Page 30 of Blood of the Sands

“They change every time,” Dryden explained excitedly. “Since nobody knows exactly what the events will be, riders must be prepared for anything. All we know is that the events are supposed to test all an individual’s skills, from survival to combat, even horsemanship. That, and the last event is always the same. The final Champion is decided by one-on-one duels.”

“The range of events are supposed to be best to discover who truly has the desert’s favor,” Nyra added on.

I shrugged, feigning casualness. It still felt unnecessarily bold to join the Trials when I had only been training for months, but the queen’s words about me being favored by the desert echoed in my skull. I had always thought I was cursed, but perhaps this would be a chance to prove the opposite. “Maybe I’ll give it a go then. Who was the last Champion?”

“That’s the thing, there wasn’t one.” Nyra leaned in conspiratorially. “I’m too young to remember the last Trials, but my dad says the last duel went awry, and the winner killed his opponent. The Trials are dangerous, but competitors aren’t supposed to fight each other to the death in the duels. After that, they didn’t crown a Champion. My mother is from the clans, and she gets upset every time they bring it up—says its bad luck for the desert not to have a Champion.”

“The clans are too superstitious.” Dryden waved a dismissive hand at Nyra, and she frowned at him.

I mirrored her expression. “I have to get going.”

I left them there discussing the coming competition, not wanting to leave Queen Ginevra waiting. As I passed through the palace doors, one of the guards flanking the tall arch told me the queen was waiting for me up on the terrace. It was a change from the tight stone box we sat in for an hour every afternoon, and my heart lifted. I had come to dread the feeling of layers of rock pressing in around me. Following afternoons shut away from the sky, I had dropped all pretense of sleeping in Aderyn and Neven’s guest room and set myself up a nest of rugs and cushions on the roof where I could see the stars.

As I pressed down rising panic every time I tried to contain my magic, I wondered if this was the only way. An image of the Viper casually lighting a fire with the wave of his hand flitted through my mind one afternoon as I attempted to meditate. He seemed able to use his power without fear, not forcing it down into a tiny box at the base of his spine.

At that thought, the image of his face came to me again unbidden—the way his eyes had gone wide, a tremor running through his body as he held his hand to my throat. The way he had asked me my name. For some reason, it was very hard to return my focus to meditating with that image in my head.

Today, Queen Ginevra sat sipping tea and reading a scroll when I finished my trudge up the stairs, my calves protesting the climb after the morning’s exertion. I gratefully sat on the chair across from her when she motioned to it.

“I thought we’d try something a bit different today.”

I nodded, a tendril of shame unfurling in my mind. Somehow, this felt like an acknowledgement of my failures to make any headway on the walls around my magic. While I hadn’t destroyed any more doors, every time I extended my consciousness toward the wild power deep inside me, it lashed out like a mother caracal defending her cubs. It always tamped down quickly as if snapped to heel by some invisible tether, but I still couldn’t come close enough to make any headway.

Queen Ginevra poured a steaming cup of tea and handed it to me. I nodded my thanks and blew on the liquid to cool it a bit. I tilted my head when I saw the liquid carried a strange bluish hue, overlaid on the surface with an oily sort of iridescence.

“It’s my own special blend,” she explained in response to my staring. “It contains an infusion of the lyra leaf. While many people can drink it without feeling any change, for those with a connection to the desert, it can dull those senses.”

“It’s a sedative?” I asked warily.

She shook her head. “Only for magic. I wouldn’t drink it myself if it would impede my ability to rule.” She took a sip as if to demonstrate.

I followed her lead and instantly my features scrunched in distaste. I tried to hide the disgust in my expression, but the taste of the liquid, like pungent sulfur on my tongue, overwhelmed me.

“You get used to it.” Queen Ginevra laughed.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “You drink this often?”

“Every day.”

“I thought you didn’t have trouble controlling the magic?”

“Usually I don’t,” she admitted, “but I don’t like to take chances. My father preferred to wall off his magic but keep it available in case he ever needed to call on it. I prefer to take the temptation away entirely.”

“The temptation?”

She dabbed her lips daintily with a napkin, making me shrink back at my poor manners in comparison.

“I have come to think using the power of our bloodline to rule the city is a crutch. I endeavor to lead by being a good queen and not let any doubt seep into my mind that I only hold my position based on the power I was born with.”

I nodded my understanding even as my stomach clenched—probably from the bitter flavor of the tea slithering down my throat. Even though we had just celebrated this city’s origins through the overwhelming power of the desert, I supposed it was noble to rule the city through diplomacy and intellect alone.

“Now finish your cup and then we can try something.”

I gulped down the rest of the liquid as fast as I could, hoping I could forgo tasting the tea at all. It scalded the roof of my mouth, but I decided it was preferable to the flavor. Still, it sat in my gut like a nest of snakes, twisting and uneasy.

Queen Ginevra nodded her approval. “Now, reach down inside yourself, and see how your magic reacts.”

I did so hesitantly, less easy about the way it might retaliate out in the open. As much as I hated being entombed in rock, it did protect others from the backlash of my magic. What I found was magic, still present but feeling languid and lazy. I reached a tendril of myself out to it and its reaction was that of a snake hissing in warning, coiled back to strike but not attacking yet.