His eyes studied me. “Tell me how.”
“I know, deep in my heart, that I will probably never see my village again. My brother,” I said. His lips pressed together. “I made you a promise. One I will keep. In a way, my loyaltyisto you.”
“And if I released you from your promise?” he questioned quietly next. My brow furrowed, my lips parting. “What would you do? Would you stay or would you leave?”
My mind raced. What was he doing?
“I…” I trailed off. I thought about it. If Arokan allowed me to return to my brother, would I go? “I don’t know,” I whispered, truthful.
His jaw ticked and he looked away.
My chest ached at his expression and I reached out before I knew what I was doing, pressing my palm against his cheek. I’d never touched his face before, but it was surprisingly soft, save for the small battle scars that marred it every so often.
He met my eyes as I said softly, “My village is a place. Though I was born in that village, though I was raised there, it is not my home. Myfamilyis my home, my brother is my home. Despite everything he’s done, I still love him. Despite everything I’ve given up for him, I still love him. You cannot ask me to choose. Because I cannot and I will not.”
Arokan looked at me, his eyes darting back and forth between mine. He reached up to touch my hand and my lips parted, remembering what Mirari said, that perhaps aVorakkarneeded softness, needed warmth most of all. My heart twinged in my chest, surprising affection enveloping me.
“You are right,rei Morakkari,” he murmured, surprising me.My Queen. “I should not have asked.”
My heart beat in my chest as I stared into his eyes.
Then he asked, “You were born on Dakkar?”
I blinked. “Yes. Does that surprise you?”
“It does,” he admitted. “It seems like not long ago the old king accepted the settlements.”
“Accepted?” I questioned, a small, sardonic smile playing over my lips.
He inhaled a breath. “Forced through the Uranian Federation’s bribery,” he amended.
I relaxed, shaking my head. “That sounds more like it. I always wondered, considering our presence was never…accepted.”
“Dakkari are set in tradition,” he explained after a brief moment of silence between us. “Those in the capital are most opposed. They do not see what the hordes see. TheDothikkardoes not even see.”
“And what is that?”
“Your struggle,” he answered.
My brow furrowed.
“Admittedly,” he continued, “even I did not know the length of it until you told me how low your food supply was. We have always assumed that the Uranian Federation treated their refugees well, that they ensured they had enough rations and water and supplies.”
“In the beginning,” I said softly, “they did. When I was young, right around when my brother was born, there was plenty of food. But it’s dwindled over the years. And we were not allowed to hunt or to gather on our own food to fill that loss.”
“Those are theDothhikar’s orders,” he told me, his expression grim. “We follow them because it is his will.”
I shook my head. “You punish those that try to feed their families,” I said softly. “How is that right? Your land is bountiful. Your game roams free and is plentiful. What is the harm?”
Arokan’s jaw ticked. “Humans and other settlements have long proven that they cannot follow our traditions. They destroy and burn our land—Kakkari. This is unacceptable.”
“Only because they need to be taught,” I argued gently. “We have been here for decades now. I was born here but even I know little of the land, how to plant in your soil successfully, how to hunt your game so as not to diminish the population. These things only requireknowledgeand knowledge is free.”
“It is never free,” he corrected softly.
“You said yourpujeraktold my village how to drybverimeat when you sent him there,” I said. “That is knowledge. And because of it, it will keep my village fed for far longer than any of our rations have.”
“That came at a price,” he said. “You paid it. It was an exchange.”
