Page 85 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)

I visited the city of Madari during the Sand Trials.

And even here, far away, hidden among the dunes, Hades has found me.

Tabitha Wysteria

Alina awoke with a start, her breath catching in her throat.

Her skull throbbed as though it had been cleaved in two, and her limbs ached with an intensity she had never known.

Her throat burnt with thirst, and pain rippled through every nerve like fire dancing over raw skin.

For a moment, she could not place herself, could not tether her mind to time or place.

She blinked at the unfamiliar surroundings: a modest room, carved from sand and stone.

The floor was cool beneath her and the walls held the earthy scent of the desert.

A small window, no more than a hollow carved into the stone, had been modestly draped with cloth in an attempt at privacy.

In the far corner, a rough-hewn table held a large clay jug.

‘Do not move!’

The sharp command struck her like lightning, but the moment Hessa burst through the door, urgency in every movement, Alina’s body softened in relief.

‘I will bring you water,’ Hessa said, already at the jug, pouring into a cup with careful hands. She crossed the room swiftly and helped Alina into a sitting position, cradling her with more tenderness than her firm voice might have suggested.

‘Where am I?’ Alina croaked, her voice barely audible, the sound scraping like sandpaper against her dry throat.

‘Dunayans have refuge in every one of the twelve regions,’ Hessa explained, helping her recline once more. ‘This is one of them. Our haven in Madari.’

Alina’s brow furrowed. ‘What happened to me?’

At that, Hessa faltered, her eyes growing wide.

‘You do not remember?’ Alina shook her head gently, too gently, yet even that caused a wince.

‘You fell, amira. Saren was beside you. She said you’d just set your axe into the wall, but as soon as you unhooked your rope, you slipped.

She tried to catch you, but... it was too late. ’

Alina pressed a hand to her temple, sifting through fragments of memory. The climb, yes. A conversation with Saren... but after that, only blackness. A void.

‘How did I survive such a fall?’ she asked, voice laced with disbelief.

‘We don’t know…’ Hessa’s voice cracked. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over before she could blink them away. ‘When I reached you, you were so broken. There was so much blood, Alina. I thought—’ Her voice caught, and she choked on the words. Alina, moved beyond measure, squeezed her hand.

‘I’m alright,’ she whispered, though she did not know for whom the words were meant—Hessa, or herself. But she was breathing. She was still here.

‘It’s my fault, amira,’ Hessa said, shame lacing every syllable.

‘I should have stayed at your side. It was your first climb. But I thought…’ She looked up, her eyes brimming once more.

‘I thought you would be safe with Saren.’ Then, she spat to the side, a desert-born gesture of remorse and regret.

‘It was not her fault,’ she added quietly, but the pain in her expression told another story.

Alina shifted with a soft hiss of pain, wriggling to one side to make space on the narrow bed.

The ache that accompanied the movement was sharp, but not as sharp as the distance that lingered between her and Hessa.

She needed her close, closer than breath.

Without hesitation, the desert princess climbed in beside her, curling gently around Alina's fragile form, her embrace tender, protective.

‘It wasn’t your fault, Hessa,’ Alina said, the words drifting from her lips like a lullaby. A quiet calm bloomed through her limbs as Hessa’s warmth pressed against her own, her skin kindling a soft, tingling fire that spread through her aching body like dawn spilling over cold stone.

With a slow, loving hand, Hessa brushed loose strands of blonde hair away from Alina’s face.

Her breath ghosted across Alina’s cheek, soft and steady, like wind sweeping over sand, and Alina sighed, surrendering to the comfort.

Her eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion pulling her under like the tide.

There was so much left unsaid between them, but for now…

she allowed herself the silence, the nearness, and the promise of rest.

‘Yaa aras ma sahraa,’ Hessa whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

Alina could not be certain if she had dreamt the words or if they had truly been spoken, murmured in the belief that the drakonian princess would not understand. But she had heard them before. Once, in hushed voices around a fire, she had asked what they meant .

Words exchanged between soul-bound lovers.

A phrase so sacred the desert folk believed it could only be spoken once in a lifetime to the one who truly held your heart.

Alina had blushed back then, unsure if she would ever be brave enough to say such words aloud. But now, lying here in Hessa’s arms, heart stitched back together by the sound of her voice and the warmth of her presence, Alina made herself a promise.

As soon as she was strong again, strong enough to climb, to run, to stand tall, she would say them aloud. She would look Hessa in the eye and speak her truth. Because when her eyes had opened to the gift of another day, her heart had already chosen.

And so, with a faint smile playing on her lips, Alina surrendered to sleep, dreaming of sand dunes and stolen glances, of laughter and soft kisses under starlit skies.

Dreaming of the day she would finally speak the words that had been waiting on her tongue.

Yaa aras ma sahraa.

You are my desert.

…

‘You cannot possibly be feeling fine, amira,’ Hessa said, her pale eyes narrowing with a mixture of doubt and concern. ‘You fell off a mountain.’

‘I truly feel better,’ Alina insisted, her voice light with wonder.

She had awoken with the morning sun slipping through the thin curtain, still cradled in Hessa’s arms, as if the embrace itself had soothed her back to life.

Against all reason, the pain that had gripped her bones and burnt through her muscles had vanished.

Her body, once broken, now felt whole. Healed.

There was no logic to it, and yet there it was .

‘You ought to remain in bed.’

‘No,’ Alina said, already bathed and dressed, her stomach rumbling in quiet protest. ‘I’ve been unconscious far too long. I need air. I need to move.’

‘Amira, I don’t—’ Hessa’s protest stilled the moment Alina reached for her, cupping her face gently, their foreheads almost touching, the intimacy of the gesture halting breath and words alike.

‘I promise, I’m all right. I would never lie to you,’ she whispered, her smile warm and resolute. And just like that, the tension in Hessa’s brow eased, her shoulders softening with surrender. ‘Show me the city.’

And so Hessa did.

Alina had not lied. Her body moved with ease, without the brokenness that ought to have lingered after such a fall. It defied reason, and the not-knowing gnawed quietly at the corners of her thoughts. Still, she was alive. She was breathing. And for now, that would be enough.

As they stepped out into the world beyond their small shelter, Alina half-expected to see the other Dunayans.

But Hessa explained that they had departed at first light, scattered across the city to tend to various chores.

What those duties entailed, she didn’t say, and Alina chose not to press.

Saren was nowhere in sight, and for that, Alina felt both relief and guilt.

She wished to find the Dunayan, to assure her the fall had not been her fault, to ease the weight she imagined still rested on Saren’s shoulders.

Madari was not at all what she had imagined.

It was a labyrinth of narrow, sun-drenched streets where every corner whispered a new story.

The passageways were so tight that she and Hessa could not walk side by side.

Instead, the desert princess moved ahead, her fingers tightly woven through Alina’s, guiding her like a lifeline through the sandstone maze.

Every few steps, Hessa would pause, turning to study Alina’s face with worry etched into her features, only to be reassured by a nod, a smile, a whispered, ‘I’m fine.

’ And slowly, with each passing glance, each step taken in shared silence, Hessa’s worry began to melt beneath the heat of Madari’s golden sun.

Madari had been carved like a secret between two towering cliffs, the stone walls of the mountain range leaning so close together it seemed they might kiss, yet just enough space had been left for a city to be born in their shadow.

The homes clung to the sides of the rock like stubborn ivy, built into the very ribs of the mountain itself.

Winding alleys, no wider than a man’s shoulders, slithered between the stone walls, forming a web of narrow passageways that breathed life into the crevice.

Alina paused, breath catching in her throat, her gaze lifting skyward to the hundreds of sand-hued dwellings stacked atop one another like sun-baked nesting dolls.

Ropes stretched from one cliff to the other like tightropes in the wind, baskets of goods gliding across the divide as the people of Madari sent their wares and produce without ever needing to step foot outside their homes.

Bridges, makeshift things of rope and stubborn faith, swayed perilously between ledges, dancing with each whisper of wind.