Page 42 of Crown of the Dunes (The Ballan Desert #2)
Lifting my chin, I strode out into the sunlight and the appraising gazes of the people of Kelvadan. The archons already stood on the rise of the top step leading up to the palace doors, two on each side, flanking me.
I rooted my feet to the ground, trying to focus on the solid feeling of the stone under my feet through the sandals I wore, golden cords laced up my calves. Anything to keep from inspecting the faces of the hundreds of people crammed into the courtyard and spilling out into the city.
Even so, I couldn’t focus on the words of the archons as they spoke one by one, describing the ways in which I would serve the city.
Instead, my gaze caught on the way that some people gathered in the crowd shifted uneasily.
I recognized a few people from the palace corridors whispering behind their hands to each other, their brows furrowed.
My mind flitted back to the scene outside the city when a riot had nearly broken out over a painted message declaring The Viper the true heir to Kelvadan.
Some had been willing to spill blood to support his claim.
Maybe those who agreed more quietly still hid in this crowd—maybe the whispers behind hands were of how an exile who could not control her power well enough to cleanly win the title of Champion would spell doom for their already suffering city.
Maybe they were right.
A movement to my left drew my attention as Dravis, the Archon of Agriculture, stepped forward. His footsteps sounded louder than they should as he took a few long strides to stop in front of me.
Facing the crowd, he lifted his hands above his head, showing what he held in them.
“The Champion’s circlet,” he announced, his voice grave .
The gold band, adorned with sunbursts, gleamed in the blinding sunlight.
At the center of each sunburst sat a small red stone, so dark it was almost black.
In this light, it almost seemed that a small fire danced at the heart of each one—tiny shards of blood glass from the first man to ever have crossed the desert and win her Heart.
I swallowed, my own heart leaping into my throat as I stared at it.
The same circlet had rested on Kelvar’s head when he had won the Trials and been named Champion just over two hundred years ago.
While the royalty of Kelvadan had no real crown, the circlet of the Champion held a clear meaning: whoever wore it was chosen by the desert.
Kelvar’s descendent in strength, if not in blood.
My heart leapt into my throat as the sun caught on the golden band, flashing brilliantly in the harsh sunlight. Despite the warmth of the day, my skin pebbled with awe.
Dravis turned to face me, standing a few feet away with the circlet clutched in front of him. I managed a weak smile as I lowered myself to my knees, putting myself at a height where he could easily set it on top of my head.
He didn’t return my expression. Instead, his lips were tight and his eyes wide. As I bowed my head, my gaze flickered to the way his fingers held the circlet in a white-knuckled grip.
Silence stretched and dread pooled in my gut, spreading out through the well of magic there in dark ripples.
Dravis bent and set the crown on the stone before me, the metallic clang ringing out louder than it should in the hush that fell over the courtyard. My heart pounded against my ribcage as he straightened and turned toward the crowd.
“I will not place the crown on the head of a one who did not fairly win the right to wear it,” he announced.
While he projected his words loud enough for the assembled to hear, a slight tremor wove its way into the last syllable.
My neck prickled even as horror flooded my veins. The worst was coming to pass.
A few shouts of protest ran through the crowd, but instead, my ears focused on the quiet murmurs of agreement that rose in a subtler but much more insidious wave. My skin burned and my throat seemed to seal itself shut as my brain raced.
I wanted to rage at him, to force Dravis to put the crown on my head, after all I had sacrificed for these people, but I found myself all but frozen.
Because I feared he was right—I had lost the right to the Champion’s circlet in an uncontained burst of power during the last fight of the Trials.
An uncontrolled outburst like that from a queen could cost this city everything.
I raised my head to look at the crowd, but all I saw were my parents’ faces, looking at me in fear and distaste as they rode away with my clan, leaving me to rot. This time, I was not facing the rejection of two people, but hundreds, in the one place I was supposed to be able to find a home.
The mixed shouts of protest and agreement turned into gasps of shock as the crowd before me parted. My vision cleared to the sight of an imposing, dark silhouette emerging from the audience, which parted like water before him.
“ Erix” I breathed, relief and apprehension mixed in equal measure.
Cold fire burned in his gaze as he climbed the steps to where I kneeled, and the crowd stood frozen. Dravis shrunk back, shoulders pulling up to his ears as he shuffled out of Erix’s way.
I held my breath as Erix bent and gently scooped the circlet off the ground. At one point, he had been waiting for the ceremony where it was supposed to be placed on his own head at the end of the Trials.
His eyes met mine for a split second, and the magic around me shivered.
Then it was he who turned and raised the golden crown for all to see.
“I am Erix, the descendant of Kelvar himself,” he proclaimed.
Though his voice was strong, the echo of pain lanced in my chest as he said it.
“Keera has bested me not once, but twice, through the power of the desert. I grant her the crown of the dunes and name her the true Champion and the rightful Queen of Kelvadan.”
With that he turned to face me. I stared up at him, warmth spreading in my chest to expel some of the doubt that had frozen my heart.
When he had surrendered to me, he had been the one on his knees, and it was not lost on me how he now stood in the position of power, even as he granted me what many thought should be his.
Gently, he lowered the circlet so it rested on by brow, nestled into the braids Neven had arranged for just such a purpose. The metal was warm and heavy on my head, but my attention zeroed in on where Erix’s fingers brushed the bare right side of my scalp.
He wasn’t wearing his gloves—or his mask.
Cheers and applause ran through the courtyard. Relief washed over me in waves so strong that my fingers trembled.
Erix reached out a hand to me and I took it, letting him help me to my feet as I was careful not to step on the hem of my dress. Once I stood, he raised the hand he still held in his and presented me to the crowd.
While a few faces still looked unsure, many smiled and whooped, a few even jumping up and down and stamping their feet. The tiniest smile danced on my face at their acceptance. In my mind, I made myself a promise.
I could not— would not —fail these people.
After a few more moments of basking in their cheers, musicians stationed at the side of the courtyard began to play. The claps and cheers faded into the drums and laughter. After all this strife, it was time to celebrate.
I was sure the cup of laka in my hand must be somehow magically refilling itself.
From the warmth in my belly, I had definitely been drinking it.
But after talking to an archon or a citizen, I would look down and find it even fuller than I remembered.
Apparently, the palace attendants were sneakier than I gave them credit for.
I turned to the next person in my line of well-wishers and smiled to find Prince Calix.
“And how are you faring, your majesty?” he asked, sketching a formal bow, even though the top of his shirt gaped open far enough, revealing a tanned and sculpted chest, to clearly indicate that he had long since forgone propriety.
I leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “I have a fear the palace staff are plotting to get me drunk.”
“Well, we can’t have that!” he proclaimed. “They’ll have trouble refilling your glass if you’re dancing.”
He gestured toward the dance floor, and I hesitated.
The last two parties I danced at had gone poorly.
But right now, moving my body to expel some of the nervous adrenaline that was now waging war with the alcohol in my veins sounded appealing.
Swinging a saber would be better, but I would take what I could get.
“Let’s go,” I said, looking around and finally catching the eye of one of the attendants circling around with pitchers. Handing off my glass, I followed Prince Calix into the open area at the middle of the courtyard where people danced.
He grabbed my hand, and we began to move to the music.
The beat of the drums pounded pleasantly through my chest, and tension I didn’t realize had been accumulating in my shoulders began to ease away.
He made no move to pull me close, and together we established a rhythm as the dance floor filled in further around us.
Soon, the music grew livelier, and the dancers began to stamp and clap to the rhythm.
Taking both my hands, Calix started to whirl me around in a circle, and I let him.
As my momentum grew, he passed me off to a nearby dancer, and laughter grew as everybody in the courtyard swung their partners in circles before swinging to the next partner, creating a whirling pattern.
I wove through the moving crowd, laughing as I found myself swung around by Neven, and even grabbing hands for a twirl with Nyra, whom I hadn’t had a chance to speak with since returning to Kelvadan.
As I became nearly dizzy with the movement, there was one set of hands I kept hoping to grasp, but they never appeared.
Erix was nowhere to be found.
A furrow formed between my brows only to deepen as I came up short in front of a figure at the edge of the circle of dancers. Unlike the other attendees, he did not smile, the grim set of his jaw only accentuating the claw-marks across his cheek.
“General Warrick,” I greeted.
“Interesting ceremony,” he said by way of greeting.
I grit my teeth and grappled with my composure, even as I clenched my fists so hard that my nails bit into my palms. While Neven had dressed me as a warrior queen, I didn’t think that gave me leave to tackle anybody who lobbed veiled insults at me to the ground. Still, I was sorely tempted.
“I had thought the Archon of Agriculture respected the former queen’s decision to name you her heir. It’s interesting that he was the one to take an open stand against your rule,” he observed, his voice gruff yet casual.
A growl built in my throat, and I swallowed it down with great difficulty. I sensed his hand in this, but I had no proof nor insight as to his motives. Just like the only proof of his meddling I had was a flash of copper hair during the disturbance outside the palace gate.
“Something… extreme … must have happened to persuade him to take such action,” he continued.
“You’re a man of battle, Warrick, right?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Here in the Ballan Desert, we would say a warlord. But our warlords prefer to speak with their blades and their actions, not threats and posturing. If you have something to say, then say it,” I ordered.
His lips twisted in a smile, but it did not reach his eyes. “All I am saying, is that it seems your enemies are everywhere. Even within the walls of the palace. You should take care when negotiating with foreign powers, as weakness like that is all too easily exploited.”
I bared my teeth, ready to spit fire. Did he dare threaten me without the dignity of a true challenge? Before I could respond, a voice drifted over my shoulder.
“General Warrick, trust you to ambush the new queen with politics when she is supposed to be celebrating.” Prince Calix stepped up next to me. “Either join the dance or leave the negotiating until the morning. ”
Warrick inclined his head in the smallest possible indication of a bow and stepped off into the celebration. I followed his copper head through the crowd as he retreated into the palace. Calix motioned back to the dance floor, but I shook my head.
“I think I’ve had enough for today.”
I looked around, and Aderyn seemed to materialize out of the gathered onlookers. Riders opened the double doors, and together, Aderyn and I walked back into the palace. We didn’t speak, but my mind whirled with questions.