling.

“Don’t worry—I didn’t get my filthy hands all over the pages,” I informed her, thinking back to when I’d first bumped into her at the marketplace in Dothik.

“Oh, Sarkin,” she breathed. Now she was actually blinking back happy tears as she carefully flipped open the cover, thumbing through the first few pages. “And it’s in the universal language!”

“It’s in both,” I informed her. “It’s translated from Karag—you can see the original text in the last half of the book. When we return to Sarroth, there is a scholar there who can help you learn to read it. Most of our books are written in our language or a blend of Karag and the universal tongue. It will expand your available reading material at the very least, learning Karag.”

“Of course,” she said, her shoulders rising with a deep, determined breath, as if she was ready to begin her tutoring now. “I’ll learn it.”

“It’s a history of Elthika,” I told her. “I thought it would be useful to you.”

I grunted when she launched herself at me. I caught her around the waist, the book pressed between us.

She kissed me. “Thank you. Kakkira vor. I love it. I…”

Again she stopped herself, whatever she’d been about to say next, though we both heard it. Then she beamed at me.

“You shouldn’t have shown this to me because now I don’t want to sleep,” she said, sighing, running her fingertips over the cover, the scales making a sound as her nails stroked over them.

I smiled. “How about I read you a few pages in the Karag language?”

“Would you?” she asked, brightening.

Her passion for learning, for knowledge, for books—so pure and loving—only made my affection for her grow all the more.

“Of course,” I told her, taking the book from her grip gently. We lay back in the bed—I was getting used to sleeping closer to the ground, in a nest of furs. Klara’s eyes ran over the foreign letters on the page, her head pressed into my shoulder.

Anything to get her to relax for tomorrow, I thought.

I began to read…because dawn would come much too soon.

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Chapter 36KLARA

“Remember,” Sarkin murmured, his voice soft and hushed, even though we were alone on a ledge on the Tharken cliffs, “you don’t have to do this, Klara.”

“Don’t tell me that,” I said, my voice even. I went cold, even stoic, when I was nervous. From an outsider’s perspective, it might’ve even seemed like I was bored. “I can do this.”

He looked at me steadily. “I never thought you couldn’t.”

“Then stop giving me an out,” I told him, deliberately trying to soften my words. “My brother always did that. He always tried to protect me. I loved him for it…but sometimes I wished he would let me stand on my own. When it came to my family. When it came to the Dothikkar’s hungry court. Because they never respected me.”

Sarkin inclined his head. There was understanding in his eyes.

“Then go claim your Elthika, Sorrina.”

But don’t claim Lygath was what was unspoken between us.

He turned to call for Zaridan on his black cuff, but I snagged his arm. His hands dove into my hair when I stood on my tiptoes to give him a deep, long kiss. He breathed me in. I knew he would take Zaridan to the very bottom of the ravine beneath my ledge…just in case. But I also knew he wouldn’t tell me that.

“My only fear is disappointing you,” I confessed to him when I pulled away, blinking back the sudden tears that pricked my eyes.

“Then you have nothing to fear, Klara,” Sarkin said simply.

A smile broke over my face, the first one that entire morning since we left the village at dawn.

“Lysi?” he asked, tipping up my chin.

My smile only widened at the Dakkari word, and I nodded, taking a huge breath, letting it fill my lungs, letting it ground me, even as high up as I was along the cliffs.

“Lysi,” I replied. “Go.”

His eyes flashed down to my right hand, where the tether he’d given me this morning was hanging, as if in assurance.

His gaze connected with mine. We looked at one another for long moments, only interrupted when Zaridan swooped low overhead, all the other wild Elthika scattering away from her. It seemed to please her, their fear. Their reverence.

Sarkin said, “Tight core, brace low.”

Then he jumped off the cliff edge, right onto Zaridan’s back, my heart leaping in my throat. He made it look so easy, but he’d had years of practice. I studied his easy positioning, where he had his boots locked into place at the harness, now knowing how much leg strength it took to keep them there with the velocity of flight.

He was a beautiful, accomplished rider. I could appreciate that now.

Sarkin flew out of sight, circling down to the bottom of the cliff pass…

Then I was alone.

The Tharken cliffs had been transformed since Sarkin had brought me here. Wild Elthika were all over the cliff sides, latching their taloned claws into the rock face, clinging to edges and navigating more easily than I thought possible.

I was high up. Alone, as Sammenth had recommended. That morning, at dawn, I’d ridden with Sarkin and, seemingly, an entire horde of dragons behind us. Most of the village had come to attend the illa’rosh. They’d gone to the opposite mountain, which had an excellent view of the cliffs. There was a flat rocky surface toward the very peak, and many had set up camp, similar in appearance to a Dakkari horde. Domed animal-hide tents—though the Sarrothian used a dark cloth material—and communal cooking areas. There was an air of excitement, or jovial celebration, even though most of the riders in attendance had been deathly quiet during the initial meeting with Kyavor.

There were other hordes from Karak in attendance as well. Sarkin told me that the Karath of the North had made camp on the northern mountain, though I couldn’t see them from the vantage I had facing south. The northerners had been here for a couple days now. Their illa’rosh had already begun. One rider had already taken a death fall, trying to claim a Vyrin—though which one, no one could say for certain.

I wondered if Lygath was here.

I know he is, came my next thought. I stood at the edge of the cliff, pressing my hand in the rock face of the mountain, peering down. The world swayed. I’d never been so high up when I hadn’t been on Zaridan. Something about being stationary and looking down to a bottomless pit struck me as wrong.

The wind whipped my hair around my face, the tendrils that had escaped from my braid. From this vantage point, across the valley, I spied the telltale flash of Vyaria’s blue-scaled vest when it reflected off sunlight. She was on the same ledge as Kan—her cousin—but many of my peers had chosen to be alone for the choosing. I saw others dotted around various points across the cliffs.

When I’d been searching for a suitable ledge with Sarkin, I’d seen other riders I hadn’t recognized.

Blood borns from other territories, Sarkin had explained to me, his lips brushing my ear. They’ll be trying for Vyrins. It’s best to stay away from them. They’ll be ruthless.

My heart lurched in my chest when I thought I spied a silver-scaled dragon across the valley, flying low. A moment later, he emerged out of sunlight and I saw that it was only a trick of the reflection off his scales. He was dark gray in color, and I watched as he circled back around one particular rider, sizing him up, as the rider’s head swiveled, tracking him in the sky.

There was a roaring sound that came, emitted from a beautiful light blue Elthika.

In the blink of an eye, I watched as Vyaria took a running sprint off the ledge of her cliffside. My heart thundered in my chest, watching her aim for the light blue Elthika. Smaller than others around the Tharken cliffs, but regal nonetheless.

At the last moment, the dragon sharply turned, and my stomach lurched. “No,” I breathed.

Vyaria landed on the Elthika hard but not cleanly. I watched with bated breath as my training peer grappled with her tether, digging her hands into the scales, trying to get a grip so she wouldn’t fall off the edge. Kyavor had told us that certain Elthika might test their riders during the choosing. Was this what this one was doing? Or was she trying to reject Vyaria?

The Elthika banked until Vyaria was almost vertical, dangling from her chosen dragon with only a precarious grip on the edge of a few scales. The Elthika righted itself, and Vyaria used the momentum to swing herself up. I heard her cry of exertion, the strength and will it took, echo through the cliffs. I saw the slim flash of her tether as she swung it around the Elthika’s neck, using the sliding metal hook to tighten it like a leash.

Vyaria got into a rider’s position, even without the comfort of a harness. Everyone seemed to wait with bated breath, to see if the Elthika would accept her, return her to the cliffside…or let her fall.

The Elthika let out another roar, and I watched as they both ascended, flying higher and higher…

The first flight.

Cheers raised up from the other riders, dotted along the pass, and I breathed out a shuddering sigh, my knees feeling a little weak. Everyone was watching. The eyes of hundreds on one Sarrothian girl and one Elthika, taking their first flight together.

How many eyes will be on you? came the nasty thought, making my heart freeze with trepidation. How many will watch if you fail?

Just like that, Vyaria had claimed her Elthika. The first of our peers. And she’d only been on the cliffside for mere moments.

Sammenth had told me the choosing could happen quickly or could drag on until the Elthika decided they’d had enough and left the cliffs entirely.

Suddenly I wished that I felt the relief that Vyaria must’ve been feeling right this moment. How wonderful it must’ve felt, to know that what you’d worked hard for was just realized. That you could silence the fear.

I watched Vyaria and her Elthika until the sun blotted them out. I dragged in a deep breath, my eyes scanning the cliffside again, waiting, just like all the riders.

Be patient, I reminded myself. I knew the others might feel pressure now. They, too, envied Vyaria’s relief, coveted her success. Would some try to claim their Elthika not because it was the right choice but because it was the easy choice?

My head craned over the side of the cliff. I couldn’t even see the bottom, a steady mist was covering it. Mist that hadn’t burned away in the sunlight because the shadows of the cliffs kept it protected.

There was no sign of Zaridan, but I knew they were there. Somewhere. Sarkin would wait until I claimed an Elthika. Or failed. He would wait for as long as it took, patrolling the pass.

And so I waited too.

When I first caught sight of Lygath, he was cast in moonlight.

Night had fallen. I’d been sitting on the cliffside, my legs dangling over the edge, feeling the keen slip of time as the sun lowered and the moon took its place.

I was hungry. Tired. Thirsty. My eyes were burning from watching every Elthika that passed. And though I knew better, I began to think how easy it would be to try for one that flew too closely…

Over the course of the afternoon, I’d watched fifteen more riders claim their Elthika, and I watched even more rejections, though none had ended in a death fall. Those Elthika had returned their potential riders to the cliffside. One rejected rider had even tried for another…only to be rejected again. He was still waiting across the way. A rider could try for as long as there was an Elthika present at the cliffs, but I imagined it took great mental strength after a rejection, let alone two.

With every Elthika that was claimed, with the available pool dwindling and time passing, more rejections became commonplace, the riders growing desperate and impatient. So palpable, I could almost taste it in the air.

I tried to steady my constant nerves with every rejection. I was one of three remaining acolytes among my Sarrothian peers who still hadn’t claimed an Elthika. The other two were among the ones who’d gotten rejected, though they continued to wait for another attempt.

I was likely one of the only riders who hadn’t tried to claim one yet, except for the older blood borns from the other territories. But something had always stayed my hand. That flash of memory of Lygath, right here at Tharken. That searing familiarity.

Like Muron’s lightning, just as Sarkin had described.

And so when I saw Lygath, bathed in moonlight, flying in the middle of the pass, I could even hear the astonishment from the hordes, still watching along the outer mountains. Sound carried oddly, and I could hear a smattering of their murmurings, even miles away.

Sarkin had told me Lygath hadn’t been spotted in years. Yet here he was. Flying in plain view, as if he wanted to be seen, gliding along silently like his namesake. Appearing out of thin air like an apparition.

My heart began to thunder in my chest as shouts were raised among the remaining acolytes, the blood borns. They were here for a Vyrin, Sarkin had told me. And here was Lygath, prowling down the pass, a descendant of Muron himself.

They would die, came the stray thought, that realization stealing all the breath from my lungs.

If I didn’t get to him first, they would die. I knew, deep in my bones, that I was meant to claim Lygath. It had to mean something. My visions, my dreams. I’d felt the bonding pull, hadn’t I?

And so if I was meant to be Lygath’s rider, he would throw off all others who tried to claim him. Just like he’d done to Haden. Would Sarkin catch riders who fell?

I wasn’t certain. His priority was me.

My husband wouldn’t be distracted—his focus would be unshakeable, tracking my movements, especially with Lygath so near after what I’d told him. I couldn’t promise him that I wouldn’t try to claim Lygath if the situation presented itself. Here it was…and Sarkin likely felt the frustration of my stubbornness.

As if on cue, I heard Zaridan’s roar from the dark depths of the foggy pass. Lygath responded, his tail flicking, his movements becoming agitated, swinging his head to search for his sister. His distraction brought him within mounting distance to where another acolyte was waiting, not far down the pass from where I was situated.

“No!” I called out when I saw the sudden movement. The leaping figure, shadowed in the darkness until a piercing shaft of moonlight hit him, just as he was airborne. Lygath’s head whipped to regard me, the piercing gold eyes cutting straight through me. Zaridan’s eyes.

An acolyte—a male Karag, no one I recognized but either from the North or the East—latched onto Lygath’s back.

The Vyrin roared, the sound jolting my heart in my chest. I watched in horror as Lygath swung his head, trying to dislodge the rider, diving low as he spun…

Which brought him directly into the path of another rider.

In disbelief, with my heart in my throat, I watched another rider launch himself onto Lygath, landing on his other side. Were they going to challenge each other for the Elthika?

They will be ruthless, Sarkin had said.

The sound that Lygath made caused the hairs on my neck to stand on end, anguish building in my belly. It seemed to quiet the entire night, making movement slow all around us. They swept right in front of me, so close that I could actually smell the Elthika. Earthy musk, like damp dirt on the wildlands after a summer storm.

A flash of knowing went through me, so certain, so right.

“Lygath!”

The Elthika’s head swiveled at his name, and he veered, ascending into the sky while the riders on his back grappled toward a better mounting position, their tethers hanging off the side. I tracked them overhead, and then Lygath turned, descending quickly, spinning again, hurtling straight toward the cliff where I was waiting.

I felt the boom of the cliff, the ground shaking beneath my feet as the entire mountain seemed to tremble with the force of his deliberate impact. Lygath latched himself into the side of the mountain. When I craned my neck around, I only caught a glimpse of him before I heard the guttural cries.

Something flashed in the moonlight. Then another.

Two Karag males, plummeting toward their deaths, dislodged off Lygath’s back when he’d rammed into the cliffside. The Elthika roared, and I could hear his talons scrape against stone. He catapulted away, flying down the pass before he started to turn, heading back toward me.

All I could do was watch the darkness swallow the two riders. A death fall. Two. The echoes of their cries went quiet, and I heard Zaridan’s roar.

If I don’t claim him, more will die, I thought.

Determination rose in me. My heart was rapid, beating so hard that it hurt, that it was difficult to breathe after what I’d just witnessed. The air was crisp, and it burned when I sucked in a sharp breath. I had to time it perfectly when there was no time at all.

Closer and closer, Lygath came. I backed up, imagining where I would meet him.

“Klara, no!” I heard dimly. Sarkin’s voice, echoing up the pass. He knew what I was about to do.

Now! I thought.

I sprinted as fast as I could off the short ledge, launching myself into the air, the tethers grasped tight in my grip.

Wind rushed in my ears when I went airborne. For a moment, the Tharken cliffs went quiet. I felt the force of Lygath’s approach more than I heard him.

Then I was there. His wings flashed before me, and I cried out when I landed on his back, the impact nearly stealing my breath entirely. Tight core, brace low, I thought, my teeth gritting as I drew in gasping lungfuls of air.

It was a clean landing, much to my surprise. But Lygath roared, and I actually saw a stream of ethrall escape him, bright red in the darkness of the night. Seeing it momentarily lost me my focus. My hands slipped, and I narrowly slid off his back. In a last desperate attempt, I tossed the tethers toward his neck, the sliding metal clasp just catching, allowing me to straighten as Lygath picked up speed, thrashing.

His movements dislodged the clasp, and I gasped when the tethers slipped through my grip.

“No, no, no!”

The tethers fell into the darkness below, a winding snake that vanished. The Tharken Pass swallowed it. I went low, acting on instinct, bending flat over his back, and I tried to reach up to grip the sharp, taloned bones that jutted up near his wing joints.

Lygath thrashed.

“Lygath, hanniva!” I cried. “It’s me!”

He bucked again, whirling so fast, the force making me slide. I had nothing to hold on to, and he seemed determined to get me off him.

Confusion and despair outweighed my shock as I slid to the side…

The whole world tilted.

Then I was falling.

Lygath grew smaller and smaller above me, pumping his wings as he fled the pass, ascending higher and higher. He was silhouetted by the moon. That was the last I saw of him.

I was in a death fall. One I’d been well prepared for.

But I hadn’t expected this.

Rejected by the Elthika I’d been certain was meant to be mine.

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