Page 68 of Blood of the Sands

The only other horse in the line-up that matched Alza stood at the end of the line, as far from me as possible. Lord Alasdar’s former warhorse stamped at the ground moodily while his rider looked so determinedly away from me that I knew she was avoiding me on purpose.

I frowned and looked away as well. After she left last night, I had laid awake on my bedroll for far too long, the defiant set of her jaw filling my mind every time I closed my eyes.

Now, Queen Ginevra climbed the wooden stand at the end of the line that demarked the start of the horse race. While Aderyn had declared when the challenge was announced that no riders would be eliminated from the competition here, the results would determine the rankings for the final stage of the Trials: the duels.

I kept my eyes straight ahead on the horizon, toeing Alza up to the starting line. While most of the riders were packed tightly enough that their knees brushed, the competitors on either side of me gave me as much room as possible, as if I would knock them off their horses if given the chance.

With Alza beneath me, I had no need for such trickery.

“Riders ready,” called a familiar, imperious voice.

I drew in a deep breath and held it, letting it fill my lungs as I relaxed into my seat, loose but tense at the same time.

Alza leaped forward at the gong, faster than an arrow loosed from its bow. I leaned forward over her neck, resting my hands on her muscled shoulders. The riders on either side of me disappeared as Alza pulled away, and the wide swath of competitors narrowed into a single file. As the herd thinned out, and we came toward the first turn in the track that ran around the entire encampment, only one rider remained in front of us.

Keera.

Her golden warhorse’s hooves pounded the earth in a rhythm that thudded in my chest as we tailed her. As we sped around the curve, she was several horse-lengths in front of me. We hit the straight away, and I murmured encouragement to Alza under my breath.

Approaching the second bend, we started to pull even with Keera. She spared me a glance out of the corner of her eye, and I couldn’t help but look back. The wind had pulled dark tendrils of hair from the braid down her back and whipped them around her face, hood thrown back in the thrill of the chase.

Even though Keera had the inside on the turn, giving her the advantage, Alza continued to gain ground. While the stallion had the greater power off the start, Alza’s slighter frame had the better endurance.

Nobody could beat us in a sprint to the finish.

Turning onto the last straight away, I loosened the leash on the magic in my mind that connected me all living things in the desert—especially my horse. With Alza and I moving as one, her head bobbing as she lengthened her stride to reach impossible speeds, we pulled ahead.

The finish line came into view, and the soaring feeling that only came with riding full tilt lifted my soul. With the competition of Keera and her stallion galloping just off my shoulder, the sensation intensified. For a flash, I could swear I was the wind whipping through Keera’s hair.

Then the finish line flew by, and the assembled crowd roared. I had won by less than half a horse-length. I let Alza slow to a trot, patting her sweat-soaked neck and wheeling around to let her cool down. Keera pulled up next to me doing the same, and I couldn’t help but look at her as she tipped her face up to the sun. Her eyes were closed, and the look on her face wasn’t quite a smile, but I knew she felt the same joy I did echoing through her from the race.

A smile curved my lips of its own accord, and the muscles around my mouth protested at the uncommonly used expression.

As if she could sense me looking, Keera’s eyes flew open, gaze shooting to me and pinning me with a glare. The beginnings of my smile were extinguished just as fast, along with any remnants of the exhilaration from the ride.

She wheeled away and trotted off, leaving me to wonder how I had forgotten it was a race, if only for a moment. I couldn’t afford to lose focus when the fate of the desert was on the line.

I was not alone in my tent that night. A warm form pressed against me on my sleeping mat, comforting in the dry chill of the desert night. My arm draped over a soft curve, and I tightened my grip, pulling my bedmate closer.

Her response was a feminine sigh and a subtle wiggle, as if she itched to get closer as well. As her round ass pressed up against me, I grinned in pleasure at the closeness. Something sleepy and muted in my head wondered at the contact—didn’t I always sleep alone?—but I pushed it aside in favor of basking in the comfort of a warm body against mine. Unsurprised that I was already hard, I ground my length against the small of her back. How could I not be aroused with hair that smelled of sunshine and larrea flowers tickling my nose?

As I relieved some of the pressure in my cock by thrusting gently against her ass, I let my hands wander, drifting between her breasts and down her stomach where I flattened my palm, pulling her more firmly into me.

She let out a shuddering breath in response and threw her head back to rest on my shoulder. The movement pushed her dark hair out of her face, and I bent over as if to press a kiss to her neck. Before my lips could touch her skin, I caught sight of her face and froze.

At my stillness, her eyes snapped open, and I looked in horror into the deep molten pools of Keera’s eyes staring straight at my bare face.

I woke with a moan dying on my lips, the warmth of the dream chased away by the icy fear in my veins. My hands flew up to touch my maskless face, and a few moments of staring at the canvas above me reminded me of my solitude. No one was here with me.

I growled at the warmth of arousal still echoing in my core. Why would I have such a dream about the woman who had made these Trials so complicated? She had seen my face once, and it already haunted me, yet my mind continually assaulted me with images of us in increasingly vulnerable positions—with her seeing more of who I was than just my bared face. It was like my subconscious mind wanted to torment me with things I could never have by the light of day.

I rolled and pushed to my feet, ready to go practice my forms. No matter how much longer I laid in my tent, I wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Keera

Ahand landed on my shoulder, and I jumped before realizing it was Neven. His warm gaze was a welcome sight to my frayed nerves. I had spent the remaining rest days of the Trials firmly ensconced in his textile stall, not trusting myself to join in the festivities after my last social liaison had apparently been a ploy by a would-be assassin. While I worked with Neven, fetching and carrying or making change, he never brought up the coming duels or tried to pry details from me about the prior challenges. If he made conversation at all, it was idle gossip about the other stall owners, and I appreciated him making space for me in the normalcy of his life. For the last weeks, my nerves grated, and increasingly disturbing dreams about the Viper haunted my sleep. The last one had echoed the first dream of intimacy I had when arriving at Kelvadan, but this time my companion wore the Viper’s face. I woke from that dream with an overwhelming rush of both heat and cold washing over my skin. The time spent in Neven’s stall was a safe haven from such confusing dreams and the speculation of the Trials.