The Dawn King (The Moon People, Book Five)

by Claudia King

  Radeen-Na glared at her. He pointed firmly toward the floor and spoke a string of words, of which Kiren only understood her name, along with “stay” and “protect”.

  “I don't want a coward's protection,” Kiren retorted, growing ever-more frustrated by the language barrier between them. She looked past him at the doorway, then pointed outside. “Protect!” she echoed in the Sun People's tongue. “Adel, Netya. Protect! Honour. Coward!”

  His face colouring in anger, Radeen-Na stepped forward and slapped her. It was a sharp, stinging blow that made her head swim, but it did not have the effect the warrior had intended. With or without her wolf, Kiren felt her hackles rise with the born determination of a huntress. Snarling, she bared her teeth at Radeen-Na and shoved him in the chest as hard as she could.

  The high priest stumbled backward, a look of abject shock replacing the anger that had been on his face. They stared at one another, the atmosphere prickling between them. If he wanted to fight her, then Kiren was ready, even if she was going to lose. He seemed to sense her inner fire, and with a frown he stepped forward again, this time with his hands held up in a peaceful gesture.

  Kiren allowed the tension to loosen from her shoulders. She glared back at him, then thumped her fist against his chest stubbornly. “Honour,” she repeated, struggling to find the right words. “Man. Man... of honour.”

  Radeen-Na exhaled a frustrated breath and shook his head. Kiren struck his chest again, but he did not move.

  “How can I make you understand?” she said in the Moon People's tongue.

  Radeen-Na said something back. The meaning was lost on her, but his tone was one of bitter resignation. He was in two minds about what had happened, Kiren could tell. Despite being unable to talk properly, their time together had taught her that he was a determined and fierce warrior. Perhaps not much of a thinker like Adel or Jarek, but no fool either. He must have known that Thakayn was not a man worthy of his loyalty.

  Kiren clenched her teeth in frustration. If only she could talk with him! He was ready to be swayed, she knew it, but she didn't have the words with which to convince him. She didn't, but perhaps someone else did.

  “Jarek!” she said, grabbing Radeen-Na's arm and tugging him in the direction of the door. She pointed in the direction of Jarek's domicile. “Jarek, follow.” She pointed at the doorway again, then to her mouth, then his. “Jarek talk.”

  The high priest frowned, shaking his head in bemusement. “Stay,” he said, pointing to the floor again.

  “No. Jarek. Talk.”

  Radeen-Na repeated himself, and Kiren shoved him in the chest again. He let out a huff of frustration. She turned toward the doorway. The guard who had been watching her moved to block it. The man exchanged a few words back and forth with Radeen-Na. Kiren heard her name mentioned, and also Thakayn's. The guard seemed reluctant to move, but he was also afraid of disobeying his high priest. When the conversation dragged on, Kiren began to fear that Thakayn had told his men to keep her captive even if Radeen-Na wanted to let her go. Then Radeen-Na stepped forward, grabbed the man by the neck, and bellowed something into his face. The guard stumbled back into the hallway, bowed, and finally stood aside. With a satisfied grunt Radeen-Na stepped out into the hallway and motioned for Kiren to follow him.

  “Jarek,” he said. “Talk.”

  * * *

  Jarek touched his face with an unsteady hand, fingering the rising bruise on his cheekbone. When the warriors refused to listen to him he'd tried to force his way past them. That hadn't worked. The pair keeping him from leaving his domicile were from Mountain Sky's village, and Mountain Sky was loyal only to Thakayn now. The bitter realisation stole up on him that he would need his wolf if he wanted to stand any chance of helping Adel. That would mean forsaking everything he had here. He'd have to kill the very warriors who had loyally served and protected him for years, and he did not know whether he could do that. If he fled, he'd never be able to return. That wasn't something he could bear again. Yet he could not bear the thought of what Thakayn might be doing to Adel either.

  Perhaps he had no choice. Thakayn had all but denounced him already. One way or another, he doubted he would remain a high priest for very much longer. Yet the thought of fighting his way through the temple dismayed and frightened him. He was no warrior. Yet his wolf was powerful. It would take the guards by surprise. He'd not taken the herbs that kept it subdued for a few days, and he suspected he could call the beast if he wanted. The more he paced up and down his domicile, throat tight and heart pounding, the more it seemed like the only choice he had.

  The night had grown long already, and the men at his door were growing weary. One of them had propped the drapes open using his spear, and he was now leaning against the wall, rubbing his eyes intermittently as he stared into the fire. Jarek was far too anxious to feel tired. If he could just outlast the guards until they dozed, then perhaps he could slip away without having to hurt them.

  Yet Jarek's hope was not to be. A second pair of men arrived to relieve the warriors part way through the night, these ones alert and fresh-faced. He saw that one of them was Ryndel, the guard who usually watched the temple gates. He gave Jarek an apologetic smile before setting his features impassively.

  “Do you agree with all this foolishness, Ryndel?” Jarek asked him.

  “I must do as the Dawn King says. I swore the oath upon my own blood.”

  “That was an oath to Atalyn, not Thakayn.”

  “Nor was it an oath to you.” Ryndel's expression creased uncomfortably as he spoke. He was trying his best not to make eye contact with Jarek. “I'm sorry, High Priest, but we have been told to keep you from leaving.”

  “While Thakayn torments innocent women?”

  “I don't know anything of that.”

  Jarek approached Ryndel and put his hands on the man's shoulders. The other guard stepped forward and reached for the spear holding open the drapes, but he paused when Ryndel showed no sign of alarm.

  “You're a good man,” Jarek said. “Your oath was to Atalyn. If you think Thakayn deserves your loyalty, you should swear it again to him.” He looked over at the other warrior. “All of you should. Until then, why do as he says?”

  “He is the Dawn King.”

  Jarek let go of Ryndel and turned away in frustration. Everyone was confused and uncertain about what to do. Ever since Atalyn died the people had been looking for someone to take charge, and Thakayn had been that person.

  “Is it not a high priest's right to seek audience with the Dawn King?” he asked suddenly. “If Thakayn wants to keep me here then I will return as soon as I have seen him. The pair of you can escort me. I'll follow you as obediently as a child.” He could tell he was wearing down Ryndel's resolve. Regardless of his oaths, the man liked Jarek more than any of the other high priests.

  Before he could push any further a series of heavy footsteps announced themselves outside the domicile. The other warrior stepped outside, gave a respectful nod, then drew back to make way for Radeen-Na. The priest of the Brother strode into Jarek's domicile with all the grace of a storm cloud, pushing Ryndel aside and tugging Kiren after him by the wrist.

  “Can you understand what this woman says?” he demanded. “She keeps saying your name. You know some savage tongues, don't you?”

  “Tell him to stop whatever Thakayn is doing!” Kiren said, speaking over Radeen-Na in the Moon People's language. Jarek held up his hands, appealing for the pair of them to slow down. He was hesitant to translate and reveal his knowledge of Kiren's tongue, yet now might be the time to throw caution to the wind.

  “She wants you to make sure Adel and Netya are safe,” he explained.

  Radeen-Na pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I pledged my support to Thakayn.”

  “And look what he has done! You can't believe he took those women away just to share a meal with them.”

  “Even Thakayn wouldn't dare sully his honour like that.”

  “Then confront
him. Go there now, with me, and see to it that he is still worthy of your support.”

  Radeen-Na narrowed his eyes. “Hasham asked the same thing of me earlier. Did he tell you to say this?”

  “I don't care what Hasham has said. I listen to my own heart, as should you.”

  “I gave Thakayn my support. I'm not a man to go back on my word.”

  “Atalyn did not bring us all together so that we would blindly follow him,” Jarek insisted. “The decisions of the conclave were always more ours than they were his. The Dawn King's duty is to listen to his high priests. I won't ask you to betray Thakayn, but at least make him listen. Come with me. We can speak to him together.” Jarek did not believe for a moment that Thakayn would act on the concerns of his high priests, but perhaps he didn't need to. Even Radeen-Na's loyalty was not limitless. When he realised the mistake he'd made by supporting Thakayn, perhaps he would be willing to help Adel.

  Kiren gave the pair of them an imploring look. That seemed to settle Radeen-Na's mind.

  “Very well. We can speak with him. Perhaps that will be enough to calm Kiren down.”

  Jarek clenched his fists and nodded. It was a thin hope, but at least it was something. He could not stand to stay in his domicile any longer.

  “High Priest,” Ryndel began, but Radeen-Na silenced him with a pointed glare.

  “Come with us, Ryndel,” Jarek said. “It is your duty to watch me, after all.”

  Reluctantly, the two warriors made way for Kiren and the high priests. They walked out into the hall with Radeen-Na leading the way.

  Jarek had to stop himself from breaking into a sprint. The hall Thakayn had taken Adel to seemed desperately far away. So much of the night had already slipped by, and there was no telling what might have happened. He could only hope that Thakayn had been so preoccupied with organising tomorrow's ceremony that he had not yet gotten to Adel.

  —48—

  A Sister's Sacrifice

  Adel twisted to and fro in a panic as the flames raced up her hair, enveloping the back of her neck with a blanket of heat as they scorched her ear and seared her scalp. She would be scarred and mutilated. If her gown caught fire she might die. Yet just as she felt the flames spreading down her spine a bowlful of tepid water hit the back of her head, turning the hot bite of the fire into a scalding burn. She drew her knees up beneath her as her scream became a groan. The flames sizzled out, steam rising from her shoulders. Blistering pain spread up the side of her neck.

  Thakayn refilled the bowl from a large jar of water and threw it over Adel again. She'd only burned for a few moments, but the shock had left her breathless. The awful smell of burnt hair made her want to retch.

  “You have so much hair, Seeress,” Thakayn said, grabbing a handful of it and dragging her face close to the fire again. “Once it dries we can light more of it.”

  Adel said nothing. She swallowed the bile in her throat, trying to focus through the pain of her burnt skin and the pulsing throb of her cracked rib. Her breathing had become shrill and ragged. No matter what he did to her, she wouldn't give Thakayn the pleasure of breaking her will. Every moment of pain she endured was a moment Netya was spared from it. Reminding herself of that gave her the will to keep on fighting.

  “You are nothing,” she hissed. “And you will never have my magic.”

  Thakayn dragged her up by the hair and struck her across the face again. “If you do not give me what I want, I will do so much worse to you. I can have draughts made that will send your mind to a world of dark spirits forever. You won't even know who you are any more when you share all of your secrets with me.”

  She spat at him. He cursed and let go, dropping her to the floor. The impact jarred through Adel's ribs, drawing out another groan of pain. To her relief Thakayn turned away, pacing slowly toward the other end of the room. Was he finally starting to doubt that she could tell him what he wanted? Or could it be that he'd become disgusted by his own actions? That did not seem likely. He was too self-centred a soul, too caught up in the twisted pleasure of exercising his power over others, like a man who took pleasure in slowly pressing his foot down upon a small animal. But Adel was no small animal. She longed for the body of her wolf, digging deep within herself to try and drag the beast up from beneath the fog of the herbs. The strain was as much physical as it was mental, and she found herself twisting against her bonds until her wrists ached. She could barely feel the twine digging into her skin any more. It was just one more spot of pain amidst the stinging, throbbing, biting agony that wracked her head and chest.

  No matter how hard she tried, the wolf would not come. Her body jerked with the effort, and she stung her fingers as they dipped over the edge of the hearth into the fire. It was no use.

  Thakayn turned around and approached her again, sitting back down on his stool. “Your acolyte will be next,” he said. “If you tell me nothing I may as well begin with her.”

  Adel's body tensed with fear. “She knows even less than me.”

  Thakayn just gave her a sickly smile. When he began to rise Adel tried to pull herself upright, but the movement sent her fingers into the fire again and she puled away with a groan. Yet the pain reminded her of something. The old burn on her palm, the one she had gotten when she once thrust her hand into a fire to awaken herself from the spirit world, stung with the memory of that sacrifice. The fire was her only weapon against Thakayn. It was the only thing she could control, and it was close enough to burn her. If it could burn her, it could burn the twine around her wrists as well.

  “Wait,” she gasped, struggling to her knees. She twisted herself around so that her body was between Thakayn and the fire. Arching her hands back as far as she could, she tried to push her wrists outward so that her bonds would catch before the sleeves of her gown did. A flame licked against her skin, scorching her with pain so intense it made her shiver. She grit her teeth, trembling, willing her body not to recoil from the blaze. A gasp of breath escaped her lips, becoming a fractured laugh as she looked up at Thakayn. “There is only one way for you to have the Moon People's power,” she said.

  His eyes widening, Thakayn moved forward and squatted down in front of her. “Tell me.”

  Adel twisted her wrists, feeling the heat grow and grow. She'd begun to shake uncontrollably, the pain becoming so intense it was almost numbing, like ice that had been pressed against her skin for too long. She would have to pull away soon, but not before the bonds had burnt enough for her to snap them.

  “Let one of us bite you,” she stammered, her grin twisting into a rictus of pain. “Take our curse.”

  Thakayn was looking at her so intently that he did not seem to notice the new lick of flame leaping up from behind her back. “Is that truly the secret?”

  Adel wanted to scream, but the noise came out in a bark of hysterical laughter. Her skin was blistering, her flesh charring. “Yes, and it will kill you! You'll die—die or be blessed! And the spirits—will never—bless—you!” The instant her head began to swim from the pain Adel threw herself forward, wrenching her wrists apart as hard as she could. Part of the twine snapped, whipping off her hands in a flaming tangle. The sleeves of her gown were on fire, but there was nothing she could do about that now. Her shoulder rammed into Thakayn's face an instant before her hands came around to reach for his throat. But the former priest was no weakling. Roaring in anger, he toppled back and threw up his arms to push her off. Adel's hands tangled with his, her flaming sleeves making whipping, fluttering noises in the air, filling the space between them with smoke.

  Adel knew all caution had gone to the wind. Her bruised, broken body was in too much pain, and it would soon fail her. If the flames did not race up her arms and kill her, then Thakayn would. His fist struck her face, and she tasted blood. Somehow he had managed to get out from under her. Another blow struck Adel's ear, and she fell sideways into the damp puddle left on the floor. The sleeves of her gown sizzled as the flames died. She struggled to crawl upright, but her body f
elt slow and sluggish. Every part of her was stiff, either throbbing or burning, and her blistered palms stung awfully when she put them on the floor.

  She heard Thakayn curse. When she looked up she saw that the front of his tunic had caught alight, and he was batting at it in a panic to try and smother the flames. The fire was soon gone, but not before a strand of his long golden hair had ignited too. Thakayn's curse became a scream. He forgot Adel, wringing his hair like a wet rag before the flames could rush to his scalp. In desperation he grabbed the jar of water and threw it over his head, coughing and spluttering as he staggered sideways around the edge of the table. The stool had been knocked over in the commotion. Moving with a dead weight in her muscles, Adel crawled forward and picked up the stool by one of its legs. Another wave of dizziness struck her. Her vision dimmed, a spasm of shakes gripping her arms. Everything in her wanted to give in and collapse to the floor, but she refused. Her own wellbeing did not matter now. Even if it killed her, she had to keep Thakayn from getting to Netya. Her body was just a blunt tool, like the lump of wood she now held in her hand, and she would throw it against him until one of them broke.

  Thakayn wiped water from his eyes and recoiled in shock as he saw the bedraggled woman staggering to her feet in front of him. He fumbled beneath his tunic and drew a knife. Adel's movements felt painfully slow by comparison. She swung the stool at him, overbalancing with the motion as the blow failed to connect. Stumbling forward, she fell against the table, then picked herself back up. Thakayn could have stabbed her while she reeled, but something was stopping him. His face had paled with fear. With the knife held out at arm's length, he pressed his back against the wall and moved toward the doorway.

  “You demon,” he whispered, as if he believed that the willpower with which Adel kept dragging herself to her feet was something otherworldly.