a new Vorakkar because only the strongest of males survived them.
The night before Kiran and the eligible males in our saruk were set to ride out, there was a large feast to celebrate and it was one of my happiest memories.
The music—the throbbing beats of the drums—was so stirring that night. As a piki to the Arakkari—the queen of the saruk, Kiran’s mother—my mother was at her side, talking and eating and laughing with her. My father was with his friends at one of the darukkar tables, wine flowing freely as boisterous stories passed between them.
My sister and I were dancing in our own little world amidst the other clan members. Kiran had come up to us at one point and snuck me a few sips of his wine, another secret between us, one of many. I’d felt a little sizzle of jealousy when he passed the goblet to Laru and I watched his eyes linger and his grin grow wider when she blushed.
I was used to it, however. My sister was the Dakkari beauty of the saruk, with her long, silky black hair, yellow eyes, and sun-honeyed skin. She was sixteen. She’d just come of age at the height of the silver moon. Next year, I would join her.
But then Kiran turned back to me, the only girl he’d given his name to, whose heart he owned, and pulled me into a dance, making me laugh until my cheeks hurt because of my smile.
I felt beautiful that night. Lomma, my mother, had made a dress for me that twirled around my legs as I moved. It was the color of the blossoms that sprouted in the meadow during summer, the palest of pinks. At fifteen, I was finally growing into my strange body. I would never be as tall as Dakkari females but my breasts were larger, my hips wider. While my hair would always be a wild, thick mess, Lomma had pinned it back away from my face, threading through a band of gold, decorated with gold-dipped leaves, to keep it secure.
I had hoped to catch Kiran’s eyes lingering on me but he didn’t look at me any differently. Still, he danced with me the most that night and that was enough.
That night, I felt beautiful and I had Kiran’s attention and I was happy. After years of not fitting in with the saruk, I was finally feeling like I belonged. Like this place was where I was meant to be. Like he was where I was meant to be.
At least, until later that night, long after the fires had been extinguished and most of the clan had stumbled to their beds, drunk off wine and food and laughter.
With my heart stuttering in my throat, I was looking for Kiran amongst the quietness of the saruk. The brave, excited part of me wanted to tell him my feelings before he left for Dothik. In my foolish little mind, I believed there was a possibility he returned them. I had imagined it over and over in my mind. Imagined it every single way.
I was practically vibrating with nerves and excitement when I went through the secret gate he’d shown me all those years ago, when I walked down the path I’d followed countless times before.
The moon was silver overhead and as I descended the hill to the cliff’s ledge, I saw him. Or at least, the darkened outline of him.
I smiled, hurrying down the path.
“There you are, I—”
My gasp was small, hardly audible, and I could physically feel the blood drain from my face.
Kiran pulled away from the female he had pressed to the cliff’s wall, his eyes bewildered when I got closer.
His brow furrowed, his lips parted when he saw me. His gaze seemed panicked, darting to me, then to the female. The female who turned her head towards me, horror in her expression.
Laru.
Kiran was kissing Laru in the secret place he’d shown me, in the place I’d fallen in love with him, in a place that only we knew about, or so he’d promised me.
My tongue was doing that tapping thing on the roof of my mouth and I couldn’t form words again. Panic seized me and then squeezed my lungs. I couldn’t speak.
“Maeva…vok,” I heard Kiran say, but I was already running back up the hill to the outpost. “Maeva!”
He managed to catch me just as I reached the hidden gate. Before I could cry out, he wrapped his arms around my waist to keep me