Page 74 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

Alina swallowed, her breath catching as tawny eyes lingered on Hessa’s lips, lips that pressed soft, deliberate kisses against her hand, awakening something that pulsed through every corner of her body.

Her belly fluttered and twisted, heat blooming beneath her skin as forbidden thoughts surged forward.

Of Hessa kissing her elsewhere, of warmth and want unfurling in places Alina had never dared let her mind dwell.

She shook the thought away, trying to will her body into stillness, into silence.

But it was becoming harder with each passing day.

The nights, especially, were a torment she couldn’t escape.

When Hessa climbed into their shared bed barely clothed, the gauzy fabric of her sleep dress clinging to the gentle curve of her waist, Alina’s breath would catch.

Her eyes would betray her. And long after Hessa had fallen asleep, Alina would lie wide-eyed and aching, imagining what it might feel like to roll over, to close the distance between them.

To press her mouth to Hessa’s. To let her hands explore the unfamiliar contours of a woman’s body. Hessa’s body.

And to be explored in return.

The longing coiled itself around her like a silken thread, one she both dreaded and desired to unravel.

The thoughts scorched her with guilt.

In drakonian lands, women were not permitted to share beds with other women, not openly. Alina knew, of course, that many did. But always in secret. Always in shadows. It was forbidden, had always been forbidden. The mere whisper of such desires could unravel a life.

Even as a young girl, Alina had noticed how her attention lingered on boys, yes, but also on girls. Her curiosity, her quiet admiration, had wandered between both. And often she had wondered. Was it possible to long for both? To desire softness and strength in equal measure?

But the threat of discovery, of punishment, had taught her to bury such questions deep beneath duty and fear.

Then, at fifteen, Hagan had entered the periphery of her thoughts, and slowly, deliberately, consumed them.

No. That wasn’t quite the truth.

She had first begun to notice the other girls. Friends at court. The way one would tilt her head when she laughed, the brush of fingers during a shared secret, the warmth of a glance that lingered too long. Her heart had started to whisper truths she couldn’t yet name.

And Hagan had seen it.

He had known .

With honeyed words and calculated affection, he had drawn her in. Distracted her. Redirected her gaze. She could still hear his voice, low and coaxing, warning her to be careful, to mind how she looked at them.

He had known what stirred within her.

And so he made her believe she was mistaken. That her feelings were a confusion. That what she truly wanted, what she ought to want, was him.

Alina’s stomach twisted at the weight of memory, of him.

Of the way he had touched her, the things they had done in secret, too young and too desperate to understand what love truly meant.

She had loved him. And he had ruined her.

Not just her heart, but her body, her trust, her very sense of self.

He had broken her in ways she was only just beginning to piece together.

‘What are you thinking, amira?’ came the soft voice beside her.

Alina’s attention drifted again, unbidden, to Hessa’s lips, lips she had dreamt of tasting, of pressing to her own in the quiet hush of night.

But she didn’t dare. Some rules, no matter how far one travelled, could not be undone so easily.

She was still drakonian, through and through.

No matter how many desert robes she donned, or how fluently she spoke the tongue of the dunes, her blood still burnt with fire and pride.

And yet...

‘Nada,’ she said with a wistful smile. ‘Sala nar i sandhii.’

Nothing. Only fire and sand.

…

‘Tighter,’ Hessa instructed, nodding towards the knot Alina was struggling to secure.

The laughter that rose from nearby was quickly swallowed by the desert wind, though not before it reached Alina’s ears.

She resisted the urge to scowl. Dunayan children learnt to tie flawless knots by the age of five.

Artful, intricate things that could hold steady against wind, beast, or blade.

Alina, by comparison, had only just learnt the difference between a loop and a hitch.

Still, she persisted.

‘Why do you all learn to tie knots?’ she asked once she caught up to Hessa, who was weaving through the lines, checking each tie with swift, practised precision.

‘You’ll see,’ came the cryptic reply.

Alina didn’t care for the glint that danced in Hessa’s pale eyes.

Sharp with mischief, edged with something perilously close to danger.

That look always meant trouble. It meant either Alina would find herself doing something she loathed, or worse, something that would make her question her own survival.

They pressed on across the sand, the heat rising in waves around them, until the golden expanse began to shift, stone interrupting the softness of the dunes.

It took nearly six hours to reach the edge of the mountain range.

Alina could hardly believe her eyes as the towering rocks rose from the heart of the desert like a secret long buried.

The dunes had slowly thinned as they’d approached, but even so, the sight of such jagged peaks thrust into the sky felt jarringly out of place.

A kingdom of stone, hidden within a kingdom of sand.

‘Madari lies on the other side,’ Hessa explained, suddenly at Alina’s back, her breath brushing the nape of Alina’s neck with a warmth that sent an involuntary shiver through her.

Alina cast a wary glance at the length of rope secured tightly around her chest.

‘I’m guessing the rope is for…’

‘Trapari,’ Hessa replied with a knowing smile, miming the upward motion of climbing.

‘Of course it is.’ Alina sighed, eyes drifting towards the jagged slope before them. ‘I’m going to fall and break my neck.’

Hessa clicked her tongue in disapproval. ‘Don’t say such things. You’ll summon the Sanduandai.’

Alina bit her lip to keep from laughing, the corners of her mouth betraying her.

The desert folk were deeply superstitious, believers in ancient stories woven from heat and myth.

And after her encounter with the ghula, Alina had found herself less inclined to dismiss such tales outright.

Still, the Sanduandai stretched even her imagination.

Tiny desert goblins, they were said to be, with wicked senses of humour and a taste for misery. If one complained too loudly, lamented too often, they would come. Not to console, but to curse.

Say aloud that illness is near, and they would hear, and strike you down with fever by nightfall. Bemoan your dwindling water, and they would scurry from the sands to steal what remained, leaving your lips cracked and your throat dry as bone.

It was absurd.

And yet… a small part of her wondered.

Hessa moved ahead, making her way to Saren’s side with the easy grace of someone born to command the sands.

Alina’s eyes followed, not for the first time.

She couldn’t help but notice the way Saren’s fingers brushed Hessa’s arm.

Light, casual, but lingering a beat too long.

Each time, Alina turned away, cheeks flushed with heat not born of the sun, ashamed to have been caught watching.

Yet the hollow ache inside her deepened with every stolen glance. She kept whispering to herself that it meant nothing. That she was imagining it. But it grew harder to believe the lie when even her hands trembled from the sharp sting of jealousy.

When she reached the rocky base of the wall, Alina halted, drawing in a slow, steady breath.

Hessa was already at her side again, murmuring the lessons she had repeated countless times during their journey.

Advice, guidance and reassurance. But theory was nothing compared to reality.

The wall loomed above her, impossibly vast, its shadow swallowing the sand below.

There was nothing simple in what was being asked of them.

Thankfully, Alina had overheard that some of the younger Dunayans had never climbed it either.

This would be their first attempt, too. At least she wouldn’t be alone in her inexperience.

Yet that small comfort came with the sting of realisation.

Hessa’s focus would be scattered now, her attention divided between those girls.

‘I can do this,’ Alina whispered under her breath.

Saren, who had appeared beside her unnoticed, gave a soft chuckle and nudged Alina’s elbow gently with her own. ‘I will guide you, farahi,’ she said with surprising warmth.

Alina nodded, the tightness in her chest easing just a little.

They had each been handed a small axe, their lifeline.

The method was simple in theory: wedge the blade into the rock, loop the rope tightly around it, and pull themselves upward.

But the moment of danger came when they had to retrieve the axe and climb higher.

Many girls had lost their footing then, their ropes no longer anchored. The fall could be fatal.

‘Don’t think, farahi,’ Saren said, her eyes already on the wall. ‘Follow me.’

Alina leaned back for the briefest moment, just enough to catch sight of Hessa a few feet away, her voice calm and steady as she guided the younger girls.

The more seasoned Dunayans had been tasked with watching over the less experienced, and many had already begun their ascent, moving with practised ease along the rocky face.

‘Do not be afraid,’ Saren said, her voice a quiet anchor as her axe struck firm into the stone. She looped her rope with precision, movements fluid and sure.

Alina’s eyes drifted back to Hessa, just in time to meet her gaze. That glance, filled with quiet encouragement, wrapped around her like a silken thread. It was enough. Enough to make her feel bold, unstoppable. Even if Hessa wasn’t at her side, she was never truly far.

‘Sa miada,’ Alina whispered, her voice resolute as she wedged her own axe into the rock, just beside Saren’s, not beneath it.

The Dunayan raised an amused brow, lips curling into the ghost of a smile. But there was something else beneath that expression, something unreadable that caught Alina off guard. She wasn’t quite sure how it made her feel.

I am not afraid.

And with that thought pulsing through her veins, Alina began to climb.