Page 11 of Crown of the Dunes

His eyes narrowed, but he did not respond.

I was saved from the crawling feeling of my skin under his scrutiny by a clatter on the stairs behind him.

“General Warrick, is that you?” an unfamiliar voice called.

A moment later, another man rounded the corner, stopping on the step below the landing as he found the other stranger and I still facing off in the small space.

“There you are, Warrick. We are supposed to be meeting with the Archon of Trade, but he wouldn’t start without you.” He paused as his gaze jumped to me, and he smiled. “It would seem you made a friend, though.”

I snapped my mouth shut, realizing it was hanging open as I took in his windswept brown hair and neat beard. While he was tanned like he spent much of his time in the sun, the tailored jacket, worn over a white shirt—the formal style of which was at odds with how far it was unlaced—was unlike any I had seen in the Ballan Desert.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

I jumped, realizing I still hadn’t spoken. “Sorry. You two just surprised me.”

His gaze traveled up and down my body, but the furrow between his brow seemed concerned instead of appraising like the other man’s. The gaze of the first man had made me feel vulnerable, but I did not fear this man seeing my scars. His eyes lingered on the cane clutched in my hand and the bare side of my head.

“You’re the one they’re all talking about,” he said.

I shrank back at the idea of so many people speaking of me, wondering what they might be saying.

“The hero of Kelvadan,” he pressed on, seemingly unconcerned with my discomfort at the notoriety. I had gathered that news of my killing Lord Alasdar had spread. I hadn’t imagined it reaching the point where total strangers would be hailing me as a hero.

“It seems that you have an unfair advantage,” I deflected. “I have no idea who you are.”

I swallowed, realizing that might sound rude, but the man didn’t seem too concerned with my blunt manner.

“Prince Calix, the ambassador from Viltov.” He offered a small bow. “And this is General Warrick of Doran.” He gestured to the copper-haired man, who didn’t so much as incline is head in greeting.

I blinked stupidly.

“Prince?” I echoed.

He cocked his head. “The title seems a bit superfluous, I’ll admit, given that I’m a seventh son and far enough from the throne that I’m more useful as an ambassador than an heir. However, I do use it when the occasion calls for it, even though the formality seems rather heavy. This seemed like an appropriate moment, given how much I’ve heard about you in the past month.”

My heart warred in my chest at his words. The small, lonely exile inside me puffed out her chest at the fact that the Great City now saw me as their hero. But the title sat awkwardly on my shoulders, and I shifted as I tried to bear the weight.

“You can just call me Keera,” I said.

“And you can call me Calix.” The prince smiled. “Now that introductions are out of the way, why don’t we get out of the middle of this stairway? The archon is waiting on Warrick and me, after all.”

Warrick scowled. “Don’t you think it’s time we start dealing with the queen directly?”

“The queen?” I asked.

When Warrick didn’t answer, instead staring intently at the stairs over my shoulder, Calix chimed in instead.

“My father—the King of Viltov—sent me to negotiate the potential alliance with Kelvadan after Ambassador Lyall returned,” Calix explained. “General Warrick is here from Doran. He arrived around the same time I did.”

“Doran?” My hackles rose.

“I’m here to apologize for the actions of Ambassador Hadeon, who was operating outside of our orders,” Warrick said, although his tone was less than apologetic.

At the mention of Hadeon—at how he had tried to seduce me with kind words only to poison me—the hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention. Aderyn’s words came back to me with a new clarity.

There may be more than one war knocking on our door these days.

We couldn’t let the ambassadors from Doran or Viltov know about the queen’s sickness—another weakness they might try to exploit, just as Hadeon had tried to deepen the rift between Kelvadan and the clans. A war between the city and those who rode the desert might be devastating, but the thought of an invasion from the outside brought bile to my throat.