Page 75 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

In the desert, you must be aware of everything.

Because everything will try to kill you.

Tabitha Wysteria

They had begun the climb while the sun still held high court in the sky, its golden light casting sharp shadows and lending just enough warmth to the stone.

It was deliberate timing, bright enough to see where each axe met rock, where each rope must be tied.

Heat was no enemy to the desert folk, nor to the drakonians.

But the night, with its cruel chill, would not spare those caught halfway to the summit when the sun slipped away.

They had to reach the top before dusk, before the cold could claim them.

Alina did not dare glance down.

She focused on the rhythm of her breathing, the sting of her muscles, the solidity of her grip.

Saren climbed alongside her, adjusting her pace to Alina’s and pausing whenever needed.

A quiet guardian. Alina fought the urge to glance below, to search the line of Dunayans for a familiar crown of dark curls and desert bronze skin.

‘Do not get distracted,’ Saren said sharply, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

‘I’m not,’ Alina replied, a little too quickly.

Saren laughed under her breath. ‘If you say so.’

Frustration pricked at Alina’s nerves, and she bit down on her lower lip to keep from snapping.

‘Hessa has always had a fondness for shiny new things,’ Saren said, casually, yet her words made Alina falter. ‘I wouldn’t grow too attached.’

Alina’s fingers tightened around the rock. ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

‘Yes, you do.’ Saren drove her axe into the wall above, quick and clean, wrapping her rope around the handle before pulling herself up with effortless grace. She turned, waiting with unsettling patience.

‘Hessa is a good friend,’ Alina said quietly, defensively.

‘Sure.’ Saren shrugged, or the closest thing to it one could manage while dangling from a mountainside. ‘I thought the same once.’

Alina’s grip slipped slightly in her surprise, but before panic could set in, Saren’s foot pressed against Alina’s side, steadying her back against the rock.

‘You and Hessa…’ Alina breathed.

‘It was a long time ago,’ Saren replied, eyes drifting away, a shadow of old hurt shining through their pale light.

‘What happened?’

‘She’s curious by nature,’ Saren muttered. ‘But she bores easily. I see the way she looks at you, and I believe she cares. But when someone else catches her eye…’ She trailed off.

‘We’re not…’ Alina swallowed. ‘We’ve never… not like that.’

Saren raised an eyebrow, visibly surprised. ‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m not interested,’ Alina said quickly, too quickly. The words hung false in the air between them. Even she could hear the crack in her voice, and Saren heard it too. ‘In my land, women don’t… lie with women,’ she added, more quietly.

Saren rolled her eyes. ‘What a stupid place.’

‘Perhaps,’ Alina said, pulling herself higher, breath shallow. ‘But I—’

‘This is no longer your land, farahi,’ Saren cut in, firm and unyielding. ‘Here, you may do whatever pleases you. If you wish to lie with Hessa, then do it. Before someone else does. She won’t wait forever.’

‘Hessa would never!’ The words burst from Alina’s mouth, fierce and too loud, and her hand nearly slipped in the flurry of embarrassment that followed. She reached to cover her lips but lost her balance, only for Saren’s foot to pin her firmly back against the wall once more.

‘Karafa,’ Saren warned through gritted teeth. Careful.

‘Sorry,’ Alina whispered, her face burning with heat that had nothing to do with the sun.

Was she being foolish? Was everyone else simply seeing something she had spent far too long denying? Or perhaps she had seen it, felt it, time and time again, only to bury it deep within the furthest, shadowed corners of her mind where she believed it could no longer reach her.

For weeks now, she had begun to crave Hessa’s touch.

At night, she would edge closer beneath the blankets, where once she had kept a polite distance, spine stiff with propriety.

Now, without fail, the moment Hessa slipped into their bed, Alina felt heat coil low between her legs.

Sometimes it was the press of skilled fingers massaging her weary shoulders; other times, the soft brush of lips against her back.

Gentle and reverent, as though each kiss were a prayer.

She had told herself, again and again, that it meant nothing. That this was just the way of the desert folk, warm and openly affectionate. She’d watched the others and noted the ease with which they touched, the laughter in their embraces. What she and Hessa shared was no different.

And yet… it was.

Hessa touched her differently. She held her longer.

When her lips found Alina’s forehead or her hands, there was something fierce and unspoken in the gleam of those white eyes.

A quiet yearning that danced just beneath the surface, waiting.

Waiting for permission. For a sign. For Alina to reach back.

But that permission had never come.

Instead, Alina would flush crimson, shyly looking away.

She’d murmur something awkward or bury her face into the covers, and Hessa, gracious as always, would let the moment pass.

She never pressed, never pushed. She simply smiled and stayed close.

She continued to offer affection, not out of expectation, but because she understood that Alina needed it.

And perhaps, just as deeply, because she needed it too.

Alina knew then that whatever existed between them, it was not born of impatience or possession. Their affection was quiet, and slow-burning. A sacred thing. Something beautiful.

Something gentle enough to wait.

Wishing to steer the conversation elsewhere, Alina asked, ‘How do Dunayans choose their leader?’

‘One must earn it,’ Saren replied simply.

‘How?’

A glint of mischief danced in Saren’s eye. ‘By defeating the current one.’

‘Death?’ The word caught in Alina’s throat, brittle and cold. A chill passed over her at the thought that Hessa might have slain one of her own for the sake of power. Her body went still until Saren shook her head .

‘Not necessarily. On rare occasions, a duel may lead to death, but that is never the aim. More often than not, a challenger steps forward and both are submitted to a series of trials. The trials can last for months. It becomes an event across the entire desert. Songs are sung, wagers placed and stories spun. And not only the leader and challenger compete. Many Dunayans enter for the honour, the chance. But only one emerges victorious.’

Saren drew her axe from the rock and drove it higher into the wall with a swift, sure motion. ‘More often, though, a leader will step aside, having already chosen their successor. When that happens, it is a celebration. A peaceful passing of leadership.’

‘Is that how Hessa became leader?’ Alina asked, her voice soft with hope.

Saren shook her head. ‘No. Hessa faced the trials.’

‘And she won.’ Alina breathed the words with reverence, not out of disbelief, but in quiet awe, pride blooming in her chest like a desert rose.

‘In truth,’ Saren said with a faint smile, ‘she did not.’

‘What?’

‘It was her sister, Sahira, who won. She had only joined to be near Hessa, to keep her safe. But she bested them all, almost by accident. When the time came to claim the mantle of leadership, she turned it down.’

Alina’s jaw slackened, her astonishment written plainly across her face.

‘Did you take part?’ she asked once the silence between them had stretched long enough to settle her thoughts. They had climbed a little higher, the sky beginning to shift into the hues of a setting sun, painting the rocks in gold and shadow.

Saren gave a small nod, her lips pressed into a thin line.

She offered no details, and by the way her shoulders tensed, Alina understood instinctively that it was not a subject the Dunayan wished to dwell on.

The reason remained veiled, perhaps a painful memory, perhaps unspoken regret.

Alina had long since learnt that Dunayans, for all their boldness and jest, held their deepest feelings in guarded silence.

She had watched them spar and laugh and tease with relentless vigour, turning even chores into challenges, everything a game to be won.

So when Saren spoke again, her voice low and cutting through the quiet like a sudden wind across the dunes, Alina was unprepared.

‘Hessa won’t be leader much longer.’

Alina blinked, frowning as she reached for a better grip on the warm stone. ‘What do you mean?’

‘No one has brought a foreigner into our ranks since the Great War,’ Saren said, not unkindly, but with a calm certainty that made the words bite.

‘Dunayans were forged in solitude, born of sand, sacred and apart. But Hessa… Hessa has always followed her own path, whether or not the winds favoured her. Some believe she should never have worn both crowns, leader and princess. They say those roles were never meant to be one and the same.’

Alina swallowed, the ache in her arms forgotten for a moment. ‘And you?’ she asked, her voice quiet but firm. ‘Do you believe that?’

They had both come to a standstill on the rock face, the muscles in their limbs straining, the ropes pulled taut with the weight of more than just their bodies. The silence between them was no longer companionable. It was heavy, expectant, like the stillness before a storm.

Alina had always known that Hessa would rouse unrest by bringing her into the fold, by trying to usher her into the sacred ranks of the Dunayans.

And Alina…Alina had not stopped her. Selfishly, hungrily, she had yearned to belong, to be carved from the same stone as the desert warriors.

She needed to learn, yes, but she might have learnt quietly, on the fringes.

Instead, she had chosen the centre. Her craving to be one of them had brought weight upon Hessa’s shoulders.

Had the others whispered behind her back?

Had they flung their barbed words at Hessa while she stood silent, shouldering every wound alone?

‘Is someone planning to challenge her?’ Alina pressed, the chill of dread creeping into her limbs. Her hands shook now, not from the climb, but from the fear blooming like a storm in her chest. ‘Someone needs to warn her.’

A shimmer of amusement passed through Saren’s eyes, darkening her features into something sharp and unreadable. The shift in her expression made Alina tense instinctively, her neck stiffening as a primal unease clawed its way into her.

‘Saren…’ Alina’s voice trembled as the Dunayan pressed her foot against Alina’s back, pinning her mercilessly against the sun-warmed rock. She was stronger than she looked, strong enough to hold Alina in place with frightening ease.

‘Did you truly believe we would accept you?’ Saren purred, her tone cruelly sweet. From the hidden folds of her sleeve, a glint of silver flashed. A dagger, small and wicked. ‘You’re drakonian. Farahi. You will never be one of us. And Hessa will learn the price of her selfishness.’

Before Alina could cry out, before her thoughts could even fully form, Saren had cut the rope with one fluid sweep of her blade. The tension in the cord snapped, and Alina was suddenly holding herself against the wall with nothing but desperate hands and sheer will.

‘Don’t, please—’

But Saren had already moved. Her fingers closed around Alina’s arm, and with terrifying precision, she pulled.

The wall was gone.

Alina was gone.

No scream escaped her throat as the world spun and tumbled beneath her. The shock robbed her of sound, of thought, of breath. Her body was falling, falling, falling, and all she could do was close her eyes and surrender to it.

She did not thrash. She did not panic.

Death, she thought, would embrace her gently like an old friend come to take her home. A final kindness after so much pain.

And so Alina fell, a serene smile curving her lips as the wind roared in her ears and the world rose up to meet her.