Page 69 of Blood of the Sands

Now, Neven held out a pot of black paint and gestured to my face, offering to help me apply it across my eyes. As the individual duels were fought starting in the afternoon, moving into evening, it would be all too easy to be blinded by the sun.

I turned away from the fight currently underway, glad for the distraction. Watching the competitors only made bile rise in my throat at the thought of my own impending duels. I had never truly expected to make it this far in the Trials, and the volume of the audience’s cheers with every clash of blunted sabers jangled my nerves.

I shut my eyes and focused on Neven’s cool, damp fingers tracing a stripe across my face.

“I’m glad you don’t have to fight in the first round after placing so highly in the race.” Neven made casual conversation as he worked. “It’ll keep you from being as tired in the later rounds.”

“You say that as if I’ll be fighting in the later rounds,” I grumbled, half under my breath, but he seemed to hear me none the less.

“You’ve made it this far.”

“I’m still not sure how that happened. I’ve only been training for a few months,” I pointed out. Even though Aderyn and the queen had put their faith in me to win the Trials and prevent war in Kelvadan, standing here facing down the final duels held the strange blurred quality of a dream. Perhaps I was still lying in the empty sands, drowning in my own blood and having fevered visions of what being in the final round of the Trials would be like. Still, the visceral sensations in my body told me this was real. Perhaps the desert really had chosen me, and I would defeat the Viper to save Kelvadan—and finally earn a real home here in the Great City.

Or maybe, I would fail the queen, despite all her efforts to help me.

Nerves jangled my belly, making the fruit I had eaten for lunch churn uneasily. I swallowed my nausea down, unwilling to waste the food by retching it up.

“You act as if keeping yourself alive in the desert for years wasn’t any sort of preparation.” Neven finished up and wiped his hands on a cloth tucked into his belt. “Besides, the Trials are where the desert picks her Champion, and she is never wrong. People who have trained for years for the Trials have lost to those the desert deemed worthy.”

“Some people in Kelvadan seem to think that the chosen of the desert is nothing more than a myth,” I pointed out. Even more believed that being crowned Champion was a sign of some great destiny, but that didn’t seem to fit me right now either.

“Every myth comes from some truth.”

I opened my mouth, but my response was drowned out by the crescendo of the crowd. Turning toward the ring, I peered over the heads of those in front of me to the ring where the duels took place. The two competitors were caught in a grapple. One man had the other’s blade arm trapped by his side, essentially disarming him. The fighter didn’t give up, grabbing at his opponent’s sword.

The crowd gasped as the pinned man wrenched his competitor’s saber free, hitting its previous wielder over the head with the pommel. He stumbled back, tripping over his own feet, stunned by the blow. In a flash, his adversary had both sabers crossed at his throat.

The gong rang out above the cheers and hollers of the crowd.

“Silas moves on to the next round.”

The victor offered his hand to his opponent and helped him to his feet. They clasped forearms, and the loser rapped his knuckles to his brow in respect.

“The next match will be Badha of Clan Otush and Keera of Kelvadan.”

My lunch threatened to reappear again, but the feeling was drowned out by the leaping of my heart at the announcement—I was a citizen of Kelvadan. I was fighting for this city that had welcomed me with open arms when nowhere had ever felt like home.

I unsheathed my blunted saber and marched into the ring, the eyes of the crowd weighing heavily on my back, but I raised my chin. My opponent bore a green sash, the color of Clan Otush, and raised her arms boldly in the air as she entered the ring. The hollers and cheers told me that she was a favorite of the spectators, and she seemed to revel in it. I avoided looking to either side, instead focusing on my opponent.

She sprang forward with a flurry of attacks as the gong sounded, driving me back. I quickly changed my momentum, moving to the side so she wouldn’t coral me into the edge of the arena where I would have no room to maneuver. My mind raced, trying to recall the words of wisdom Aderyn had about fighting opponents so fast and nimble.

In a flash, a strike came at my unprotected side. Before it could slash me in the ribs, I turned, lifting my elbows over my head, and catching the blade in a hanging parry. The force knocked the saber off course, and I moved the momentum into an overhead strike.

Badha’s eyes widened as I pressed the advantage, only just missing her shoulder with my downward blow. I couldn’t remember any of the drills Aderyn had put me through, but it didn’t seem to matter. My body did.

Time blurred, and the whistling of wind filled my mind. In a matter of moments, or at least that’s what it seemed, my opponent had her empty hands in the air, my saber at her throat.

I lowered my weapon quickly, uncomfortably familiar with the feeling of a saber point at my throat and loathe to subject anybody to it, even if it was blunted. Badha clapped me on the shoulder with a rueful but friendly smile as we made our way out of the ring.

I stopped at the edge of the ring, crestfallen as strangers offered me smiles and pats on the back. My arms hung limply at my side, tip of my practice saber dragging on the ground. Standing among the crowd and accepting their congratulations felt like belonging—something I had craved for so long it felt carved into my identity. Now though, it felt oddly as if it were happening to somebody else.

The next few fights passed as I stood dumbly among the crowd, but I was pulled from my reverie as a familiar figure, broad shouldered and imposing, pushed into the ring. This time, the onlookers didn’t cheer but were overtaken by a sinister hush.

With the mask on, I couldn’t see the Viper’s expression, but his body language gave away nothing. He simply swung his sword back and forth in a few passes as if to loosen up, the whistling noises it made carrying across the ring.

The blood drained from the other fighter’s face as he took in his opponent. I couldn’t say I blamed him. Even though I had technically bested him in the hunt, everything I had seen from the Viper spoke of terrifying competence, from the effortless way he had kidnapped me and lugged me across the desert, to the swathes of competitors he had eliminated during the melee. The man who had pressed a gentle hand to the nape of my neck and offered to help me contain my magic was nowhere to be found.

I hadn’t even registered the gong ringing, and the Viper’s adversary was face down in the dirt. The onlookers barely had time to react, a stilted rumbling instead of a cheer filling the arena.