Page 73 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

Dunayans fear nothing.

Not even death.

Tabitha Wysteria

‘Harra, amira! You’re too slow!’ Hessa’s voice rang out over the sand, laughter bubbling from her lips as Alina sprinted with every ounce of strength she had left.

They were deep in the heart of the desert, far from camp, having travelled for two long, scorching days.

Though their tents had been pitched, rest had been postponed.

Hessa had led a handful of them out for training.

But it was not the rigid drills of old. No, this was sport.

Two against two, each match a dance of instinct and cunning.

Alina’s eyes locked onto the long spear planted ahead, a crimson ribbon fluttering from its tip like a banner of victory.

Charging towards it from the other side was Saren, just as wild, just as hungry to win.

There was no room left for thought. Alina threw herself forward, legs pumping, sand slipping beneath her feet. She would not lose.

They had been positioned at opposite ends of a vast, sun-scorched expanse of sand.

An arena drawn not with walls or banners, but with the breathless hush of heat and anticipation, told to run on the count of three.

The first to grasp the spear would win. Alina had quickly learnt what it meant to run across shifting dunes.

Balance was everything, and missteps were costly.

She had trained with the Dunayans for days that had bled into weeks, until time blurred and the memory of anything else began to fade.

The palace halls of her youth, the dragon-forged towers of the Kingdom of Fire.

.. all seemed like stories told to someone else.

Once, she had been a princess. Now, she wasn’t sure what she was at all.

Not Dunayan. Not royal.

Just... nothing.

And Alina had come to cherish being nothing.

There was clarity in it. An emptiness that kept grief at bay. She no longer wept for a family she had chosen to forget. No longer mourned a kingdom that had never truly belonged to her. A princess no longer. So why should she hold onto a crown she had never worn with pride?

No.

She kept only one thing.

One purpose that pulled her from her bed before the sun. That made her push through endless drills, through sweat and ache and blistered hands. One face that haunted her beneath the sun’s brutal gaze and returned to her, vivid and whole, when she closed her eyes each night.

A face she would never allow herself to forget.

Alina caught sight of Saren just a breath away from the spear, but instinct overruled caution.

She hurled herself forward with abandon, arms outstretched, the coarse desert sand scraping against her skin as she landed flat on her stomach.

Her fingers curled around the shaft of the spear just as a body slammed into hers.

Saren had done the very same, their limbs colliding in a chaotic tangle of elbows and knees.

A sharp thud followed, a foot catching Alina clean on the forehead as Saren slid in from the side, her momentum unchecked. The impact stung, but it only made Alina laugh harder.

Cheers erupted across the dunes, and Alina threw her head back with victorious glee, the ribboned spear clutched triumphantly in her grasp. Saren leapt to her feet, brushing sand from her clothes before extending a hand. Alina took it without hesitation, grinning as she was pulled upright.

‘Don’t get used to beating me,’ Saren warned with a dazzling smile.

‘Then stop making it so easy!’ Alina shot back.

Hessa was next to reach them, her arm slinging around Alina’s shoulders with a jolt of pride and affection, pulling her in close.

‘Well done, amira! You’re getting fast now.’

A sharp whistle cut through the warm air, a signal that food was ready. The gathered Dunayans who had been spectating scattered at once, eager for their morning snack. Saren joined them, casting a smile over her shoulder before disappearing into the group, leaving Alina and Hessa alone.

They often left them like that, Alina noticed.

As though everyone had silently agreed that the two princesses should have their own time together, away from the others.

She didn’t question it. She didn’t want to.

She enjoyed the quiet comfort of Hessa’s company, the way her eyes always seemed to seek Alina first, the way she made her feel seen.

‘We’ll travel to Madari next,’ Hessa said as they reached the tents, collecting bowls brimming with fragrant rice and tender, spice-drenched meat. They settled outside, side by side, watching the ever-changing face of the desert.

‘What’s in Madari?’

‘It’s one of the largest desert cities,’ Hessa replied, scooping a handful of rice and meat and dropping it into her mouth, humming with pleasure at the taste.

Alina followed her lead, moaning softly as the flavour burst across her tongue.

‘We need supplies,’ Hessa added after swallowing, ‘for my father.’

Over time, Alina had come to understand that Dunayans were far more than fierce and skilled mercenaries.

They were guardians of the desert folk, yes, but also messengers and caretakers tasked with ensuring their people’s needs were met, even if that meant travelling to the great cities beyond the dunes.

It had puzzled her at first. In truth, it still did.

‘If your father is king,’ she asked, brow furrowed, ‘shouldn’t he be in a city? In a palace?’

Hessa smiled at the thought, a soft amusement dancing across her features.

‘We are ruled by tribes. My father is king and governs the whole of the desert. But beneath him are the twelve great tribes, each with their own lands, their own ways. Each region has its own laws and customs, and Dunayans like me protect them. They govern themselves, for the most part. Only when justice lies beyond their reach do they call for my father.’ She paused to scoop up more rice before continuing, ‘He travels from tribe to tribe, one each month, staying with them and hearing their needs. The mountain we trained on belongs to the twelfth region. Madari belongs to the eleventh. My father could place a palace in the city, but it would be seen as an insult to the rulers of that land. It is their territory, not his.’

‘What sort of supplies are we gathering?’ Alina asked, intrigued.

‘He’s heard of a new strain of desert plants that are rare, possibly medicinal. He wishes to try them.’ Hessa squinted slightly beneath the merciless sun. ‘But I think that’s just an excuse for us to have a look around.’

‘Why?’ Alina knew the answer, but she needed to hear it spoken aloud, to give weight to her unease.

‘There are whispers... Madari seems restless, unsettled. No one knows why. But with everything we now know of the witches, the timing feels too perfect to be mere chance.’ Hessa gave a wry smile.

‘Still, we mustn’t worry too much. My father worries enough for all of us.

His face is a map of lines now. His wife will leave him any day. ’

Alina laughed despite herself, grateful for Hessa’s lightness, even if only for a moment.

‘Do you think we should worry?’ she asked, more seriously this time.

Hessa lifted a single shoulder in that way Alina had grown to adore. She never shrugged like others did, never both shoulders, only the right, as though the full gesture was too extravagant.

‘We’re far,’ she said simply.

‘But not far enough,’ Alina muttered, her appetite slipping away. Her voice was quiet, almost carried off by the desert breeze. ‘There could already be witches in Madari.’

Hessa didn’t deny it.

‘It’s a possibility,’ she said. ‘And that is why we’ll check.’

Something lingered behind Hessa’s gaze, some quiet worry unspoken, but Alina knew better than to press.

They had grown attuned to each other in the way only those who share silence can: understanding when to offer space, when to reach for closeness.

When tears needed to fall without explanation, or when footsteps through sand were the only balm for a restless mind.

They had learnt to read one another like shifting dunes—wordless, intuitive, instinctual .

Alina cherished their evenings most of all, those long, meandering walks beneath the stars, fingers interlaced, laughter like a shared secret echoing into the cooling dusk. The world felt distant, paused, as though even time held its breath and left them in peace.

‘You’re biting your nails again,’ Hessa said, spitting out a small bone from her meal.

Alina glanced down and quickly tucked her hands beneath her thighs. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Nothing is never nothing,’ Hessa replied softly, her white eyes shimmering with quiet concern. ‘Something troubles you, amira.’

Alina exhaled slowly, the weight in her chest refusing to shift.

‘Waa airan sa nada. Sala silan,’ she whispered, drawing up her karash to cover her mouth, her voice now veiled beneath its fabric. She didn’t want curious ears catching fragments of their conversation. Hessa noted the gesture and frowned. We have heard nothing. Only silence.

‘Has dat sa bana, silan na?’ Hessa asked gently. Is that not a good thing, silence?

‘Tsa,’ Alina replied, clicking her tongue before lifting her chin in that sharp desert movement of disapproval. ‘Alghai has khata. Khan santir.’ Something is wrong. I can feel it.

Without hesitation, Hessa reached for Alina’s hand and pulled it from its hiding place. She brought it to her lips and kissed each fingertip, despite Alina’s protests. Despite the bitten skin and raw edges.

‘They’re a mess,’ Alina said, embarrassed. ‘It’s revolting.’

Hessa paid her no mind, she never did when Alina spoke harshly of herself.

‘It will be fine, amira,’ she whispered, pressing a kiss to the centre of Alina’s palm. ‘We have each other, remember?’