Arish entered the room, bowing to Leo before kneeling on a cushion beside the throne.
“They have just docked, Your Majesty,” the Astra reported.
“They’re late,” the king said.
Her father was dressed in a white silk kurta with an embellished golden scarf draped elegantly down his shoulder. Kohl rimmed his eyes and a singular jade earring glittered in his right ear. Thick ropes of gold chain and a brooch of the Phoenix hung across his chest. Though Elena did not see it, she knew that beneath it all, he wore her mother’s necklace. He was never without it.
The king sat upright on the throne with the crown of Ravence resting on his temples. The circlet was neither large nor glamorous. The object that nations had slain for, warred for, was merely a band of gold cut into the shape of dunes. In its center, Alabore Ravence had fitted the jewel that contained the only feather the Phoenix had granted men. It glinted softly as her father and his thousand reflections turned to her. It was a humble token—and a symbol worthy of the Phoenix.
“Did you bring the sands?”
Elena unwrapped the bundle her guards had brought in, revealing a gold basin filled with pure white sand.
“Do they even know the Desert Oath?”
Leo settled back into the throne, his eyes watching the great bronze doors. “They do if they’re not stupid.”
Elena nodded. She had taken the oath on the eve of her seventeenth sun. It was the day she had returned from her registaan, the rite of passage for every heir. Half a sun spent in the grueling depths of the desert, alone. She had been sent with no guards, no food, no water. She had only her wits, her training, and her Ravani blood.
Elena had learned how the desert moved and slept. She had learned how to coax water out of hardy plants; how to find the shady groves of a sandtrapper; how to, when the heat became too unbearable and the nights too cold, sit still and meditate: to slow down the life in her body so that every second became a day, a week, a month. So slow was her heartbeat that rattlesnakes mistook her for a stone and slithered past her. When she finally opened her eyes, Elena had felt balanced and light, as if she could dance out the rest of her days.
And she had. She’d danced to the songs of the desert as sand skittered in the wind. She’d practiced the Kymathra and Unsung, the ancient fighting styles created by the first queens of Ravence. She’d steeled herself into the warrior poses of the famed Desert Spiders, the lithe and legendary female soldiers who had once guarded the kingdom. Legends said that the Desert Spiders had once been a special faction of Yumi, ones who could control fire with their hair. The Yumi called them the Yamuna. The higher ones. But after the Sixth Prophet had nearly wiped out their people, the Desert Spiders had lost their power to wield fire, becoming mere Yumi. It was only Alabore who had rediscovered and revived their martial art form by teaching it to his daughters.
When Elena had finally returned to the palace, her skin had warmed from olive to burnished gold. Even her father had barely recognized her. Maybe that was why, when she was alone with him for the first time since her return, he had taken off his crown and rested it on her head.
“Only a desert wind can withstand the desert heat,” he had said.
Elena had nodded, pretending to understand. Despite its delicate form, the crown felt heavy. It pinched her temples.
Gently, she had removed the crown and placed it back in her father’s hands.
“Until then, it’s yours,” she had said.
She had not felt its pinch or its weight since then.
The doors of the throne room swung open, and two men entered. Arish stood.
“Samson Kytuu and his party, Your Majesty,” the Astra announced.
The newcomers bowed. Elena instantly recognized Samson. He was handsome, strikingly so, with a gait that reminded her of a lion in the desert, slowly circling his prey. He wore a sand-colored kurta that complemented his broad shoulders and frame. But her attention did not rest on him. Rather, Elena found herself drawn to his companion.
He was shorter than Samson, with dark golden, curling hair that fell in soft wisps across his forehead. He had a long, pointed face and high cheekbones, like most Ravani. Yet he walked with such ease and grace, and when he knelt, she noticed how he bent his body like a dancer ready to leap.
Only a skilled fighter could move like that. In fact, he called to mind one woman, and that woman served as her Spear. Suddenly, Elena felt curious.Who is this man?The sun dusted his head, but he seemed to shrink back from it. And then immediately, she felt disgusted by her curiosity. Yassen Knight was an assassin and a traitor.
“Your Majesty, Your Highness,” Samson said as they knelt. “It is our honor to be graced by your company.”
“You honor us by being late?” The king gave a cold, hard smile. “Rise.”
They stood. Samson stepped forward while Yassen Knight kept his eyes on the red marble floor.
Coward.
“Your Majesty, my apologies,” Samson said. If the king’s rebuke unsettled him, he gave no sign of it. His smile was easy, and it warmed the corners of his eyes. “We were finalizing placement of my troops. A selected few will remain in the capital, as we discussed, while the others will be sent to the southern border. I will even send some of my men to guard the temple—”
“The temple will be guarded by Ravani forces alone,” Leo said. “It is our sacred duty as wardens of the holy land.”
“Of course.” Samson motioned at the servants who had followed him in, arms laden with trays. “We come bearing tribute.”
