Page 65 of Crown of the Dunes

Erix was nowhere to be found.

A furrow formed between my brows only to deepen as I came up short in front of a figure at the edge of the circle of dancers. Unlike the other attendees, he did not smile, the grim set of his jaw only accentuating the claw-marks across his cheek.

“General Warrick,” I greeted.

“Interesting ceremony,” he said by way of greeting.

I grit my teeth and grappled with my composure, even as I clenched my fists so hard that my nails bit into my palms. While Neven had dressed me as a warrior queen, I didn’t think that gave me leave to tackle anybody who lobbed veiled insults at me to the ground. Still, I was sorely tempted.

“I had thought the Archon of Agriculture respected the former queen’s decision to name you her heir. It’s interesting that he was the one to take an open stand against your rule,” he observed, his voice gruff yet casual.

A growl built in my throat, and I swallowed it down with great difficulty. I sensed his hand in this, but I had no proof nor insight as to his motives. Just like the only proof of his meddling I had was a flash of copper hair during the disturbance outside the palace gate.

“Something…extreme… must have happened to persuade him to take such action,” he continued.

“You’re a man of battle, Warrick, right?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Here in the Ballan Desert, we would say a warlord. But our warlords prefer to speak with their blades and their actions, not threats and posturing. If you have something to say, then say it,” I ordered.

His lips twisted in a smile, but it did not reach his eyes. “All I am saying, is that it seems your enemies are everywhere. Even within the walls of the palace. You should take care when negotiating with foreign powers, as weakness like that is all too easily exploited.”

I bared my teeth, ready to spit fire. Did he dare threaten me without the dignity of a true challenge? Before I could respond, a voice drifted over my shoulder.

“General Warrick, trust you to ambush the new queen with politics when she is supposed to be celebrating.” Prince Calix stepped up next to me. “Either join the dance or leave the negotiating until the morning.”

Warrick inclined his head in the smallest possible indication of a bow and stepped off into the celebration. I followed his copper head through the crowd as he retreated into the palace. Calix motioned back to the dance floor, but I shook my head.

“I think I’ve had enough for today.”

I looked around, and Aderyn seemed to materialize out of the gathered onlookers. Riders opened the double doors, and together, Aderyn and I walked back into the palace. We didn’t speak, but my mind whirled with questions.

Chapter sixteen

Erix

The drumbeats from the ongoing festivities carried faintly through the empty halls. I wondered if Keera would be dancing to their rhythm, her smile shining just as bright as her golden dress, but I shook the image from my head. I had left the coronation celebration for a reason, and I couldn’t be distracted by imagining how she looked kneeling before me as I placed the crown on her head.

My feral little fighter, now the city’s gilded queen.

Something both sweet and bitter ran down my spine, but I refused to examine it closer, even as the chittering of magic in my mind urged me to dive into the feeling. My presence here continued to threaten Keera’s rule, even as she had insisted that we could make the people believe that I had no intention of making a move on the throne—it was the truth after all.

I had never interacted with the archon who had refused to place the circlet on Keera’s head and had no idea why he might oppose her—if it was a bid to win my favor, or a move to see me crowned instead. He would soon find out that opposing Keera was a sure way to earn my ire.

My footsteps echoed, despite my efforts to keep them quiet as I hurried through the empty palace. The archon had slipped inside immediately after Keera was crowned, and I had not been able to sneak away to follow him until long minutes later. Despite not having walked these halls in years, my legs carried me up the stairs toward the official chambers in the middle levels.

As I turned off the main stairway onto the hall, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. While I had expected Dravis to retreat to his study to hide after the scene at the coronation, there were no signs of life. The only noise was the chittering in my own skull as the voices of the desert grew like they often did before battle.

My next step made a quiet splash, and I looked down to find myself standing in a spreading puddle. Though the hallway was dim, the only light coming from a thin window at one end, I could just make out the dark color of the viscous liquid. It creeped out from under the closed door to one of the chambers.

My heart hammered like hoofbeats as I pushed the door open, already fearing what I would find.

Dravis sat slumped in his chair, burgundy robes stained even darker with the blood trailing from his slit throat. He couldn’t have been dead for longer than a few minutes from the way the crimson liquid still dribbled from the deep gash. I pushed into the room, looking around for any sign of an attacker.

Nothing was disturbed, but a glint of silver caught my eye. A bloodied knife lay on the desk just an inch from the archon’s limp hand. Bile rose in my throat. I likely would have passed an attacker in the hallway, but I had seen nobody on my trip through the palace.

As I stared at his slack face, I wracked my brain for what might compel Dravis to take his own life. While the risk he had taken at the coronation had certainly failed, these were not the actions of a level-headed politician.