Текст книги "The horde King of shadow"

Автор книги: Zoey Draven

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Chapter 7SARKIN

The storm hit hard in the late afternoon.

Levanth, my navigator wing, had been tracking the storm system through the night—I knew she’d barely slept. And just as we passed over where the Dakkari’s sea met our own, the dark clouds turned the day into night, just where she’d predicted.

Purple lightning pierced the sky open, and with every bolt, I felt Klara’s hand tighten further into my abdomen. I envisioned dark bruises tomorrow morning from her grip alone, even worse than the ones I’d received in rider training all those years ago.

The rain that pelted us slowly made her grip slicken, the mount getting wet. Her clothing was unsuitable for riding, the soles of her boots slipping across Zaridan’s scales.

When my Elthika veered suddenly, narrowly missing the bolt of a lightning strike, Klara slid. I caught her panicked gasp, even in the deafening roar of the wind and rain, and felt her hands scrambling for anything she could find in her desperation—my vest, my thighs—her dull claws digging.

Quickly, I twisted, grabbing her by the arm as her legs kicked to try to right herself, hanging off the side of the mount. Her eyes were wild with fear when I met them, and I kept a grip on Zaridan’s tethers with one hand while I tried to prevent my future wife from toppling off the back of my Elthika with the other.

“Stop fighting me!” I growled, irritation making me snap. A child could ride on dragonback better than her. A child would know how to lean with an Elthika in flight, when to brace their thighs, when they could relax them. “Stop fighting her!”

Zaridan veered sharply to the left, giving Klara more control to right herself.

“Fuck,” I said through gritted teeth as I blinked the rain from my eyes. “Come here!”

I let go of Zaridan’s tethers, tightening my inner thighs to keep me rooted into the mount, and twisted in my seat. Klara was shaking, soaked through, and I grabbed her by the waist, lifting her easily.

The beginnings of a screech left her when she found herself dangling in midair over the side of Zaridan, which I promptly quieted by dropping her between my legs.

“Brace your thighs and hold this,” I growled into her ear, finding her hands and guiding them to the leather-wrapped curved bar that ran across Zaridan’s mount. The bar was a little too large for her small palms, but she gripped it like her life depended on it—which, in her mind, very well might’ve been the case—her knuckles going white.

She was shivering, and I pressed down into her back, her bulky and rigid soaked satchel meeting my chest. The afternoon was dark. I had wanted to reach the citadel by midnight, but she wouldn’t last until then. Not in this storm.

I searched the wing for Feranos, finding him flying below. On my cuff, I pressed the small ridge and a single light flashed out, beaming toward him. I saw his head jerk up in response, pulling on the tethers to guide his Elthika’s ascent.

I tapped out my message on my cuff, a series of lights flashing, a language only riders would know. He flashed two back, and I watched him maneuver up toward Levanth to relay my message to the rest of the wing.

It was nearing evening when I finally spied the coastline of Karak in the distance. Klara was still trembling. She’d refused to eat the travel rations or drink from the water skin I’d tried to press into her hands. She’d refused to let go of the stabilizing bar, and I felt a pitying discomfort burn in me, knowing I was the cause.

When we passed over Karak land, I leaned over and thumped my fist against Zaridan’s side three times. The hardness and strength of her scales felt like striking metal, the reverberation going up my bones, discomforting to me, though she’d barely feel it. She knew the signal, however. I felt the response in the powerful swing of her tail as she began to circle back, searching for a suitable clearing.

Around us, the rest of my wing continued on to Sarroth. They had another four hours of flight to reach our horde, but they could withstand a week of this weather before it would start to wear. The Dakkari princess—currently hunched over Zaridan as low as the mount would allow, her eyes squeezed tightly shut—could not.

Zaridan shook the earth when she landed on a rocky cliff at the edge of a forest. The trees shook with the boom, leaves rustling brightly like chimes, and then it was silent, save for Klara’s ragged gasps.

“Let go,” I ordered her, my voice coming out rougher than I’d intended. Her knuckles were still white on the bar, her shoulders trembling.

Reaching forward, I pried off her palms before sliding off Zaridan’s side, landing on the stone ledge hard.

“Jump down. You need to get warm,” I ordered. When she didn’t move, irritation shot through me. “Now, princess. I don’t need you dying on me of wind chill before we even reach the citadel.”

“Then why even take me?” she snapped, her head jerking toward me, tears in her eyes making them glassy. The whites of her gray-colored eyes—a human trait, I knew, belying her ancestry—were bloodshot, red veins shooting them like roots of a tree. She was furious, even wet and shivering and frozen in place on Zari’s back. Her voice trembled from the cold as she added, “You wanted me. You wanted this. What’s even the purpose?”

Peering up at her, I observed as she tried to calm down. Taking deep breaths, slowly in, slowly out, life returning to her limbs.

“Jump down,” I ordered again, though I made an effort to keep it soft, when it was not in my nature to try to give comfort. It still came out harsh, even to my ears. “You need to get warm. You do realize that, yes?”

Her lips pressed. After a beat of silence, she nodded and slowly swung her far leg over the mount, though it caught briefly on the bar, nearly causing her to lose her balance.

I growled, stepping forward. “Be careful!”

“I know,” she snapped.

My brows ticked up, and for a brief, startling moment, I had the urge to laugh. She did make an amusing sight, all sodden and annoyed.

Zaridan huffed, and the movement made Klara slide. I caught her small gasp before she was falling⁠—

I snatched her before she hit the ground, grunting with the force. She was ice cold. And in my arms…surprisingly small. For a moment, I couldn’t help but take the opportunity to study her.

It was the first time I was seeing a Dakkari this close, though I’d studied their continent, their language, their culture, their cities and outposts extensively since I’d been in rider training. Even before then, as boy in my small farming village, I’d ask anyone I could about the Dakkari.

Though she wasn’t quite a Dakkari, was she? They’d mixed their bloodlines with humans over the course of the last two centuries. She looked human—small, vulnerable, and weak.

So small, I thought again, my eyes tracking down the front of her body when I placed her on the ground. She had no tail, as if she was a rider. Short limbs, smooth flesh, dressed in worn brown pants and a green embroidered tunic saturated from the storm. Not unlike any other female, though I had the unyielding impression that she was…soft. Unhardened to this life.

And easily broken.

I couldn’t have picked a worse wife.

She wouldn’t last one riding season. The Sarrothian horde would never accept her. It was laughable.

Though…as she stared back at me in this strange moment of quiet, I could concede she was pleasing to look at, scar and all. Beautiful, even, with her smooth—albeit wind-stung—skin, upturned nose, round face, and full pink lips. The tips of her ears were subtly pointed. Different. She possessed a soft beauty so unlike what Karag valued, and I found the contrast oddly…

And her eyes. Gray and luminous, I felt like they could sear straight through me. I’d never seen a match to their color.

Intriguing.

I had the discomforting sense she was observing me in a similar way, all careful curiosity, and I released her quickly, stepping back. I tapped on Zaridan’s wing, which she lowered, and I walked up to untie a thick satchel, throwing it down before I went to the second one.

When I returned, I said, “Go wait under the tree line. We’ll stay here for the night and wait out the storm.”

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Chapter 8KLARA

A short while later, after we’d found a drier spot within the protection of the forest, Sarkin pulled out what looked like a black rock from a leather bag, wide and round at the bottom but tapered toward the top.

It was gleaming and smooth, but inside…I caught a glow of red.

I was trying to ignore the throbbing pain my entire body was in. Every small movement ached and burned, my muscles screaming in protest. My skin felt chafed and raw in every place my clothing hadn’t covered it. Between my thighs, I knew the skin was bloodied and scraped from Zaridan’s unyielding leather mount. My palms were beginning to blister from where I’d gripped the bar.

“Is that a dragon egg?” I asked in disbelief, trying to keep my teeth from chattering and my limbs from shaking…because it hurt to shiver.

Sarkin’s gaze flashed up to mine, and I watched him place it on the forest floor. It sizzled on contact when it met the damp ground, steam rising, but it did nothing to dull the red glow within.

“No,” he replied.

I waited for him to explain, but he said nothing more. In my curiosity, I walked forward, gritting my teeth as I bent down, but I wanted to get a closer look. The heat it was radiating was unfathomable.

“Don’t touch it,” he growled. How had he? It should’ve burned him. “Undress.”

I gasped, straightening quickly, feeling a searing ache follow. “What?”

From the other pack, he tossed me a bundle of clothing. “You can’t get warm in those clothes.”

The material in my hands was heavy but soft. A pair of thick trews, well–broken in, and a long-sleeved black shirt. Simple and without decorative embellishments, so unlike what my people wore.

But they were dry. That was all that mattered.

Gazing around the clearing, I saw a tree wide enough to offer me privacy, and I walked—gingerly—to it.

The forest we’d landed in was lush and damp, the floor covered in a soft dark blue moss. The trees’ trunks were smooth and black, leading up to thick, curling branches laden with velvety leaves, a kaleidoscope of different colors—dark greens, blues, and purples. I imagined in the daylight, or in the golden glow of a sunset, this forest would be breathtaking.

Strange flora illuminated the forest, bushes and shrub and vines glowing. For a brief moment, I thought they were heartstones, my hopes for Dakkar coming true. But instead, it appeared it was the stamens of the blooms themselves, glowing a light blue at their very center, and disappointment swept through me.

Though I still had hope. I’d dreamed of heartstone forests. They had to be here.

“Don’t try to run,” came the dark warning, though Sarkin’s tone was nonchalant. “There are worse things in here than me.”

A chill went down my spine, the beauty of the dark forest suddenly turning ominous. Quickly—as quickly as I could—I undressed. Inspecting my inner thighs briefly, I winced when I saw they had been scraped raw, little beads of red blood already drying.

The thought of asking Sarkin for help—because he’d likely scoff at me, that telling disappointment entering his gaze—made me pull up the fresh pants, dry and clean, though they were much too big. I took the belt from my own clothes and tightened it around my waist, keeping the material from falling. I pulled on the shirt next, hunching over to shield my breasts just in case Sarkin poked his head around the tree trunk.

When I emerged, I saw Sarkin had a sleeping roll laid out. The outside was leather, but the inside appeared to be lined with black fur.

Alarm went through me, but I ignored the sleeping roll…for now. Instead, I slowly lowered myself down to the moss nearest the glowing egg. The heat had already dried it out there, and I sighed, feeling the warmth begin to seep into my chilled skin. I laid out my soggy clothes and satchel next to it, knowing they’d be dry by morning, even through the chilly night. I wasn’t worried about the satchel. It was made of bveri leather, and I’d made sure the seams were tight.

Across from me, Sarkin tossed over a pouch of dried meat, followed by a heavy water skin.

“Drink, so I can go refill it at the stream,” he ordered, watching me, as if daring me to disobey. Now that I was dry and getting warm, I was thirsty. And starving.

“What about Zaridan?” I asked. We’d left her on the cliff, though I’d heard her take off shortly after.

Sarkin paused, his hand stilling in midair as he ate his own rations. “She’ll be fine.”

I nodded, taking a long swallow, drinking until I nearly emptied the whole skin. Then I ate all the rations in the pouch, acutely aware of the burn of his eyes on me all the while. When I was finished, he handed me a thick slice of red-colored bread, the top dotted with what I thought were black seeds.

I polished that off too, wiping my lips with the edge of my thumb when I was finished.

“Where are we?” I asked when the silence stretched uncomfortably long. “In Karag? Is that what you call this land?”

“Karak,” he corrected, watching me. “Do I make you nervous, princess?”

He had his legs drawn up, his arms wrapped around his knees. A slice of the bread was dangling from his hand, and he brought it up to his lips for another bite. He was the picture of perfect ease, and I felt on edge.

I watched his strong jaw as he chewed.

“Of course you do,” I said quietly. His chin tilted back. Surprised? “Did you expect another answer?”

“I expected you to lie,” he said, finishing the last of his meal. “Most would.”

“I have nothing to gain from lying, only losing a bit of my pride,” I answered. “After today, that’s long gone with you. So what do I care?”

A gruff sound left Sarkin’s lips. A laugh? Perhaps as close as he’d come to one with me.

“What do you want with me?” I asked, cutting straight to the question that had been circulating in my mind since last night. Since I’d seen the red fog stream from his dragon and thought how bleak our future would become. Since I’d tasted the bitterness of the ethrall wind its way down my throat, constricting it tight.

I had a million questions racing in my head—questions I hoped I could find the answer to in being here.

Tonight, however, was not the time or the place to ask them. Even I knew that, but I wanted to see what Sarkin would say.

“I want to use you.”

Hearing the words felt worse, somehow. They were honest, at the very least, but they really drove home how powerless I truly was with him.

“For what?” I asked carefully.

“For many things,” he rasped. A jolt went through my belly. “But mostly to find the forest of heartstones you spoke about.”

Dread spread.

“But…but you have that here. You have them, don’t you? You know where it is!”

Had I misunderstood entirely?

“We have a good supply,” Sarkin replied, his eyes fastened on me tight. “But Karak is vast and our kingdoms are wide spread. Heartstones get depleted quickly because of the Elthika.”

I’d been very, very wrong.

Quickly, I asked, “How do you know I wasn’t lying?”

Sarkin grinned, and the sight was so startling that I nearly gaped. “Tell me that you were, aralye. I would love to hear that.”

His mockery was plain.

“You believe me so easily? I’m a stranger to you! You were at our gates and demanding the one source of power we had left to protect ourselves from things like you. Our last heartstone. I would have said anything to make you leave.”

“Ah, but you said the wrong thing, Klara of Rath Serok and Rath Drokka,” he said. “And now you’re here. Under my control. I know you weren’t lying.”

“How?”

“Because of that scar on your face,” he replied simply, gesturing toward it, eyes fastening on it.

“And what would that prove?” I asked quietly, my heart leaping in my chest. Even though the burn of despair and disappointment nearly seared me from the inside out, there were other reasons why I’d agreed to come with him. For answers. Finally.

I merely thought it ironic that he was intending to use me for heartstones…just like the priestesses had wanted, just what my mother had tried so hard to shield me from for the entirety of my life.

“It proves that you possess Elthikan power,” he told me. “It proves that you can cross realities in dreams, an ability the Karag have long had.”

“If that’s true, then you don’t need me,” I pointed out. He wasn’t telling me something. “One of your own could find the forest.”

He glanced down briefly at the glowing stone between us.

“Elthikan power is unpredictable. It manifests in different ways,” he replied simply. “It’s been a long time since we’ve heard of one with your ability. And I am not foolish enough to ignore a gift that has landed right at my feet.”

“So you took me,” I finished. “To use my ability to find you more heartstones.”

“Precisely.”

“Then why threaten to make me your wife? That’s entirely unnecessary.”

“Threaten?” he repeated. Sarkin’s brow dropped, his expression amused yet foreboding. “You don’t know the Karag at all. But you will.”

The warning in his voice nearly made me shiver.

“Get some sleep,” he ordered, gesturing to the fur roll as he stood, just as I heard a rumble of thunder in the distance. “Let’s see what you dream of tonight, wife.”

“Where will you sleep?” I asked. Even I could hear the trepidation in my voice.

“Worried?” he asked, the question sounding clipped.

“I don’t trust you.”

He smirked. “Good,” he said. “But luckily for your sake, you’re one of the last things I’d want to fuck right now.”

My spine stiffened, a harsh exhale escaping me at the crassness and ugliness of the words. No one had ever spoken to me like that. It was like getting dumped over the head with a bucket of ice water.

“Get some sleep while you can, princess. We leave as soon as the storm ends,” he said, snatching up the empty water skin next to me. I watched as he prowled off into the darkness of the forest, no doubt to search for a water source.

He really had no fear that I would try to leave.

And unfortunately, I thought as I slid into the fur roll, wincing at my aching muscles and the burning between my thighs, I’m in no position to even try.

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Chapter 9KLARA

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.”