Page 24 of Crown of the Dunes

“So, it’s true?” A woman from the crowd yelled, stepping forward and setting her hands on her hips.

I swallowed, finding it difficult, as if something sharp and painful were lodged in my throat. The man I knew under the mask was not the Prince Erix these people referred to—just a man who desperately wanted to shed the weight of being Kelvar’s heir—but I could not lie to them. Not if I wanted to deserve the sense of belonging they had offered me—belonging that Erix had once offered me, but now seemed more distant every passing minute.

“It is true,” I nodded solemnly.

“If the queen succumbs to her illness, we are to be ruled by a man who wants to destroy the city?” the woman shouted, anger rising in her tone, face contorting in frustration.

Before I could say anything, other voices started yelling, all rolling over each other like the roaring waves of a sandstorm.

“He is the rightful Champion of the desert—”

“—Kelvar come again—”

“Keera would have been named Champion under the old ways!”

“He will help the clans kill us all!”

Rage and resolve reared their head in equal measures. I had sweat and ached to recover from my injuries so that would not happen—so I could protect these people from the clans and truly earn the respect some already granted me.

In the crowd, I caught sight of a familiar scarred face and icy eyes. Before I could consider General Warrick’s presence further, the ring of a blade pulling free of a sheath cut through the cacophony.

“You would defy the right of Kelvar’s heir to rule?” yelled a voice louder than the rest. My attention was drawn to a bearded man, saber in hand.

The tall man across from him drew his saber as well. “And you would welcome with open arms the man who will destroy our city?”

Both bared their teeth as the whole crowd waited in anticipation for what was surely next. The challenge to a duel that could only end in spilled blood.

Before either man could speak the words that would promise only death, I shouted, the tiniest touch of magic in my lungs, still lingering from my wild ride, making my wordless cry unnaturally loud.

I kneed my mare suddenly, and she reared onto her hind legs with a sharp whinny. I held my seat, gritting my teeth as I gripped her with my legs, getting her to hold the position as I held one fist aloft. The morning sun warmed my back, lengthening my shadow until it fell over the crowd before me.

Silence fell just as heavy as the weight of every eye on me. Even Calix stared—Calix who searched for the cracks at the edges of Kelvadan’s strength—cracks he could use to negotiate for his country.

My horse settled back on four legs, and I squared my shoulders.

“I will not let The Viper and the clans destroy this Great City, and the hope it brings to all in the desert in need of a home.”

My throat burned with the desire to tell them that Erix wouldn’t destroy them, but I couldn’t promise them that. Deep inside him was the tangled knot of anger that echoed the own pool of rage in my gut. And his rage centered on Kelvadan—the lies it perpetuated and the legacy it yoked him with.

I couldn’t promise that his anger would be quelled, as I was equally unable to fully bury my own anger at spending so many years alone and unwanted.

So, I swallowed down the promises that I couldn’t make and reached for one that I could.

“Some may consider him the Champion of the Desert, but I will be Kelvadan’s Champion.”

I stared out over the sand. The desert baked in the heat of the midday sun until the air near the ground writhed like snakes. I could have asked the queen to move inside with me, but there was something calming about sitting in the twisted metal chairs on this terrace. The cool glass of water in my hand dripped beads of condensation over my knuckles, leaving trails of ice along my fingers.

Soreness gripped the muscles in my legs, and a thin sheen of sweat coated my skin, reminiscent of the afternoons at I would choke down lyra leaf tea after training with Aderyn. For a moment, I could pretend that nothing had changed. While my feelings had seemed complicated then, they were nothing compared with the roiling mixture of resolve and unease that twisted under my breastbone now.

“Thank you,” the queen said, breaking the silence—breaking the illusion that these were simpler times.

“I didn’t do it for you,” I admitted.

“I know.”

I looked over to find her regarding me with a look of fondness on her face; her expression was softer than I had seen in a while.

“You did it for Kelvadan, and that is something I understand.”