Sammenth and Ryena were sitting together on the ground, the younger sister leaning her head on the healer’s shoulder. I was perched in a stool, which had been procured for me. The dress I was wearing—another that was a similar style to the one Sarkin had ripped off me earlier—was comfortable and loose. Perfect for the warmer evening, considering the wind was blowing the waterfall mist in the opposite direction of the horde.

A small portion of the group had trickled away—including Feranos, who was speaking with Sarkin—though a large portion of the novice riders remained. A few older Karag were lingering on the outskirts of the group under the pretense of offering us food, though they hovered close, listening to our conversation with barely concealed interest.

I was being interrogated. A stream of rapid-fire questions from the Karag riders.

Where did you learn to throw like that?

When I’d lived on the wildlands in the horde of Rath Drokka…my great-uncle’s horde.

What was it like living in a horde?

Perfectly simple, though many times I’d wished to stay rooted in one place.

Is it true that Dothik is made of gold?

No. Only the statues.

What happened with the red fog? Is it true that the heartstones defeated it?

It was then I realized that the Karag knew much, much more about the Dakkari and our history then we’d ever thought possible. They knew our currency, our language, even the Vorakkar of our history.

How long had they’d been watching us? Studying us? Because I was beginning to realize it had been for much longer than when the first Elthika had been spotted along the coast of the West Lands. Perhaps that had been the first time the Karag had wanted us to know that they watched us.

With that thought, I looked over my shoulder at Sarkin. He was still speaking with Feranos and another older Karag male that I didn’t recognize. I couldn’t help but think he looked more relaxed than he had earlier. Perhaps it had just been me that set him on edge. He even smiled at something the older male said, inclining his head, as he sipped from his silver goblet of wine.

Slowly, the interrogation tapered off, the novice riders starting up a new game of daggers, leaving just Sammenth, Ryena, and myself.

And I finally found the time I needed to ask the questions that had been burning in me for days.

“How is it that the Dakkari came to be here?” I asked both of them. “When? All this time, we never knew about the Karag. But you knew about us all along, didn’t you?”

I had my own theory. Well-formed from things my mother had said over the years, pieced together shortly after I’d received news of her death. No one had ever believed me. Worse yet, no one had ever believed her…except me. My research in the archives had proven fruitless except for one bundle of old journal entries I’d uncovered one day. A Dakkari talking about sea travel, of navigating beyond the Teru Gulch. He’d gone on about the importance of littering the land with “seeds” to strengthen us.

No one knew how the entries had come to be placed within the archives because there was no record of them. Even Sora had rolled her eyes when she’d read them, tossing them back to me, telling me I’d have to be a fool to believe any of it. Sora had believed the author to be “half-mad.”

Then again, many had considered my ancestor, Davik of Rath Drokka, to be half-mad, when in reality, he’d had a gift of Kakkari. So I hadn’t placed much value in Sora’s dismissal.

“Hundreds of years ago,” Sammenth said, shrugging her shoulder as she raised her head. “Three hordes of them landed on the south coast during the age of Krovag.”

“Krovag?” I asked. My heart leapt. Three hordes? My theories were true.

“Oh, one of the ancients,” Sammenth added, seeing my confusion. “We keep track of our centuries by which Elthika is in power. Krovag was a great leader, though he passed the title on when his rider died of old age. He thought it time to give his rule to a new bloodline.”

Endless questions sprouted. The Karag spoke of the Elthika like they were a kingdom themselves, with laws, a governing body, and a society of their own.

Focus, I thought. I might not get another chance to ask these questions for a while.

“And these three hordes, they were actual hordes? With Vorakkar? Horde kings?”

“I suppose,” Ryena replied. “But by the time that the Karag discovered them on their shores, it had been many years. They had multiplied, become one. They called themselves Rath Darok.”

“Then how do you know it was three hordes that landed on the shores?”

“Our grandmother told us before she died. Some of the Elders still pass down the old stories,” Ryena said. “There are still many who live in the old Dakkari territory in the South. That’s where we were born,” she said, bumping shoulders with her sister. “Many Karag live there too. Many of mixed blood, just like you.”

“But you don’t know the names of the original horde kings?” I asked, my shoulders lowering in dismay.

Sammenth frowned, as if trying to think back, but shook her head, “No. Those names would have been lost long ago, especially since the Dakkari are so strange about names. We only know the name of the horde that they became.”

Names should be feared.

That was what Sarkin had told me outside the East Gate of Dothik.

Perhaps he was right. Because then names might’ve been remembered instead of forgotten.

The lost hordes.

That was how I’d always thought of them, in the quiet of my mind. And now they truly were. Lost in history and memory.

“Why are you so interested in these hordes?” Ryena asked, her voice sleepy and relaxed from the wine. “I mean, despite the obvious. I know it must come as a shock to learn, as it likely was a shock to learn about the Karag or to see an Elthika for the first time.”

I took a deep breath, taking another sip from my goblet.

“During the third Dothikkar’s reign, he decreed a law that all Vorakkar, the horde kings, would need to bend to Dothik’s rule. Those who rebelled against him were said to have been banished…but where? Some tomes say banished. Others say executed. A few scrolls say left. That’s the thing about words. They can mean so many things,” I said quietly, my tone wistful. “The original account is lost, and the original meaning of the words have been twisted until it’s difficult to determine what really happened. But there were three hordes that refused to bend their will to the Dothikkar. Three. And it was like they just disappeared from history.”

Sammenth was peering at me carefully.

“I believe they left the shores of Dakkar,” I said quietly. “I believe they sailed across Drukkar’s Sea until they found land. A new home, to begin again. Free. All of this is unproven, of course, and I’m no stranger to the scholars in Dothik laughing at me. But my mother believed what I believe. And I believe they came here. Knowing that there is Dakkari blood here proves that. Now I know how. But there’s still so many questions.”

“And many of them might always be unanswered,” came a familiar voice. “Especially tonight.”

Sarkin.

When I turned my head, I saw he was standing just at the edge of the clearing. There was a mark on his neck, from my own nails, I remembered, the skin just beginning to heal. I felt my body grow even warmer from the sight, coupled with the wine.

Sammenth and Ryena straightened in the presence of their Karath.

“You have an early morning tomorrow,” Sarkin told me. “You need to be well rested. Let’s return home.”

Home.

I hadn’t forgotten about my training beginning, though I had hoped for another day of reprieve. It seemed I wouldn’t get that.