Page 63 of Crown of the Dunes

I couldn’t decide if it made me feel more or less like an outsider than before. The thought of how I would feel after the Champion’s circlet was placed on my head made me lightheaded. A deep, dark part of me ached for physical proof of my belonging in this Great City—something that couldn’t be taken from me. However, dread pooled in my gut in equal measure, that this would be the time where the people would truly see me and find me lacking. Or worse… too much. I was an imposter of a queen with too much power and too many emotions to follow in Ginevra’s footsteps. But I was the reason this city had been deprived of its last queen, and I could not run from the responsibility as much as I wished to turn away from this duty before Kelvadan turned away from me.

When I pushed through the doors to my chamber, Neven greeted me with a warm smile, and I decided it did feel welcoming after all. No sooner had I wished him good morning, than I spotted a golden puddle spread across the bed behind him.

My eyes widened. “Is that…”

“I’ve been saving this silk for something special. And if your coronation wasn’t a worthy occasion well… then I can’t think of what would qualify.” He smiled proudly, running his dexterous fingers over the ripples of molten fabric.

“You shouldn’t have,” I whispered, a lump rising in my throat, even as I drifted toward him to get a closer look. “With everything going on, it feels… silly. And I’m not really that kind of queen. I’m just—” I huffed in frustration as I looked for the right words. “I’m just an exile who has been given magic she can barely control, trying her best to help, even though she’s never sure how.”

Neven’s eyes narrowed as he took me in, as if deep in thought. “I made Queen Ginevra’s dresses for years, and she always told me that what people believed mattered just as much as the actual truth of the matter. Dressing like a queen is part of making people believe in you. Even if the person you’re convincing is yourself.”

My lips quirked, although the smile was a sad one as I remembered the queen telling me something very similar. “I’m not sure some silk is enough to make me a convincing queen, even if you made it. I’m more of a fighter than a negotiator.”

“There’s more than one way to be a queen, you know. That’s why I made this dress a little something special.”

I waited in the front hallway of the palace that would lead out the double doors to the top of the steps at the head of the courtyard. I remembered a night not so long ago, but different enough that it might have been ages, where I ran into this stone passage, trying to escape the noise and crowd of the Kelvadan festival.

My magic had burst out of me, and my heart had shattered as I prepared to be thrown out of the city. Now, I was being crowned her queen, although my magic still whirled and bubbled uncomfortably in my gut. I looked down and tried to remind myself that power was why I stood here—the signs that the desert had chosen me to be her Champion.

Although some might argue that Erix was her chosen Champion.

I didn’t know such conflicting emotions could be expressed in a dress, but somehow Neven had done it. While panels of golden silk flared out from my waist, parting to leave most of my legs visible when I walked, metal plates like armor covered my torso and my shoulders. The polished brass had been burnished to a reflective shine, it’s unforgiving rigidity a sharp contrast to the gauzy strips of fabric that flowed from the top of the pauldrons at my shoulder. Neven had even painted a line across my eyes, the same way he had to keep the sun out of my eyes when I fought to become the Champion of the Desert. Today though, instead of black kohl, he had used glittering golden paint.

I had been transformed into a gilded warrior queen.

A creaking and booming signaled the doors before me opening, and I squared my shoulders. I wished for the handle of my saber to grip but settled for clenching my hands into fists. It was not enough to brace me for the overwhelming wave of life that poured over me, as hot and intense as the desert sun cutting into the formerly dim corridor.

The anxious beating of a hundred hearts waiting in the courtyard hit me like a tidal wave, and I nearly stumbled back. This was not the quiet wash of hidden creatures scattered among the desert, and neither was this crowd entirely celebratory as they had been the night of the Kelvadan festival. A current of tension and unease undercut the waves of magic pouring in from the desert.

I almost shrunk away from it, but one bright tendril stood out from the rest. The tether between Erix and I shivered with a bright golden light, and I grabbed on to it.

Lifting my chin, I strode out into the sunlight and the appraising gazes of the people of Kelvadan. The archons already stood on the rise of the top step leading up to the palace doors, two on each side, flanking me.

I rooted my feet to the ground, trying to focus on the solid feeling of the stone under my feet through the sandals I wore, golden cords laced up my calves. Anything to keep from inspecting the faces of the hundreds of people crammed into the courtyard and spilling out into the city.

Even so, I couldn’t focus on the words of the archons as they spoke one by one, describing the ways in which I would serve the city. Instead, my gaze caught on the way that some people gathered in the crowd shifted uneasily. I recognized a few people from the palace corridors whispering behind their hands to each other, their brows furrowed.

My mind flitted back to the scene outside the city when a riot had nearly broken out over a painted message declaring The Viper the true heir to Kelvadan. Some had been willing to spill blood to support his claim. Maybe those who agreed more quietly still hid in this crowd—maybe the whispers behind hands were of how an exile who could not control her power well enough to cleanly win the title of Champion would spell doom for their already suffering city.

Maybe they were right.

A movement to my left drew my attention as Dravis, the Archon of Agriculture, stepped forward. His footsteps sounded louder than they should as he took a few long strides to stop in front of me.

Facing the crowd, he lifted his hands above his head, showing what he held in them.

“The Champion’s circlet,” he announced, his voice grave.

The gold band, adorned with sunbursts, gleamed in the blinding sunlight. At the center of each sunburst sat a small red stone, so dark it was almost black. In this light, it almost seemed that a small fire danced at the heart of each one—tiny shards of blood glass from the first man to ever have crossed the desert and win her Heart.

I swallowed, my own heart leaping into my throat as I stared at it. The same circlet had rested on Kelvar’s head when he had won the Trials and been named Champion just over two hundred years ago. While the royalty of Kelvadan had no real crown, the circlet of the Champion held a clear meaning: whoever wore it was chosen by the desert. Kelvar’s descendent in strength, if not in blood.

My heart leapt into my throat as the sun caught on the golden band, flashing brilliantly in the harsh sunlight. Despite the warmth of the day, my skin pebbled with awe.

Dravis turned to face me, standing a few feet away with the circlet clutched in front of him. I managed a weak smile as I lowered myself to my knees, putting myself at a height where he could easily set it on top of my head.

He didn’t return my expression. Instead, his lips were tight and his eyes wide. As I bowed my head, my gaze flickered to the way his fingers held the circlet in a white-knuckled grip.

Silence stretched and dread pooled in my gut, spreading out through the well of magic there in dark ripples.