by Zoey Draven
“I am not my father,” Arokan said, his voice cold and hard. “I will not make his mistake by taking mercy on a Ghertun spy.”
His father?
With that, Arokan raised his sword. The Ghertun made a sound, a knowing, small sound.
That sound wrenched something inside me.
Before I knew what I was doing, I stood from my throne and yelled, “Stop!”
Chapter Seventeen
Arokan froze.
A murmur went through the horde.
Though I heard warning bells in my head, I descended the dais, that pendant bobbing on my chest.
“There has to be another way,” I said, reaching out to touch Arokan’s arm, the arm in which he held the sword.
Slowly, he turned to face me and I knew I fucked up from his expression alone. As if the shocked faces of the kneeling Dakkari, as if the guards surrounding the Ghertun weren’t exchanging looks or slightly lowering their swords didn’t tell me so already.
“Neffar?” Arokan hissed at me, turning his back to the Ghertun. He loomed in front of me, so tall and broad that he blocked some of the sunlight, that I had to crane my neck up to look at him.
“Please, don’t do this. An execution? For a crime he hasn’t committed?” I cried out. “All he is guilty of is being found near the camp. Is that enough to kill him for?”
“You are untainted, nekkar,” Arokan said, though his tone was low and dangerous. I flinched. He’d never called me nekkar before, which I now knew meant human. “You do not know anything.”
“But he is—”
“Enough,” Arokan hissed. “Do not dare to challenge my—”
A cry of surprise tore through one of the guards and before I knew it, I heard the heavy rattle of chains.
Arokan swung back around, pushing me back to protect me with enough force that I fell on my backside, my elbow hitting the ground hard when I tried to break my fall.
I watched in horror as the Ghertun scout—who had managed to tear his chains from the guard’s grip, though the collar around his neck seemed bloodied for it—swiped out his sharp claws at the nearest Dakkari warrior, raking them down his thigh. The warrior cried out in pain and fell to one knee as dark blood began to well up.
It had all happened so fast that it left the guards momentarily stunned, giving the Ghertun enough time to jump up from his crouched position, so fast he was a blur, and begin to sprint away, back towards the forest.
He didn’t make it far.
With a bellow, Arokan slammed the tip of his sword into the long chain that trailed behind the Ghertun, through one of the links. The gold sword rung and vibrated when it caught and the Ghertun gasped out a croaking breath when his neck jerked, choked by the collar, and fell with a heavy thud to the earth on his back.
Frozen, I watched as Arokan tore his sword from the earth, from the chain link, with a growl and stalked towards the scout.
“No, horde king,” the Ghertun choked out, his hands flailing in front of him when Arokan loomed close. “I didn’t mean to—please have mercy on—”
Arokan cut the Ghertun’s head away from his shoulders with one smooth, fast arc of his sword, right above the chained collar. It was so cleanly done, so expertly done, that the green blood didn’t appear for a few long, shocked moments.
I stared at the decapitated Ghertun, my blood rushing in my ears, even as it drained from my face.
Then my gaze trailed from the grotesque head that had rolled across the earth to Arokan, standing just above the still body.
The horde king was looking at me with an expression I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the meaning of.
Disbelief and horror made my stomach clench as I stared back at him.
That was when I heard the Dakkari warrior—the one who the Ghertun had attacked, because of me—groan in pain. I jerked my head over to him, saw that a Dakkari female was hovering over him, trying to stop the bleeding.
I tried to speak, tried to apologized, but the words were lodged in my throat, my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth.
Beyond that sight was the sight of the horde. All still kneeling, as shocked about the turn of events as I was. Most were looking at me, still splayed out on the cool earth.
I caught Hukan’s gaze. Her lips were pressed together, her expression knowing, like I’d just confirmed all her thoughts about me.
You’re an imposter, not fit to be queen, she told me with her eyes. She was almost smug about it.
Arokan approached, sheathing his blade at his hip. Reaching out, he tugged me up into a standing position, though I swayed on my feet and my elbow gave a throb of pain.
He handed me off to one of the guards who hadn’t been attacked.
“Take her away,” he ordered, then seemed to realize he spoke in the universal tongue. In Dakkari, he repeated his orders and the guard inclined his head, taking my arm and leading me from the clearing.
My breath hitched and I looked back to the injured guard. “Wait, will he be—”
“I will deal with you later,” Arokan rasped, his dark eyes on me. Then he turned his back, going to kneel next to the guard on the ground.
Tears burned the backs of my eyes but I looked forward and allowed the guard to lead me back towards the tent.
Now you’ve really made a mess of things, Luna, I told myself quietly, that heavy blood red pendant pressing against my chest.
Chapter Eighteen
Arokan didn’t return to the tent until the crescent moon was already high in the sky.
I was sitting, in my pants and tunic, on a floor cushion with my knees pulled up to my chest, listening to the quiet, to the gentle flicker of the candle flames, when he ducked inside.
My gaze darted to him and I inhaled a slow breath. All day I’d prepared for this, but it still didn’t prepare me for the shame I felt when I saw his expression.
The afternoon and evening had not calmed his ire towards me. It showed, plain as day. I thought of his strength, how easily he’d killed the Ghertun, and for the first time since he’d taken me from my village…I wondered if he would hurt me too.
Whatever he would do to me…I could take, I thought, steeling my spine though I didn’t quite meet his gaze fully.
“How is the warrior?” I asked softly. It was a question I’d thought constantly since I left the clearing. He’d been hurt because of me, because I’d distracted Arokan by questioning his decision, because I’d prolonged an execution that had always been inevitable.
“He will heal,” Arokan said, his voice terse.
Relief went through me, though it was slight. “Can I…can I see him?”
“Nik,” Arokan growled immediately. “You cannot.”
My heart raced and I swallowed the thick lump in my throat.
Long moments passed. I waited. And waited.
Finally, I couldn’t take the silence anymore. With all the courage I could muster, I looked up at Arokan, who was standing before me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my tone clear, though my voice shook slightly. “I—I never could have imagined that…that…”
“Division breeds uncertainty and fear,” Arokan said. “Do not ever question me in front of the horde again, Morakkari. Do not ever question me in front of my warriors or our enemies, Morakkari.”
I flinched. His soft words somehow seemed worse than if he were yelling at me at the top of his lungs. I almost wished he would. But I realized he probably didn’t want the horde to hear.
This was a private matter. And I had made it public, by challenging him in front of his people.
Division breeds uncertainty and fear.
He meant division between us. This was between us.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “But I wasn’t prepared for an execution. You said it was a trial. I thought I could save his—”
“It is not about what you want, Luna,” Arokan growled. “It is about what keeps the horde safe. My decision ensured that.”
“Then we were already divi
ded before we ever stepped foot onto that dais,” I said quietly. “Why didn’t you tell me? You didn’t think I could handle it? You kept me in the dark when you knew what would happen, when you and only you had already decided his fate.”
“Do not turn this around on me, kalles,” he said softly.
That reminded me of something. “You called me nekkar earlier,” I said. “Why?”
“To remind you,” he growled.
“Of what? My lowly place in this universe?”
“That until recently, you said you did not know of the Ghertuns’ existence,” Arokan said and I froze. “To remind you that while you were behind the walls of your village, safe, the Dakkari were losing many to their savagery and carnage. You do not know what they are capable of.”
Safe.
Maybe we had been safe, but we’d also been starving and filled with fear that at any moment, the Dakkari would come for us all.
“Is that what happened?” I whispered, looking up at him. “Today, you said your father made a mistake by showing mercy to a Ghertun.”
It was wrong thing to say, at perhaps the worst possible time. I should have bit my tongue.
Arokan’s shoulders bunched. I watched, in horrified fascination, as his temper rose, as anguish and regret and anger, all flashed over his features, before he managed to rein them back in. It made me realize how much he kept on a tight leash inside. It made me realize how much control he possessed.
“Lysi,” he rasped, his eyes staring daggers into my own. “A much similar situation. My father found the scout. At his trial, my father granted him mercy and let him go. Three days later, in the dead of night, that scout led his pack to my father’s horde.”
My breathing went tight, fearing that I already knew what happened.
“Half of the warriors were out patrolling, which they knew because they had been watching us. They caught us unaware. We were outnumbered.”
“Arokan,” I whispered.
“Three of them slaughtered my father in his bed before anyone knew they had infiltrated the camp. Afterwards, they raped my mother and then killed her too. It was her screams that alerted the guards, that began the full-fledged attack on the horde.”
Horror made me clasp my hand over my mouth as nausea rolled in my belly.
“I was young at the time. I was sleeping in Hukan’s tent that night, near the front of the camp, the furthest away. My mother’s screams woke me. They still haunt me. Even though I fought against her, Hukan got me out, got a group of females and children out, and we rode until we happened upon another horde, whose Vorakkar tracked down the pack and killed them all in retribution. A Vorakkar who killed that scout, which is what my father should have done from the beginning, without hesitation, without pity or sympathy.”
Stunned silence filled the tent. I couldn’t begin to imagine what he’d witnessed, the brutality and horror of such an attack. His mother, his father…
Tears pooled in my eyes, but I didn’t look away from him.
“I…” I croaked. “Arokan, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I have been Vorakkar long enough to know not to take chances with the safety of the horde,” he said next. “Which is something that you need to realize, Luna. I do not have to ask you to approve my decisions when it comes to them. I will do whatever it takes to keep my people safe. Even if it means killing a being who could be innocent, whose pack might be innocent. By leaving the Dead Lands, those Ghertun have already signed their fate, that spy signed his fate. Would you truly risk the lives of the horde to save one Ghertun? Knowing what you do now, would you ask me to be merciful again?”
The answer rang clear in my mind.
“No,” I whispered.
“Would you kill him yourself if you had to?” Arokan asked next, that cold voice unyielding.
The question caught me off guard. “I—I wouldn’t know how.”
Arokan looked away, his jaw ticking, his hands on his hips.
“Tomorrow,” he said, “you will start your day tending to the pyroki. You will walk among the horde, you will keep your head high. You will wear what your piki dress you in without complaint. You will show the horde that you remain strong, regardless of what happened today.”
I swallowed, looking down at my lap.
“You are Morakkari now, Luna. Despite what I called you today, you are Dakkari now,” Arokan rasped. I looked up at him as he said, “Act like it.”
I nodded.
Arokan went to his drawers before undressing. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, seeing the scars lining his back. Not for the first time, I wondered how he’d received them.
“Arokan,” I whispered.
The horde king paused, turning his head to look at me.
“I really am sorry,” I said. “I know I made a mess things today but…I’m trying.”
“I know, kalles,” he replied a moment later before pulling on pants made from hide, concealing his nudity. My eyebrows furrowed when I saw him sheath his dagger into the belt.
“Where are you going?”
“To hunt the Ghertun pack,” he replied. “I sent scouts ahead. We might have caught their trail.”
My lips parted. “You’ll kill them all?”
He turned to look at me again, studying me. “I will not return until we do. They are too close to us, too close to Dothik.”
I blew out a sharp exhale. After a moment, I nodded, rising from the cushion, my legs numb from sitting for so long.
“Be careful,” I told him. And I meant it. A week ago, I would’ve been praying that he never came back, so that I could return to my village, our bargain forfeit. “Please.”
Now…it made me worried that he was leaving again.
I was too emotionally exhausted to figure out why. I didn’t care why. I knew what I felt and I wanted him to be safe.
He was still disappointed in me. I could see it in his gaze, but he reached out his hand, cupped my cheek, before he murmured, “Stay close to your guards while I am gone, kalles.”
With that, he turned his back and ducked through the entrance of the tent without so much as a goodbye.
And I stood, in that empty tent, feeling like I failed as I watched him go.
Chapter Nineteen
Mirari watched me from outside the open pen enclosure with something akin to horror on her face.
“Missiki, please,” she begged for the hundredth time. “This is not fitting for you. Not for a Morakkari.”
I huffed and blew a strand away from my face. Though the air was cool, I felt a drop of sweat run down my back, and my arms trembled slightly as I hefted yet another pile of pyroki shit with my shovel and threw it into what I called the Shit Corner.
A young Dakkari boy—whose given name was Jriva—was elbow deep in the Shit Corner, sifting through the pyroki excrement. Though he didn’t speak the universal tongue, Mirari had translated for him when he said that they used the shit as fuel and to enrich their soil in Dothik and throughout other outposts around Dakkar. He told me his job was important, that he took great pride in it.
The boy seemed happy with my presence. He was no older than ten and had told Mirari to tell me that one day he would be a horde warrior. He would prove himself to the Vorakkar—to my husband—with his strength and protect the horde and his family.
He’d beamed up at me as he said it, as Mirari translated, though he was surrounded by pyroki filth. I couldn’t help but admire his tenacity, for someone so young. He reminded me a lot of Kivan, which had struck a chord of longing and loneliness inside me.
Mirari was fisting her hands on her dress. “Careful of your slippers, Missiki,” she called. “They were just crafted, especially for you.”
It didn’t matter. I was obeying the Vorakkar. That morning, I allowed myself to be dressed in another skimpy outfit and then I’d walked myself over to the pyroki pen with my chin held high, though I felt the eyes of the horde on me.
After much reflection yesterday and a lo
ng night in an empty bed, I’d come to realize that Arokan had been right. I was a queen now and I needed to act like it. I needed to integrate myself into horde life and win over his people.
If that meant getting dirty in pyroki shit and humbling myself before the horde, I would do it. Arokan told me I was Dakkari now. And, despite what Mirari said, I wasn’t above doing dirty work just because my husband was the Vorakkar. I’d worked hard all my life. I wasn’t about to stop now.
So, in response to Mirari’s concern, I kicked off the sandals and threw them over the low gates of the enclosure, right next to her.
Her shoulders sagged. “That is not what I meant, Missiki. Now look at your feet!”
Unlike Mirari, Lavi seemed positively gleeful watching me. Her eyes twinkled with delight and amusement as she stood next to Mirari.
Casting a glance over my shoulder, I blew out another breath, eyeing a pyroki, which had ventured close to me. Those red eyes watched me and it tossed its neck, stamping its four feet on the earth, when I shoveled yet another pile into the corner.
Somehow, I’d managed to forget how absolutely terrifying they were, how massive they were. And while my hands had been shaking on the shovel for the first hour I’d been in the pen with them, they were now steady. Mostly, they ignored me, which gave me confidence.
Many of the pyroki were gone. Arokan had taken out half of the horde warriors with him to hunt down the Ghertun pack and their pyroki had gone with them.
An elderly male, who hadn’t given me his name, was in charge of the pen. He looked over at Jriva and I from the troughs he was filling with fresh water, his eyes assessing our progress. Unlike Jriva, he spoke the universal tongue and when I told him that I wanted a job at the pen, he’d told me to clean it out, despite Mirari’s immediate protests.
“If the Morakkari wishes to work with the pyroki, then she must start where I did,” he’d replied to Mirari, his tone unyielding and strong.
He’d expected me to balk and turn away. He’d expected me to leave, I saw that in his dismissive gaze. Despite my title, I didn’t have his respect. I didn’t have the respect of many of the horde after yesterday’s events.