The Dawn King (The Moon People, Book Five)

by Claudia King

  Adel's patience was wearing thin. Yet more waiting. More delays of a decision that would shape the future of an entire people. She was about to exit the hall when she stopped herself, coming to a halt outside the doorway that bore the symbol of the Sister. For all of these underhanded power plays, she had never confronted the one man who held the most importance in all of this.

  Forgoing the courtesy of announcing herself, she wrenched aside the drapes and strode into Thakayn's chamber. The high priest had been sitting behind his table, and he shot to his feet with a start, knocking over his stool. Fear flashed across his face, and his hand went to the bottom edge of his tunic. Before he could withdraw whatever he had concealed inside, Adel stopped in front of his table. Thakayn took a slow breath and relaxed.

  “How dare you enter my domicile unannounced. With or without Jarek's protection, I could have you whipped for this.”

  Adel had been ready with an answer for him, but what she saw on the table froze the words in her throat. It was the map Kiren had shown her back at the den. Following her gaze, Thakayn smiled, looking for all the world like a wildcat that had just stumbled upon an unsuspecting mouse.

  “Ah,” he said, “you've seen this before.”

  “Where did you find that?”

  “I think you know. Did you tell your warriors to follow you here? Or did they come all this way of their own accord?”

  Adel felt her heart beating faster. She'd known the danger the map represented the moment she saw it. In the hands of a man like Atalyn it might have been used for good, to avoid unnecessary bloodshed between the Moon People and the pilgrims, but Thakayn was not Atalyn. Now she had betrayed her fear to the high priest and given him something else he could use against her.

  “I know nothing of the people who came here,” she lied.

  “Of course,” Thakayn said drily, picking up his stool and sitting back down. He gestured for her to take the bench opposite. “I'll forgive your impertinence today, Seeress. It's past time the two of us talked.”

  Adel had entered the room ready for a fight, but now she felt like the victim in an exchange that was about to turn inexorably against her. She had to be cautious with Thakayn, the same way she might have treated a foe like Kiren's mother Octavia.

  “Why do you wish to be Dawn King?” she asked.

  He gave her a look of contempt, as if the answer was obvious. “As one leader to another, you should understand that. Why does any man seek power?”

  “If you will not answer then tell me what you mean to do if Eral and Radeen-Na give you their support. What are your plans for my people? What will you do with the pilgrims you send to our lands?”

  Thakayn interlaced his fingers, rubbing his lower lip along the bridge between them. He was enjoying himself immensely, and that unsettled Adel even more than the presence of the map.

  “You may have a large part to play in that, Seeress,” he said. He had his elbows on the edge of the table now, leaning forward in excitement. “Atalyn wanted to understand you. Jarek does too, doesn't he? Men like them find you fascinating, and I confess that I am no different.”

  “If you want to learn more about my people then I can tell you,” Adel offered. “I do not want us to be enemies.”

  “Tell me everything.” His smile disappeared, succumbing to a hungry, almost desperate twist of the high priest's lips. “I want your strength. Your beauty. Your health. I want to live another age with your vitality to keep me strong. Tell me the secret of the magic that allows you to take the shapes of beasts. Show me how I can heal a wound within a day, and I will be the friend you desire.”

  Adel's heart sank in the face of the man's desperate passion. What he sought were the myths and legends of the Moon People. Even if she told him the truth—that for all their strength and resilience, they aged and died no differently than Sun People—would it truly satisfy him? His only choice would be to take the foolhardy risk of becoming a sun wolf. Somehow she doubted that was the answer he wanted. He'd made a fantasy of the Moon People with which to stifle his own mortal fears, and it was not something that she could give him.

  “That is a magic that not even I understand,” she said. “I can offer you my people's friendship, our wisdom, our medicine, but I cannot give you our power.”

  “You're a liar!” he growled. “I've heard the tales of my kind coming back from the dead bearing your curse! A witch like you must understand these things. Tell me!”

  “Nothing I tell you will be what you want to hear.”

  He sneered at her. “You think it a blasphemy, is that it? I'm not a fool like my cousin. I know men are stronger than the spirits we worship. I don't care if they spurn me for embracing your magic.”

  “Speaking to you was a mistake,” Adel said. “I am sorry you want something I cannot give. You had your pilgrims bring me here for nothing.” She began to rise, but Thakayn slammed his fists upon the table.

  “Whether I am the Dawn King or not, I still have the power to send warriors to your lands! If you do not tell me, I shall find another seeress to bring here, and another, and another, until one of you gives me what I want!”

  This was what Adel had been afraid of. Thakayn understood all too well the significance of the map and how he could use it against her. Packs could be driven from their territory, the whole land thrown into chaos by the high priest's hand.

  “I promise you,” she said, trying to keep her tone even, “you will only be wasting more lives.”

  “I have lives to waste. Every day a new child is born longing for the glory of the pilgrimage.”

  “It is your duty to protect them!” Adel exclaimed. She could not believe his callousness. “How can you speak as if their lives are like the twigs you use to kindle your fire?”

  “I am the high priest of the Sister. Soon I shall be Dawn King. That is how.”

  Adel felt the hope draining out of her, giving way to furious indignation. Thakayn had turned his eyes inward, seeing only himself and his own status, oblivious to the people whose shoulders he stood upon. Leaders like him brought ruin upon their people. She glanced at the map, wondering whether she might snatch it away from him and cast it into the fire before he could stop her.

  Thakayn lowered his palms over the leather. For all of his self-interest, he could still read the intentions of others better than most.“My priests have already made twins of this map. The knowledge is ours now.”

  The wolf began to stir in Adel's chest. It had been years since she felt this helpless, struggling this futilely against a man who held such dreadful power over her. She remembered picking herself up off the floor as her father stood over her, his fists sticky with her blood, and for a moment Ulric's eyes seemed to stare out of Thakayn's face.

  He frowned at her, unsettled by what he saw, and his hand moved to the edge of his tunic again. “You want to kill me, don't you?” he said.

  She did. And she could. He didn't know that she'd stopped taking the herbs that kept her wolf asleep. Calling the beast had always been something she could do quicker than anyone else. Could she get her jaws around his throat before he called out to the guards? Even if they came, they'd be too late to stop her from killing him. She might lose her own life, but she would save both the Sun People and her own kin from Thakayn's evil. The urge enveloped her like a cloud of hot smoke as her wolf hovered just beneath the surface, yearning to burst out and end the high priest's life. The feeling reminded her of the night she'd fought Alpha Khelt up in the mountains, when her anger had taken over, when she'd been as eager to kill him as he'd been to kill her.

  Adel's knees trembled. She dropped to the bench suddenly, numbed by the shock of what she'd been about to do. Netya had almost been killed the night she fought Khelt.

  This was not her way. She'd struggled against such violence all her life. The realisation of where that fury had come from made her feel sick, disgusted at herself for what she'd almost done. It was her father's anger within her, the same thing she'd glimpsed wi
thin Thakayn—anger that sought to crush and kill and subjugate. Because she could. Because it was within her power to force her will upon the world and destroy those who opposed her.

  Thakayn was still frowning, his expression caught somewhere between indignity and fear. His hand clutched tight at the object within his tunic. Adel thought of Netya and Kiren and Jarek, and her nausea grew. She wanted to vomit. What would have happened to them if she'd torn out Thakayn's throat and been slain by the guards? What would have become of her pack? With or without Thakayn, the Sun People would still want vengeance for the loss of their leaders. They would still have the map, and they would have more reason than ever to see the Moon People as monsters.

  Adel was not a warrior. She was not a killer. She'd always sought a better way, and the realisation of how close she'd come to forgetting that made her hands tremble. The bench almost fell over behind her as she jerked to her feet, hurrying out of the high priest's chamber without a word. She ran down the passageway until her knees began to tremble again. There were tears in her eyes. She leaned up against the wall, taking deep, painful breaths to steady herself.

  What was she going to do? Thakayn had the map. He wanted something she could not give him. Atalyn was dead, and she had lost Eral's support. Jarek would never be with her.

  She wanted to run then, to take Netya and Kiren and leave this place. It was a cowardly thought, but the exchange with Thakayn had left her so shaken that she no longer felt like herself. She had always been a rock of determination, yet in that moment she felt like a child again, powerless and angry and afraid, and there was no one she could turn to. Netya and Kiren could not see her like this. She needed to be strong for them, but who would be strong for her? She was so tired. Everything that had happened since meeting Liliac on the riverbank felt like it was crashing down upon her all at once, a horrible wave that had been building momentum for so long it had become unstoppable.

  For the first time in many moons she felt hopeless. She no longer wanted to carry on trying. The cold fire in her heart had dimmed, taking with it all of her passion. Her mind knew that she needed to push on, that there was still hope, that if she could only change Eral's mind or confront Thakayn again she might still secure the peace she had been striving for. Yet her heart felt small and soft, and hope now lay at the top of a mountain that was growing taller and taller by the moment. Thakayn was more monstrous than she had imagined, his hold over her tighter than she'd believed, and he had almost pushed her to a terrible place that she might never have returned from.

  Someone said something next to her, but she did not hear them. Realising that she needed to calm herself, she did her best to blink the tears from her eyes and stop her hands from trembling. It was a weak effort. When she turned to see who was speaking she did not recognise them for a moment until a dark hand reached out to touch her cheek.

  “Adel?” Jarek said. “What's wrong?”

  Before she could stop herself, she fell into his arms.

  —39—

  Last Love

  Adel barely remembered him taking her back up the stairs to her domicile. She struggled every step of the way to take hold of herself, but it was hopeless. By the time she was sitting on her cot she felt exhausted. Jarek slid the wooden screen closed behind them, then came to sit down beside her. She gazed at his hands, wishing he would reach out and touch her, but he did not.

  “What happened?” His voice, soft and melodic, reminded her of crackling fires and singing and the freedom of being far from home.

  “I...” she began, but there was no strength in her heart to continue. She could not bear to think about Thakayn, or the Sun People, or the great and terrible futures that might await them. She no longer wanted to be Den Mother Adel. “Will you tell me a story?” she said softly. “Like the ones you used to tell by our pool?”

  “I don't think I remember any of those.”

  “Then a different one. Tell me a tale of the Sun People.”

  He was hesitant. She understood why. This was another kiss. Another intimate moment that could never be taken back.

  “They say,” Jarek began, “long ago, before the time of the temple village, this hill was the lair of a great spirit beast. He was called Khalu Kash, with eyes made of sky fire and skin knitted from the tusks of a thousand boar. A young shaman came to Khalu Kash one day, for he had heard that the beast's eyes could bring fire or rain upon anything they beheld. The girl he loved belonged to a village of greater status than his own, but their fields had been dry that year, and with Khalu Kash's blessing he sought to bring the rain that would make their crops grow and win him the girl's respect. The spirit agreed, but only if the shaman brought him a stone from the top of the tallest mountain. He set out on his journey, determined to do as the spirit had asked, and when he returned a year later with the stone Khalu Kash blessed the girl's village with rain. For a time the people sung the shaman's praise, and the village chieftain allowed him to sit with his love at feasts and walk with her in the summer. But soon she grew tired of his tales of the tallest mountain, and he feared she would lose interest in him. The shaman returned to Khalu Kash and asked him for a spear made from his hide, one that would make him the greatest hunter in all the land.”

  Adel found herself falling into the world of Jarek's tale, letting it block out the present just as he had blocked out everything outside their secret grove when they were young. She'd not listened to very many tales in her years as den mother, for they had always seemed like pointless distractions to her. But no one told a tale quite like Jarek. Whenever Khalu Kash entered the story he lowered his voice, evoking the feeling that the shaman was venturing deep into the spirit's echoey lair. His eyes widened in awe during tense moments. His lips smiled when the shaman reunited with his love. He spoke quickly, slowly, loud, or soft each time the story demanded it. The tale came alive through him, and gradually Adel felt her empathy for the courageous shaman pushing aside her misery.

  Jarek's tale was a long one, recounting the span of the hero's entire life as he tried time and again to win his love's undying affection by embarking upon great quests for Khalu Kash. When Jarek eventually squeezed her hand during one of the story's most tense moments, she did not think to pull away. She'd become lost in his expressions as they reflected each crest and dip of the tale, drawing her in until her hands stopped trembling and the nausea in her stomach settled.

  “When the shaman, now a grey old man, came back to Khalu Kash one last time, he raged at the spirit in anger. ʻWhy have none of your gifts worked?! Why have I given my life to you, only for my love to grow weary of your blessings every single time?ʼ

  “Khalu Kash looked down at the old man and answered calmly, ʻIf she was the one you loved, then why did you waste your life serving me?ʼ”

  Adel wanted the story to continue, but Jarek had a way of making it clear when one of his tales had come to an end. The closing words were intoned with an air of finality. The lines of his face relaxed their vivid expression, and he let go of Adel's hand. She did not want him to let go. If she pushed him away again the strain might break her. How could she contend with a man like Thakayn when her soul was screaming for something it could never have? Her hand reached for his again, taking comfort in its familiar warmth.

  “That story did not have a happy ending,” she said.

  “I don't think that's the point. It is meant to teach a lesson about something.” He smiled faintly. “I always told Atalyn it was not to trust spirits made of boar teeth.”

  Adel laughed. It was a gasping, tearful noise, no more than a single breath. “A man like you would rather live in a world made of stories.”

  “Not stories like that.” His expression became serious again. “What is it, Adel? What happened to you?”

  “I don't want to say.” She drew closer to him and put a hand upon his shoulder. They were so close she could feel his breath. “I'd rather live in a story too.” Accepting the terrible mistake she was making, she pressed her li
ps to his. Her heart beat faster as the warmth of his mouth settled against hers, bringing her back to the kiss on the temple watch, and so many other kisses before that. Soon there would come a day when she could never kiss him again, and it would be all the more unbearable for what she was doing now. Yet that day was in the future. The future did not exist yet. It was just her and Jarek, and for once in her life she did not want to care about what she was doing. It was selfish. It was foolish. It would make her miserable. And those were all problems for another time.

  At first he resisted, gripping her hand as if he meant to push her away, but she kissed him harder. The sharpness of his stubble pushed into her lower lip as she sucked, opening her mouth and pressing her tongue forward. Then he was no longer resisting. His arms encircled her body, palms cupping her shoulders as he leaned forward, drawing her deeper into the kiss. The relief of giving in to him brought tears to Adel's eyes, and before she could stop herself she had her arms around his neck, weeping with joy as she fell into her lover's embrace. She was back there with him in his little tent on the rise overlooking Alpha Neman's den, his mouth on her body, his arms around her back. Those two wonderful years. They had been the best of Adel's life.

  She let the twisting of his hips guide her back down upon the cot until he was lying on top of her. The feather-stuffed padding cupped her body like a gentle hand. When they had made love in their youth she had always been the one to straddle him, but she did not mind that it was the other way around now. A long-forgotten warmth, a tingle she had smothered and kept cold, rose within Adel's belly. They were going to make love again. Her and Jarek. It was no dream, though in that moment it almost felt like one. She smiled up at him, wiping her eyes as their lips parted for a breathless moment.

  “I do love you,” she said, slipping unconsciously into the tongue of the Moon People. “You've always been with me.”

  “Your spirit never left my side either.” He slipped off his sandals and pulled his tunic over his head, then put his hands beneath her gown. A shiver rippled Adel's skin from the back of her calves to the base of her spine. Jarek's fingers made the act of disrobing her a caress, lifting up her gown as he stroked the back of her knees, her thighs, then brought his fingers to the spot between her legs. She gasped, the warmth within her becoming a fire as he rubbed, pressed, and made her wet. His fingers slipped in deeper, reminding her of what it had felt like to have him inside her.