Page 96 of A Kingdom of Sand and Ice (Kingdom of Gods #2)
If I had my son with me, there’s only one thing I would tell him.
Never trust anyone.
Tabitha Wysteria
The Dunayans had scoured the city of Madari clean, stripping it of supplies and trade goods with an efficiency born of experience.
The citizens, far from resentful, welcomed the exchange, glad to make good coin from women who treated them with fairness and left the streets a little safer in their wake.
Hessa had departed with Saren to visit the Dunayan kin settled within the city, leaving Alina to spend her day training alongside a few others.
By now, Alina had mastered the Sandhii tongue, her speech fluid and confident as she conversed with the Dunayans in their native language. Hessa still favoured the common tongue, claiming she didn’t wish to lose it, and that Alina made for the perfect excuse to keep practising.
‘Ahi,’ said Isla, a wiry Dunayan girl with sharp eyes, pointing to an apple positioned precariously at the very edge of a slanted rooftop.
Across the chasm, Arena crouched close to the fruit, her watchful gaze fixed on the challenge.
She waved at them from the far side, the yawning drop between the mountains enough to send a flutter of nausea through Alina’s stomach.
‘Raspara,’ Isla said, the word soft as a breath as Alina raised her arm, closed one eye, and inhaled. She listened to the wind, to the silence, to the desert whisper that had become second nature. Breathe.
With one fluid flick of her wrist, Alina released the dagger. It sang through the air, soaring cleanly across the void, striking the apple dead centre. Cheers erupted. Arena plucked the fruit from its perch, pulled the dagger free, and took a triumphant bite.
‘Bana, farahi-sahraa,’ Isla said, clapping once with a proud nod. Well done, foreign desert.
Alina had grown used to the moniker. Foreign desert, a name that was both observation and endearment. It suited her well, and she wore it like a second skin, as if it had always belonged to her.
The desert folk had no word for “thank you”, so Alina simply inclined her head in the customary gesture of gratitude.
It was a quiet, graceful act, one she had come to mirror instinctively.
Since her fall from the cliffs, she had grown unexpectedly close to Isla and Arena.
Perhaps it was because she had sensed, early on, their mutual disdain for Saren.
Or perhaps it was something less tangible, a kind of kinship born from shared silences and sidelong glances.
Whatever the reason, the bond between them had begun to deepen, subtle but certain, like roots finding home in dry earth.
‘Aspara!’ Arena called out, her voice lilting with urgency, imploring them to wait.
Alina turned in time to see the Dunayan seize one of the zip lines used to traverse the gaps between mountains.
Arena, shorter than most, with a tumble of curls the colour of sand and stone, swung across the ravine with practiced ease.
Isla had already darted forward to greet her, a wide grin lighting her face as she reached for her friend.
Their laughter carried on the wind before it was cut short by the arrival of Hessa and Saren.
Hessa took Alina’s hand and led her silently away from the others, guiding her back to their room with purposeful strides and not a word exchanged between them.
Alina had understood the delay for their departure.
There were still matters Hessa needed to see to before they could begin their journey towards the Kingdom of Fire.
They had little to pack. Dunayans were creatures of light travel, swift and unburdened.
Alina sat on the small cot, watching as Hessa paced, back and forth, her movements restless, coiled like a sandstorm waiting to break.
‘What is it?’ Alina asked softly.
Hessa stopped mid-step and turned to face her, as though suddenly reminded she wasn’t alone. The look in her eyes made Alina regret speaking. When Hessa finally crossed the room to sit beside her and took her hands in both of hers, squeezing tightly, something inside Alina recoiled.
‘I’ve received word,’ Hessa whispered, her voice hushed as though saying it too loudly might summon something worse. ‘From your kingdom. As we suspected, the city of Spark…is gone. And Fireheart is now a battlefield.’
Alina didn’t scream. She didn’t shake or weep or rage at the sky. She sat still, eerily calm. A cold clarity spread through her, and in her mind’s eye, she saw herself returning, saw her blade finding Hagan’s throat. Saw his head tumble, roll, and disappear into the dust.
‘We need to go,’ Hessa said quietly.
Alina nodded and began gathering the few belongings they kept in the room. Hessa turned to leave, ready to rally the Dunayans for departure.
But then the door creaked open.
Saren entered without a word, her expression carved from stone.
Hessa’s shoulders tightened the moment she realised Saren had not even bothered to knock.
Not after everything, not after the last time.
Alina could sense it too: the shift in the air, the silent challenge.
If Hessa let this go, if she allowed her second-in-command to walk in without consequence, the others would begin to wonder who truly led them.
And Hessa, Alina knew, would not allow herself to be questioned.
During her time in Madari, Alina had come to understand that Dunayans were far more than a singular faction.
They were an intricate network, an organisation that stretched across all twelve regions of the desert.
Each member had trained beneath Hessa’s watchful eye, journeying from distant cities to be moulded by her hand.
Once they had earned their place, once Hessa had offered them her blessing, they were sent back to their regions—ambassadors of strength and discipline.
In each section of the desert, Hessa had appointed trusted leaders, loyal to her alone, their allegiance unwavering.
It all sounded like chaos stitched together by sheer will. Yet Alina had seen it in motion, and to her astonishment, it worked like a vast tapestry woven from sand and sweat and unbreakable trust.
‘You do not enter like that,’ Hessa said sharply, her voice slicing through the heavy silence as she pointed at Saren. ‘On your knees.’
Alina opened her mouth to intervene, ready to plead for restraint, but the look on Saren’s face stopped her cold. It was not defiance alone that burnt there, but something older, deeper. Betrayal, perhaps.
‘Spaak Sandhii,’ Saren spat, her tongue sharp. Speak Sandhii.
‘No,’ Hessa replied, standing taller, her presence towering, unyielding. ‘On. Your. Knees.’
‘Yaa alagi farahi,’ Saren hissed, fists clenched tight. ‘Apa waar.’
Alina stepped back, the words landing like blows to her chest.
You choose a foreigner over us.
She had never wanted Hessa to choose. Not then, not now.
If the Dunayans had still not accepted her, so be it.
She could live with that. She would walk away before she ever demanded Hessa pick a side.
Even if it shattered her heart into a thousand aching shards, she would go.
Quietly. Proudly. Without asking Hessa to tear herself in two.
‘How did you survive the fall?’ Saren asked suddenly, her voice cold, her lip curling in disdain.
And in that moment, like lightning cracking across Alina’s memory, the images returned.
Flashes of the wall, the way Saren’s voice had slithered through the air, telling her she didn’t belong.
The shove. The sharp pain of stone against her chest. And then, a hand pulling her backwards, only to let her fall.
Alina gasped.
Hessa saw the truth in her eyes, sudden and searing. Before a word could pass between them, she moved. A dagger, sleek and silent, materialised in her grip as she lunged. Its tip sliced through the air, reaching for Saren’s throat.
But Saren was quicker than a striking asp. She dodged every blow, her fists landing with deadly precision, striking Hessa with the ease of one trained under her hand.
She laughed as she ducked another attack, her movements effortless.
‘You trained me too well,’ she said with a twisted grin, parrying once more. Then she surged forward, her aim set on Hessa’s chest and shoulder.
But Alina was already moving. Her own dagger flashed in the low light, and without hesitation, she carved a line across Saren’s leg.
Saren screamed in fury, staggering back.
‘This is death, Saren,’ Hessa warned, her voice low, eyes brimming with disbelief and sorrow. The betrayal clung to her like a second skin, tight and suffocating.
‘Yes,’ Saren replied, her smile darkening. ‘But not for me.’
Saren whistled a sharp, cruel sound, and five Dunayans swept into the already cramped room.
Hessa stood frozen, stunned, her white eyes wide with disbelief as her own warriors seized her.
Two of them slammed Alina against the wall, pinning her there, unmoving, as if she were nothing more than a spectator to her own nightmare.
‘On your knees,’ Saren ordered, her blade glinting as she gestured with its tip, demanding their leader’s humiliation.
Hessa spat, the glob landing squarely on Saren’s cheek.
With a sigh, Saren wiped it away and gave a nod. The Dunayans shoved Hessa down to the floor with brutal efficiency. Alina screamed, thrashing against her captors, tears stinging her eyes as she cursed and pleaded for mercy.
‘Stop! I’ll leave!’ she cried. ‘I swear, you’ll never see me again. Just let her go!’
But Saren remained unmoved. Her expression was carved from ice as she crouched before Hessa, meeting her stare with chilling calm. The silence between them was electric. One pair of eyes blazing with fury, the other veiled in sorrow, the weight of betrayal written in every strained breath .
‘All of them?’ Hessa asked quietly, her voice barely audible.
‘Some would still die for you,’ Saren replied, her tone steeped in disdain. ‘But they’ll be put down like dogs.’