The horde King of shadow

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 Da

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 begi

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.