Текст книги "The horde King of shadow"

Автор книги: Zoey Draven

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When I turned my head back, our eyes met briefly. The moment felt charged, the tension palpable. It was a strange sensation, to be in pain and yet…his touch was making me feel warm. His touch was a distraction.

His nostrils flared, something flickering in his eyes, making them so molten I nearly gasped. With a soft curse, he finished, leaning back on his heels, and I reached for the roll of bandage before he could, wrapping my upper thighs again.

“Again I find you on the floor,” he said after a long, lengthy silence had passed.

“But at least I was sleeping this time,” I returned.

He was referring to the night in his citadel. When he’d brought me back up to his private quarters to tend to my wounds and then he’d tied our ankles together with a long cord so I wouldn’t wander away in sleep. Only I hadn’t been able to sleep that night.

Sarkin had. But I hadn’t even joined him in the bed, finding it too intimate. The cord had been long enough that I could perch myself on the plush chair near the bed as Sarkin had slept. But after a couple hours, I had moved to the floor to try to sleep.

“Is sleeping in my bed really that deplorable?” he questioned, his voice sounding tired.

My brow furrowed. He didn’t understand.

I’d never slept beside a male—that was true.

“It’s not that. I like to sleep closest to the earth as I can,” I told him, drawing my knees up to my chest gingerly.

“Why?”

“Because Kakkari is the earth,” I answered.

“Your goddess,” he said, a subtle realization dawning in his tone. “I hate to tell you this, aralye, but we are high above valleys and forests here. A few feet above that, in a more comfortable bed, will not make much difference.”

“I know,” I said, with utmost patience. “I saw where we are. But this,” I started, spreading my hand next to me to touch the floor, “reminds me of home. Of living on the wildlands, when my mother was still alive. It…it brings me comfort,” I confided.

Sarkin regarded me in the low, flickering light. It was quiet here, I realized. So incredibly quiet. Beyond the walls of the stone structure, I could hear nothing. Not the whistle of wind or a dragon’s cry.

“I feel rooted. I feel safe,” I added. “Connected to something greater than me. My people are of the earth and your people are of the sky. Isn’t that strange?”

His expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his eyes nearly made me shiver. Out of curiosity, I would give a lot to hear what he was thinking.

“You can’t sleep on the bare floor all night,” he finally said. “It’s Arsadian stone, sourced from the mountain behind us.”

I watched as he crossed to a chest, one tucked away against the wall, between the bathing area and the table. He pulled pelts, furs, and intricately woven blankets from within its depths.

When he returned to me, he spread them out beside the bed as I shifted to the side. A cozy little nest of furs, just like in a horde.

My heartbeat had picked up again, skipping. A part of me had expected him to scoop me up and place me in bed instead of going to the trouble of making me one.

Then my mouth went dry, a sharp inhale whistling when he kicked off his boots, unclasping his flexible armor of his dragon-scale vest, slipping the metal hooks off. When his bare chest was exposed, I heard the heavy thud of his vest as it fell to the floor.

I’d seen his chest before, though I’d still been half-traumatized from my near-death fall. But now…I admired it as it gleamed in the soft light, the muscles creating hard planes and deep shadowed valleys. The body of a warrior.

“I’m going to bathe,” he said. “Sleep.”

He turned as he tugged off his trews. My face felt hot, my heart a rapid thud in my chest when I caught the flash of his firm backside, a telltale silvery scar where his tail had once been.

I thought about what Sammenth had implied, that Sarkin hadn’t been destined to ride an Elthika, and I wondered what she’d meant by that.

When I heard the splash of water and Sarkin’s deep, contented sigh, I bit my lip. The desire to watch him bathe was surprisingly overwhelming, my curiosity making my hands twitch.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that he was a mere mortal like the rest of us, even though his drive and discipline seemed otherworldly. Over the last couple days, I’d witnessed firsthand the respect he wielded among his riders. He was magnetic in his command. I could understand why he’d risen to the rank of Karath, but I found myself wanting to know how. Why. I wanted to know him.

I tried to sleep, but it wouldn’t come, as distracted as I was with the delicate sounds of water. In my mind’s eye, I imagined him washing, running those calloused palms over his scarred, warm, firm flesh. I squirmed in the furs, pushing my hair away from my neck when it felt too hot. Yet beneath my stolen tunic, my nipples were pebbled tight.

I hadn’t given much thought to what a marriage to him—and the loyalty that he expected—would mean. Sex, obviously. Siring heirs as a Sarrothian queen would be expected, wouldn’t it? Though I didn’t know about legacy here, if the horde passed down through bloodlines or if their leaders were chosen in other ways, like the Vorakkar of Dakkar had once been.

“I can hear you thinking, princess,” came his roughened voice. “I thought I told you to sleep.”

He’d emerged from the bath, and though I couldn’t see him from my vantage on the floor, with the bed blocking my view, I heard him drying himself off with a cloth near the table of my half-eaten food. Scrubbing it through his wet hair roughly.

“I had been sleeping so nicely before I’d been rudely awakened,” I reminded him, though there was no bite in my tone.

“You should’ve told me about the severity of the rider burn,” he responded easily. “Then I wouldn’t have had to.”

I huffed out a sharp breath just as he rounded the bed. I blinked quickly, catching a shadowy glimpse of bronzed flesh. Naked bronzed flesh. And there was something in his grip. A leather cuff?

“What are you doing?” I squeaked when he dropped down beside me. On the floor. In the nest of furs and blankets he’d made me.

“Sleeping,” he answered. Without asking—the high-handed male—he dragged my ankle toward him, securing the leather cuff. This cordage was shorter than the one he’d used at the citadel and on the clifftops the last two nights—though I hadn’t slept once on our journey.

The other cuff he attached to his ankle, and he tugged on the strength of the cord, testing it.

When he was satisfied, he let out a deep sigh and fell back beside me. And I fought with everything in me not to inspect his body with hungry curiosity, my skin practically buzzing with the need. I’d seen statues of naked men before…but none had ever quite looked like Sarkin. I’d also seen plenty of naked bodies in my lifetime. Most Dakkari were not shy about nudity, but I’d grown up more sheltered than most, even when we’d lived on the wildlands.

“Shy’rissa,” came the tired word. “Sleep,” he translated.

I felt the heat of his body, making me even warmer. The tug at my ankle was oddly…comforting.

Yet it felt like a grip too. It was impossible to ignore.

“You’re…you’re…”

“Naked?” he asked, voice groggy. “This time tomorrow night, you’ll be my wife. You will get used to it. Shy’rissa.”

Well, when he put it like that…

There was a swooping sensation in my belly when he murmured those words, like I was falling off the edge of the cliff all over again.

“Veekor,” I whispered.

“What?”

“Veekor. It means sleep in the old Dakkari language.”

Sarkin shifted. Above us, I watched the flames from the fire in the hearth flicker along the walls. If only to keep my gaze off him.

“Veekor, then,” he rasped.

I hid my smile when I turned my head.

“Shy’rissa,” I said.

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Chapter 16SARKIN

“Today?” Mazra asked, her eyes nearly bulging out of her sockets. “Karath, surely you can’t mean⁠—”

“Today,” I said, my tone final. “She begins her rider instruction this week. I want Lishara’s blessing before that happens.”

Mazra wrung a dirtied towel in her hand. “I—I⁠—”

Behind her, her kitchens were already bustling, the Karag under her command obeying her like they would me. Mazra was a force of nature when she wanted to be.

“There doesn’t need to be a grand feast, Mazra,” I told her, reaching forward to squeeze her arm. The older cook took great pride in her ability to throw celebrations for the horde. She had been slowly preparing for one, to celebrate our return to the Arsadia…but she hadn’t expected to throw a wedding feast with little notice. “A simple meal would suffice.”

“Of course there needs to be a feast!” Mazra said, her head snapping up, frowning in her confusion. “Oh, on Muron, Karath, there will be a feast.”

Feranos had been watching this exchange with a raised brow, but he kept his tongue firmly behind his teeth.

“We don’t have any decorations though. No banners, no spark showers,” she lamented.

I placed my hand over hers when it began to wring the towel too tightly. I wondered if she wished it were my neck, for giving her such little notice that I would take a wife today.

“This is an outlier circumstance, Mazra,” I told her. “I’m sure you understand.”

She blinked. Her lips were pursed, and I studied the lines that extended from the corners of her mouth. Mazra had two emotions that I’d seen: displeased or jovially happy. Never anything in between.

“I’ll do my best, Karath. But…you will not even allow witnesses?”

“No,” I said firmly. Impatience cut through me, and I tried to tamp it down. Of course the horde would want to be involved. Of course they would be curious, I reasoned. I would only marry once, after all, and it was a rare thing indeed for an Elthika—especially one such as Zaridan—to give her blessing to a rider’s mate so swiftly. My people wanted to know why. They wanted to know everything they could possibly glean about Klara, this strange hybrid Dakkari human from across the sea.

I left Mazra shortly after, hearing her bark orders at her cooks, given she had to prepare an entire wedding feast for the horde by tonight and it was already late morning.

“Do you not think it an insult to your bride to not allow witnesses? To throw together a quick ceremony like this? Your horde wants to celebrate you, Sarkin. This will be a new age for us all,” Feranos reasoned. “Perhaps you should put this off until⁠—”

“I only need you as a witness so that I can send the confirmation to Elysom,” I told him. “Everyone else will simply be a distraction. It is not meant to be an insult to her. I just want this done.”

Feranos blew out a sharp breath as we walked toward the field.

“I will send the Dakkar scouting report alongside your letter of confirmation that we received Lishara’s blessing from the temple,” I told him, seeing Zaridan waiting for us, her black scales gleaming in the warm afternoon sunlight. I turned to Feranos. “Two mysar commands fulfilled. Then we will be rid of Elysom’s influence. For good. Free of…”

The shame, I almost said. Or perhaps free of my father’s complicated legacy, which had almost cost me my future.

But Feranos was an old friend and he knew what I meant.

He inclined his head. Understanding and acceptance were in the line of his shoulders, in the glint of his eyes. “Karath.”

My title, falling from his lips was an agreement. A reminder of who I was to him, despite our longstanding friendship.

Tracking the sun in the sky, I was eager to leave. It would be long hours until we reached the temple of Lishara, though the weather was on our side. A surprisingly bright and warm day, warm enough to dissipate much of the moisture in the air from the falls.

“I’ll scout ahead,” Feranos told me, walking toward his Elthika, Vorna, on the other side of Zaridan. “Meet you there.”

When I approached Zaridan, I placed my wide palm on her snout, running it up until my fingers encountered the long notch of a nearly invisible scar. Zaridan seemed on edge this afternoon, her head constantly raising into the sky, searching, her ears perking and twitching with something unheard. She only did that when her sibling was near.

“Do you sense him here?” I asked quietly. Lygath. Another Vyrin, another descendant of Muron, and Zaridan’s hatchling brother. “He must feel you’re near.”

Zaridan’s eyes burned into mine, and I patted the side of her wide jaw, feeling her hot huff of air rustle through my hair. Her pupils shifted over my shoulder, and I turned.

There, Klara approached, led by the two females—Bezeth and Yar’la—I’d put in charge of her earlier this morning.

My nostrils flared, and I turned to fully regard her, Zaridan straightening at my side, standing proud and tall. My heart quickened in my chest.

Adorned in the ceremonial hatchling-scale dress, Klara was a sight to behold. The material flowed over her body like a gentle waterfall, skimming and caressing her lovely, soft curves. Hatchling scales were sheer but nearly indestructible, shed from young Elthika as they grew and a valuable resource among the Karag. They reflected in the late-morning light, shimmering with iridescence with every step Klara took, going from soft blues to bright silvers to gentle purples.

Half of her hair was pulled back, secured with an intricate braid and interwoven with dragon scales and silver clips. The rest of it ran down her back, a dark tumble of wild waves that made me want to bury my hands in it.

She was so unlike every Karag beauty I’d ever seen. The Sarrothian valued physical strength in their women, all hard lines and striking forms. Yet Klara was small, weak, and…soft. There was not a single hard edge on her body, save for the harshness of the scar on her face, but it made me squeeze my fists together at my sides, trying to fight the urge to explore every pleasing inch.

It was an inconvenient thing, I realized, to be immensely attracted to one’s own wife. Especially when this marriage was meant to be a transaction—both a fulfillment of a command from Elysom and a way to help my people secure more heartstones. It was meant to be a cold, logical decision. Only the fire that sparked within me at the mere sight of her was proving to be the opposite of that.

Fuck.

As if hearing my thoughts, Zaridan snorted. Closer and closer, Klara approached, and she shyly met my eyes when she stopped in front of me, Bezeth and Yar’la falling away when I waved my hand.

My gaze tracked down the line of her body as she shifted. There was a large group of my horde gathering on the outskirts of the field, curious and wanting to see us off. I hadn’t announced the marriage, but I’d shared the news with a few individuals instead. Like fire, it had spread. I hadn’t walked anywhere this morning without catching the whispers.

“The dress was not the practical choice,” I grunted.

I’d left out two garments for her to choose from this morning. One had been this dress. The other had been a much more logical choice of pants and a fitted tunic, meant for a dragon rider.

“Then why give me the option?” she asked, quirking a brow. Clever female.

“Because I knew which one I would rather see you in,” I informed her, keeping my voice low. The reckless part of me, the old part of me I had stuffed so deeply down, surfaced as I added, “And it wasn’t the practical choice.”

Klara’s pink lips parted on her sharp inhale. Our gazes held. Thin woven straps made of delicate silver chains were looped around her shoulders. They were the only thing that held the dress up. I thought about how easy they would be to snap with a quick tug.

“It is very pretty,” she said quietly, giving me that shy smile again that made me clench my fists. “So very impractically pretty that I couldn’t resist.”

I should’ve told her that she looked beautiful. That was what a groom would say to his bride, wasn’t it, on the cusp of their wedding blessing?

But I didn’t, the gentle words stuck in my throat. I’d noticed that Klara was still walking gingerly, and I knew that her thighs were likely freshly bandaged, that she could not ride Zaridan as she had been.

Instead, I pinched a wild wave of her hair between my fingers, rubbing the silky strands between them. When I stepped closer, a plume of soft fragrance met me. The scent of wild blossoms that grew along the edge of the falls, along the cliffside. I thought it likely Bezeth had given her a gift of her prized soap.

“Is it far?” Klara asked softly.

“No,” I said, dropping her hair. I leaned down, scooping her up into my arms before she realized what had happened, the trail of her scale dress fluttering around my legs as I turned toward Zaridan.

She sounded breathless. “What are you doing? Your horde…”

Would some disapprove that she would not be riding Zaridan properly toward the temple of Lishara? Yes. Did I find it in myself to care at this moment? Not really.

“Your rider burn will never heal if you irritate it so soon,” I reasoned. She was so light in my arms. “The quicker you heal, the quicker you begin rider instruction.”

That shut her up.

“I’ve been thinking…maybe I’m just not meant to ride,” she said softly. “Perhaps there are other uses for me around the saruk.”

“The saruk?” I asked, snorting. “No. A queen needs to bond with an Elthika. In order to bond, you must learn to ride. That is the way. I will hear no arguments about it. Besides, it is not nearly as difficult as you might think. Once that happens, then we can discuss other duties for you.”

She sighed, and I got the distinct impression that she was biting her tongue. Good.

Zaridan lowered her wing to the cheers and cries of my people, which lifted into the air behind us. She practically preened with all the attention, tossing her neck and straightening. I shook my head with her pride, though I was used to it.

Klara’s cheeks were a little pink, whether from our closeness or the cheers, I couldn’t be certain. I slid easily into the leather seat, draping Klara over my lap so she would be sitting sideways, her small feet dangling.

“Like this?” she asked quietly, sounding worried. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“You think I would let you fall?” I asked, furrowing my brows, frowning.

Her hands were clutching my long ceremonial vest. Unlike hers, mine had been crafted from Elthikan scales, hard as Arsadian stone and completely impenetrable by man-made steel. The only thing that could pierce scales were claws.

As she pondered my question, her grip loosened slightly. I took up Zaridan’s tethers, having replaced them this morning when she’d come to the field at dawn, waiting.

“No, I suppose not,” Klara finally relented. “I’m no use to you dead.”

“Don’t say that,” I immediately growled.

Her words were meant in jest, but my chest squeezed tight, wondering if she believed there was truth in those words. I supposed I hadn’t led her to believe otherwise, and yet…I wasn’t a cruel monster, intent on using her up until there was nothing left. Did she think me one?

She didn’t tell me how much pain she’d been in, I reminded myself.

“Zari,” I called out, to distract myself, to escape the mad pumping of my heart. “Thryn’ar!”

In its literal meaning, it meant unleash in Karag. To feel the effects of that word, one would understand why. At its core, however, it was the command for a bonded Elthika to fly, and so the two meanings were interchangeable. To fly was to unleash oneself, untethered to this world.

The ultimate freedom.

Zaridan drew on her power, her muscles tensing and contracting beneath us like an intricate machine, and when she unleashed it, launching herself into the sky, the cheers from below were nearly as loud as the sudden rushing of the wind.

I didn’t have to guide Zaridan. She knew exactly where we were going. Instead, I focused on Klara, wrapping my arm around her back in support as she turned her face into my chest to shield her eyes.

My aunt had been right. I’d never enjoyed being told what to do. I detested it. I had always forged my own path, my own way. I made mistakes along the way—it was a certain thing—but like I told Klara, I didn’t make them a second time.

Only with her, there would be no second chance. I’d meant what I said. I took the marriage vows as sacredly as my bond with my Elthika. Klara had Zaridan’s song, her blessing. As far as I was concerned, the bonds were already tied between us. This ceremony in the temple was only a formality.

I turned my gaze north, over the Arsadia in all its wild beauty, thinking of the mysar command the Elysom council had given me to marry. Elysom wanted the South secured—Sarroth secured. A part of that included a queen. Heirs. They’d thought I would refuse. Perhaps my aunt had even counted on it so they could install another to lead my people, my territory. She knew I’d never wanted to marry—I’d made that perfectly clear in the years I’d been a Karath.

And perhaps taking a Dakkari queen had filled me with a strange, rebellious, vindictive thrill. But with Klara in my arms…

This is it, I realized, nostrils flaring.

She would be a very large part of my future.

I needed to make the best of it. A strong legacy required respect. We might never love one another…but we could respect one another at the very least.

Perhaps we could even be content with one another. Stranger things had certainly happened in our history.

And so, I decided right then that after our marriage was sealed in Lishara, I would treat her as my wife, in the truest of forms.

On the back of his descendant, flying toward our future, I vowed it to Muron.

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