I thought of Arokan and wondered what he’d done to ‘earn it.’
I knew nothing about him, I knew next to nothing about the Dakkari, which Arokan had commented on last night.
But how could I? We knew of the Dakkari through rumor and whisperings only, none of them good.
“Why do the Dakkari not like to give their names?”
Mirari blinked and her gold-painted eyelids flashed.
“We believe,” Mirari started slowly, “that names have power over us. Dakkari give their true names to those who are important to them, who they trust not to abuse that power. Sometimes, however, names are given for just the opposite reason, to show that they do not respect the one they give it to, as an insult, to show that they are so low in their eyes as to not warrant concern.”
My lips parted. How would I ever understand this contradicting culture?
“And the Vorakkar?” I asked softly.
“Horde kings keep their given names especially close,” Mirari said. “No one needs to know it because the Vorakkars wield the ultimate power over their hordes. To know the Vorakkar’s true name would be an insult to him.”
But he gave me his name, I thought. For nothing more than my promise to eat a bowl of broth.
I didn’t think I understood. At least not entirely.
“Did I…did I offend you when I asked yours and Lavi’s?” I asked, wanting to know.
Mirari tilted her head to the side. “Nik. You are our Missiki, our Mistress, and soon to be our Morakkari. We serve you and it is a great honor to do so.”
“Even though I’m human and not Dakkari?” I couldn’t help but question.
She hesitated. “We respect the Vorakkar’s decisions. It is our duty as members of his horde.”
Her answer left me a little uneasy.
“But are there those that resent me being here?” I asked.
Again, she hesitated. It told me what I needed to know.
A moment later, Lavi appeared, pushing past the thick tent flaps. She held one open, however, allowing light to pool inside.
“Come, Missiki,” Mirari said, guiding me over to the entrance. “The Vorakkar is ready for you.”
Ready for me?
Sunlight blinded me when I stepped out of the tent. It was unusually warm that day for the season and I felt that heat across my bared flesh, like fingers against my skin.
Two guards were positioned at the front entrance of the tent, on either side, but they didn’t look at me. They kept their gazes averted.
Arokan stood a short distance away from the tent, speaking with the Dakkari male that had also come to my village, the messenger. Their tones were low and Arokan’s gaze met mine the moment I stepped outside.
The messenger’s eyes cut to me as well and I watched his lips press together. Perhaps he was one of the Dakkari that resented me being there.
Arokan said something and the messenger left him, stalking towards the pen of the pyroki that lay a short distance away. The horde king approached me and I couldn’t help the shiver that raced up my spine at the sight of him….couldn’t help remembering his heat and his tongue between my thighs.
He was dressed as he was yesterday, in nothing more than a heavy cloth that covered his genitals, held up by a golden belt, and thick boots. His exposed shoulders and chest were bronzed from the strong Dakkari sun, those intricate, swirling designs of gold ink glittering as he moved towards me.
He looked every bit the barbarian Dakkari warrior I’d heard from rumors. Only now, I knew his scent. I knew his warmth and the feel of his body against me as he slept.
Arokan of Rath Kitala.
Feeling flustered, I looked from him, past him to the horde settlement spread out across the land.
In the sunlight, it was even larger than I’d originally thought.
Dozens and dozens and dozens of domed, hide tents were spread across the settlement, slightly smaller than Arokan’s. I saw smoke rising between them with mild alarm, but I saw that the fires were contained, raised off the ground in golden barrels so it didn’t scorch the earth.
Some Dakkari were working the pyroki pens, hauling in meat and fresh water for the black-scaled beasts of my nightmares. There were over a hundred of them enclosed in the pen, just a short distance away.
“You ate the broth?” Arokan asked me when he was within arm’s reach.
My eyes flashed up to his and my spine straightened ever so slightly. “I said I would, didn’t I?”
“Every last drop?” he asked softly, those yellow-rimmed eyes on me.
“Yes,” I said. “Although if you made the portion any bigger, I wouldn’t have been able to.”
“Come then,” Arokan said, seeming satisfied with my answers. “My horde will see you now.”
He turned and began walking, those scars across his back pulling. I looked behind me, saw that Lavi and Mirari remained in the tent, and hesitantly began to follow Arokan.
When I caught up to him, I asked, “What do you mean?”
He didn’t answer me. Yesterday, Mirari had said something about Arokan ‘presenting me.’ Was that what this was?
Letting out a small sigh, I simply walked with him because I didn’t know what else to do. Slightly behind him, actually, because his legs and strides were much longer than mine.
At least I’m outside, I thought, deciding to enjoy it. The air was fresh, the sun warm. Every so often, I caught a stray whiff of pyroki, whenever the wind changed. Sometimes, I even caught Arokan’s scent.
Within the settlement, it seemed like a flurry of activity. I spied many Dakkari milling between the spaces of each tent, hauling baskets of wood, or food, or cloth. I heard the distant, strange laughter of Dakkari young, saw some dart between the tents as we walked, peering at us curiously. I heard metal clanging together, like a blacksmith shop, of swords being forged. I saw what looked like a training ground, with young Dakkari males sparring with spears and blades.
The further we walked into the settlement, the larger notice we drew. Every Dakkari we passed stopped and stared at me, though I noticed that whenever I returned their gaze, they darted their eyes away. It didn’t matter if it was males, females, or children…no one would look at me directly.
Many had already seen me. I remembered that first night, when Arokan’s horde had greeted him, touching his pyroki, his legs and mine, as we rode through the camp.
But perhaps in the light of day, it was different.
It was intimidating.
I was the only human in a camp full of Dakkari. And I stuck out like one.
It didn’t help that I was practically naked. The clothes covered my breasts and my collarbones and my lower half, but not much more.
I did notice, however, that many Dakkari females also wore revealing clothing, despite their age. Some females were even topless, baring their large breasts to the sun. Most of the males only wore a cloth over their sex, just like Arokan.
It was something else I would need to get used to, a difference, of which I was sure there were many, between Dakkari and human culture.
We made multiple passes throughout the entire settlement, so many that by the end of it, my thighs were rubbed a little raw again.
Arokan had said his horde would see me and he’d been right. I didn’t think a single Dakkari hadn’t by the time we were finished.
Throughout it all, Arokan didn’t look at me once. Whenever I tried to ask him a question—about something we passed, about how many Dakkari lived in his horde, about the training grounds, about the bustling cooking area I spied—he remained silent. He ignored me—completely ignored me—like I hadn’t spoken at all, like I didn’t even exist.