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“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.”
“It’s already done,” Sarkin rasped. His aunt froze, a glare forming. “Zaridan has accepted her. I heard the sy’asha. An Elthika’s song is more powerful than any binding ceremony in this mortal life. But you wouldn’t know that, would you?”
The sy’asha?
An Elthika’s song?
Immediately, I knew what he was referring to. That moment on the wildlands, outside the East Gate. It seemed as if Zaridan’s scales had whispered, a song only we could hear. It had been mesmerizing, lulling. I still remember the heat of Sarkin at my back, the brush of his thumb across my neck, the rhythm and softness of it.
My breath shuddered out. What was he saying? That we were already married? Because of that singular, unexpected moment?
“You still have to go to the Arsadia to bind it,” she said quietly.
“Which is why we leave at dawn,” Sarkin answered, and I could hear the smugness in his tone. “Or will you try to have her killed before then?”
I stiffened.
“Don’t tempt me,” his aunt replied, her tone clipped, her eyes practically burning holes into Sarkin’s head. The hostility between them was even greater than my stepmother’s hatred of me.
“If you try, you will have three kings to answer to for her death. One old, one new…and her husband,” Sarkin replied. I swallowed, my breath shuddering out of me. One old…my father? One new? He must’ve meant Da
The aunt’s glare cut to me. “What is your name, Dakkari?”
My tongue felt stuck to the roof of my mouth. A long moment of silence passed. Even the group quieted behind her, waiting for me to speak. It was discomforting, I realized, to give my name so freely to strangers. But this was the Karag way, I remembered.
Names should not be hidden, Dakkari. Names should be feared. Those had been Sarkin’s words. A part of me liked the sentiment.
“Klara of Rath Serok,” I answered, “and Rath Drokka.”
Murmuring went through the rest of the group. Were they the council she had spoken about? Advisors to her? Or to Sarkin?
“The Dothikkar’s daughter,” the aunt said, her tone cold and measured. Her eyes—yellow as gold—swept me up and down, calculating. They fastened on my face, and I felt them touch on my scar. Her lips parted and she moved forward. When she reached for my face, I heard the whistle of a blade. Sarkin’s reflexes were quick, a dagger at the ready, glinting in his grip. She paid it no mind, as if this were a common occurrence.
For all I knew, it was.
“Watch yourself, Kethra,” Sarkin warned, tone low.
“Will you spill my blood here for the council to see?” she answered. “Just as your father did to your mother?”
I sucked in a sharp breath, but then her fingers pressed into my scar. Her lips parted, her brows rose.
“I see,” she breathed, eyes narrowing. Then Kethra laughed, the sound booming as she took a step back. The sweep of her tail brushed my ankles when her back turned. “Such an unremarkable girl to bear such a mark.”
A pit lodged itself into my belly. Was I to be shu
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Sarkin,” Kethra snipped.
She stalked away, her strides short and clipped. A few members of the group followed until only a couple lingered.
A dark-ski
“Karath,” the male said.
“Endrassa, Gevanth,” Sarkin said, pressing his fingers to his own forehead. A Karag sign of greeting, I assumed.
The male’s voice was booming and rich when he said, “And thank you for riling her up. It will be a long journey home now.”
“Difficult to break old habits” was what Sarkin replied. He stepped forward, clutching Gevanth’s outstretched forearm with his own.
“It is when you don’t try to break them,” Gevanth replied. “She would know that better than anyone. You have more in common than either of you would ever admit.”
“Blood is blood,” Sarkin rasped.
“I’ll need your patrol report. The council will call a meeting once we have it.”
Report…on my home? On the Dakkari? To find weakness?
“I’ll send it” was all Sarkin replied. “I’d ask you to stay and rest, friend, but with all due respect, get out of Sarroth. I have enough Elysom problems. I don’t need a dozen more staying in my citadel.”
Gevanth laughed, gruff and short. “Kethra, I’m sure, is already on dragonback to Elysom.”
“Then make sure she stays there,” Sarkin returned. “I meant what I said, Gevanth.”
“I know,” the male replied, inclining his head. His eyes cut to mine, I felt him observing my scar, and then he turned. Without so much as a goodbye—not that Sarkin seemed to want one—he left, the last of the council leaving with him. Until the stone terrace was cleared out, save for myself, Sarkin, and his rider, whose name I still didn’t know.
“That went well,” the rider declared, the sarcasm dripping from his tone.
“Next time,” Sarkin said, “keep the citadel gates locked. They can rot outside for all I care.”
“I was as surprised as you were.”
“How did they know?” Sarkin growled.
“I’ve been trying to figure that out. A watch, perhaps. On the south coast. But we’ve had no reports of riders crossing our territories.”
Sarkin sharply exhaled. “Elysom always knows things they shouldn’t. And you know how that usually happens? A weapon. But now we have our own.”
My spine snapped and I frowned. “I am not yours to use.”
“That’s exactly what you are,” Sarkin answered, so dismissively it made my hackles rise. “Mine to use however I see fit.”
Impossible male! I thought, frustration making my jaw grit. I was tired, hungry, and so sore I didn’t want to move.
“Why don’t you just knock me out so I can dream for you?” I asked, my voice intentionally sweet.
Sarkin came close, dropping down until our eyes were level. He brushed his thumb across my scar and murmured, “Tempting. Should I?”
The rider cleared his throat as I glared.
Sarkin rose. He gestured to the far corner of the garden, to the small structure I’d seen tucked along the stone of the mountain.
“Your accommodations, princess,” he said. “Enjoy the bed while you can. We leave at dawn, and we’ll be staying in wild territory. Just like your hordes and Vorakkar of old.”
“If you think that scares me, you’re sorely mistaken. I grew up in a horde,” I said, my chin raising. “On the wildlands of Dakkar.”
“But you’ve never seen wildlands like these,” he said quietly, studying me as if surprised by the discovery. Softly, like a lover, he murmured, “That I promise you.”