Page 52 of Crown of the Dunes

I found myself standing at the foot of Kelvar’s statue trying not to stare up at his face while simultaneously avoiding the gazes of those milling around me. My mask made the latter easier, but the shadow of the mounted warrior was cold and heavy at my back.

Squaring my shoulders against the weight of his judgement, I looked around the courtyard. As soon as the funeral procession had crossed through the palace gates, Keera and Aderyn had been herded away, presumably to discuss Kelvadan’s response to yet another monster rising from legend.

My shackles had been removed when we retreated back within the walls. The bonds were superfluous given that I was no longer chained to anything. The rider who removed them unlocked them hastily and shuffled away without another word, apparently having no intention of returning me to my locked room in the palace.

In fact, everybody seemed to glance at me sidelong before hurrying along in their tasks, as if nobody was quite sure what to do with me—or what to make of me. Part of me wondered if they feared me, but too many of the glances held curiosity instead of wariness.

My hackles rose as I considered what Keera had said—that the archons thought some might support me for the throne. Perhaps I should make it clear I was a prisoner again—remove myself as a challenger for Keera’s throne. I did not crave leadership.

I glanced over my shoulder at the entrance to the palace. My stomach dropped at the idea of voluntarily shutting myself in a prison of stone. My breath came quicker and the chattering in my head, temporarily assuaged by the battle with the tricrith, grew louder. Perhaps I could stay outside a little longer.

The clearing of a throat caught my attention, and I turned back.

My father stood before me, hands shoved in his sash. He scuffed his boot on the smooth stone.

“Come on, you look like you could use a drink.” He cocked his head at my mask and narrowed his eyes. “Well, at least I imagine you do.”

Without further explanation, he turned and began weaving his way through the milling riders toward the stables. I only hesitated for a moment before trailing after him.

The sounds of riders conversing and hooves clopping on stone faded away as he led me up the carved stone steps along the side of the stable, to the flat roof that served as a step up to the next level of the palace outbuildings. He walked to the edge and sat, dangling his legs over the side.

His movements were stiffer than I remembered, and he groaned as he bent down, mumbling something about creaky knees, but the pose was familiar. I took a deep breath and joined him in the spot where I hadn’t sat since I was a teenager.

As I dangled my feet over the edge, leaving an arm’s length between us, Kaius reached into the inner pocket of his robes and produced a flask. I recognized the gold horse head stopper marking it as the one my mother had given him for his fiftieth name day, telling him that if he was going to insist on carrying a flask, it should at least be better than the banged-up tin he had used since his youth.

He took a long swig and grimaced before holding it out to me.

“Unless…” he said, looking at my mask.

Without a word, I reached up and lifted it from my face, glad to feel the evening breeze on my sweat-crusted skin. The metal contraption grated on me now, even as I craved the safety of its shield. It was dead weight. I was no longer the Viper. I’d killed that persona when I chose to surrender and give up my chance to destroy Kelvadan.

Without it though, at my mother’s funeral, many would see me as Prince Erix of Kelvadan, and that identity was just as dead. I was some third thing now—the Erix that Keera had come to know out in the dunes.

On that note, I grabbed the open flask from my father and mimicked his long draught. As soon as I swallowed, I choked on the urge to cough around the fire in my throat. My eyes watered as I held the flask out to my father.

He did not play around with his liquor.

A light chuckle escaped him as he grabbed it and took another swig.

The silence stretched, less uncomfortable than I feared, as if some of the awkwardness had been chased away by the violence of this afternoon.

“I’ve been taking good care of your horse. She’s a beautiful mare,” he said without preamble.

My chest warmed at the thought of her, and not just from the alcohol. “Alza.”

“Was she bred by the clans?”

I shook my head. “She was wild. I caught her as a foal and trained her myself.”

My father grunted in approval. He loved wild horses. “You always did have a good eye for horse flesh. One of the few things you got from me.”

A humorless laugh bubbled up in my throat. “Maybe if I had gotten more from you, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

The words tasted bitter on my tongue, but I didn’t have it in me to take them back.

“We did the best we could. But I know it wasn’t enough.” The normal joking lightness was absent from Kaius’s tone, his voice thin and quiet.

I didn’t look at him, instead letting my gaze drift out over the city to the horizon where the sands were stained nearly crimson with the long light of the setting sun. I loved when the desert looked like this—as if you could see the blood of all who had fallen to her fury painting the sands, but it was still somehow beautiful. Peaceful.