Page 27 of Crown of the Dunes

While he had been among one of the first to make it off the plateau, he had neither helped with setting up the new encampment nor gone out to hunt for food, despite his near-legendary prowess with a bow. Even as Izumi and I divided riders between hunting and guarding the camp from the still-lurking threat of bone spiders and flying terrors, the riders of Clan Miran reported only to Lord Cahir and his warlord.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Cahir asked the men on the ground before me.

The man at the front of the triangle of kneeling riders looked up, pulling the fabric of his hood away from the lower half of his face. “We come from Kelvadan to serve the true heir to the desert.”

My heart plummeted to my boots, and the chitters running through the group around me added to the voices bouncing around in my skull. I did not know how they knew, but their words could only mean that my identity as the queen’s son had been revealed. I could not hide from it any longer.

“You would join us in destroying your own home?” Lord Cahir asked, his dark brows raising in disbelief.

The lead rider’s eyes flickered to Lord Cahir before returning to my own masked face. Even through the metal, I felt the weight of his gaze. As if he saw through the mask, although not in the way Keera always had, but as if he saw the face of a leader—a symbol—beneath it, instead of a man.

“We did not come to serve the Lords of the clans, but to pledge ourselves to both the heir to Kelvadan and the title of Champion. The descendant of Kelvar himself will set all our homes right again,” he said, his gaze unwavering.

Nausea boiled up from the pit of my stomach. My gloves were too tight and my mask too hot, but it still wasn’t enough to make me feel covered.

The sins of my past—the responsibilities from which I had fled—were exposed, and I would be able to hide them no longer.

“Is this true, Lord Viper?” Izumi asked from my left. Despite all our years spent together, I still could not read what her tone held, only sensing the discipline that kept at bay the slight quaver of a nameless emotion.

“I put aside that legacy to serve the desert long ago,” I hissed.

“And yet the strength of your heritage cannot be denied. You united the clans when nobody else could. Kelvar’s strength runs in you—you are no false Champion,” a man to the left of the lead rider chimed in. My gaze darted to him, and the tangled knot of magic in my head quivered at the hint of admiration I found in his face. Somehow, the dark-skinned man was familiar, but I didn’t know why.

Kelvar’s strength ran in my veins, mixed in equal parts with his madness and his failures.

A snort of disbelief came from Lord Cahir to my right. “You think this self-proclaimed Lord is the queen’s lost son? I would have expected somebody with royal blood to know how to lead better than what I’ve seen so far. I suppose that’s why the clans choose their leaders based on strength, not heritage.”

Lord Cahir’s warlord mirrored his snort of derision, and my head snapped in his direction. The air rustled as hands moved to the hilts of weapons, threads of tension threatening to snap as everybody tried to guess who would draw swords in favor of whom.

“You mean to imply that I didn’t win leadership of the clans through my own power?” My voice pitched low, its calm a sharp contrast to the roar of blood in my ears. “As I recall, I won the Trials and your loyalty before you knew that I was the Prince of Kelvadan.”

“So, you admit, you are the queen’s brat?” Lord Cahir hissed, turning to face me fully. I did not miss the way one hand rested on his hip in defiance, while the other caressed the pommel of his saber. The dark red of blood glass shards shimmered dangerously on the hand guard.

I swallowed, feeling like the shards of glass were lodged in my throat. Then, I squared my shoulders, knowing the time for hiding the truth had passed.

“I am.”

Ripples ran through the crowd like a shockwave, and the balance of power teetered on a knife’s edge. The repercussions of this revelation rent a fissure in the already splintering unity of the clans. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to grab on to the power I bore so uncomfortably.

“This does not change my purpose,” I said louder, so the whole crowd might hear. “You were united to heal the desert, and I will see it done.”

Lord Cahir sneered, his upper lip pulling up and contorting his face into a mask of derision. “For all we know, this could be just a grab for power—using our forces in a war to settle some personal vendetta, or to trick us into conquering the city so you can take a throne you feel cheated out of. After all, you were so conveniently placed to take power when Lord Alasdar, the desert’s true savior, was killed by the prisoner you let into our midst.”

A growl built in my chest, and my vision started to blur as the grip of my magic threatened to drag me away on the current of my anger.

Run as I might from the mistakes of my ancestors, they continuously nipped at my heels like hunting dogs—from the constant threat of madness to the burden of a legacy I could never live up to. The one thing I could do was give the desert the blood her whispers in my mind begged me for.

I had not shaped myself into a Lord, but a sword, and that’s what I would be.

“If you think I united the clans by trickery instead of power, why don’t you test your strength against mine?”

Lord Cahir smiled viciously, pulling his saber free and leaving the tip pointing toward the ground in an overhead guard.

The crowd surrounding us backed up, forming an empty circle for a duel of honor. Only two people didn’t retreat: Lord Cahir’s warlord behind him and Izumi at my shoulder.

Clan Miran’s warlord spoke first. “Let the warlords fight to determine disputes between clans as is tradition under the old ways.”

Izumi’s clothes rustled as she reached for her saber, but I held up a hand to halt her.