Samson and Elena rode north into the desert, the sunset painting the sky in brushstrokes of red and pink.
Her mare fought the lead, eager to run across the dunes. Elena gave her more rein, and they took off. She crouched in her stirrups, sand stinging her skin and the wind singing in her ears. She closed her eyes and breathed in the desert, letting its wildness fill the spaces between her bones.
They climbed up a rock face, and Elena opened her eyes. Pebbles tumbled off the precipice. Beneath them, a deep valley stretched across the desert like an unhealed scar.
She slowed her horse and turned as Samson trotted up beside her.
“You’re a fast rider,” he panted. “Gave me quite the run.”
But Elena had seen how Samson had held his horse back and allowed her to take the lead. She wondered what else he was merelyallowingher to do.
“Do you know this valley?” she asked.
He peered over the cliffside. “Looks like all the rest.”
“You’ll need to know everything about this desert if you’re to be my king,” she said. The smile fell from his face, and Elena hopped off her mare. “Come.”
They descended. Unlike Yassen, Samson trudged through the dune. He left a trail, one that an enemy tracker or yeseri could follow. Ferma had insisted she could learn from Samson, but she also had something to teach him.
When they came to the valley floor, Elena stopped. The rock walls towered above them. Spined, prickling plants grew within the crevices, creeping out as if escaping some danger within. Here in the valley, the air was slick and cool.
“This is Alabore’s Tear,” she said. “This is where he met the Phoenix.”
“Don’t you think this place is too dark for the Holy Bird?” Samson joked.
“Fire burns brightest in the darkness,” she returned.
Samson walked forward, craning his neck. She watched him take it all in: the cold sand, the weathered rock, the tough bramble.
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” she asked.
When he turned back to her, his mouth was a thin line. “Once.”
He held out his arm, and she took it. They neared a skorrir bush, and its buds shrank back as they approached. Elena pointed.
“These are helpful markers,” she said. “You can tell if something has passed before you.”
“We have something like that in Seshar,” Samson said wistfully. He studied the skorrir bush, but Elena could tell by the distant look in his eyes that he was gazing upon his homeland.
“Have you gone back to Seshar? Would Farin allow it?”
Beneath her hand, she felt his forearm tense. “I don’t want to go back, not yet,” he said. “There’s so much I want to do here before returning.”
“Like what?”
He did not answer. The pensive look grew on his face as they walked. Long shadows crawled up the red walls, and a heavy silence hung in the air. Elena was about to suggest they return to their mounts when Samson spoke.
“I was born under Jantar’s rule,” he said, his voice quiet. “By then, they had executed all the noble families on Seshar except mine. They were afraid that my mother would set the evil eye on them. She was a priestess who worshipped the old religion of the Serpent. The metalmen aren’t the superstitious type, but…” He shook his head. “My mother could make you believe in anything.”
“I suppose you get that from her then.”
He gave a wry smile, but his eyes remained dark. “When I was eleven suns, she knew we were running out of time. So she sent me a dream.
“I dreamed of a deep fissure in a desert,” he said. “Darkness covered the path, but at the very end, there was a light. An ember. It was so small that a breeze would extinguish it. I ran toward it, but before I could reach it, I woke up.”
“You think your mother sent you to Alabore’s Tear?” Elena asked.
Samson surveyed the valley. “I think she meant to show me that there is a fire I must seek and protect. It could be Seshar. It could be Ravence, perhaps even Jantar. It could even be you,” he said with a wink. “But don’t they say that dreams of fire lead to madness?”
