mount a pyroki. I’ve been riding since I was a child.”
“Of course, I didn’t think—”
“And I prefer to run anyways,” I said, rolling off my sudden irritation like it had never been, taking a deep breath in through my nostrils. Since Kiran had left, since my mother had died, I’d learned to dampen everything. Dampen the pain, the anger, the fear, so it didn’t control me. “You can follow me if you’d like.”
With that, I secured my satchel and began to run across the land, passing over the bloodied spot where the injured warrior had lain. I should hurry, I thought. The mokkira might need my assistance.
Though not likely, I thought. I’d been avoiding going to his soliki all morning. I couldn’t any longer.
Shortly after I began to run, I felt the ground vibrate gently behind me. The pujerak was following me and he followed closely all the way to the saruk.
Once we reached the gates, I slipped through, nodding at the two guards posted on duty.
“You should not venture out to the plains, kalles,” said Urelli, one of the older guards and a close friend of my father. “There was an attack and—”
I squeezed Urelli’s arm, giving him a small smile. He would worry—and probably tell my father—if I told him I’d seen the attack. “I’ll stay within the walls today. I promise.”
Good thing I’d washed away the blood already.
Urelli relaxed and then he straightened when he saw Kiran’s pujerak. Urelli inclined his head but I was already striding past, heading towards the mokkira’s soliki. The outpost, I noticed, was chaotic. The mrikro and his apprentices were trying to gather Kiran’s and the other darukkars’ pyrokis, trying to lead them to the enclosure to be fed and watered. The saruk’s center, which was where most of our feasts and gatherings took place, was bustling with Dakkari.
Excitement filled the air. Most were smiling. Some were whispering together. Their prince-turned-horde-king had returned.
I also noticed that some looks were being tossed my way and I felt the creeping feeling of shame and embarrassment. Kiran, after all, had rejected me, quite publicly, at his celebration feast. Most in the outpost knew that I’d loved him for many years, had followed him around like a love-sick fool. Most had seen my heartbreak after he left, had been witness to the aftermath.
I lifted my chin. The sooner Kiran left, the better. Life would return to normal, my shame would be forgotten once again. Everything would be fine.
Kiran was nowhere to be seen, though his darukkars were being tended to by females, who brought out heaping platters of food for them to pick at. A few darukkars inclined their heads at me in recognition as I passed.
Heading up one of the alleys that stemmed away from the saruk’s center, I ventured between the kitchens and the bathhouse, passing by one of the lesser-used water wells and up a short incline until I reached the back entrance of the soliki I spent most of my time at.
I went through the heavy door, the darkness of the potion room greeting me. It had to be dark in here because excess light sometimes changed the potions’ quality. Something was bubbling on the fire basin. A pot of bubbling kioni, I knew, just from smell alone. I could also tell it’d been boiling through the night. It had taken on a familiar sweetness.
Dumping my satchel on the workbench and shrugging out of my bloodied pelt that needed a scrubbing, I donned my smock, tying it around the back, and slipped into the main room of the mokkira’s soliki.
It was quiet as I stepped up to the hard slab the wounded darukkar was lying on. Unlike in the potion room, the main room was bright, lit from a wide venting hole at the top of the stone building and a plethora of oil lanterns filling the space.
“Maeva,” the mokkira said, not looking up from the darukkar’s arm. He’d already untied the runiri and unpacked the wound. Thankfully, the darukkar was passed out. The mokkira must’ve given him one of his tonics. “I am told this is your handiwork.”
Pressing my lips together, my eyes caught on Kiran. I’d sensed he was in the room the moment I’d stepped inside. He’d always had a way of making a room seem…smaller.
The Vorakkar was standing with his arms crossed, the side of his pelt bloodied from assisting his darukkar. His eyes had fastened on me the moment I stepped inside.
Lingering at the mokkira’s side was