Throne of the Horde King, page 4
The words made her blink. “You cannot speak to me in this manner, Vorakkar. Not here.”
I grinned. “My apologies. I seem to have missed the lesson on how to speak with a cowardly priestess before I took to the Trials.”
That made her gasp. Or perhaps it was a gasp from behind her. Were the other kalliris within too?
“Who are you?” the Seta Kalliri demanded, narrowing her gaze on me when I finally made it to the top of the steps. Her eyes strayed to my sword, to the manner of my clothes. “You don’t look like a horde king. You look like a mercenary.”
“Must’ve missed that lesson too,” I said, quirking a brow. “How to look like a Vorakkar. How illuminating it must’ve been.”
I was dressed in the manner I’d always known. Thick, worn boots, the soles nearly flat from stomping around Dothik’s endless roads. Black hide trews. A black tunic that was stretched wide over my chest, though it was soft enough to not irritate the scars on my back that still seemed to itch.
My sword was at my hip. A line of daggers on my other. My hair was loose down my back, though it was not adorned with the beads and golden cuffs that Vorakkar usually wore.
I flashed my cuffs at her. The wide, hot gold that spanned my wrists. The claiming chains that the Dothikkar had placed on me once I completed the Trials, moments before I whispered into his ear that I was the son of Serok. Seeing the blood drain from his face was satisfying enough that I smiled whenever I looked at the cuffs.
“Would you like me to take off my tunic as well?” I asked, my hand lazily resting on the hilt of my sword. “Would you like to see my scars from the Dothikkar himself?”
That test of the Trials had been particularly grueling. I hadn’t minded the pain. It was the knowledge that he was marking me that ate at my soul.
The Seta Kalliri, for that was who I assumed she was, tilted her chin up. “What do you seek, Vorakkar?”
Good. The last thing I wanted was to undress in this blistering cold. My cock nearly shriveled at the thought.
“Aren’t you going to invite me inside?” I asked, giving her a smile. “I’ve been traveling through the night to reach you.”
“You know that no male is allowed to stay within the temple of Kakkari.”
“Oh, I’m not staying,” I assured her. My voice hardened to steel, “But we will speak. I will not leave until we do.”
The Seta Kalliri peered at me closely, her jaw set tight. If she clenched it even more, I wondered if the small bones would snap.
She didn’t voice her answer, but she stepped back from the door, turning to the side to let me pass.
When I stepped inside the temple, it was like passing into another world. The cold dropped away. Warmth rushed toward my skin, making my flesh tingle. Behind me, the heavy door boomed closed, and then I heard nothing at all.
We were not alone. As I suspected, a line of priestesses stood tall in the middle of the atrium. Four of the kalliris stood apart from the others, and I knew that they were a part of the Five. The head priestesses, though the Seta Kalliri—and the Laseta Kalliri in Dothik—reigned over them all.
Above me, I could see to the very top of the temple. A cathedral ceiling. The back walls leading up to it were riddled with windows, allowing the sunset’s golden light to flood in, and through them, I could see the wide expanse of the North Lands.
A beautiful, gilded place.
A beautiful, gilded cage.
For the priestesses of the North, when they took the vow of Kakkari, were kept away. Apart. It seemed like a lonely, excruciating existence to me. They could never have a family, children of their own. Sex was forbidden. To touch a priestess of Kakkari was to spit on the goddess herself.
Though the orala sa’kilan—the name of this temple—was considered the most sacred, as this was where the Seta Kalliri and her chosen priestesses resided, it was also the most isolated.
I was used to being around people all the time. Even before I was Vorakkar. There were very few moments I was alone. Yet here, the endless stretch of silence made my skin itch and my tail flick across the smooth marble floor.
Then came sound.
My head snapped to the right, to a hallway where I heard a swishing of cloth.
Another figure appeared, and I could feel the ripple of unease go through the kalliris.
Interesting, I thought, narrowing my gaze on the cloaked figure. There was a hood pulled up around her face. A tail peeked out from underneath the heavy cloak. It shielded her body, though she looked short for a Dakkari female. A child?
Nik, that couldn’t be right. Priestesses would be cast out from the temple if they lay with a male.
The cloaked figure came to a stop near a column of the atrium. A strange sensation trailed up my spine, like a lover’s caress, and it made the scars on my back throb.
Who is she? I wondered. And why does she shield herself?
When I turned to regard the Seta Kalliri, she was glaring at the figure, her expression thunderous. When she saw me watching, however, a mask slid into place—a mask of cold indifference and of dislike as she peered at me.
“Speak, Vorakkar of Rath Serok,” the Seta Kalliri commanded me. “The sooner you speak, the sooner you leave.”
I grinned, slow and languid.
I heard a small intake of air whistle from the cloaked figure.
“Thank you for the warmest of welcomes, Seta Kalliri.”
Chapter 6
It was him.
It was him.
In the flesh.
Warm and strong and arrogant and handsome and real.
Underneath my cloak, my heart was racing. So loud and fast that I wondered if all the Dakkari in the atrium could hear it. My skin buzzed to life. Heat spread low in my belly, an awareness that shocked me.
When the male—the Vorakkar of Rath Serok, as Kalloma had addressed him—peered toward me again, I ducked my head so the darkness of my hood would shroud me further. Yet my eyes never left him. They wouldn’t dare.
They feasted on him, as if starved.
I’d never seen a male before.
Not up close. Not this close.
All my life, I’d been kept away from any Dakkari males who entered the temple, usually darukkars from hordes bringing us supplies—meat, furs, and other comforts—from the wildlands or from Dothik.
From my tower, males had only been tiny little specks on the road.
But this male…this horde king…
I knew his face. I knew his body. I knew his voice, even.
That voice was as familiar to me as if I’d heard it all my life—and yet I hadn’t. Not once.
His hair was a waterfall of ink down his back, though no adornments threaded through the silky strands. Strong shoulders, almost as wide as the door of the atrium, led to thick, muscled arms. Underneath the black fur pelt, I spied the glint of Vorakkar cuffs, seamless and unmarred.
His tunic molded to his chest, intriguing divots and valleys of muscle catching my gaze. Strong, sculpted thighs were encased in tight trews. The glint of a dagger flashed in the light when he walked forward, shrugging off his fur pelt before slinging it over a marble banister that led to the second level of the temple.
Kalloma’s lips turned down when they narrowed on his furs, but she said nothing. Though she was the High Priestess of Kakkari, she had to yield to a Vorakkar. Only the horde kings and the Dothikkar himself held more power than Kalloma did.
Judging by the knowing expression on his face, the Vorakkar of Rath Serok knew that as well.
It was a face I could sketch from memory alone. Gold and red swirled together in his eyes, a color unlike any I’d ever seen before. The tip of his right ear was pointed, like all Dakkari’s, but the tip of his left ear was cut off. Flat and blunt, like a blade had sliced cleanly through it.
He was achingly, unfairly handsome, I thought. He had the regal look of Drukkar, and his high cheekbones looked as solid as the golden statue’s. His face was unmarked by scars—except for a single line down his bottom lip. It made him appear like he was always smirking, a haughty, arrogant, knowing expression on his face.
I want to look at him forever, I thought, an ache building in my chest at the realization.
If I showed myself to him, would he recognize me too?
All too soon, he would leave. With a sinking feeling in my chest, I knew that with certainty. Just as I knew I wanted to speak with him. I wanted to understand why I’d seen him in the cracks and folds of my gift.
And I wanted to tell him about the heartstones. The Vorakkar had a right to know all possibilities in battling the fog. It was not for the priestesses to keep to themselves. Because by the time they were as certain as I was, it might be too late.
Kalloma would never allow me to get close to him, however. Not willingly, despite what she’d told me in her library the evening prior.
“Speak, Vorakkar,” Kalloma ordered again, though her tone was infinitely patient. Though I knew she must be fuming inside. “Soon we will need to gather in the sanctum for the evening prayers.”
The horde king of Rath Serok’s eyes sharpened like a blade. Gone was the charming, though taunting, smile.
“Fifteen,” he murmured, his boots thudding heavily over the marble floor as he walked farther into the atrium.
Craning his neck back, he stood in the very center and looked up toward the ceiling. A statue of Kakkari—one of my favorites because she was standing in the sea, in Drukkar’s Sea, with waves lapping up her legs—was to his right. When he was finished inspecting the soaring archways, his gaze came speculatively to the statue of the goddess.
He ran his hand over Kakkari’s hip, making the line of kalliris stiffen as he circled it. There was a slow, predatory grace to his movements, like he was calculating his every step.
And I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Not for a single moment. When my vision began to sway, I realized I’d been holding my breath, and I let it out in a whoosh, which drew his attention to me again.
Those eyes were so intense and rapt that for a moment, I felt bared before him. Stripped of my cloak and offered up to his eyes. Only for him.
For a moment, I thought he could see me.
Then his gaze snapped back to Kalloma, and I nearly snagged against the column.
“Am I supposed to know what that means?” the Seta Kalliri asked.
“You should, considering that’s how many thespers the hordes have sent to you in the last few seasons.”
That many? I thought, my lips parting in disbelief.
“And would you like to tell me how many you answered?” he asked, lifting his hand from Kakkari to regard the High Priestess. “Would you like to explain to me why the Seta Kalliri—the High Priestess of the orala sa’kilan—could not be bothered to scribble out a few words on a single scrap of parchment in all that time? Or would you like to lie and say you never received a single message?”
“The messages were received,” Kalloma said, her voice hardening. “But I do not appreciate your tone, especially in this temple, in front of my kalliris.”
“And we did not appreciate being left in the dark as the fog spread over the planet,” the Vorakkar growled out, making me jump. “You get the privilege of being locked away in your sacred temple. You get food delivered to you from the hordes, from Dothik. Furs. Trinkets. Fuel. All to make your lives comfortable. All to make this grand place even grander. But do you know what the hordes have battled these last months? The game has left the East Lands, pushing more dangerous beasts into territories they have never before occupied. Outposts have been attacked by ungira, by polkunu. Lives have been lost. The Dead Mountain is destroyed, an entire race of Ghertun with it. The Setava Terun is dead and a coven of sarkias with her, who all sacrificed humans and Dakkari alike to try to gain power over the land. All the while, the fog grows. With every passing day. It kills anything in its path, and it is merciless.”
The silence was heavy in the atrium. The Vorakkar came to a stop in front of Kalloma. He towered over her, and she was forced to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
“You come to blame me for it?” she asked quietly.
“I come to ask why,” he said. “I’m not an idealistic fool, Seta Kalliri. I know you cannot simply wave your hand and make it all go away. But throughout our history, the priestesses of Kakkari have always fought for Dakkar. The priestesses of Kakkari did not serve one but all. If you did not know how to banish the fog, a simple message to tell us so was all that was needed. Instead, we have wasted time. Time we do not have.”
I knew Kalloma best. I knew her enough to know that the Vorakkar of Rath Serok…surprised her. She couldn’t read him. She couldn’t figure him out.
And neither could I.
She was looking at him much like how she looked at me sometimes…like I was an ancient tome spread out on her desk that needed to be translated and pieced back together.
“We do not know how to stop the fog, Vorakkar,” came Kalloma’s voice. Rath Serok’s face didn’t change. He’d already known that, I realized. “But I assure you, we have worked tirelessly in the archives and in prayer to seek the answers you want.”
“Then why not tell us so?” he growled, his frustration evident.
It was then I realized why. Why Kalloma had kept the messages from me, why she’d kept me in the dark. Why she hadn’t responded to the hordes’ pleas for help.
Because of…me, I thought, my hand coming up to my mouth in muted disbelief.
Because she’d been trying to find a solution to the fog that didn’t include me.
She knows, I thought, my tail flicking as anger began to burn in my belly. She knows how to stop the fog.
Kalloma just didn’t like the solution that she’d found, the solution that Kakkari had given her. And there was only one reason why that would be.
Me.
It was the only thing that made sense. It was the only thing that accounted for her strange words yesterday, for all the lingering expressions of fear and resignation I’d spied on her features these last few months. As if she knew time was running out.
Once, Kalloma had told me that she’d never thought she could love someone more than she loved Kakkari. But then she’d found that love in me. For me. Her daughter, though she’d never been allowed to have one.
To protect me, she’d turned her back on her duty. To protect me, she’d turned her back on Dakkar.
And if anyone ever found out, she’d be stripped of her title. Banished from the temple, from her life’s work and her life’s purpose.
Now there was a Vorakkar at her door, asking all the right questions that could lead to that discovery. I couldn’t allow that to happen.
So give him what he seeks, I thought.
An answer.
“I know how to stop the fog.”
The words slipped from my lips before I thought better of it.
A shuddered breath came from Kalloma, and I sensed the line of kalliris shift with my voice. Avala darted a worried look at me, biting her lip, but I paid her no mind.
The Vorakkar of Rath Serok’s gaze zeroed in on me once again. He looked past the Seta Kalliri and then he stepped around her, as if she were forgotten.
“Tell me, kalles,” the horde king commanded, those boots pounding across the marble as he approached. As he approached me. But at least his attention was off Kalloma. “Tell me what you know.”
With a nervous inhale but with determined hands, I reached up and pushed my hood back from my face. It fell heavy around my shoulders as I revealed myself to him.
“Nik,” the Niva Kalliri bit out.
“Beyla,” Kalloma’s stern voice exclaimed. “Take her to her tower. Now.”
At the sight of my face, the Vorakkar of Rath Serok stopped.
He went deathly still, that gaze widening before it narrowed.
“Who are you?” he rasped, those eyes speculative as they ran over my face before trailing over my cloak-covered body, as if that would give him answers. “I— You are…”
The quick-tongued Vorakkar at a loss for words?
I ignored his question. My heart felt like it was pounding in my throat. I didn’t think I’d ever been so nervous—or excited—in my entire life. My limbs felt weightless with it.
“The heartstones,” I said. “The five of them.”
“Beyla!” the Niva Kalliri ordered.
The temple’s keeper came out of nowhere, snagging my wrist, not daring to meet the horde king’s eyes as she began to drag me away.
Looking over my shoulder at him, I said, “The Rivalla Lo’Kilan. You must use them all.”
That golden-red gaze felt like a brand on my very soul, and I held his eyes until I could see them no more.
Chapter 7
“It seems you have been withholding much more from Dakkar than your help, Seta Kalliri.”
My eyes were glued to the place down the darkened hallway where the female had disappeared.
A female that had stunned me.
A female that had made my tongue twist itself in knots, which was only now loosening.
Who is she? I thought. And what did she mean about the five heartstones?
Swallowing hard, shaking off the heaviness in my limbs that had overcome me, I turned to face the High Priestess.
The look on her face could only be described as fear, though she tried to mask it hurriedly. I could almost respect her for it too.
“What is a half-Dakkari, half-vekkiri female doing among the priestesses of the orala sa’kilan?” I asked, studying her features.
Because there was no questioning that that was what she was. A hybrid female.
And grown. She would have had to have been born shortly after the vekkiri first settled on Dakkar. Nearly thirty years ago.
And here we had thought the first hybrid child was that of the Vorakkar of Rath Kitala and his human Morakkari.
“She is Dakkari,” the Seta Kalliri said, tilting her chin up. “She always has been.”
Did she take me for a fool?
