The horde King of shadow

Her brow furrowed. I saw the edges of her horror but also the desire to understand.

“Everyone else believes a different story, however. One spread by Elysom. My aunt, my mother’s sister, who you met at our keep in Sarroth, was responsible for the lie. Her and the Karath who came before me.”

And I can never forgive them for it, I thought.

“I remember her,” she said quietly.

Where to begin? I wondered.

“This story begins long ago,” I warned her. “Tyzar was my father’s Elthika. And they bonded in a strange way because my father was not a rider. He never trained to be one—he was from a farming family on Sarroth’s outskirts, from a small rural village called Kaval. Where I grew up, in the same house he had.”

Klara blinked, processing the information. I’d never spoken of my childhood, of my family with her before, but I could see her hunger for it, her need to understand. To understand pieces of me I’d kept hidden.

“He found an egg in a Sarrothian forest when he was young, rejected by the mother. He saw her drop it, and he went to look for it. It was still warm,” I told her, thinking of the awe on my father’s features when he used to tell me this story. “He took the egg, and he tended to it, waking in the middle of the night, every night, for new coals to keep it warm, until it hatched. My father and Tyzar never felt the bonding pull, but they were bonded forever nevertheless by choice. Tyzar chose to remain in Kaval with my father instead of seeking out his own horde, his own ancestors. And that’s where they lived.”

I could see her confusion.

“My mother, on the other hand,” I said, “was from a wealthy family in Elysom. Stories of Tyzar and my father reached the capital. Many traveled to see them. It was an amusement for them, a poor farmer on the outskirts of Sarroth and his found hatchling. That’s how he met her. Their love was a quick thing…like Muron’s lightning, my father told me. He finally felt the bonding pull, but it wasn’t for Tyzar—it was for her,” I said quietly.

It was hard to reconcile the girl he’d fallen in love with and match her with my mother, who’d kept her emotions leashed tight, even toward me. It was my father who had shown me affection. Perhaps he’d been what she’d needed. Perhaps I was more like her than I realized, needing someone warm and open and loving. Someone like Klara to thaw me, to keep the frost away.

“I was meant to be a farmer too. Can you believe that?” I asked her.

A sharp huff left her. “No. Not at all.”

“I was not a blood born. I was actually of the earth. Like you, like a Dakkari—born with cool, steady, unyielding earth beneath my feet. But I was always looking toward the sky. I loved Tyzar. I grew up on his back. And that’s why I wanted to be a rider. That feeling when you fly, when you feel the whole world is open to you—that’s freedom.”

“It suits you,” she commented, her eyes glowing, a soft smile on her face. I was glad to see it. I would tell her this story over and over again if it distracted her from the horde beyond our dwelling. If it distracted her from Lygath’s rejection. If only for a brief reprieve. “You were meant for it, this life.”

This story grew bittersweet, though it needed to be said. So she would finally have a deeper understanding.

“My mother became deeply ill in Sarroth when I was a child,” I said. “The healers in Elysom called it the arasykin shy’rissa. The heartstone sleep. We don’t know why it happens. Some think it’s because Sarroth is the farthest away from the core of the Arsadia, the center of Karak. The Sarrothian claim that as a badge of pride almost, like outsiders can’t survive here, only the toughest of Karag can. But I don’t believe that.”

She frowned.

“One healer my father consulted believed she’d been born with it. A defect in her blood. Some are just unlucky, even in Elysom. The sickness began to shut down her body. It started slowly, her movements and strength becoming weaker,” I said, remembering finding her on the floor one day when my father had been out in the fields. “By the time I was ten, she couldn’t walk anymore. She stopped going into the village. She was so tired all the time. Then, a year later, she couldn’t move her arms. The year after that, it was her tongue.”

Klara bit her lip as tears sprung to her eyes, despair written there. “Sarkin…I’m so sorry.”

I breathed deep. “And then one day…Tyzar and my father left.”

“Left?”

“He told me to watch over my mother, that he had to go meet with a healer in Elysom. He was gone for nearly a week. And when he returned…” I sharply exhaled, remembering the shock and disbelief of that night. “He had two Elthika eggs with him. Stolen from a nest he’d found along the western cliffs.”

“But why?” she breathed.

“Because one healer believed that Elthika eggs, the hatchlings in which possess heartstone energy, the purest form of it, could help her. Not heal her completely, but at least give her a life back, a life worth living. Because at that time, she was only a shell.”

Klara said nothing, only looked at me solemnly.

“My father stole the eggs, that is true, even knowing the consequences,” I told her. “But it wasn’t for nefarious purposes or to sell to our enemies, as Elysom tried to claim. The eggs didn’t work, needless to say. We kept them warm and he returned them to the nest, but his theft had been discovered. The Elthika he’d taken the eggs from had been bonded, not wild. Her rider was a council member in Elysom. And so Elysom let the Sarrothian decide my father’s fate. And our Karath sentenced him and Tyzar to death, but he gave them six months of time until their execution.”

My lips twisted bitterly. “Because he was a farmer and they needed his next crop yield before he could die.”

“That’s awful,” she whispered, her lips pressed together as her eyes gleamed in the low light. “And Tyzar? I thought the Karag would never needlessly kill an Elthika. Isn’t that against your laws?”

“The Elthika have their own laws, and stealing hatchlings or eggs is among the highest of offenses. So yes, they were both sentenced to execution. And that’s why he sent Tyzar away. That’s why people say that Tyzar rejected their bond. Because he left, but not by his choice. So that he wouldn’t be killed, my father commanded him to leave, to fly north as far as he could, though it nearly broke him.”

Klara’s hand pressed to her mouth as tears from her wide, beautiful, sad eyes dripped down her face.

“And with only six months left, my father decided on mercy for my mother. She’d long asked him to help end her life. Before she’d lost her ability to speak. The thought had been unfathomable to him. But then? He didn’t want to go to his own death, knowing what she wanted, knowing he could give it to her. His last gift. The last sacrifice he would make for her,” I said. “He asked me to start rider instruction that year. I was fourteen by that time, older than some of my peers already. I refused at first. How could he ask that of me? To leave him? But what I didn’t understand…what I couldn’t understand then…”

“He loved you so much that he didn’t want you to watch him die,” she said softly. “Oh, Sarkin, you were just a child yourself.”

“One who’d grown up too fast already,” I said quietly. “He didn’t want me to watch him fall apart. He didn’t want me to be around for what he would do, so my conscious would be clean. I was so angry when I left because I knew I was saying goodbye to him, to my mother, and it was not my choice. But he asked me to watch for Tyzar, and I promised him I would. And those first few months of training, the Arsadia was so different. I felt guilty for enjoying it. I felt guilty for the relief I felt at being away from home.”

She reached out to take my hand, leaning down to kiss my scarred, calloused palm. I felt her shuddered breath on my skin, the drip of her hot tears. There was a reason I never spoke of this. It made me feel raw. Like an old, festering wound.

“When I learned of both of their deaths…it was Kyavor who told me. He’d been my instructor then too. He’d received a message from the Karath, who was angry that my father had chosen death early and that he’d taken my mother with him. Two mysar commands were laid upon me by Elysom as penance, and they could be whatever they wanted. The commands are like debts that need to be paid. Whatever two tasks Elysom asked of me, I would have to obey without question.”

“The Dakkari scouting missions…and…”

“Marriage,” I said, my lips twisting. “That one in particular was my aunt’s doing, and she gave it to me only recently. She knew how much that mysar command would cut…because I’d vowed to never take a wife. And that was common knowledge in Elysom and certainly to her.”

“What?” she asked in astonishment. “You never wanted to marry?”

“After witnessing the tragedy of my parents’ marriage? For years?” I asked, shaking my head. Sad understanding reflected in Klara’s eyes. “Never. But my aunt, Kethra…she thought my father murdered my mother, her beloved sister. She blamed him for her sickness, for her death, for taking her away. She wanted to make me remember that, so that every time I looked at my wife, I might remember the one my father took. The one he vowed to protect.”

I gazed at Klara, seeing her process that information—that I’d never intended to marry. That mysar command had once felt like a cruel twist of a dagger in my belly. Only now…I saw it much differently. My aunt had instead given me a gift.

“It all makes sense now,” she whispered. “Especially why you were so angry in the begi

I gritted my jaw. “I never meant to hurt you, Klara. But you have to understand, I⁠—”

“I do understand,” she said quietly, rising up onto her knees until she was right in front of me. Her arms wound around my neck, and I saw her. She wasn’t withdrawn right now, she was here. With me. And she was shining so brightly as she looked at me. “But even when you didn’t want me, I could see that you were good.”

“I want you now,” I confessed to her. More than I ever thought possible. “And always.”

She smiled, pressing her lips to mine in a soft kiss. “I know.” She sniffled. “Thank you for telling me, Sarkin.”

I pulled away so I could see her fully as I said, “I told you this because I want you to understand that I know something about shame and how it follows you. How it can feel unshakeable.”

Her chin lifted as she absorbed the words.

“I’m not saying it’s easy, aralye,” I told her. “It took me a year after I bonded with Zaridan before the challenges to my title stopped. Because of my father’s memory, because of events that people knew nothing about, sacrifices he made that they ca

I brushed my hands over her cheeks, catching the last of her tears.