by Zoey Draven
But I wasn’t afraid. I glared up at him and rasped, “I agreed to be your whore, not your queen and certainly not your obedient little slave.”
“You said you would serve me,” he corrected, “and you will. However I want. I own you, kalles. And when the black moon comes, I will show you just how much. In three nights, you will truly be mine.”
Chapter Nine
Arokan didn’t return to the tent.
After the first night and next day after he’d ‘presented’ me to his horde, I hadn’t cared that he hadn’t return. I welcomed the space as I got my head sorted, as I came to terms with the fact that I’d let my temper get the best of me.
Though Arokan had been a cold bastard, he’d been right. I’d agreed to it all.
I remembered that just in time too, considering that I’d just begun to think that Arokan of Rath Kitala might not be so bad after all, that he wasn’t the cruel monster that the horde king rumors had made him out to be.
It didn’t matter that he’d given me his true name, that he’d stopped his advances because I was uncomfortable, that he’d wanted me to eat and not to go hungry.
I was still his pawn, his plaything. For a reason I hadn’t yet discovered, he’d chosen me to be his obedient little wife. He wanted me tamed, he wanted me quiet.
I could be neither.
I refused to be.
As I was granted the space I needed, it became more and more apparent to me that I couldn’t get out of my promise. Arokan wanted me as his queen, his wife…and I would be.
Whatever my role would be, whatever my duties would be still remained to be seen. However, I was still in control of my actions. I wasn’t going to be diminished by a horde king of Dakkar, I wasn’t going to be erased so that he could command the respect of his horde.
I would be his wife but I wouldn’t be his victim. I wouldn’t let him break me. That had never been part of the deal.
So on the second day of Arokan’s absence, I asked Mirari and Lavi to bring me hide, cloth, a needle, and cordage.
Mirari cast a long look at Lavi, like the other female understood what I said, after my request.
“I want to make my own clothes,” I said, looking at her, dressed in my sheer shift dress. “Since my other clothes seem to have been lost in the wash.”
Mirari didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed. “They had holes in them. I had no choice but to burn those rags.”
I took a deep, calming breath and gave her a small, hopefully charming, smile. Then again, I’d never been good at charming anyone, so it most likely fell flat. “Please. I don’t blame you for throwing them away, but I’d like to make other clothes that I’m more…myself in. I don’t feel comfortable in Dakkari outfits.”
“Why not?” Mirari asked, like it was a personal insult.
“If I bend over, all of the horde would see my backside,” I said, bluntly. “I don’t like feeling exposed.”
“The Vorakkar said you were not to have weapons,” Mirari said quietly.
My brow furrowed. If I wanted a weapon, I could have stolen one from Arokan’s belt during his baths, or when he slept at night. I’d had the opportunity before. It wouldn’t have been difficult.
“A needle is hardly a weapon,” I countered, “and I can’t stitch if I don’t have one.”
Mirari still didn’t look convinced. Lavi simply looked confused about the exchange and kept looking to Mirari for guidance.
“Please,” I said again. I licked my lips, clearing my throat as I said, “If I’m going to stay here, if I’m going to be part of this horde…I need to do it my way. And I know it seems silly, but something as simple as making my own clothes, as feeling comfortable walking through the camp will make a difference to me.”
Mirari watched me, as if trying to discern if I was telling the truth or not. Finally, she nodded. “Lysi, I will get them for you.”
She said something in Dakkari to Lavi, who seemed to protest, but then she left the tent, returning a short while later with the supplies I’d asked for, along with a few…embellishments. Like gold beads, clasps, and strips.
We set them out on the low table and I got to work under their dutiful watch.
After I’d taken my measurements, I started cutting the hide I would use to make pants. Mirari, despite her protestations, had brought me a small razor for the purpose, though her gaze was sharp on me as I made use of it and she took it away the moment I was done with it.
“I worked as a seamstress,” I said quietly, my eyes rapt on the cloth, “back in my village. As an assistant to one, actually.”
“Then why were your clothes in such disrepair?” Mirari asked, boldly.
I almost laughed. “Because I made clothes for others, not myself. Cordage was hard to come by. I didn’t want to waste it.”
“We have heard little of human settlements,” Mirari said softly, surprising me. “We know there are many spread across Dakkar, but we hear tales of their disrespect to Kakkari, of their uprisings and violence.”
I sobered. “My village was peaceful. We were poor, but we were peaceful.”
Mirari made a sound in the back of her throat. “We all saw the black smoke the day the Vorakkar brought you here.”
“That was an accident.”
“How is setting fire to Kakkari an accident?” Mirari asked. Her tone wasn’t angry. It sounded like she simply wanted to understand. I was learning that despite her insistence that she was there to serve me, that she was there as my piki, she spoke her mind. She wasn’t afraid to. I liked that about her.
“My brother set the fire,” I told her.
“Your brother? Yet the Vorakkar brought you in his stead?”
“I made a deal with him,” I said. That night seemed like so long ago. But it had only been a handful of days. “He spared my brother in return.”
“Why did your brother start the fire?” Mirari asked, watching me. “Burning our land, our Kakkari…it is the ultimate insult.”
“I know,” I whispered. “He knew too. But our village is on the verge of starving.”
Mirari blinked at the knowledge.
“He heard that burning the land for crops makes the soil healthier, makes the possibility for life greater. He was only trying to help our village, in his own foolish way.”
Mirari went quiet for a brief moment, watching me begin to stitch the hide after I threaded the needle.
Finally she said, “You said ‘our’ village. Not ‘their’ village.”
My needle stilled. “What?”
“Loyalty to the horde is a concept that is driven into all Dakkari, from a young age,” Mirari said softly.
“What are you saying?”
“That you hold onto your life, your past life when you should not.”
“It was my home,” I argued. “It was where I grew up, with my mother, with my brother.”
“You cannot be our true Morakkari if you choose them over the horde,” Mirari said. “You were not born Dakkari, but you are Dakkari now. You have a responsibility to us now, to our Vorakkar.”
“You’re asking me to change my allegiance to him?”
“Nik, to us all,” Mirari said softly. “To the horde.”
My lips parted as I argued, “It does not have to be ‘them’ versus ‘us.’” Mirari’s brow furrowed. “You have heard stories of humans? We have heard stories of Dakkari too, of terrible things. We cannot hunt, we cannot plant, we cannot forage. We cannot leave the area of our settlements though the land is dead. And if we do, we die. We all share this planet now. There does not have to be a division.”
“It is our Dothikkar who has ultimate power over these matters,” she finally said, after a long silence. “There will always be division because of it.”
My shoulders slumped and I returned my eyes to the clothes, similar in style to the pants I’d made for Kivan a couple seasons ago.
“The Vorakkar is still a male, however,” Mirari said next, quietly.
Som
ething in her tone made me look at her. “What do you mean?”
“Do you know of Drukkar?” Mirari asked.
I frowned. “No.”
“Drukkar is Kakkari’s counterpart. Her other half. Drukkar is our god and Kakkari is our goddess.”
I’d never heard of a male deity, only Kakkari.
“Kakkari is the earth—solid, nurturing. She gives us life. Drukkar is everything that supports her, a foundation for her to stand on. Rains, seasons, storms, heat. He can be violent and merciless at times, but she always opens for him, accepts him. Because of that, he loves her, he cares for her, and he punishes all that harm her.”
“I don’t understand,” I said softly, watching her carefully.
“Dakkari males are the same as Drukkar. They worship their female when she opens for him. They can be swayed.”
Realization hit me like a punch.
“You think…you think Aro—the Vorakkar,” I corrected quickly, “can be persuaded to help my village?”
“I am saying,” Mirari said carefully, “that if anyone can sway a male’s actions, it is their female.”
“How?” I asked softly. “I’m not…I’m not experienced in things like this. How do I ‘open’ for him?”
Poor Lavi had no idea what was being said, though she was obviously trying to follow the thread of conversation, watching our mouths, her brows furrowed in confusion.
Mirari’s lips curled and she asked Lavi something, who blinked, huffing out a small breath. Lavi replied in Dakkari and Mirari translated, “Lavi says satisfy his needs. Opening for your male is both literal and figurative.”
My cheeks flushed. “That’s a given.”
Mirari’s expression sobered a little as she said, “Support him. Males need comforting, no matter what they say. Every being needs comfort, needs warmth and affection. The Vorakkar…I do not envy his position. He works hard, he has sacrificed much, and he makes difficult decisions that most cannot fathom making. All horde kings do, to keep their horde safe and free.”
I swallowed, nodding slowly, my heart thrumming in my chest.
“Perhaps the Vorakkar needs your warmth most of all,” Mirari whispered quietly. “He has chosen you for a reason, when he has forsaken many.”
All I’d done was fight with him instead, I thought.
“There were other Dakkari females who wanted him?” I asked, pressing my lips together briefly.
Mirari nodded. “Lysi. Of course, especially in Dothik. Many vie for the attentions of a horde king, though in my opinion, it is distasteful.”
My eyes strayed over to the chests of treasures along the far wall of the tent. The shift I wore had come from them and I’d always assumed that he had his choice of females, probably had others who ‘served’ him, if he had a stock of clothes and trinkets for them.
“He has chosen you to be his queen,” Mirari said, “and you hold power because of that. Power over him.”
“Couldn’t you get into trouble for telling me that?” I teased softly.
Mirari’s laugh sounded beautiful. “Females always have power over their males. That is a truth.”
I thought of a couple back at my village. A middle-aged man and woman—Jerri and Lysette. Jerri was mean to his core. Everyone knew he beat Lysette behind closed doors, taking out his frustrations on her. But she never left. She always took it.
She had no power over him.
I sobered. Were the Dakkari any different? Was Arokan different? Would he beat me, hurt me if I refused to obey him?
Did it matter?
I wouldn’t be cowed, wouldn’t be threatened. If he beat me because of it, I would fight back. I never wanted to be like Lysette, never wanted to be powerless and frightened of the male I joined my life with.
I nodded to myself. Blowing out a breath, I resumed my work on my pants.
“I’ll try,” I said softly. I would do anything to help my brother, my village, though I could do without helping Jerri.
Could I truly sway Arokan’s thoughts and decisions?
I would find out.
“Where is he?” I asked next, after I began on the first stitching. “I haven’t seen him since he took me out among the horde.”
Mirari asked, “He did not tell you?”
Part of me had assumed he was with another one of his females, which was why he hadn’t shared his bed with me for the past two nights.
“No,” I said softly. “He didn’t.”
“A scout brought news of Ghertun. A group was seen camping towards the west, close to Dothik. The Vorakkar rode out with a part of the horde to eliminate them.”
What?
“Ghertun?” I asked, frowning, sitting up straighter.
Mirari cut me a look. “You do not know the Ghertun?”
“No,” I said. “Are they some sort of beast?”
“A race,” Mirari corrected. “A vile race who settled here centuries ago after a corrupt king allowed them in. They stay to the east, to the Dead Lands, but have been testing our borders of late.”
My mind raced. “How do we not know about these beings?”
“Because the hordes have kept you safe,” was what Mirari replied with.
My breath hitched. “How so?”
“I guarantee that if a Ghertun pack descended on your village, there would be nothing left. They rape females and burn settlements and kill young. It is their way. Then they consume the land, defile Kakkari, until there is nothing left. They move on to the next place. You would know their faces, know their war cries. The horde kings and our horde warriors keep us safe. They track down and kill any Ghertun outside of the Dead Lands to eliminate threats before they begin. However, sometimes they are too late.”
Heart racing, I blew out a breath. “And this is normal? How long has this been going on?”
“Since they settled here,” Mirari answered. “There used to be two hordes that patrolled our lands, that hunted game to send back to Dothik. Only two. Now there are many hordes. It is necessary.”
The needle fell from my grip and I ran my cold fingers over my lips, trying to absorb the information.
Arokan had been right. I knew nothing of the Dakkari, knew next to nothing about this planet, though it had been my only home.
Had they truly been keeping us safe, all these years? Perhaps inadvertently? If what Mirari was saying was true, if a Ghertun pack happened upon our village, we wouldn’t have been able to defend ourselves. Had the hordes been protecting us all along?
Mirari was studying me. Lavi spoke, asking her a question, probably wondering what was wrong with me.
“When do you think he will return?” I asked after a long moment of silence.
Mirari tilted her head. “I suspect before tomorrow night.”
“Why?”
“The black moon comes,” she said. “I do not think anything could keep him from you once it does. Even bloodthirsty Ghertun.”
Chapter Ten
Mirari had been right.
Arokan returned with his horde warriors the next afternoon to a camp in chaos.
At least that was what it seemed like to me, though Mirari told me that the camp was only preparing for the tassimara. The joining celebration, scheduled for later that night under the black moon.
All of them returned. Arokan and the ten horde warriors he’d taken with him. I was outside the tent when they came back, in my new pants and tunic top that I’d stayed up through the night to make with Mirari and Lavi. The two piki hadn’t complained once about the late hour, but I knew that they wouldn’t leave me alone with the blade or the needle either.
So they’d stayed.
And by the time they showed up at the tent the next morning, I was already dressed in my new outfit, with my hair braided down my back. I drank the bowl of broth they’d brought me, refusing the meat once more, and then we’d gone outside.
I felt more like myself than I’d had since I’d arrived to the Dakkari camp.
It was simply ironic
then that later that night, I would never be the same again. I knew what was coming. Arokan had told me himself. After that night, I would be his wife, his queen. He would own my body and my life would be tied to his from that night forward.
Husband.
The word seemed strange to describe him, but that was what he would become.
My mother had often told me to be strong. It was such a general saying, two words that had no meaning to me until I found myself in a situation where they made perfect sense.
I’d had to be strong when I’d found my mother, lying in a pool of her own blood. I’d had to be strong for Kivan, to protect him, working long hours to keep rations coming in. I’d had to be strong when I made a deal with a Dakkari horde king.
Be strong now, I thought as I watched Arokan and his horde warriors ride into camp. Behind me, I heard Lavi make a sound, a sound like relief, when the males guided their pyroki to the pen a short distance away. I watched Lavi approach one of the male warriors, watched her speak with him, watched her touch his hand.
The warrior was tall and broad and handsome, much like Arokan. And Lavi was obviously smitten.
As if of their own accord, my eyes found Arokan. Our gazes had connected once he’d ridden into camp, but he’d looked away to attend to his pyroki, to give orders to the male in charge of the beasts, and to address an older Dakkari male that approached him from a nearby tent.
I watched them speak and studied the horde king, whose flesh was streaked in black blood and dirt. Some of the other warriors looked worse. One had a particularly nasty gash on his thigh and a female came forward to attend him almost immediately, leading him away.
Other than that brief pause, however, the camp continued to prepare for that night, as if their males and their horde king returning all bloodied was a usual occurrence.
When Arokan broke away from the older male and began his approach, my heart stuttered in my chest, remembering how angry he’d been the last time we’d spoken.
“You should attend to your male, Missiki,” Mirari said quietly. “Remember. He is just like Drukkar.”
I nodded to her, though my eyes never left Arokan. Quietly, she slipped away, weaving towards the front of the camp where I was sure she could find something to occupy her time. It seemed like there was still much to prepare.
