The Cursed Horde King (Hordes of the Elthika #2)

Chapter 1

AMAIA

The heat felt searing along my exposed arm as I grappled for a leg. My seeking fingers found the curve of a tiny claw. A small muzzle next. I reached deeper, and the mother whined, her breathing labored, her scaled flank shimmering in the afternoon sunlight.

Worry knotted in my belly. My head turned a fraction to spy my mrikro—the pyroki master—watching me keenly from his place along the fence. A crowd was growing, which only added to the pinching anxiousness weaving around my ribs.

Finally, I found the leg. Now to find the other…

“You’ve really tucked yourself in there, little one,” I whispered, feeling a droplet of sweat curve along my brow.

I spread my other hand across the mother pyroki’s side in a soothing gesture.

Witha was her name. She belonged to one of the king’s guards, a darukkar who’d come to live in Dothik, our capital city, from the wildlands.

I’d quite taken to her, though she’d proved to be sassy and belligerent when pregnant.

It only added to her charm, in my opinion.

But pyroki usually birthed in pairs, and she only had the one.

And I didn’t want her to lose it.

“You can do this,” I said, though it was more to myself than to Witha, who had long taken to exhaustion after laboring for a couple hours in the late morning.

She gave a long, shuddering groan just as I located the second leg, twisted back as I’d thought and jammed up.

I blew out a sharp breath, guiding the leg forward. The first time I’d done this, I’d been scared to hurt the young. But now I pulled hard and sharply, knowing they could withstand it, knowing it would be necessary.

When I finally had both forelimbs in the correct position, I thumped along Witha’s belly and she gave a start, beginning to push, the powerful force of which proved more efficient than the strain of my muscles as I pulled.

Bracing my shoulder against her backside, my booted feet slipping in the dirt, I thumped again and felt the strain of Witha’s muscles.

“Almost there!” I said with gritted teeth, feeling movement.

Then…

Release.

I stumbled back onto my ass as cheers rose through the crowd, the break in the tension pierced through like an arrow. The young pyroki slid from Witha, landing in a heap on the ground, sticky and slick with mucus and blood.

For a moment, I grinned, relieved. But the relief was short-lived when I saw the mrikro straighten from the fence, beginning to approach with a frown. The pyroki wasn’t moving as its mother panted from exhaustion.

No, no, no, I thought, scrambling toward the young. I used the edge of my dirtied tunic to wipe the mucus from its passageways before thumping my fist just behind its ribs, over the lungs.

Dread rose as I heard the crunch of my mrikro’s boots.

“Amaia,” came my pyroki master’s steady voice, my name like a gentle warning.

“I have this,” I told him without looking up. I knew he trusted me, but I still didn’t want to disappoint him. I heard his retreat as he attended to Witha, as murmurings rose through the crowd behind me.

My hand pressed against the young pyroki’s still chest.

There’s too many people watching, came a warning thought.

I didn’t care—I would be quick. But I wouldn’t let the pyroki die needlessly if it was within my ability to help.

The heartstone magic felt warm and alive inside me, a little ember being stoked to a raging burn.

I closed my eyes so no one would see the color of my irises glow as I guided the heat through me, which sprinted through my blood and veins.

I channeled it into the pyroki, imagining a door as I always did, envisioning crossing over the threshold of it, my body jerking at the impact.

Coldness made me shiver. A coldness like plunging into an icy lake, stealing my breath. But I felt life. All it needed was a little spark.

I dragged in a deep breath, all sound and light behind my closed lids and distraction and fear falling away. I heard the throb of my heartbeat, and I sent my magic seeking, like a little warm river, washing through its body.

I heard my heartbeat…

And then I heard the young pyroki’s.

Through the quiet, I heard the rasping guttural whine of its first sound, breath gasping, sucking in life, and the way Witha responded, hearing the bleating call of her young.

A wave of dizziness and lethargy sent me sprawling backward, but my shoulders sagged in relief. I fell down onto the earth, letting it support my weight, my eyelids lifting open to peer up at the clear cloudless sky, hearing the cheers and calls from the crowd as they celebrated the new life.

I still felt so cold, my flesh clammy, my passageways narrowed like I was breathing through a pinhole. But I ignored it, knowing it would pass.

Halna crouched over me, his yellow eyes pleased. “Good. Good, Amaia.”

I sat up with his help, trying to hide the way I struggled to breathe as I wiped my hands on my already filthy pants.

Halna clapped me on the back firmly but gently.

As always, he was a male of very few words and went to attend the mother, who was busy nuzzling her offspring with her sharp snout.

It took me a while to catch my breath, and by the time the crowd began to thin out around the pyroki enclosure, I felt mostly like myself, though in need of a long—very long—rest.

Just then, I caught the eye of someone in the crowd. Someone achingly familiar as a wide, surprised smile split across my face.

I rushed over as quickly as I could, though it was more like a hobble.

“Don’t you dare hug me with all that muck on you,” my brother said when I reached the fence line. But he grinned, his gold eyes twinkling in the sunlight. I hadn’t seen him in a couple months, but he looked so very official in his armor. “I just had my uniform polished.”

One of the Dothikkar’s personal guardsmen. Our king. It was one of the most respected positions in Dothik, and my brother had ascended to it. All on his own, through sheer determination and strength and will.

We lived within a few stone throws of one another. And even still, we barely saw him. He lived in the barracks in the palace, was only allowed leave every now and again, and yet our mother always set a place for him at our meals. Just in case.

“I’m coming for supper tonight,” Kiron told me. “You can hug me then.”

“Am I even allowed to hug you at all?” I teased, gripping the fence with both hands so I didn’t fall over. “Or would the Dothikkar have me in chains for daring to touch one of his prized guards?”

“I won’t tell him if you don’t,” he said, a quirk of a smile lifting his lips. I laughed, though it sounded more like a wheeze in my state. He nodded behind me. “You did well. Everyone was enthralled.”

I was about to run my hand over my forehead but remembered the mess coating it.

“What in Kakkari’s name are you doing here, Kiron?

” I asked, studying and memorizing every change in my brother.

He looked older, lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

He’d let his brown hair grow. It was braided nearly to the middle of his back, just like a darukkar’s—a warrior’s—might if he lived on the wildlands and belonged to one of the hordes.

“We both know you didn’t come to see a pyroki being born. ”

Something changed in my brother’s eyes at my question. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you. But not here.”

I frowned, hearing a strange tone in his voice, one I couldn’t place. A bite of alarm went through me. My brother wouldn’t have come here if it wasn’t serious. “You know I hate that. Just tell me now. What’s wrong?”

Kiron glanced around, still hesitating despite most of the crowd having left and no one being within earshot. “I don’t think it’s the right time. I shouldn’t have said any—”

“Kiron. Tell me.”

He dragged in a breath. Then leaned closer. “It’s about the Karag.”

I sucked in a breath, rearing back to meet his eyes. “What? What about them?”

“The accord exchanges are coming up, for a territory named Grym. Your name is among them on the manifest.”

I froze, feeling a new wave of dizziness that had nothing to do with my heartstone magic. “What are you talking about? I never submitted my name.”

“No, you didn’t.” His lips pressed. “But I did.”

“You what?” I breathed. Shock numbed me. “What possessed you to—”

“Amaia,” my pyroki master called from behind me. I turned to regard him in a daze, my heart nearly beating its way out of my chest with the swirl of new knowledge. I waved a distracted hand at him, knowing we had to get Witha and her newborn back to her nest.

I turned back to Kiron, reeling.

“I didn’t want to talk here,” he reminded me, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I’ll explain. It’s not mandatory, Amaia. But I have reason for submitting you, and I want you to hear me out before you make a decision.”

“Well, the answer is no,” I told him, already stepping back. “I can tell you that now.”

As I turned, a little flint of anger struck inside me. What made my brother think he could do something like that? Without ever asking me? We hadn’t seen each other in months. And now this?

“Amaia,” Kiron called suddenly. I looked back at him. He beckoned me closer, and my nostrils flared as I trudged back over. “You need to be more careful.”

His chin jerked over to the young pyroki. I swallowed hard, understanding his meaning.

“No one saw,” I said, setting my jaw.

Kiron’s lips pressed, but he backed away from the fence. “I’ll see you tonight.”

I watched him go with a frown and a furrowed brow. My pointed ears twitched in worry. Kiron never did anything without reason. I just feared what that reason might be.

The newborn pyroki’s bleating cry pierced through my tumultuous thoughts, and I turned. I pushed Kiron from my mind. I had a duty here, one I took seriously, one that would become my future.

Even my brother couldn’t sway me from it.