Текст книги "The horde King of shadow"

Автор книги: Zoey Draven

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Chapter 12KLARA

“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.”

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Chapter 13SARKIN

“What is that you need to watch out for?” came Klara’s quiet question.

I’d been observing her as she stood by the edge of the cliff, my eyes taking her in as I would an opponent…or a lover. Watchful and careful and hungry.

She turned to regard me with those light gray eyes. Her hands were clasped demurely behind her back. Her hair was plaited into a neat braid, wispy tendrils of it having escaped on the flight up here, which framed her soft features. I spied the small tips of her pointed ears peeking out, distractingly delicate. I couldn’t see her scar from this angle. For the first time, I wondered if I’d stolen her from a lover in Dothik. A mate.

Good, came the sudden, stray, and surprising thought. I was used to feeling possessive over things I considered mine, but I hadn’t expected those uncontrollable feelings to extend to her.

She’s my responsibility. That’s why I feel this way, I reasoned.

When I quirked a brow, she asked, “You said you were taking the first watch. For what?”

I grunted, tearing into the chunk of bread filled with meat. Flying always made me ravenous even though Zaridan was doing most of the work.

“Elthika,” I answered.

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. I thought the Elthika were friendly to the Karag.”

“Bonded ones, yes,” I answered, my nostrils flaring in slight frustration. She was like a child, wasn’t she? She knew nothing of our kind, of our race. But I needed to have patience with her, which was never a strength of mine. “We are nearing the northern border into Elysom’s channel. The East is Elthika territory. The Sarrothian have territory there too, but it is still wild land and under Elthikan rule.”

Klara turned fully to regard me, the moonlight illuminating the scar—Muron’s mark—on her face.

“We are in the outer lands,” I told her, sweeping my hand toward the view she’d been admiring. “The Elthika that live in this territory are not bound by traditional Elthikan law. They are the dragons that have forsaken it, and as such, it is dangerous territory to be in for very long. Zaridan does have sway here, as does Levanth’s. But that will only extend so far if we overstay our welcome.”

“So much to learn,” she said softly. Her spine straightened. Her chin rising. “But I’m up to the task. I was a scholar in Dothik, you know.”

I snorted. “You think your scrolls and books will help you here?”

“No, perhaps not. But my need for knowledge will,” she answered, surprising me. I heard the quiet confidence in her voice.

“Are you not frustrated by your lack of it?” I wanted to know.

“Of course I am. But I know that knowledge comes slowly. It is absorbed and savored like a wine. It might be tempting to chug it down, to quench that unyielding, maddening thirst, but in order to understand something fully, with the appreciation it deserves…knowledge, complete knowledge, demands patience. And even then, it is ever changing. That’s what my mother always said.”

I had stopped eating to regard her, her words holding me like a vise.

“It will frustrate you to know then that your soon-to-be husband has never read a book in his life,” I lied, to see what she would say. “The Sarrothian pride themselves on physical and mental strength, unshakeable honor, and willpower. Perhaps you would have been better suited for a nobleman in Elysom.”

When I’d first met her in the marketplace in Dothik, she’d had a book then. Had been aghast when I’d dared to touch it with my filthy hands, coated in Zaridan’s scale dust.

“Knowledge is not always about books,” she replied, her eyes shining in the darkness. She was a beautiful woman, the surprising want curling in my belly. “You have far more knowledge than I—I’m sure of it.”

I frowned. “Knowledge is what you pride yourself on, and you give that achievement to me so readily? Why?”

“Because knowledge is like…love,” she answered, a soft smile curling her mouth as she settled on that particular word. “It should be freely given. It shouldn’t be a selfish thing.”

Her words struck me and held on. Like she’d plunged her fist into my chest, wrapping her little fingers around my shriveled heart, squeezing tight.

Discomfort swam in me. Karag didn’t speak of such things so freely. Though perhaps the Dakkari did.

“You said Zaridan holds sway in this territory? What did you mean?” she asked, stepping toward me.

The Elthika in question was perched to the far left, curled up and resting along the cliff edge. But the spikes of her ears, which usually flattened against her skull in flight, were perked and twitching at the slightest sound.

Klara leaned against a rocky boulder, crossing her ankles in front of her as she regarded me. The pose lengthened her legs, encased in her tight trews. I couldn’t help but look. Did her cheeks pinken because of it?

“Zaridan is one of the remaining descendants of Muron,” I said softly when I swallowed, feeling familiar pride swell up in my chest as I looked over at her. “One of the ancients.”

“Muron?” she asked quietly, her eyes shifting back and forth between mine. I saw it then…her passion for knowledge. The need for it. The most surprising thing of all was that it lit a fire in my belly. It was an attractive trait in a mate, one I’d never given much thought to before.

“The ancient,” I answered, holding her gaze. “The Elthika revered him like a god once. His bones make up the stretch of a northern peninsula—a sacred place for the Elthika.”

“Does Zaridan look like him?” came the unexpected question.

I nearly laughed. “It’s difficult to say,” I said. Then I tilted my chin back and said, “That scar on your face…that is the mark of Muron. Zaridan’s line.”

Klara’s hand touched the scar on her cheek. “How can you tell?”

“Muron led a battle once against an enemy faction of Elthika, to bring order to their race. An impossible feat. His dragon horde was severely outnumbered, the odds against them. So the stories go, he was struck by lightning during battle and the scar it made was permanently imprinted onto his body, right over his heart. The strange thing is that the lightning didn’t hurt him—it made him stronger. A heartstone gift. It was the first recorded moment of ethrall being used in our history.”

Klara’s lips parted, but otherwise she was frozen in place along the boulder.

“You call it the red fog. We call it ethrall. But they both are rooted into the power of the heartstones, and that power grows like the boughs of a tree. Wild and untamed. It manifests in different ways, like your gift,” I said, nodding at her. “That day, that heartstone power flowed through Muron. He alone, when many of his brothers and sisters had already fallen, defeated the enemy faction with ethrall. Suddenly a new order of Elthikan rule came to be. But Muron’s scar never faded. It passed to his descendants. You can see it on Zaridan, even from here. On her back flank.”

Klara’s breath hitched, and her eyes sought it out eagerly. They widened on the familiar mark. “But…then why did Zaridan pass it to me?”

The question of the millennium, I thought. Why would Zaridan cross into dreams to find a Dakkari princess and mark her as mine? As ours?

“Only she knows,” I said instead.

“And you listen to her without hesitation?”

“Yes,” I answered. “And she listens to me. That is the nature of a bond with an Elthika.”

“Even if you cannot communicate?”

“Oh, but we do,” I told her, brow furrowing. “Your hordes rode on the backs of pyrokis for centuries, yes? To this day, they still rely on them, yes?”

She nodded.

“And would you not argue that the bond between a pyroki and their Dakkari rider is strong? Perhaps they cannot communicate with words, but you communicate with everything else within your power. With the Elthika, it is the same. You learn to hear every unspoken thing in the beat of a heart. The gust of a wing. Elthika can make a seemingly infinite number of sounds, strung together in different ways. Just like language, like words. You learn to listen closely. They are far more intelligent than us, and so they listen closely too.”

Klara stared at me. “Like the sy’asha?”

My chin tilted back. “Yes. That is one way they will communicate. Effectively, at that.”

“And what does it mean?”

I wasn’t certain I wanted to tell her yet. But I didn’t see the point in deceit when we would soon mark our marriage in the Arsadia, deep within the temple of Lishara.

“It is the song of an accepted bond,” I said. “Zaridan accepted you, on the wildlands beyond Dothik. She gave you her song. I am her rider, and that bond can never be replaced. But she has taken you under her protection, given you her oath, which all Elthika must do with their rider’s chosen mate.”

“Oh,” Klara whispered. “And…has an Elthika ever rejected a rider’s mate?”

My lips slid up in a rueful smirk. “All the time. Elthika are possessive creatures, even more so over their riders. They do not accept outsiders easily. And if a rider does not have his Elthika’s sy’asha for their intended mate…it is not a circumstance that ever ends happily.”

I swallowed, my eyes running up Klara’s form carefully. “Zaridan gave you her song upon meeting you,” I said quietly.

“Is that…rare?”

“Rare?” I repeated. I shook my head, standing to stretch. Klara’s neck craned back to meet my eyes. “It has never happened before in our history.”

She said nothing at first.

“I suppose that means you are well and truly stuck with me,” she finally said.

Silence dropped between us. When I glanced over at Zaridan, I saw that her head was raised, peering at the both of us from her place on the cliff, no longer hiding that she was listening to our conversation.

Stepping forward into Klara, I brushed the tendril of hair away from her scar, remembering the jolt I’d felt in the marketplace in Dothik when I’d first seen it. How it had felt like all the air had been sucked from my body, a strange sense of familiarity and knowing making the city sway. As if I’d been there before. As if I’d been remembering her.

Heartstone magic was an unpredictable, dangerous, and powerful thing. Klara of Rath Serok and Rath Drokka was at the root of it all.

She cleared her throat when the silence stretched too long between us, lowering her cheek so that my touch slid away.

“You, um, said that Zaridan has sway here because of Muron. What of the other Elthika? Levanth’s, was it?”

“Levanth is one of my riders,” I corrected. “The navigator wing, I’m sure you remember.”

She stilled. “Ah. The female you went into the forest with tonight. Alone.”

That made me straighten, hearing an odd note in her tone, one I recognized from earlier. “What?” I asked quietly, irritation beginning to burn in my belly. I couldn’t stand cowardice. “Would you like to ask me something?”

Her lips pressed together. Then her mouth opened. “Everyone saw.”

“Nothing happened,” I rasped, stepping closer, lowering my head until our eyes were parallel. “I am not only a Karath of the Sarrothian people, Klara, but also the lead commander of a rider horde. You think I would do something like that when I have given you my vow?”

“I don’t know you, Sarkin,” she whispered. “I have no idea what you would or would not do. I know nothing of the Karag. Nothing of the Elthika. I know what I saw. And I saw your own rider horde react in a specific way when you went off with her. Alone,” she said again. “Into a dark forest. What would you have me think?”

Bright anger tightened in my chest. The dishonor she thought me capable of…it was maddening!

“I know these forests better than most, Klara,” I snapped. “Levanth needed my help locating the closest stream for our water supply. I showed it to her so she could direct others to it, and then I returned to the camp. To you.”

A sharp breath left her. “Oh.”

“Let me ask you this,” I began, trying to keep tight restraints on my temper. “Do you expect your husband to be in your bed alone? To never stray? Even given the circumstances of this marriage?”

Her brow furrowed. A spark of her own irritation shone hot in her eyes, and the mere sight tightened my abdomen. “How could I even begin to answer that? There’s too many factors to⁠—”

“Your heart’s reaction, then,” I exclaimed, my voice beginning to rise, pressing my hand to the thundering beat of her chest. Her eyes widened. “Don’t think. Give me an answer. Now!”

“Yes,” she breathed, glaring. “Yes, then.”

“Tell me why.”

“Because I’m the child of an affair, of a broken sacred vow, spoken before Kakkari!” she retorted. “It hurt a lot of people, including me.”

Shock went through me. My lips pressed together, and I leaned back, understanding dawning.

“You…you must have known. You’ve been watching us for a long time.”

“I didn’t,” I confessed. “We were there to observe, not to ask questions that would get us exposed.”

To the Karag, especially the Sarrothian…her birth would certainly cast Klara in a bad light if the truth got out. The Sarrothian were a regimented people, almost to a fault. Rarely did they see the shades of gray in this life. They saw right or they saw wrong. And if you fell onto the wrong side of that divide…it would take you years to be seen as an equal again.

Memories were long, unshakeable things among the Sarrothian.

I would know that better than anyone.

“Then we are in agreement,” I finally grunted.

Her lips parted in disbelief. “What? Agreement about what?”