Page 89 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)
Alina nodded, reaching for another slice of fruit and biting into its sun-warmed flesh.
And yet, the unease remained, a whisper at the back of her mind, insistent and unnerving, as though something half-forgotten was begging to be remembered.
But what? What was it about belonging that felt suddenly so fragile?
She looked up again towards the rooftop, and this time, met Saren’s gaze directly. The white eyes that stared back at her brimmed with such raw hatred it stole the breath from her lungs.
Alina tore her attention away, heart thudding, and turned all her attention to Hessa, forcing the weight of Saren’s silent fury from her thoughts.
‘Let’s go,’ Hessa said, brushing her hands against her brown trousers before letting out a sharp whistle that echoed down the sun-scorched street.
Within moments, Dunayans emerged from every shadowed crevice and quiet corner, appearing as if conjured by the sound itself.
Their faces were veiled, heads wrapped in cloth against the heat, weapons expertly concealed within the folds and secret compartments of their clothing.
Alina pulled her karash up over her nose, concealing every part of her face save her eyes.
The desert garb had become like a second skin, familiar, worn, hers.
The scorpion-braced armguards that once chafed her now rested against her skin with ease.
She had learnt to move in these clothes, to fight in them, to use their hidden pockets for blades and smoke bombs and curved little daggers with poison-tipped edges .
The citizens of Madari watched with wide, wary eyes as the Dunayans made their silent procession down the streets.
Some of the Dunayans paused at market stalls to purchase supplies; others disappeared into smoky taverns mid-brawl to restore a semblance of order.
A few locals greeted them with nods of respect, while others turned away in haste, not daring to risk the wrath of desert warriors.
Hessa gave a short whistle, and two Dunayans immediately stationed themselves outside a small, weather-worn tavern.
She took Alina’s hand without a word and pulled her inside.
The air was thick with the scent of sweat and smoke, the haze casting everything in a gauzy blur.
Without speaking, Hessa gestured for Alina to stay near the entrance while she slipped through the crowd, purposeful and unseen.
She approached a figure perched on a stool.
No words were exchanged, only a subtle motion, a passing of something small and glinting that Hessa tucked swiftly into the sleeve of her tunic.
Alina did not ask what had been given to the desert princess when they stepped back outside. If it mattered, Hessa would tell her. She trusted her completely, irrevocably.
The Dunayans made their way towards a modest inn they always frequented when in Madari.
Inside, the scent of spice and flame greeted them.
Bowls of fragrant rice and dried, fire-kissed meat waited on long wooden tables that filled the warm room, while soft cushions lay scattered on the floor as seats.
Hessa exchanged quiet words with a few of her warriors, while Alina sat and ate in silence, savouring the simple comfort of the meal.
A small smile tugged at her lips as she felt Hessa’s hand rest gently on her leg, steady, grounding, a silent assurance that she was there, always by her side.
‘We’re all rather surprised by how swiftly you recovered,’ Saren said, settling onto the empty cushion at Alina’s other side. The drakonian princess hadn’t noticed Saren approach, for she had slipped in like a shadow.
‘So am I,’ Alina replied softly.
‘Almost seems like magic,’ Saren mused, something sharp and glinting flashing in her pale eyes. ‘You ought to be careful, farahi. Folk might start whispering about witchcraft.’
‘I am no witch.’ Alina bared her teeth, the words sharp as steel. ‘Witches murdered my family.’
Saren gave a low, humourless chuckle as she reached for two cups, handing one to Alina. ‘No offence meant, farahi.’
Alina gave a short nod and accepted the cup of Chaaka, downing it a little too fast. The warm, spiced liquid slid down her throat and for a moment the world tilted, only to right itself just as quickly.
‘I wanted to speak with you,’ Alina said, clearing her throat. ‘The fall on the mountain wasn’t your fault. I don’t want you to carry blame for it.’
‘I know.’ Saren reached for two more cups.
‘You… know?’
‘I know it wasn’t my fault.’ Her smile, when it came, was a blade wrapped in silk. ‘Only a farahi would fall.’
A few Dunayans laughed under their breath, but most turned their heads with narrowed eyes, discomfort plain on their faces.
‘Saren.’ Hessa didn’t lift her gaze, but the warning in her voice cut like cracked thunder. Enough.
‘I’m merely speaking the truth,’ Saren said with a shrug. ‘No true Dunayan would lose their footing. A farahi is a farahi for a reason.’
At that, Hessa turned, her face carved from fury. ‘Do you wish to sleep outside tonight?’
Saren’s jaw tightened. She said nothing. Instead, she snatched up her cup, rose to her feet, and stalked away. A couple of Dunayans followed, but most turned back to their meals and conversations, unease settling like dust in the wake of her departure.
Alina looked down at her hands, fingers tightening slightly in her lap, unsure of what to say or whether she should say anything at all.
‘Don’t listen to her.’ Hessa flicked her hand in the air, as if she could scatter Saren’s presence like smoke.
‘But she’s not entirely wrong,’ Alina muttered, biting the inside of her cheek. Frustration coiled tight in her chest. ‘If I weren’t farahi, I never would have fallen.’
Hessa rolled her eyes with theatrical exasperation.
‘Aish, amira. Yaa aras salla.’ She gestured towards a Dunayan lounging across from them.
‘She once fell clean off a rooftop just from sitting too far forward. Two years ago.’ Then she nudged Alina and tilted her chin towards another Dunayan, who smiled mid-chew, her mouth full.
‘And Arena over there? She was riding one of our serpents, got too bold, flew right off and knocked herself out cold for two days.’ Laughter rippled through the group like wind across sand.
‘And Isla…’ Hessa smirked. ‘Isla once managed to trip over her own two feet. Astapada.’ Stupid.
Alina couldn't help but smile.
‘We are who we are, amira. Not perfect. We stumble, we fall, we make fools of ourselves. But being a Dunayan has never meant being flawless. It means rising, again and again, no matter how hard we’ve hit the ground.’
A chorus of whistles rose into the warm air, and every Dunayan lifted their cup in salute.
‘I’ve seen you fall more than once, Alina Farahi-Sahraa Amira,’ Hessa said, her voice tender, drawing Alina closer, as though even the breath of space between them was unbearable.
‘And each time, you’ve risen prouder, stronger.
That is what makes you one of us. So never doubt your strength. Never question who you are.’
Alina nodded, her eyes glinting with something fierce and quietly resolute. She cupped Hessa’s face in both hands, heedless of who might be watching, of whispers or wandering glances. Hessa was right.
Her strength was hers to claim. Her power, hers to wield. Her fall and her rising, hers to own.
And so she kissed Hessa like the world was burning, and they were the only two left beneath the flames.