Page 3 of Blood of the Sands

While he sat frozen, my muscles quivered under my skin, a feeling of life pouring through me that I had not felt in many years. Every inch of my skin felt drenched in cold water after months of drought. Maybe it was the awareness of how quickly he could kill me, my pulse fluttering wildly beneath his fingers. Or maybe it was just the touch of another human after so long in isolation, the warm pressure of his fingers so solid along the column of my throat. Either way, my world turned sideways in that moment where he held me pinned. He stared at my face as if stricken.

“Who are you?” he asked, voice raw and jarringly loud in the silence of the night.

His solid weight pushed me into the coarse sand, stealing most of my ability to speak. I opened my mouth but found my voice slow to come after years of disuse. Instead, I settled for hissing and wriggling futilely to free myself.

The man exhaled sharply through his noise, letting go of his grip on my neck. I tried to use the moment to my advantage, but in a matter of seconds he had removed his sash and used it to bind my hands. I snarled in frustration, but he ignored me. Then, he stood and unceremoniously dragged me closer to his packs and the burnt-out fire, which we had rolled away from in our scuffle. He quickly located another leather band and tied my ankles. I fought the best I could, but months of inconsistent meals left me no match for his strength, despite how energized I felt.

With me immobilized, he wordlessly turned to the fire to urge it back to life. Curiously, he didn’t light it with a flint. Instead, he just held his hand over the embers and stared for a few moments. It grew beneath his palm, like a succulent after rain, until it crackled and danced as strong as ever. No wonder he was not afraid to travel alone, if he had such mastery over the magic of the desert. While several in my former clan had been gifted with her power, very few had enough to use it so casually. It made something squirm in my gut.

My captor turned to me and crouched. While it brought him level with me, the power in the pose held a promise of violence if I tried to run. With the fire offering ample light, I got my first good look at his face. His features were delicate but proud, his skin oddly sallow looking. In this light, I couldn’t make out the color of the hair curling gently around his temples, although it seemed dark. His eyes were the same luminous silver as the crescent of the moon above us. My heart thundered in my chest under the weight of his stare, as if trying to remind me I was alive after so long feeling as good as dead. It woke something else in me—a burning, roiling storm under my skin.

“Who are you?” he repeated his question again, voice low but firm.

I continued to glare, and the moment stretched between us. Then, I spit in his face.

Chapter Three

The Viper

Spittle splashed across my cheek, and my stomach clenched in horror. The feeling of saliva on my bare skin woke me more thoroughly than the thought of a thief taking my saber, my most prized possession. Abruptly, I stood and spun away, wiping my face clean with my sleeve.

My mask lay where I left it, right next to my bedroll for easy access. I snatched it up and lifted it to my face, fastening it on with uncharacteristically clumsy fingers. The familiar weight and smell of the metal against my skin brought me back to myself somewhat, but it couldn’t erase the fact that this girl, whoever she was, had seen my face. A thief in the night was the first person to see me in years.

The chatter in my skull intensified at the thought, and I ground my teeth. It only served to remind me of the moment of absolute silence I had experienced when I held the girl’s wrists in my bare hands, her pulse hammering beneath my fingertips. I grabbed my gloves and slid them on now too, before turning back to my would-be thief.

She sat sprawled on the ground where I’d left her, tilting her head at me curiously even as her odd golden eyes continued to glitter defiantly in the flickering flame. Looking at her face more clearly, I found she was a grown woman, not the girl I had originally thought based on her slight build. In fact, it was hard to tell with her on the ground, but with the length of her legs, she would probably stand taller than most women in Clan Katal. She only seemed small due to her emaciated state, wrists so thin they bent like reeds in my hands.

I took a step toward her, and she sidled back, although her eyes stayed fixed on me. I broke her gaze, not that she could truly meet mine in my mask and cast around for where she might have come from.

“Where is your horse?” I asked, since she was reluctant to tell me who she was.

The girl opened her mouth, croaked, and then licked her lips before trying again.

“I have no horse,” she said, voice raspy as if she were unaccustomed to speaking. Still, despite the thinness of her tone, she spoke the words like a challenge.

It was my turn to tilt my head in curiosity, and the woman scuttled back as far as her bonds would allow at the gesture, seeming to find it menacing. Only exiles didn’t have a horse, and they rarely survived more than a few weeks. Many took their own lives in preference to dying of thirst or starvation or out of shame for having their mount taken from them.

“An exile,” I observed. The woman made no move to deny it.

I bent to pick up my sword where it lay in the sand, unsheathing it with a swift motion. The chattering in my skull intensified in response to the metallic sound that rang through the air as the blade came free. I pointed it at the woman.

“An exile won’t be missed,” I said, taking a step forward, the tip of the blade landing in the hollow of the woman’s throat. It bobbed as she swallowed.

My wrist tensed, ready to spill the woman’s blood on the sand. It might even be considered doing an exile a kindness, and my offering to the desert would buy me enough peace to sleep through the rest of the night. Besides, the memory of my face would die with her, making it as if she hadn’t seen me at all.

The woman snarled at me as if daring me to do it, and to my great shame, I hesitated, my blade hovering at the woman’s throat. It went against everything Lord Alasdar had taught me: that strength was the only rule in the desert and feeding her the blood of the weak was the only way to calm her overwhelming power. Maybe it was the woman’s defiance, or the quiet of the desert, or how unbalanced I was by involuntarily revealing myself to stranger. Maybe it was the moment of unprecedented stillness I experienced when my skin touched hers.

I lowered my sword.

“The lord of Clan Katal has been looking for a sacrifice for the new moon.” I stared up at the sky where the moon shined a waning crescent. It would be fully dark within a week. “Thank you for volunteering.”

Turning my back to the woman and her scorching glare, I took in my situation. There would be no more rest for me tonight, especially not with a prisoner likely to slit my throat with my own sword the moment I closed my eyes. I hated to push Alza through the night, but if we left now, I could be back at the encampment and put this mess behind me before the heat of midday. It had only taken me a day and a half to reach Clan Ratan, and I hoped the journey back would be similarly quick.

I bent to pick up my bedroll and packs, finding my things to be out of order. I quickly spotted the other pack, fallen where I had pinned the woman in our tussle. I made short work of rearranging my belongings back to their original state before turning toward Alza.

She had watched the happenings with interest but made no sound. Now she whickered in disapproval as I approached with the packs and rope. Still, she rose when I clicked my tongue and dutifully let me ready her for travel.

Then I turned back to my new charge, who watched me warily but had not attempted to escape yet. I approached once more and scooped her up off the ground.