Page 130 of The Horde King of Shadow

What I was still learning was that we would never fully understand the Elthika. Scholars in Elysom could write endless books on them, hefty tomes that rivaled the length of the ones on Dakkar’s entire history even. They could give their symposiums and lectures on one facet of their existence—their mating habits and customs, the circumstances of whether they chose a wild birth or whether they entrusted their eggs to a hatchery, their courtships, the dances of their flights—and still it was a widely accepted truth that they would always be a mystery.

They were not meant to be understood by us. Not fully. It was arrogant to believe that they could be. And I learned that every day with Lygath, especially during his ongoing training.

My Elthika narrowed his eyes at the small animal, who was now sniffing at his tail. I saw a puff of red smoke emerge from his snout—my stomach tightening at the sight—but it was only a sigh. Finally, he decided to ignore the shearling, turning his head away to admire the forest grove we’d tucked ourselves into.

I relaxed as the fog dissipated. I would never get used to the sight. Such power he had. Such destruction he could unleash. The responsibility of it was humbling.

As if to make a mockery of my thoughts, the shearling curled up next to Lygath’s deadly claws, no concern for its own safety, staring up at my Elthika as if content to study him, as I often did.

I chuckled, and Lygath cut me a sharp, impertinent look.

“You’ve made a friend,” I noted, grinning before looking down at my notebook, shaking my head in amusement.

The pages were filled with scribbled notes, unreadable to anyone except me. Sarkin had said so. He’d told me my penmanship was horrifying, though he’d said it with the telltale curl of his full lips, a sly but gentle look in his eyes as if charmed by the discovery.

Of course my writing was terrible when I was recording notes and stories from my interviews. I’d come up with a series of symbols and half-written words so I could take notes without interrupting my discussions with the villagers. Sarkin lamented over the messiness, though he could appreciate the efficiency.

We’d spent more than one evening in our bed of furs laughing over his ridiculous interpretations of what I’d written…which had ended with him using his tongue to trace my made-up symbols all over my body as I squirmed beneath him. He’d chuckled against my skin, asking me to guess what he’d drawn.

I cleared my throat, straightening against the tree I was perched against, trying to ignore the aching heat that had begun to burn in my belly at the memory.

Merciless male,I thought, biting back a smile. I was thoroughly addicted to my husband, and he would only smirk if I told him that out loud, as if it wasn’t obvious every single day.

For the next two moon cycles, I’d be focusing on the southern village of Lakir for my research. Where Sammenth and Ryena had grown up. The first time I’d stepped foot in Lakir, I’d known it was the right starting point. Dakkari blood ran strong there, stronger than in the other southern villages I’d visited, the portion of the country that was rumored to be where the lost hordes had landed on Karak soil centuries ago.

I feared that I was, roughly, three hundred years too late to make definitive progress on my research. Even the records in Dothik, which I’d checked when we’d last been there, didn’t have the names of the hordes that had disappeared during the thirdDothikkar’s reign. And yet there was unmistakable evidence thatthe hordes had come here. That they’d lived here, flourished here.

I was making it my duty and purpose to repair those frayed memories. As best as I was able to in conducting my interviews, asking mostly elderly villagers to recount stories of their childhood, their ancestors, tales passed down from generation to generations, recipes, clothing, heirlooms,anything.

In doing so, I hoped that I could help build a bridge between the Dakkari and the Karag. A bridge that was, truthfully, already forming after the Heartstone Accords, but one I wanted to reinforce and strengthen.

Lygath made a sound in the back of his throat, one I recognized.

“Zaridan?” I asked, shutting my notebook, though it bulged so much with loose notes and records that I had to tie it shut with a long leather cord.

He made another sound, guttural and short. An affirmative. My eyes went to the sky as Lygath stood, sending the brave shearling at his back limbs finally skittering away into the cool darkness of the forest surrounding us. We’d been here a couple hours already, the sun beginning to sink.

There in the sky, I saw the familiar shape of Lygath’s sister. When she spotted us, she let out a call, high pitched and trilling. Sarkin had sent her, to bring us home to the citadel.

I bit back a smile. He worried. Lakir wasn’t such a great distance from Sarroth, but even still, he still liked me back home by sundown. Especially tonight.

“We’re called home, it seems,” I said, approaching my Elthika, carefully tucking my notebook into my leather satchel.

Without my command, Lygath stretched out his wing, and I ascended.

The preparations for Akymor were well underway.

As Lygath flew us over Sarroth, I saw that lanterns had appeared since I’d departed this morning, lining all roads within the territory. With the lowering sun, they were being lit one by one. A beautiful warm glow illuminated the pathways, showcasing a great network of roads that led from the center of Sarroth, stretching out in all directions—across the farmlands, over the river, winding through the valleys, even ascending up into the mountains where I knew one small village was tucked away.

Akymor was a Karak-wide celebration that heralded the end of the mating season for the Elthika. Feasts and parties would be going well into the night. Sarkin had told me about it a few months prior, when he’d brought me gifts from Elysom. A dress had been one of those gifts, one I’d been saving to wear to the festivities tonight.

We were expected to make an appearance at all the villages throughout the course of the evening, asKarathandSorrinaof Sarroth. But the holiday would begin tonight at our citadel, where we were having dinner with Sarkin’skya’rassa, including Kyavor, who had flown from the Arsadia for the occasion.

When Lygath circled down onto the terrace of the citadel, Sarkin was waiting for me on the back steps. After I descended off the mount, I went to Lygath, pressing my fingertips just below his eyes.

“Sen endrassa,” I murmured to him. “Enjoy your night, my friend.”

Lygath tipped his snout into my touch. When I turned, I felt the power of his launch behind me. I tilted my face back, watching the two siblings come together in the sky overhead.

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