The Dawn King (The Moon People, Book Five)

by Claudia King

  “Hold right there,” Thakayn said when he saw them. “Eral, what are you doing with these women?”

  Adel stopped half way through turning around. The priest's demanding words had shifted the atmosphere in an instant. Aside from Jarek, Thakayn was the high priest she had seen the least of since her arrival, but she had not forgotten the dark fury she had glimpsed in him on that first night. This man still remained a mystery to her, and she felt a chill go down her spine every time she saw him. Something about his fair beauty seemed wrong, and it unnerved her that she could make no sense of it. Perhaps it was because he knew what she was, and with that knowledge he held great power over her.

  “Nothing you need worry yourself with, High Priest,” Eral said. Even he sounded nervous in Thakayn's presence.

  Hard footsteps slammed against the boarded floor as Thakayn approached them and spun Netya around by the arm. A sudden intake of breath was the only noise she made as the high priest looked her up and down.

  “I heard your conversation, Eral,” he said. “What did the seeress say to change your mind? I've never known you to let go of a lover half way to your domicile.”

  “Oh, leave me be, Thakayn. I've had enough trouble for one night. Just send them to their beds.” The faintly pleading note in Eral's voice unsettled Adel.

  Thakayn cocked his head slightly, still staring down at Netya. “Did this concubine displease you somehow?” His eyes flicked in Adel's direction for the briefest moment. It was not Eral's response he wanted to hear, but hers. She said nothing.

  “Of course she didn't,” Eral blustered, his voice cracking as the confidence of the high priest fell away to reveal the young man beneath. “I was just sending her off for the evening. She's a newcomer, a friend to the seeress!”

  “Oh.” Thakayn's gaze slid, slow and serpentlike, toward Adel. “A friend in these lands. Is she like you?”

  Adel felt the fire in her blood freezing. Thakayn had wanted to get his hands on Moon People, and if he realised who Netya was then he might see another chance at taking what he desired. There was another side to this exchange that only Adel, Netya, and Thakayn were aware of, and its consequences could be dire.

  “I know what you are thinking, High Priest,” Adel replied evenly, struggling to maintain a placid expression. “She is one of yours, from the forests in the west.” The air prickled, as if the flames of the torches were slowly sucking the passageway dry of moisture. The warriors looked on impassively. One of them was resting a hand on his blade. Eral looked like he wished he could be anywhere else at that moment. The Dawn King valued him for his charisma, Adel realised, not his strength of will. His was a voice that might win over swathes of simpletons, but against a viper like Thakayn he was a quivering rabbit.

  “Is she one of ours?” Thakayn pondered. “Is she. Then I'm sure she has no special value to the Dawn King. Not like you.” Seizing Netya by the shoulder, he yanked her forward and threw her to the floor at his feet. Adel felt her wolf flare up within her, flushing her skin with heat as the urge to protect her kin shot to the forefront of her mind. The shoulder of Netya's gown ripped, exposing her bare back to the torchlight as she fell.

  “Give me your knife,” Thakayn said to one of his warriors. The man drew a short copper blade and pressed it into the high priest's hand. Once more he looked at Adel, studying her for any trace of a reaction. “You're certain she is not one of yours? I wouldn't want to damage anything so valuable.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response that would not come. “I've heard that taking a knife to a chieftain's daughter is often the quickest way of exposing who he truly is. The Dawn King likes to ignore the little cruelties that keep his lands in order, but I understand when such things are necessary.” He gave Adel another long look, letting her know that this was her last chance to intervene.

  “I don't know why—”

  Netya's whimper of pain interrupted Adel, striking her like a blow to the chest as Thakayn dug the point of his knife into the girl's back.

  —20—

  Authority

  Her eyes widening in anger, Adel lunged forward, keeping just enough sense in her head to resist the urgent pull of her wolf. One of the warriors seized her in a flash, dropping his torch as he encircled her body with both hands, pinning her arms against her sides. As hard as she struggled, she could not break free without the strength of her wolf. Thakayn looked up at her coldly, watching her struggle as he drew the tip of the knife down Netya's back. She was trembling in pain, rivulets of dark blood spilling from the gash to trickle down her side.

  “Stop, leave her be!” Adel screamed, gritting her teeth as her toes struck against the warrior's hardened leather leg guards.

  “That's enough, Thakayn.” Eral spoke in quavering tones. The colour had drained from his face. “Don't kill her.”

  “A few cuts aren't likely to kill this one. Friends of the seeress don't die easily.”

  “The Dawn King will hear of this,” Adel spat, desperate to say anything that might stay his hand. She felt a flush of shame, realising that she had played right into the high priest's hands. Now he knew that she cared for Netya, and who else would a den mother of the Moon People care for but one of her own? They had both become targets for Thakayn's predatory eye now. A catching intake of breath was the only sound Netya made, but her shaking body betrayed the pain she was in. The knife reached her hip, the thin red line behind it quickly blooming with an upwelling of blood. Thakayn withdrew the blade and wiped it off on Netya's shoulder.

  “Bring this concubine to my domicile and bind her,” he told the second guard, then to the other, “Hold the seeress until she calms down.”

  “Don't you dare harm her!” Adel cried.

  “I will do as I please.” Thakayn smiled at her. “Jarek may be your protector, but he has made no claim over this one yet.”

  “Then I will instead!” Eral's voice was loud and uneven, but it caught Thakayn's attention. “You cannot treat these women like this. There was no disobedience, nothing to be punished!” He spoke quickly, his mouth running faster than his thoughts. “I am taking these women to my domicile. I am taking them now. And—as is proper—you have no claim over another high priest's concubines. Send them with me, and,” he gestured shakily to the nearest guard, “fetch a healer.” The warriors hesitated. “If two high priests cannot agree then this must be taken before the Dawn King!” Eral yelled shrilly.

  The man holding Adel looked to Thakayn. “High Priest?”

  Thakayn's eyes narrowed. “Release her,” he replied after a moment's consideration. “The priest of the Daughter seems intent on causing trouble this evening.” He folded his arms, a look of forced satisfaction stilling his anger. Adel stumbled free of the guard's grasp and hurried to Netya's side, picking up the torn back of her gown to try and staunch the bleeding. Thakayn peered down at them as if studying a pair of pretty butterflies. “Though Eral raises a fair point. I think this should be brought to the Dawn King's attention. He would want to know that a servant of his dearest new guest has arrived.”

  There was something so very threatening about the way Thakayn's disposition shifted. Once again one of his fellow high priests had gotten in his way, undermining his authority and stirring his anger. Yet this was not a man who flew into a rage or slunk away in shame. The anger was there, but it was controlled, like a burning brand held at arm's length, a tool he could use to harm others and not himself. He was far more dangerous than any raging brute.

  Adel tried to ignore the immense feeling of unease stealing over her as she helped Netya up. The cut on the girl's back was an ugly one, not dangerously deep to Adel's eyes, but painful and in need of stitching. Eral shielded the pair of them with an outstretched arm as Netya limped across the boards, lighting the way down the steps with his lamp.

  One of the guardsmen followed them. “A healer you said, High Priest? Who should I fetch?”

  “Whoever is awake.” Eral's words were still hasty and fringed with panic. “And if
no one is awake then rouse someone.”

  “There is no need,” Adel said. “I will tend her. Bring me a healer's tools. A twine and needle for stitching, some herbs for the pain, water and cloth. Can you find those?”

  “Do as she says!” Eral cried when the warrior hesitated.

  Netya stumbled forward between the pair of them, arms wrapped around her chest to try and hold the split in her back together. “Why did he do that?” she whispered.

  “Yes, why?” Eral demanded, trying to muster a proud and commanding tone again as he addressed Adel. “Thakayn can be cruel, but this is not something he does. Not in the temple halls, where anyone can see!”

  “Perhaps he suspects something of me that you do not,” Adel replied, more for Netya's benefit than Eral's. She needed to explain who knew the truth and who didn't, who was friend and who was foe, but she could not speak plainly in the presence of the high priest.

  Eral lifted the light as they approached a heavy drape at the end of the passageway. He ran his tongue over his lips, anxious and pale. “Cursed spirits, I don't care what it was. I'm the priest of the Daughter, not a priest of schemes. Stay in my domicile for the night and tend her wound.”

  “Kiren will wonder where I am.”

  “Kiren!” The hope in Netya's voice warmed Adel, but Eral spoke over her.

  “Then I'll send someone to—oh, curse! Curse curse curse, she doesn't even speak the right tongue!” The high priest set down his lamp to wring his hands. “Well, she will have to wait till morning. What trouble can one girl cause?”

  “This one can cause more than you might think.” But Adel conceded that there was little she could do to inform Kiren of what had happened short of summoning Jarek to take a message to her. Yet if Thakayn was still out there wandering the temple...

  A chill gripped her as she imagined the priest of the Sister going to Kiren's domicile with his warriors and confronting her while she was alone. After seeing what Thakayn was capable of she wondered whether any of them were truly safe in this temple. They were under Atalyn's protection, but how far did that protection extend? They were no longer women of status surrounded by a pack of loyal followers. Now they were simply women. Even if Thakayn had no intention of harming Kiren, the girl would be unlikely to maintain Netya's composure if someone threatened her with a blade. Perhaps that was what the high priest wanted, to make them expose their feral nature openly, or perhaps just to torment them, believing that they were still under the effects of the herbs that stifled their ability to change shape. Now was not the time to puzzle out Thakayn's motivations, however.

  Adel took Netya into the domicile as Eral held the drapes aside, easing her down on her stomach atop a pile of soft deerskin cushions. Everything in Eral's chamber spoke of comfort and indulgence, from the wool drapery on the walls to the patterned mats covering every part of the stone floor. He had pitchers of water and a freshly stoked fire to heat them. The embers nestled within a miniature stone hearth built into one of the walls. As Adel set a bowl of water to warm she wondered briefly what might happen if the embers ever spilled from one of these hearths and caught the wood of the temple without anyone realising. The fiery horror that flashed through her mind was too terrible to dwell on.

  “High Priest,” she said as she started to clean Netya's wound. “Will you send a message to Jarek for me? I would like him to pick some of his trusted warriors and have them watch Kiren's domicile this night.”

  Eral had taken to pacing up and down the length of the chamber, breathing deeply and shaking his hands as if they had fallen asleep on him. “Yes, yes,” he murmured.

  “Thank you for what you did. I am sure few men would have been able to muster such courage.”

  “I am a high priest, the same as Thakayn!” Eral protested. “Any authority he holds, I share.”

  “Yet I can see some high priests are more willing to turn that authority to wicked ends than others.”

  Eral fell silent for a moment as Adel cleaned Netya's wound, then said, “I would leave this temple if I were you. I don't know who Thakayn thinks you are or why you seem to have made an enemy of him, but he has a cruel way of dealing with his foes. I'd rather not see that happen to Netya, nor you, Seeress.”

  “She is free to leave?” Netya asked. She had her eyes closed, forehead resting against her folded wrists, but the pain she was suffering seemed to be within her control.

  “Perhaps,” Adel replied, “but there is good reason for me to stay. We will speak of this later. High Priest, would you find Jarek?”

  “Yes.” Eral blinked a few times, apparently too relieved at having been given something to do to take offence at Adel's tone. “Stay here. I will make sure no harm comes to your companion.”

  Adel watched him depart, holding her tongue until the sound of his footsteps had finished receding down the passageway outside.

  “Why did you follow me here, you foolish girl?” Adel sighed, bending to kiss the top of Netya's head. “Hush, don't speak yet. First I must tell you what we can and cannot say in this place.” She lapsed into the tongue of the Moon People, speaking under her breath as she explained what had happened since their arrival in the Dawn King's lands. Part way through her explanation the guardsman arrived with the healing supplies, allowing Adel to begin stitching Netya's cut properly. She gave her former apprentice a piece of root to chew on, presumably some pain-numbing remedy of the Sun People, though she was unsure of how well it would work. Pain or no, Netya remained still and silent as Adel pierced her skin with a curved metal needle and threaded through the animal sinew stitching. They were so smooth, these tools of metal, and this needle was exceptionally sharp. She had to be careful not to bend it, but Adel had never before stitched a wound with a tool that made the task so easy. By the time she had sewn up half of Netya's cut her tale was done. She had not spoken of who Jarek was beyond mentioning his name, but Netya, sharp as always, recognised it.

  “Jarek was the name of your lost love,” she said.

  Adel paused between stitches as her hand suddenly trembled. A squeeze of her fingers steadied it, then she continued. “It was, long ago.”

  “This is the same Jarek, isn't it?”

  “Neither of us are the same people we were back then.”

  “But that means he is alive! You have found each other again.”

  Adel had to put a hand on Netya's shoulder to keep her from squirming. The cushions were already sticky with blood, and though her wound was not life threatening the scar it left would be ugly if she made it any worse. They would have to keep it hidden, Adel realised, focusing on the situation at hand rather than the thoughts of Jarek that threatened to distract her. A cut like this would arouse the suspicion of everyone in the temple if it healed within mere days. Yet if anyone was deserving of truthful answers when it came to Jarek, it was Netya.

  “This is not a romance from one of those songs Pera sings,” she said. “I let go of him, and him of me. We can no more be together now than we could have been when we were apart.” Saying it aloud hurt, but it strengthened Adel to voice a truth she had to accept. “These are his people now. He has his flock, and I have mine.”

  “Caspian once left his pack behind to be with me.”

  “That was his choice. You would not have asked him to make it.”

  A sombre silence filled the space between them, broken only by a faint intake of breath as Netya prepared herself for the next stitch. This was no time to speak of love. How could they, when so many more important things weighed upon them?

  “Now, before those herbs fog your head too much,” Adel said, “tell me how you came to be a high priest's concubine.”

  She listened intently as Netya recounted, in faltering steps, how she had been knocked into the river during the fight with Liliac and swept downstream. It surprised Adel to hear that Kale of all people had been the one to come to her rescue. She'd never thought much of the timid young Sun Wolf, but much like Kiren, it seemed, he had hidden depths of ten
acity. His knowledge of these lands had been invaluable in helping them reach the Dawn King's temple, and the chance meeting with Eral had been nothing short of miraculous. The spirits were guiding them, Adel realised, in their own elusive way. Perhaps Syr and Ner—if indeed those were the names the moon and sun went by—had some great design for their children, and Adel, Netya, Jarek, and Atalyn had found themselves at the heart of it. Adel tried to shake off the prideful thought. Believing oneself to be chosen by the spirits was a dangerous path to walk. She had stuck too rigidly to what she had believed was absolute wisdom in the past, and it had almost turned her into her father. Perhaps they were chosen by the spirits, or perhaps they were simply men and women swept together by chance, like leaves in a hurricane, struggling to find a place to settle.

  “Atalyn and Jarek must be told the truth about you,” Adel said at the end of Netya's tale, “and I fear Thakayn has guessed it himself thanks to me, but there is little we can do about that now. All anyone else must know is that I am a seer from far away, and you and Kiren are my acolytes.”

  “And you are determined to stay, even if the Dawn King says you can leave?”

  “We must make him our friend, Netya. That is the only way we will ever stop the Sun People from coming to our lands with spears in hand and hatred in their hearts.”

  “We could stay away from them, hide in the valleys, make sure they never find us.”

  “I believe we could. But what about our children's children, or their grandchildren, or another dozen generations beyond, what would they do? How would they live once the Sun People swallowed the world in fields and built houses atop every hill?”

  Netya pawed at the cushions anxiously, and Adel took her hand. She squeezed tight, but even that was not enough to still her shaking muscles. As strong as Netya was, her heart remained soft and tender. She could not freeze it in ice as Adel did. Perhaps that made her the stronger of the two of them, to allow herself to feel such anguish and yet keep on going.