“Leikavi,” Davik murmured, tilting my face up, concern etched deeply into his expression. “I’m here. It’s all right.”
No, it’s not, I thought, breathing through my nostrils, desperately trying to get air into my starved lungs. I’d surfaced from something, but from what?
Slowly, my breathing began to calm. I stopped gasping for air though I couldn’t stop crying. Tears streamed down my cheeks in a solid, never-ending line no matter how many times Davik thumbed them away.
Finally, the emotions—the grief, the anguish, the loss—dissipated and I felt like I could breathe again.
I looked into Davik’s eyes and he slowly brought me back from the dream, whispering tender and gentle words in Dakkari that were meant to soothe me…and they did.
When I shuddered out a final breath and calmed down, he asked, “What did you dream?”
He was trying to keep his expression neutral so he didn’t alarm me. I knew that. But also, he feared what I’d dreamed, as if he was trying to keep something from me. Or shield me from something.
When I opened my lips to answer, I found the words were stuck in my throat. I couldn’t say anything. And so, instead, I leaned forward and kissed him, cupping his scarred cheek in my palm, tight.
He huffed out a long breath into me as he tasted my tears.
And when I reached underneath the furs for him—wanting to feel something else, to banish the emptiness I’d felt inside that dream—he moved over me, giving me what I wanted, what I needed.
When he was inside me, we didn’t have to speak at all.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“You have been good to me,” Lokkaru said, her voice soft and sure as we walked around the encampment. She was holding onto my arm for balance and she patted my skin. “I have enjoyed our time together.”
“I feel the same,” I said softly. Sometimes Lokkaru had perfect clarity, like now. Other times, she spoke in Dakkari to me, expecting me to answer, or called me by a name not my own.
Dakkari children raced across our paths, chasing one another. They briefly glanced at me, giggling, before they sped away on their bare feet and a soft, longing smile crossed my features before I could help.
Then it faded because I knew that wishing for children was not something that I could afford.
Still, I should have been happy that they no longer stared at me like I was some monster. I had been at the horde for over a week now and the shock of my appearance seemed to have worn off. I walked in the encampment almost every day with Lokkaru, who always said fresh air had healing power.
And in that time, I’d met many Dakkari, though some could not speak the universal tongue. All of the horde members adored Lokkaru and were happy to speak with her. By extension, they spoke to me as well, if they spoke my language, though I liked to think I understood a little more Dakkari every day.
I thought…I thought I could be happy here. I got lost in a daydream that my entire family was here, that they had their own little voliki, and that we were safe and happy and together. I dreamed that Maman would work with the cooks because she’d always loved food and always tried to make our meager rations as tasty as possible for us growing up. I dreamed that Maxen would train with the darukkar and that Eli would love to work with the pyroki.
And Viola…I dreamed that she would fall in love with a Dakkari male, a good male, one who would protect her and worship her and make her happy again. Because she was a shell, a shadowed shell of a person now, all the light gone, taken from her with violence and cruelty. I wanted to see it returned.
As for me…I dreamed that I woke every morning in a certain horde king’s arms because who else could keep the shadows away for him? I could speak to the shadows, after all.
“What is wrong?” Lokkaru asked me now, breaking me from my thoughts.
Tears had pooled in my vision without my realizing it and I dashed them away, embarrassed.
“Nothing,” I told her, patting her hand on my arm as we weaved through the maze of voliki.
“Tell me.”
“I…I just miss my family. So much it hurts sometimes,” I said to her.