by Zoey Draven
He was still nude when he went around the tent, extinguishing the flickers of flames from the oil lamps, one by one, until the only source of light was the fire. It cast long shadows over his body, but I kept my eyes on his. The fire reflected in those dark, shining orbs made me think of Drukkar, one of the Dakkari’s deities. He was said to be unyielding and merciless and fierce.
“Come sleep if you are not going to bathe,” he ordered, tossing back the furs on the plush bed before climbing in. Still completely naked.
I rose from the low table, my dagger tight in my grip, and hesitantly approached. Unlike him, I kept every stitch of my clothing on, save for my boots, though I was tempted to wear them. But his furs were thick and soft and I didn’t want to muddy them. They were much too nice to be ruined and I trusted, perhaps naively, that he would remain true to his word, that he wouldn’t touch me if I was unwilling.
I kept my dagger within reach, however, as I lay down beside him on my stomach, on top of the furs since my back was still too tender.
The winds outside were growing in intensity and I wondered if this was the night the cold season would come.
A rikcrun? I questioned silently, thinking over his words in the stretching silence. Was that the proper term for a grounder?
Hesitantly, I turned my face towards him, pushing my hair away from my eyes. It was the softest and cleanest it had ever been, but I was learning that it seemed to possess a wild mind of its own in this new state.
When he saw me look over at him, he tilted his chin to return my stare, watched as I tucked strands of that wild hair behind my ear.
I’m no demon, I thought. Or am I?
“Your hair looked lighter before, but now it is black,” he commented quietly. It had looked lighter because of all the dust and dirt clinging to the strands, no doubt. “Just like a Dakkari’s.”
“Not like yours,” I pointed out. I’d seen no one else that day with blond hair in his horde, which led me to believe he was an outlier, an anomaly.
His lips pressed together and I thought I’d displeased him in some way, but didn’t know why.
“I want you to know,” I began softly, “that I don’t like hunting.”
He exhaled a long breath, but said nothing.
“I like using my bow and arrow,” I continued, “but not for the purpose of killing. I hunted because I had to, because I’m good at it, though sometimes I wish I wasn’t.”
“I know, thissie.”
I didn’t know why it felt important to tell him. But it did. Perhaps it was my own guilt bubbling up inside me, spurred by the reminder he’d watched me kill the grounder that night. Because sometimes I thought that if Blue hadn’t been injured that summer day in the Dark Forest—if she’d been perched on a branch or flying close above the canopy of the trees—would I have leveled my bow at her too? Would I have calculated how many credits Grigg would’ve given me for her? It made me sick thinking about it.
“What does thissie mean?” I asked, clearing my throat when it tightened.
He didn’t tell me. Just like his name, he kept that answer close, too.
“Veekor, kalles,” he told me. “Sleep.”
Chapter Ten
On my second day of exploring the horde encampment, I realized that I was being followed.
Not just by the scarred guard that the demon king had posted outside the tent, but by a small crowd of curious Dakkari, mostly females and children, though a few males were among their number.
It was strange, I thought. Except for the occasional frowning stare, I’d gone so long remaining unnoticed in my village, going about my day-to-day activities. Now, wherever I went, every Dakkari seemed to notice.
Of course they would notice, I whispered quietly to myself. I was the only human in the horde. It was hard to blend in.
I just hadn’t expected an audience trailing me, murmuring quietly in Dakkari whenever I turned to inspect something new.
Just when I had made my way to the front of the encampment, I felt a tug on the back of my sweater. Two sharp tugs.
When I looked behind me, to my surprise, I saw the little Dakkari boy from yesterday, the one who thought my eyes were odd.
I was happy to see him and felt the corners of my lips tug up. “Hello,” I greeted him quietly, noticing that he clasped something in his little palm.
“Heel-loo,” he repeated, sounding out the strange word, his voice loud but happy. When he grinned up at me, I saw that he was missing one of his sharp, small teeth, something I hadn’t noticed yesterday.
A sensation tugged in my chest. Something warm and simple. I’d always liked children. There weren’t many in my village, but of the ones there were, I thought they were honest and pure and innocent. Their words didn’t hold any other meaning than what they truly meant and the happy light in their eyes hadn’t yet faded from weariness and hard years.
“Hello,” I whispered again, smiling, before clearing the lump in my throat. I knew he didn’t speak the universal tongue so he wouldn’t understand anything I said to him. Instead, I touched the silky black strands of hair on his head, patting him, wanting him to know something that couldn’t be spoken in words.
Aware that a small group of Dakkari were hovering a short distance away, I belatedly hoped I didn’t commit another social sin in their eyes, considering the demon king had told me yesterday that I shouldn’t have given my name out.
I didn’t want to offend anyone. If I was going to remain in the horde through the cold season, I wanted them to like me.
I wanted…
I bit my lip. I wanted to not be so lonely there. For a short time at least, I had a fresh start in a place that was completely different than my home. I had the rare experience to live among a Dakkari horde, something that was completely unheard of among humans. The prospect might seem daunting or intimidating…but I also found it incredibly exciting. An adventure. Something I’d always wanted, right?
And so, I wanted them to like me, even if I was strange.
Relief burst through me when the boy’s grin only widened after I patted his head and then he was thrusting something towards me, whatever it was he had in his palm.
It was a rock.
Taking it from his hand, I brought it closer to my face and saw that it was beautiful. It was small but held a shimmering, iridescent sheen, transitioning from blue to green to pink to silver, depending on how I tilted it in the light.
I wasn’t used to smiling, but it felt natural on my face when I looked back at the boy.
“It’s very beautiful,” I said softly, holding it back out towards him.
A thread of worry shot through me when his face dropped, his grin sliding away. He looked crushed as he looked at the rock in my hand, outstretched towards him.
“Oh, no, I didn’t…” I trailed off, at a loss, wondering what Dakkari rule I’d broken now.
“He wants you to have it,” a soft, accented voice said to my right. When I turned, I saw a Dakkari female standing there, her dark hair braided down her back, in a white fur shawl and a dark yellow dress that brushed the tops of her booted feet.
“He…does?” I asked, my gratitude mixing with worry.
The female stepped forward and held her arm out for the boy, who immediately wrapped his arms around her legs. My lips parted in realization and I felt longing pulse in my breast.
“You’re his mother?” I asked.
“Lysi,” she replied, running her fingers through his dark hair. “All he has done is talk about you since yesterday. I wanted to meet you for myself.”
The rock still hung in my grip and the boy hid his face against his mother’s leg.
“Please tell him I’m sorry,” I begged softly. “I didn’t know it was a gift. I hope…I hope he’s not upset with me.”
The female smiled at me and despite the circumstances, I felt myself relax. She tilted her chin down and spoke to the boy in Dakkari, a string of soothing, soft words that made him raise his head.
&
nbsp; When he looked at me, I saw that his eyes were wet as he peered at me, as if trying to assess whether his mother’s words were true.
“I’m sorry,” I told him, bending at my knees so I could look at him straight on. “I didn’t know.” I looked down at the rock and forced a smile for his sake. “It’s lovely. The best thing I’ve ever seen.”
His mother spoke to him again and only after she translated my awkward words did the boy chance a small, hesitant smile at me.
When his smile grew, I felt relieved. Slowly, he disentangled himself from his mother’s legs and looked from the rock in my palm to me. Then he seemed to grow shy, the space just underneath his eyes growing darker, and he took off before I had a chance to say anything else, weaving his way through the tents until he was out of sight.
His mother’s small chuckle drew my attention. When I looked at her, I couldn’t help but feel envious of the obvious love and affection in her eyes as she gazed after her son.
When she turned to me, she said, “My father told me he met you as well.”
The older male who’d offered me some of his food?
“Yes,” I replied, a little unsure what to say as I clutched the rock in my palm, my hand growing damp around it despite the bitter chill in the air.
Though her voice was accented, her words were sure and confident as she asked, “How are you finding your clothes? I was not sure if they would fit.”
Surprise jolted through me and I looked down. “You were the one who made these for me?”
“Lysi,” she replied. “I hope you find them suitable. There was only so much I could do in that short time. I am still working on your shawl for the cold season, but it will not be ready for another few days.”
A shawl too?
“Oh,” I murmured. A little overwhelmed, I realized I didn’t know how to handle all these niceties, all these gifts being thrown my way. Her expression dropped a little and I said quickly, clutching the rock, “They are wonderful. Thank you. It’s just…I, um, had the same clothes for years. I didn’t expect all this.” I gestured over the garments she’d created for me.
She frowned. “You cannot expect to wear the same clothes every day, lirilla. These will be sufficient until I can finish your shawl and then begin on another set.”
Blinking, I protested, not wanting her to waste time on something unnecessary. “These will be more than enough for me. Truly.”
“It keeps me busy,” she said, her tone a little defensive. “I enjoy the work.”
Sucking in a small breath, I bit the inside of my cheek, fearing that once again, I was insulting another Dakkari.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m terrible at this.”
“Terrible at what, lirilla?”
I thought lirilla was a pretty word too and I told her, “I don’t know your customs. I don’t know what to say so I don’t hurt anyone’s feelings. What I meant was that I’m used to not having many things. I wouldn’t want you to waste your time making garments for me when you could spend that time for others in your horde.”
Understanding dawned on her face, though it was subtle. There was a calmness about her, a steadiness and a patience that I envied.
She reached out to touch my clothed forearm and I stared at her hand.
“For one, lirilla,” she said, stepping closer when she cast a look at the growing crowd, “always accept gifts given by the Dakkari.”
A terrible thought occurred to me. “Did I insult your father yesterday morning by not taking the bread?”
Her soft chuckle made me feel better. “He is an old male who does and feels what he pleases. He has earned that right with his age. He likes to laugh and he said you made him laugh. That is all you need to know.”
Thinking of the dagger the demon king had given me last night, the dagger that I had tucked into the deep pockets of my pants, alongside the leftovers I’d wrapped again that morning, I asked, “Do you give something to someone who’s given you a gift?”
“Only if you wish to,” she assured me, “but reciprocation is not expected.”
There were a thousand questions bubbling up in my head but I decided to hold my tongue. She was being kind enough to explain these things to me and I didn’t want to take advantage of it.
Instead, I said, “Thank you.” I opened my mouth, about to introduce myself, before I realized that I wasn’t supposed to give out my name.
“Lysi?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.
Sheepishly, I said, “I was told not to give my name out, but among humans, it is polite to introduce yourself to someone new.”
Wasn’t it? I frowned, realizing I hadn’t spoken my name in a long time. At least until yesterday. Before then, when was the last time I’d told someone my name?
I couldn’t remember.
“Lirilla,” she informed me.
“What?”
“It is what females call one another when they have become acquainted, but are not yet friends.”
Not yet friends.
Hope and longing burst in my chest so suddenly that it surprised me.
“And there is a possibility to become friends?”
Her eyes darted between mine. “Lysi,” she said softly. “If you wish.”
I nodded, wondering if I should hide my excitement or not. Except for Blue, I’d never truly had a friend. Jana had perhaps been the closest to it, but the label seemed strange attached to her.
“I wish that,” I told her softly, giving her a small smile. She didn’t look to be much older than I was, though she had a young son. I wondered if that meant she had a mate. “Lirilla.”
Her hand on my forearm squeezed and then dropped away. “Lysi.”
“That is only for females? What do you call a male who is an acquaintance?”
I wondered if I could give the demon king yet another name, since he refused to give me his own. At the very least, I could address my guard, who stood a short distance away, among the onlookers.
“Kairill,” she said slowly.
Ky-reel, I whispered the word in my mind, committing it to memory.
I heard a strange ringing sound echo throughout the camp, beginning suddenly and without warning.
Frowning, I looked around trying to identify it. “What is that?”
The Dakkari female said patiently, “Training begins. It sounds as if the Vorakkar is among them.” My confusion must have been evident because she smiled, though it seemed strained to me, and said, “Go around the voliki there, lirilla. You will see for yourself.”
Her mood had changed, though it was slight. An uncomfortable tension stretched in the empty space between us, becoming more palpable as the ringing sounds grew louder.
“When I have your shawl finished, I will come visit with you, lysi?” she told me.
Nodding, clutching her son’s gift in my hand, I said, “I would like that.”
She gave me one last smile and then disappeared quickly in the direction her son had gone. Then I turned where she gestured and slowly walked towards the sounds, my curiosity stoked like an ember.
It didn’t take me long to find the training grounds. They were quite hard to miss, in fact.
Inside a gated area, near the front of the encampment, were about a dozen horde warriors just beginning to spar one another. Close to the center, the demon king was among them, his golden sword ringing and hissing loudly as it connected with his opponent’s. For an incredulous moment, I thought that surely the blades weren’t real. The sparring looked much too real, brutal and rough. What happened if they accidentally injured one another?
Perhaps that is the point, I realized. How else would you become a better warrior if you did not know fear?
I didn’t dare to venture closer, instead deciding to stick close to the nearest tent, as I watched what unfolded before me.
Pure strength radiated from the warriors. It was in the graceful lines of their bodies, the strong, powerful arcs of their swords as they brought them clashing to
gether in teeth-chattering rings. But it was also in the rough edges—the punches, the shoves, the physicality of fighting that went beyond their talented swordsmanship.
So, this is the might and power of the Dakkari, I thought, wide-eyed. And it was as terrible as it was mesmerizing.
My eyes couldn’t stay away from the demon king for long. Naturally, my gaze sought him out, trying to ignore the knowing that went through me, remembering waking in the middle of the night only to find my cheek pressed to his shoulder and my fingertips over his bare, chiseled abdomen. I’d reared away from him the moment clarity had returned, but I’d been too shaken to fall back into a deep sleep. What was worse was I knew I’d edged over to him during the night, as if, in sleep, my body knew how lonely and desperate I was for simple touch, for the warmth of another.
I remembered that right then, looking at the demon king. He’d been so, so warm.
Watching, I saw him grab his opponent’s sword arm at the wrist, twisting his body forward before bringing his own blade up to the warrior’s neck. A single line of blood appeared, a warning, a reprimand for the warrior’s defeat, and then the horde king pushed him away, looking for another.
In his determined perusal, his eyes caught mine across the barrier of the training grounds, his chest heaving, earth coating his legs and the sides of his chest from a brief scuffle. Though other warriors, even horde members—females, males, and excited children alike—had gathered at the fence to watch, his eyes still found mine.
Like a coward—with my breath hitching and my heart jolting at whatever I saw in his eyes—I turned on my heel and fled.
Chapter Eleven
It was dark when I returned to my voliki. The biting wind made my jaw clench and in the distance, I heard the mrikro still in the pyroki enclosure, barking orders at the warriors I’d assigned to him. Though the hour was late, the pyroki master was driven to finish the last of the nesting dens before the first frost came.
When I reached the entrance of my tent, I inclined my head at the warrior standing guard.