Madness of the Horde by Zoey Draven

Chapter Four

The sight of the kalles stepping into the Dothikkar’s throne room was like a punch in the gut.

Last night, after I’d returned to my quarters in the keep, I’d thought of her. Long into the night. Of her frightened eyes, of her haunting questions. I thought of the sense of calmness that had descended into my mind and I knew, without a doubt, that she’d been the cause.

But why?

Now, the Dothikkar was eyeing her with the same kind of amused malice that had been the cause of my family’s destruction.

That rage boiled inside me. I choked on it as I watched a golden bathing tub being brought in almost immediately, as I watched a line of the Dothikkar’s servants begin to fill it with water before it even touched the ground. All the while, the small human stood, frozen, in the sheer dress I’d discovered underneath her cloak last night.

She had been caught. Had she spent the night in the dungeons? Or the morning? It was nearing sunset now. The last meal had already been served. Had she been underground the entirety of the day?

I didn’t know why but the thought set my teeth on edge. Next to me, at the Dothikkar’s grand table, the Vorakkar of Rath Kitala sat rigid. His Morakkari was human, after all. As was Rath Tuviri’s, who sat across from me, his jaw tense, claws curling into the surface of the table. He loathed the Dothikkar most of all. For good reason.

The human girl—Vienne, I remembered—looked so still I wondered if she even breathed. But then I saw her hands trembling, just as they’d done last night.

I stood, my seat scraping back from the table. I saw the kalles jerk her gaze towards me, those solemn, light-colored eyes almost my undoing. There had been a moment last night, in the quietness of the alley, where something resembling understanding had passed between us. Or, even more dangerous, recognition.

The eyes of the Vorakkars were upon me as I turned my attention to the king of Dakkar, though thinking of him as such left a bitter taste upon my tongue.

“I am eager to return to my horde, Dothikkar,” I said. “Our meetings have dragged on and I do not think your entertainments help matters.”

Two nights ago, he’d had a few of his concubines brought in to dance for him as we attempted to revisit the matter of the Ghertun testing their borders of the Dead Lands.

Rath Tuviri’s mother had been among them, a golden-haired beauty, rumored to be the Dothikkar’s favorite whore. I’d quite enjoyed studying the way Rath Tuviri’s jaw tensed so tight I thought it would crack and I’d smirked when he left the table, storming from the grand hall as the Dothikkar’s laugh echoed around it. His mother’s eyes had tracked after him and I’d caught the brief downturning of her lips before they curled for the king when he leaned forward to suckle on her neck.

I’d been amused then because I didn’t quite like Rath Tuviri. I didn’t quite like any being outside my horde and I liked my fellow Vorakkars least of all—because I knew just how cold and cruel they could be. I was one, after all.

But now, instead of amusement, I was annoyed and my temper was throbbing. All week, we’d been here. I was beginning to think the Dothikkar didn’t have a plan regarding the Ghertun, that he would rely on the hordes to take care of the matter without the assistance of his army.

The Vorakkars regarded me, perhaps surprised that I’d said anything at all. Even the Dothikkar paused in his perusal of his newest toy to send me a bewildered look.

Then his expression darkened, his eyes flickering briefly to the Vorakkars still seated, before he turned to one of the female servants filling the tub. To her, he ordered, “Wash the vekkiri. Now.”

The female servant bowed her head, keeping her gaze averted from his eyes, as was expected. She crossed to Vienne, still standing motionless in her sheer dress, and the human female didn’t even flinch when the servant peeled it away from her body. The strange material crumbled like parchment around her on the floor, leaving her nude and shaking.

Clenching my fists, I looked away from her and straight into the eyes of the Dothikkar. Old memories—my sister’s screams among them—arose, my pupils dilating with them. They had humiliated my sister in much the same way.

I wondered about how harsh of a punishment I would receive if I assassinated the Dothikkar. Right then. Right there. I imagined unsheathing my sword and plunging it into his widening gut, spilling his innards all over his clean floors in his grand hall. Perhaps the bloodlust was a little too bright in my eyes, which had perhaps begun to glow a brighter red, because the Dothikkar recoiled at whatever he saw and broke my gaze.

He hated that I was Vorakkar, no doubt, but he certainly liked the protection of my sword and the wares that passed from my horde.

He was wary of me because I was unpredictable. If only he knew the thoughts that went through my sick mind…he’d never let me into his prized city again.

The Vorakkar of Rath Kitala stood then, no doubt sensing the waves of rage rolling from my still form. He rounded the table and smiled easily at the Dothikkar, cutting through the thickened tension that had suddenly rippled through the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rath Rowin’s hand twitch towards his sword.

Rath Kitala stopped in front of the bathing tub, shielding the small vekkiri female who had just entered its waters. The Dothikkar frowned.

“Vekkiri like their privacy in matters like these, Dothikkar,” Rath Kitala said smoothly.

The Dothikkar pressed his lips together, his eyes flashing. “No doubt you have learned this from your vekkiriMorakkari.”

His human queen, the one he had taken from a human settlement and settled in his furs instead.

“Among many things, lysi,” Rath Kitala replied. Though his tone sounded like a purr, there was a hardened edge to it, a subtle warning. The Dothikkar might have power here, in his glittering city, but the Vorakkar was stronger, quicker. We all were.

A splash of water came from behind him and I heard, rather than saw, the female servant scrubbing down the girl relentlessly.

A gasp came next. From the servant. The sound of sloshing water suddenly came to a halt. A breath of a moment passed before it started back again, the scrubbing quicker, rougher.

All the while, the Dothikkar stared across at the Vorakkar of Rath Kitala, simmering anger seeming to heat the air around him.

Then came the small voice of the servant with, “She is bathed, Dothikkar.”

“Rothi kiv,” came his prompt snap and the servant immediately departed the grand hall, the others who’d brought in the bath water after her. Only the guard from the dungeons and the Dothikkar’s lead advisor, the Prikri, remained.

Rath Kitala removed the furs around his shoulders, leaving his own chest bare, and wordlessly handed it back to the girl, though he kept his eyes on the king.

There was shuffling, water plunking in fat droplets onto the floor. Vienne’s shackles chimed together.

Then came her voice from behind the Vorakkar, soft and shuddering.

“Dothikkar, I have come to bring you a message from Lozza, the Ghertun king of the Dead Mountain.”

Even Rath Kitala drew an intake of breath and he stepped away, rounding to peer down at the human girl with disbelief.

It left her in full view and not only did my fists clench, my cock thickened, tightening the front of my trews. Even the Dothikkar seemed to be at a loss for words as he stared, frozen in place.

And she was a sight to behold. Even the Vorakkar of Rath Loppar drew forward in his chair, as if pulled by an unseen force.

Gone was the dark filth that had covered her from head to toe. She’d coated her hair in something blackened before—my fingers had come away dark when I’d rubbed the strands between my fingers last night—but the bath revealed shining white hair, swaying to the middle of her back, wet tendrils clinging to her cheeks. Her skin was pale, almost translucent against the dark fur cloak Rath Kitala had given her, which she held close to her flesh, her lips pink from the warmth of the bath.

And her eyes. They seemed brightened, luminous.

I had never seen a being like her before. I’d seen plenty of humans in my time as Vorakkar, but never one like her. And it wasn’t only her haunting beauty, or the color of her hair. It was in the way she was so frightened she could collapse, it was in the way her voice shook and trembled as she delivered her message…and yet, she remained firm and resolute. Brave.

That unsettled feeling in my gut returned, one I’d felt last night as I’d stared down into those widened eyes. Then came a stirring in my chest. An awakening. A decision.

I want her.

The thought came fierce and possessive and unexpected. It caught me off guard and when I felt a dull throb of pain, I realized I’d embedded my claws completely into the Dothikkar’s table.

It was more than simple want, however. I wanted her, lysi. But I also wanted to protect her. I wanted to consume her, taking her into me so deep that I might finally find the peace I so desperately sought. I was called the Mad Horde King for a reason.

It wasn’t about her. It was about me. I’d always been a selfish bastard. If I hadn’t been, I may never have become Vorakkar. I may never have been able to successfully lead my horde. And I certainly wouldn’t have been able to protect them. I’d failed my family. I’d failed my sister and my mother and my father…but I had never failed my horde.

So much was swirling in my mind that I’d almost forgotten her words, spoken so softly they’d almost been a whisper.

The Dothikkar recovered more quickly than the Vorakkars seated around his table.

“What message?” he sputtered, his brow lowering, his expression darkening. “What message could a vekkiri possibly have from a nameless king, who presumes himself to be one on my land?”

Her fingers were clutching the furs around her shoulders tightly.

“Lozza wants access to the Teru gulch,” she continued.

“Neffar?” the Dothikkar asked. Then, just as suddenly, he burst into laughter, the sound wheezing out from his lungs, booming so loudly it made her flinch.

“He wants free passage across Drukkar’s Sea,” Vienne continued, as if the Dothikkar’s laugh wasn’t drowning out her words. “Whenever he wishes, in addition to a ship of his own, so that he may reach the ice caps even during the hot season.”

The Dothikkar’s laugh died down. In its place was fury, morphing so quickly that it almost made me raise a brow.

I eyed Vienne, tilting my head as I studied her.

Who was she?And why was she speaking for a Ghertun, a Ghertun king no less, whom we’d only heard rumors of?

The Vorakkar of Rath Kitala, who stood in front of Vienne, asked, “And if the demands are not met?”

The human vekkiri, who was surrounded by Dakkari males twice her size, and an enraged Dothikkar, tilted her chin slightly, though her bottom lip trembled.

Brave kalles, I thought. Those words felt like a purr in my mind.

“Lozza will send his army from the Dead Lands. He will destroy everything in his path and lead them here, to Dothik, where he will overrun the city.”

“Madness,” the Dothikkar rasped out, walking the short distance to his throne on top of his gilded dais, where he sat, as if he needed to remind every being in the room of his power, of his position. “Absolute madness.”

The Vorakkar of Rath Tuviri, with his golden hair and understanding eyes, stood and regarded Vienne.

“Who are you, kalles?” he asked, his voice soft, keeping still when she eyed him as warily as she’d eyed me. “How did you come to be a messenger for the Ghertun?”

“I am no one,” she said, repeating what she’d told me last night when I’d asked her much the same question. “I am a slave under the Dead Mountain. Lozza tasked me with this.”

A slave?I thought.

“A sorceress,” the Dothikkar muttered from his throne.

I watched as the Vorakkars exchanged glances. The Dothikkar was a superstitious male. He had Rath Tuviri’s mother in his harem, after all, because he believed her golden hair was a gift from Kakkari herself.

There was a story, an ancient one, of a white-haired Dakkari female who had single-handedly destroyed a horde with a frightening power. It was said she’d been possessed by the wrath of our goddess Kakkari when the horde’s Vorakkar killed his bastard child, not born from the womb of his chosen Morakkari but from the womb of a warrior’s wife. He’d murdered in secret, wanting to hide his shame—but Kakkari had known and the white-haired sorceress had channeled her rage, her power.

The Vorakkar of Rath Dulia, seated on the opposite end of the table, pointed out, “She is a vekkiri. Not Dakkari.”

“If she was born on our land, then the breath of our god and goddess is within her,” the Dothikkar argued. I stilled, cutting him a sharp glare he did not see. His words made a hypocrite of him. For decades, he’d argued that the vekkiri’s plight was not his responsibility because they were not Dakkari.

But if the breath of KakkariandDrukkar were within them, then they were our own and their struggles were ours to bear. And he had left them to famine and disease…and the Ghertun.

Even still, if the Dothikkar believed this vekkirikalles was a sorceress, channeling the power of Kakkari…there was no telling what he would do with her.

“How many humans are under the Dead Mountain?” Rath Kitala asked, frowning. “We have heard no reports of a settlement falling to the Ghertun for over two years.”

“Not many,” she hedged. “I do not know how long we have been there. Since before the cold season. Perhaps longer.”

“You went underground with them?” Rath Kitala rasped. The Ghertun always retreated underneath their mountain when the frost came. They couldn’t survive the harsh temperatures above ground.

Her eyes came to him before they dropped away, before they flitted to me. Her shoulders shuddered, a long shiver racking her body, though she had heavy furs draped over her shoulders. Did I make her afraid too?

Of course.

She didn’t reply. There were too many questions lingering in the air, the tension in the throne room tight. The rest of the Vorakkars remained silent.

“I am to bring back a token of your acceptance of the terms, Dothikkar. Lozza wishes to have a heartstone of Kakkari. Or…or else…”

Vienne trailed off, flinching when the Dothikkar’s glare cut her to the bone.

“Take her back to the dungeons. Get her out of my sight!” the Dothikkar bellowed, waving his hand. The guard immediately clasped her arm, tugging her from the throne room, her white hair stark against the black furs around her shoulders.

A heartstone…

Vok.