The Dawn King (The Moon People, Book Five)

by Claudia King

  “There is something so very pure in your soul, Adel,” she said. “I know few may see it, but I always have.”

  “Save your compliments for someone else, Netya.” Despite her words Adel could not help but smile. She finished her final stitch and tied off the twine, then cleaned the wound once more and dressed it with a poultice. Netya would need new clothing, she realised, for the concubine's gown had been ruined by the blood. That could wait for the morning. Stroking the girl's hair, she made sure she was comfortable atop the cushions and put tea stewed from the pain-numbing roots within easy reach. After a while Netya managed to drift off into a fitful sleep, but Adel did not allow her own weariness to overcome her. She stayed awake until dawn, seated between Netya and the entrance to Eral's domicile, a knife she'd found among the high priest's belongings clutched in her hand.

  —21—

  Among Friends

  When Netya awoke the following morning it was with a foggy head and a digging pain in her back. The tightness of her wound and the pinch of the stitches made her keenly aware that sudden movements might open it up again, and that discomfort was almost worse than the pain. She tried not to think about the panic she'd felt when Thakayn threw her down and took the knife to her skin. For a brief instant she had been back in the clutches of Alpha Miral, entrapped by an absolute power that could hurt and despoil her in any way he pleased. It was a horrible fear, yet she had known she might face such trials when she made the decision to follow Adel into the lands of the Sun People. There was no turning back now.

  Shortly after dawn Eral returned to the domicile in the company of another man who could only have been Jarek. Dark and handsomely sculpted, the playful curve of his lips would have been immediately inviting had it not been overshadowed by a furrowed brow and sleepless red eyes.

  So this was the only man who had ever won Adel's heart. As striking as the contrast between them was, it made a strange kind of sense to Netya. A lover who matched Adel's sternness and severity would only have aggravated her. Someone too soft and compliant would have become a bore. Yet this Jarek had a subversive energy to him. When Adel's voice rose his smile grew, and he spoke to her in soft, relaxed tones until she calmed down. He had a disarming charm to him that came from a more genuine place than the kind of bluster Eral had used to try and entice Netya.

  The priest of the Daughter, by comparison, seemed distant and embarrassed by the previous night's events. He stood off to one side awkwardly, rarely making eye contact with Netya and interjecting only when Adel and Jarek broke their whispered conversation to ask him something.

  After a short discussion with the high priests Adel came to check on Netya again, then exited the domicile with Eral, promising that she would be back soon with fresh clothing. Jarek remained behind to watch over her.

  “In our lands there are people who speak of you as if you are a legend,” Netya said after a while. “An old phantom from the tales about Den Mother Adel.”

  Jarek looked up from his perch on the side of Eral's cot. “Don't tell me. Those tales will only make my head bigger than it already is.”

  “I met your brother once at our great gathering.”

  “Really,” Jarek said before she could continue any further, holding up his palms in a plea, “don't tell me. The tales from those lands aren't worth bringing here.”

  “Why not? Don't you ever wonder what you left behind?”

  Jarek chewed his lip, shaking his head slowly. After a pause he said, “Is my brother well? Do Alpha Neman's people still prosper?”

  “Yes. They are respected allies of the witches.”

  “That's all I need to know.” He flashed her a bright smile. “Can I bring you anything? Sliced fruit? Honeyed tea? How may a high priest serve this fair concubine today?”

  “Why don't you want to speak of your home?”

  Jarek's smile thinned, taking on a strained look. “And here I am thinking that a sun wolf would understand that better than anyone.”

  “How did you know that about me? Did Adel tell you?”

  “You speak like the people of the forest. Tell me, do you enjoy talking about where you came from?”

  Netya looked down at the cushions with a flush. Some reproachful comment had been lingering on her tongue, but now that Jarek pointed it out she realised he was no different than her. She'd done her best to forget her people too, for remembering them only brought pain. Part of her had been entertaining the fantasy that Jarek, upon being reminded of what he'd left behind, might run back home with Adel, and then they could live happily together in the valley for the rest of their days. She wanted so desperately for Adel to find that kind of happiness, but Jarek was his own person too. It would be wrong to try and make him feel guilty for the sake of chasing some naïve fantasy.

  “Your face tells me much,” Jarek said. “I'd have thought some of Adel's frost might have brushed off on you.”

  “No, not yet,” Netya sighed. “If there is one thing she always tells me it is that I am too soft.”

  “That is how you know she is fond of you. Compliments are hard for her, so you can count on that girl to mock the very things she finds endearing.”

  “You shouldn't let her hear you call her a girl. She is a fearsome den mother.”

  “Oh yes, more fearsome now than ever.” Jarek bared his teeth in a caricature of a growl, and Netya felt herself smiling. Where Thakayn had been frightening, this man made her feel at ease. Some of the tension left her stiff back, and she began to wonder whether there might be more good than wickedness in this temple after all.

  “Even if Adel thinks you've a soft soul in there,” Jarek gestured to her, “your body's as hard as any of the Moon People. I have something you can drink to slow down the healing. You'll have to be without your wolf for a time so that no one will notice your wound mending too quickly.”

  “Must I? It feels terrible. I don't dare stand up.”

  “Rest a little longer then, but not too long.” Jarek wagged a finger at her as he produced a pinch of herbs from his pouch and bent over to drop them into her tea. “Better to suffer a few aches than to have people guess the truth.” He lowered his voice, for once sounding deathly serious. “Thakayn knowing is already one man too many.”

  Netya shuddered. She did not want to think about Thakayn, but an unknown dread was worse than one she understood. She had to muster the courage to find out more about him. “Does he hurt concubines often?”

  Jarek looked away with a scowl. “Not in ways that leave him looking guilty. I've heard tales about him from the warriors, though. He made villages fearful of us when Atalyn used to send him out on his own. When a man of his beauty and status can have whatever his heart desires, he begins seeking out pleasure in things no man should.” Noticing Netya's fear, his tone softened. “But even Thakayn won't touch an honoured guest of the Dawn King. This temple is as good a cage for him as any. Atalyn knows how to keep Thakayn's claws blunted.”

  “I don't understand why any leader would want to keep a man like that close to him.”

  “Perhaps that is why people like us are not leaders, hm?”

  Netya frowned at him. “You are a high priest.”

  “So says the first acolyte of Den Mother Adel!”

  “Oh, don't be a fool. You know what I meant. You have more status than almost anyone here.” Yet his words made Netya understand that they were both merely guides for the men and women who ruled them. In the eyes of most of the Moon People Netya was a woman of immense status, both a sorceress and a mentor, second only to Adel herself, yet she still felt like a small village girl surrounded by fearsome giants. Perhaps in his own way Jarek felt the same.

  She waited until Adel and Eral returned with a new gown for her, ate some food, and then drank Jarek's herbs. By then she felt bold enough to try and stand, and though her back still felt like a split log being held together by a thread of bark, her full bladder was urging her to get up. To her relief she found she could walk without too much disc
omfort, though her back soon became stiff from the effort of holding it tense. She wondered how long it would take to heal. Perhaps Eral was right, and leaving this place might be her wisest choice right now, for if anything else happened she would not be able to defend herself. Yet Jarek had reassured her, and of the two of them she trusted him more.

  After she had rested a little longer Adel helped her out of the domicile, much to Eral's relief, and up the steps to the temple's next tier. They made their way back in the direction of the concubines' domicile, but before they reached it Adel lifted the drapes to one of the side rooms and ushered Netya inside. There sat Kiren, clad in red, the dirty blonde of her hair washed and oiled into waves of dark gold. Netya had to hold out a hand to stop her apprentice from reopening her wound with a violent embrace. They settled for a stiff, one-armed hug.

  “Why oh why did you dive after Adel like that?” Netya reprimanded her.

  “No one else was close enough.”

  Netya smiled. What a very huntress-like answer that was. Seeing Kiren and Adel safe and unharmed filled her with joy that even the events of the previous night could not dampen. For a wonderful moment she felt that her journey had all been worth it. Mother Syr had guided her back to her lost kin. She had succeeded in a task that at times had seemed hopeless.

  The sound of Adel stepping back suddenly into the passageway made her turn around. The drape fell closed behind her, leaving Netya and Kiren alone in the small domicile.

  “Stay back,” she heard Adel say.

  Thakayn's voice answered like a shivering breeze. “Be courteous, Seeress. We can't be upset about last night forever.” There was a shuffling of heavy footfalls and the knock of wood against the floor: the sound of a guardsman and his spear. “The Dawn King has summoned you and your companions. You will come with me now.”

  “Where is Jarek?” Adel replied.

  “Elsewhere.” The oily satisfaction in his tone made Netya's stomach squirm.

  “Netya needs time to rest and recover.”

  “No, she does not. If she can walk to your domicile she can walk to Atalyn's chamber.”

  “What are they saying?” Kiren whispered.

  Netya tried to translate a brief explanation in the Moon People's tongue, but she lost the thread of the ongoing conversation between Thakayn and Adel in the process. A few moments later Adel lifted the drape aside and gave them a grim look, then gestured for them to come out into the passageway. She made sure to keep herself between Netya and Thakayn, waiting until the high priest began walking before following after him. She maintained a generous distance between them, murmuring under her breath to Netya and Kiren as they walked.

  “Let me speak to the Dawn King. If he asks anything of you, answer plainly and without detail. I would suspect Thakayn has been twisting the tale of what he did last night to suit his own ends.”

  Netya nodded, unsure of what to expect as she limped back down the steps toward the central hall. Glancing out through the entranceway, she saw a line of people gathering in front of the temple, some of whom were occasionally allowed inside by a priest while others were turned away. A few of the men and women passing through the hall shot curious glances at them, but most seemed preoccupied with the temple's morning chores.

  Thakayn led them down a narrow passageway. His guardsman stood aside to let the women pass, then moved to block the passage behind them. Silence enveloped the group as the bustling sounds of the temple receded into the distance. They moved through a tunnel dug into the hill itself before emerging into another part of the structure somewhere behind the first tier of halls. Judging by the quiet, Netya suspected that there was a solid layer of earth between them and the temple proper. This was some private sanctuary of the Dawn King where he could meet guests without being overheard. The wood and stone of the domiciles, thick though it was, did not muffle sound as well as the hill itself.

  Netya had been expecting something lavish, perhaps an alpha's throne or a wall of trophies, but when Thakayn lifted the thin yellow drape at the end of the passageway she saw only a plain chamber beyond. There sat the Dawn King, grey and solemn, his palms resting upon the stone table in front of him. Netya drew away from Thakayn as she was forced to step by him, trying to conceal the limp in her step. He seemed to lean in slightly when she drew close, squeezing the air out of the space between them. The smell of his perfumed hair was cloying. From a distance the aroma might have been pleasant, but up close the bitterness of it almost made Netya gag. Thakayn smiled and let the drape fall down behind her, gesturing to the cushioned benches opposite the Dawn King. To Netya's dismay he did not leave, withdrawing instead to lurk in the corner of the chamber behind Atalyn's seat. When the Dawn King spoke it was in the tongue of the Sun People, though his deep voice carried it in a way that still sounded foreign to her ears.

  “Before anything else is said, please ease my worries. Is this Netya one of your people, as Thakayn claims?”

  Netya tensed, feeling the pull of her stitches. She hoped Adel had spent the night thinking of what to say. The den mother had a look of ragged intensity about her that suggested she had not slept.

  “She is,” Adel answered. “Netya is my daughter, in spirit if not blood, and last night your high priest took a knife to her.”

  “And yet already she can walk as if it never happened,” Thakayn interjected. Atalyn held up a hand to quiet him. Netya almost regretted her attempt to conceal her limp.

  The Dawn King peered at Adel from beneath his dark grey eyebrows. “I assure you, this will not happen again. Thakayn acted rashly, but he did so out of fear that one of your people was attempting to enter our temple in secret. Why did you not tell him the truth immediately? Why did she come here in the guise of a concubine?”

  “She was wounded by the shaman who came to our lands and swept away in the river. Rather than returning home, she chose to chase after us.”

  “How many accompanied her?” Thakayn asked.

  Instantly Netya replied, “None.”

  “So you found your way here all by yourself? I find that very curious. A woman alone, without food or shelter. You could have been some wildman's plaything by now.”

  “A woman alone, but a woman of the Moon People,” Adel said.

  Atalyn nodded, regarding Netya with great interest. “They are a resourceful people, Thakayn. Adel tells me they run with a wolf's speed and a man's stamina. I do not doubt that this one could have made her way here alone.”

  “Even a wolf could not have—” Thakayn began before Adel interrupted him.

  “We are not wolves. We are Moon People. Our claws are as sharp as a blade, our joints as nimble as those of a mountain cat, and yes, Netya could have torn out your throat the instant you took your knife to her.” Her words made Atalyn tense, his eyes flicking to the passageway where the guard had stayed behind, but the den mother continued without pause. “Yet she did not, because we are not your enemies.”

  “Has she taken the herbs?” Atalyn asked. Netya assured him that she had, and the elder relaxed again. He was bold indeed to meet them with no warriors present, but perhaps those herbs were the reason why. “I must confess,” he continued, “I would like to see one of your wolves in the flesh one day, but perhaps now is not the time. I have asked...” He trailed off, and Netya sensed that he had been about to mention Jarek before remembering that Thakayn was present. Thakayn seemed not to notice, however, so intent was he on studying the three women seated at the table.

  “Have you asked your high priest why he sent his shaman to capture me yet?” Adel said. “And why he tried to take Netya away last night after he learned who she was? Why does he take such a wicked interest in my people?”

  “Thakayn merely desires the same thing I do: to understand your kind. He has been more aggressive in this than I would wish, but he is loyal, and he understands that he has displeased me. My cousin may make mistakes, but he will not repeat them.”

  “High priest?” Kiren said, speaking in a broke
n approximation of the Sun People's tongue. Netya regretted not asking the Dawn King if she could translate for her, for she could hear the girl's frustration at being left out of the conversation. Before Netya could stop her Kiren pointed at Thakayn and added, “Old man?” It might have been meant as a question of language, but the annoyance in her voice carried the tone of an insult. Regardless of her intent, Thakayn took it poorly.

  “What did you say to me, beast?!” The high priest spat, stepping forward and slamming his hand upon the table. In an instant his beauty was gone, his face reddened, eyes bulging with anger. Gone too was the composure he had shown the night before. Something about Kiren addressing him in his native tongue had scratched a sensitive nerve.

  “Thakayn!” Atalyn said sharply, rising to his feet. “I have promised these women safety within my temple! Would you make a liar of the Dawn King?”

  Thakayn's fingers curled into a fist. He rapped his knuckles against the table hard enough to bruise them, then released a long breath and stepped back.

  “Please go and listen to the needs of the laypeople,” Atalyn said firmly. “I see you are in no fit mood to join me here today.”

  “You should not be left alone with them, Dawn King,” Thakayn replied through a clenched jaw.

  “They have taken the herbs. I trust the seeress.”

  Perhaps that was the Dawn King's weakness, Netya thought. He trusted too easily. Why else would he keep a man like Thakayn at his side? Even though she knew they had no intention of harming Atalyn, they had already lied to him at least once that day. Adel would never have left herself alone with three potential enemies.

  “Herbs,” Kiren said, continuing her interjection in the Sun People's tongue, then made an eating motion with her hand.

  “Yes,” Netya whispered, slipping back into the language of the Moon People. “Don't say any more, Kiren. I will ask to translate for you. You are only aggravating him.”