The horde King of shadow

Chapter 21KLARA

The wedding feast that night was an uncomfortable affair. At least for me. Sarkin’s horde pretended that they didn’t notice their Karath’s brooding silence or me fidgeting at his side, at the head of the long table that had been set up during our absence.

It was a beautiful night. Balmy from the waterfall and warm. A bright half-moon was hanging overhead, surrounded by a smattering of stars. It brought me comfort to recognize the constellations. Bekkar’s Sword. Ta

Nearly all of the village was in attendance it seemed. Brightly colored ba

I listened to the chatter all around me. Sarkin’s riders had long given up trying to speak to him, and we’d been left on our own at the head of the table. Part of the horde and yet separate. As if everyone could feel the tension between us, they all kept to themselves, seemingly determined to enjoy the feast, which was meant to be a celebration of our union. So why did it feel like a mournful wake?

There’s no reason why I can’t enjoy this party even if Sarkin is sour on it, I thought, taking a deep breath, catching sight of Sammenth and Ryena, both laughing with a small group next to one of the trees that made up the edge of the vast forest. The trunk was wide, protected with a cushioned board, and I watched as they played a game, flinging daggers at the target. The object being whoever struck inside the four circles drawn at random areas of the map won points.

Wine was flowing, darkly colored and rich. My own goblet was half-empty. I wasn’t used to drinking fermented fruit, but the Karag produced a delicious brew. I wondered what they used and if the process differed from Dakkari wines. The Karag ones weren’t as sweet, though they were rich and smooth. And dangerously easy to drink.

Emboldened by the wine, I stood from my seat, catching the sharp jerk of Sarkin’s head when he turned to regard me.

“I’ll be over there,” I informed him, not quite meeting his eyes as I gestured toward the tree.

He regarded the group briefly, seeming like he was on the verge of saying something, but all he did was sharply incline his head, as if I needed permission…which I didn’t.

There was a part of me that was angry. A part of me was mourning. Because for brief moments in Lishara’s temple, though those moments had seemed beautifully and breathtakingly endless, I’d thought that what Sarkin and I had shared had been special. I’d felt co

And he’d taken that away.

He’d retreated, becoming even colder than he’d been to me before. I thought that before we’d left this morning, we might’ve even been on friendly ground. We’d understood what needed to happen. It wasn’t as if sex would’ve never played a part in our marriage. I assumed the question of heirs would eventually need to be answered.

But now?

Our relationship felt more tangled and uncertain than ever. I thought…maybe he regretted what had happened. The harsh sting of that realization hurt more than I thought it would.

My body still ached from when he’d been inside me…and he’d never felt further away. Perhaps this was the real Sarkin. Not the male who’d kissed me passionately and squeezed my ass in appreciation, possessiveness pouring from him with every touch.

I nearly shivered just thinking about that Sarkin. A part of me was worried I’d never meet him again. It wasn’t fair. To dangle that in front of me, a sublime prize I’d never known I needed, and then to snatch it away, leaving me reeling and confused.

I squared my shoulders as I approached the laughing group, even though nerves tangled through my chest. Would this be another rejection at the hands of the Sarrothian?

No, I thought, determination rising. I was Sarkin’s wife, now. They couldn’t deny that, and I needed to start demanding their respect. I would not be rejected, walked over like I’d been in my father’s palace, for the rest of my life. I refused. I was their queen now. I might not have had their full respect yet—I apparently needed to bond with an Elthika for that to happen—but they had to recognize that I wasn’t going anywhere.

This was my home now, whether I liked it or not.

And so I needed to make a home for myself here. I needed to demand it in my own way. Because Sarkin certainly wouldn’t do it for me.

I could feel the burning sear of his eyes on my back as I approached the group. Sammenth noticed me first, and her smile widened, though her gaze tracked to Sarkin first over my shoulder.

“Can I try?” I asked, nodding at the tree trunk. I used to be a good shot, but these targets were small, the weight and balance of these strange daggers uncertain. And I hadn’t practiced on targets in years. It used to be a fun pastime when we’d lived on the wildlands. Though, truthfully, I had practiced endlessly because the young Dakkari boys in my horde had taunted me that I couldn’t ever possibly hit a target.

“For a price,” Ryena chimed.

My steps faltered uncertainly. “And that is?”

She pushed a half-full goblet into my hands. “Drink up, Sorrina. Those are the rules to enter the competition. No one plays without at least one goblet of wine in them.”

My brow furrowed, taking the goblet from her hands, the wine nearly sloshing over the sides. “Sori

Ryena’s head inclined briefly. “It’s the Karag word for queen.”

I blinked, a shot of nerves going through my belly, and I felt no less than a dozen pairs of eyes on me. Even behind me, from those not in the immediate circle of players, including Feranos, who peered at me carefully. Only he suspected what had happened in Lishara’s temple, and I was proud when I didn’t feel my cheeks heat under his cautious scrutiny.

Perhaps he suspected the worst.

I didn’t drink the full goblet. After even just a sip, Ryena seemed satisfied enough, and I traded her for the first dagger. It was slim but heavy. The hilt was etched with decorative markings, the eyes of an Elthika peering back at me, two red gemstones glittering.

“I’ll challenge the Sorrina,” came Sammenth’s voice. She gri

“So are the Dakkari,” I returned. “Perhaps that makes you doubly so.”

Sammenth’s smile widened.

“We’ll see how you fare. I imagine there’s little time for dagger throwing in the Dothikkar’s gilded palace,” came a voice. A female, one of the novice riders, I knew. Her sly smirk was coupled with her narrowed eyes, watching, waiting for a reaction.

I didn’t let her subtle jab get to me. I expected to be poked at for a while. I was an outsider, even if I was their queen. But did they believe I’d lived a privileged life, wealthy and wanting for nothing? I’d been happy with my mother on the wildlands, true. But even after I’d been forced to live in the palace, it had never felt like my home.

Instead of responding, I took another sip of wine, the dagger loose in my hand at my side. I twirled the hilt, getting used to the balance in my palm, and I set the goblet down on a nearby stool.

“Hit the middle of the marks?” I asked Sammenth, eyeing the target. In the archives, on particularly dull days when my research was frustrating and I needed a distraction, we’d done something similar with the tips of ink quills, weighted with heavy coins. Half the challenge was figuring out the weights and balances of each quill, which had all been unique.

She nodded. “Stand there. Behind the tether.”

There was a long braided rope of black, worn leather lying perfectly straight at my feet.

I caught the stray, quiet voice from the novice riders. “Bets for if she makes it?”

No one said anything, and I felt my lip press. Again I ignored it. If this had been a Dakkari horde, they would’ve been silenced for daring to disrespect the Morakkari of their horde king. Perhaps they’d even be sent back to Dothik or given pyroki shit–shoveling duty for the rest of the season.

But I’m not in Dakkar, I thought, straightening my spine. And my husband doesn’t care what his riders say about me.

A difficult truth, but one I would need to swallow.

I brought the dagger up, pinching the silver, cool blade between my fingers.

“I’ll bet against,” came the voice.

“We all would,” came another grumble.

“Shut it,” came Sammenth’s hiss.

I let the dagger loose, swift and sure. I’d never felt more certain about anything, actually, and so when it hit the tree with a dull thud, the pointed blade stuck directly in the middle of the first target, I wasn’t surprised.

But everyone else was silent. Even behind me, it seemed like the noise of the celebration died down. Because they’d been watching too? Was Sarkin?

I was happy because it reminded me of living in the horde. Sneaking onto the training grounds with my two friends at midnight, when the horde had been quiet, the whistling of daggers in my ears as my friends had sparred with wood poles as swords.

A simpler time, I thought, a stab of longing and nostalgia going through me. If I’d returned to the voliki, our domed tent that I’d shared with my mother, with cuts from the daggers, she’d only shake her head, a smile playing over her lips. She’d known the importance of freedom. She’d longed for it her whole life. It was why she’d chosen to live on the wildlands. She’d always told me that Dothik had made her feel caged.

I couldn’t help but think that she would’ve loved riding on the back of an Elthika. Because what could feel more freeing than that?

“Do I go again, or is it your turn?” I asked Sammenth.

She was staring at me before a wide grin split across her face, a laugh following. She’d had a few goblets of wine, her cheeks dark in color.

“You go again, I insist,” she replied. She presented me with another dagger, pulled from her belt, the weight nearly identical to the first. When I looked down, I saw the Elthika carved into the hilt had blue gemstone eyes, and I wondered if the first dagger had been Ryena’s. Twin daggers for the sisters. A gift?

When I let her dagger fly, I was a hair off the very center but still within the boundaries.

“I changed my mind,” came one of the rider’s voices. “I’ll bet on the Sorrina.”

By the end of the competition, I’d run through all the opponents, even Feranos, who’d nearly beaten me at the very end. My arm was sore, however, the muscles still protesting from flying to reach the Arsadia. I was pleasantly buzzed, flushed with wine, since I had to take a drink with each new opponent.