Page 33 of Blood of the Sands

“He has joined with the riders of Clan Katal, and he confirms that only four clans are united under Lord Alasdar’s banner currently, although they are training for battle. However, he overheard the Viper discussing with Lord Alasdar that a deal has been made with the remaining five clans. If the Viper is crowned Champion of the Trials, then they will join Lord Alasdar.”

My spine hit the low wooden back of my chair with a thunk as the breath rushed out of me. The Viper, who had taken up residence in my sleeping mind as much as I tried to evict him, would be coming to the Trials.

“You could always bar him from competing,” Aderyn suggested. “Wouldn’t a violation of peace like this warrant it? People have been banned from the Trials for violence before.”

The queen shook her head, the action so tired I was certain she had already run through this scenario in her mind a thousand times. “At the last Trials, I refused to crown a Champion when Lord Alasdar violated the rules by killing his opponent in the final duel and exiled him from the city. Now he is the one that leads an army against us. I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”

“Then you will let him?” Aderyn asked, her voicing edging the closest to incredulity I had ever heard in the presence of the queen.

Queen Ginevra pressed her lips together in a thin white line, clearly as unhappy with the situation as Aderyn was. “The clans believe in the legend of the Champion of the Desert. As the granddaughter of Kelvar, the greatest Champion the desert has ever known, ruling the city that is the very proof of his legacy, I’m not sure I don’t believe in it either. The clans, and even the people within this city, feared what the lack of a Champion would mean twenty years ago.

“If Lord Alasdar is smart—and he has certainly seemed crafty enough so far—he’ll use that to his advantage to further turn the clans against me. If I interfere with these Trials, it may only turn them against us further.”

Now, Queen Ginevra turned toward me, and I blinked, unsure where I fit into this discussion. We had gone far beyond the meager information I had gathered on Clan Katal during my brief captivity.

“Perhaps, the desert has chosen her own Champion though,” she said, words laden with a meaning I didn’t process.

Only after several moments of blank staring did the full weight of her words hit me. I began shaking my head so hard I feared my brain might rattle out my ears.

“I only just got here,” I protested. While the months in the city had been kind to me, I was far from Kelvadan’s Champion.

“Kelvar was only nineteen when he carved the city from the mountain,” Ginevra pointed out.

I opened my mouth to protest but paused. He had been so young.

“There is no denying that you have been touched by the desert and delivered on Kelvadan’s doorstep by some odd coincidence just months before the Trials that only occur every twenty years,” Queen Ginevra pressed on.

“There must be somebody else,” I insisted, looking imploringly at Aderyn.

Something dark and sad flickered in her eyes, but it was gone before I could even be sure I saw it at all.

“I could make it pretty far through my combat skill alone,” Aderyn admitted, “but the title of the desert’s Champion has never gone to one who hasn’t been gifted with her power.”

I furrowed my brow. “I thought magic wasn’t allowed to be used in the Trials.”

During training, Dryden and Nyra had been discussing the possible events to be included in this year’s competition, and they had mentioned that particular rule.

“Even so, the desert chooses her winner,” Queen Ginevra explained. “When the last Trials ended in upset, I thought somebody might rise to the occasion and fill the role of Champion. I was wrong. But you brought a warning to our doorstep, and with it, our best hope for preventing the clans from uniting.”

I was pinned by two intense gazes, trapped like a jackrabbit in a snare. I could not let Kelvadan fall, and so I would face the Viper in the Trials.

I woke the next morning to a ball of molten iron burning in my gut. I rolled onto my hands and knees with a moan as a wave of nausea washed over to me. I feared a reaction to the liquor I shared with Aderyn the afternoon before, but when I glanced down my body, I found a far more innocent, if unexpected, culprit. Dark blood crusted the light linen pants I wore to sleep at the crux of my thighs.

Another wave of cramps shuddered through me, and I collapsed back onto my side and curled up in a ball. One of the few blessings of malnutrition had been freedom from my monthly cycle. While it had been disconcerting to be unable to mark the passage of time with my blood, at least it didn’t slow my hunting or cost me precious moisture after several months in exile.

Now it seemed the symptoms returned with a vengeance. After a few minutes of clutching my lower abdomen and trying to remember how I had ridden a horse in this state while I was younger, Aderyn clambered up to the roof to check on me, no doubt wondering why I hadn’t come down to breakfast.

Seeing the problem, she offered a crooked smile of sympathy.

“Has it been a while?”

I nodded, embarrassed to be laid out by something Aderyn likely walked off.

“It will get better with the passing months. Your body is just out of practice,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’ll have Neven bring you some tea and give the queen your apologies.”

I rolled over and pulled the sheet over my head, preparing to endure the next few days.

Chapter Eleven