Madness of the Horde King - Zoey Draven Page 0,111
of Vorakkars. Very few of us actually liked one another. All of us were too busy pissing over our respective territories for the season. All of us were so accustomed to being in charge of our own hordes, to leading in our own ways, that it was a wonder there hadn’t been more bloody battles between us all over the years.
“And what would your intended queen say about that?” Hedna asked, hitching a brow, smirking.
I stiffened, though the thought sent a strange, foreign thrill through me. Something that felt strangely like anticipation.
Vienne would frown at me if she knew I’d made the Vorakkar sleep outside my horde, especially Rath Kitala, who had come to her aid in Dothik. She wouldn’t have to say a word to show her disapproval. I would feel it, just as I would feel her soft heart, whereas mine was made of unyielding Dakkari steel.
I growled. “Prepare five volikis for the Vorakkar and the darukkars who travel with him but no more.”
My heart felt warm again and I scratched at my chest, not sure I liked the feeling, though I knew Vienne had given it to me. She’d placed it there like a gift but sometimes it felt more like a curse. It felt like my heart had been locked away and only she would be able to access it.
“They will not be here long anyways,” I found myself needing to add.
Hedna held his hands up, though his smirk never left. “I did not say a word, Vorakkar.”
I growled again, already turning towards the entrance, intent on finding my kalles. I thought she must be walking around the horde. She’d liked to do that with Lokkaru. I’d seen them multiple times together in the past week.
Just thinking about Lokkaru and my leikavi sent a pang shooting through my chest. I thumped it with my fist to make it disappear faster.
“Should I send a reply?” Hedna asked before I left. “Or will you?”
I paused, knowing I should. “Vok,” I murmured under my breath, my hand already reaching behind me for my dagger so I could cut a strip of parchment to return with the thesper.
When my hand grasped at air, where I knew with certainty that one of my daggers should be, I froze.
Nik, impossible. I would not have misplaced it. Every day, I wore them. Every night, I carefully ensured they were sheathed when I removed them. They’d been a gift from my sister, after all. I remembered her giving them to me. She thought they would make me feel better after our horde had fallen, after we’d been forced to return to Dothik. Her eyes had been sad but hopeful as she’d watched me unsheath them.
I’d hated them on sight because they reminded me that we were not in the wild lands any longer. I’d remembered that she’d wanted to return to Dothik, that she was happy to be in the capital city, among the bustling and excitement and luxuries.
A part of me had hated her when she’d given them to me, had hated the hope in her eyes because she’d wanted me to like them, she’d wanted me to like Dothik, our new life.
I’d hated the daggers then. Now, they were what I cherished most.
I would not have been careless with them.
My mind stumbled on another possibility and my heart stopped with cold, cold dread.
“What is it?” Hedna asked.
“You have not seen her at all this morning?” I asked carefully. Something was wrong. I could feel it.
“Nik,” he replied instantly. My pujerak straightened, hearing something in my tone that only he would recognize. “What is wrong, Drokka? Where is she?”
But I was already storming from the voliki, tossing the flaps back with a violent shove.
“Look for her!” I commanded my pujerak, gesturing at him to take the south side of the encampment while I headed north.
Nik, she is here. She has to be, I told myself, even as I raced through my horde, my eyes scanning every inch of it that was visible.
Every moment I didn’t see her, didn’t sense her, I grew more and more panicked. Rage and fear were beginning to blacken my mind, those familiar emotions that had protected it from fracturing all these years.
My eyes alighted on Lokkaru’s voliki, which had not been broken down yet, which would stand for the rest of the season in memory of her. A tendril of hope passed through my chest and I reached it quickly, ducking my head inside.