Page 49 of Crown of the Dunes (The Ballan Desert #2)
Chapter nineteen
Keera
I pulled my fingers away from the smooth metal rings decorating my ear and returned my hands to their death grip on the arm of the throne for the third time in a row.
Since Neven had talked me into letting him pierce my ears a week ago, I had found myself toying with the golden jewelry often.
Under the scrutiny of the archons and ambassadors, the urge to fidget was strong.
Even as I stilled my hands, I found myself bouncing my knee.
“Has the king responded to your request to negotiate a trade for grain?” Torin asked from my right side.
Prince Calix tucked his hands behind his back and inclined his head where he stood at the foot of the steps leading up to where I sat.
“I expect to hear from him any day now. The time it has taken him to send his reply gives me hope that he is drawing up a proposal for trade. Kelvadan has always been a valued ally, and we look forward to continuing our fruitful relationship.”
General Warrick’s upper lip pulled back in a sneer at Calix’s words. His replies were never so artful, and while I couldn’t exactly blame him—I had yet to learn to fluently speak the language of diplomacy—his open distaste for every negotiation needled me .
“General Warrick,” I cut in, making both the archons start. “Perhaps Doran would be interested in initiating an exchange as well. Surely there are farms in Doran as well?”
He folded his arms across his broad chest. While sweat glistened on his forehead and dampened the shock of copper hair falling across his face, he still wore a gray and white pelt draped over his shoulders.
“We do have farms,” he admitted. “But winter in Doran is long and hard, and we have no grain to spare. Our people also must rely on hunting, and times grow even leaner with armies to supply.”
Calix shot him a sidelong look of annoyance at the mention of the war between the two nations, which seemed to have reached its fingers past the walls of Kelvadan.
I breathed out heavily through my nose. “Tell me. If Doran is unwilling to send men to fight for Kelvadan or food to feed our people, why did you bother to come at all? You’ve spoken of trading for horses, yet you don’t have anything you’re actually willing to give us in return.”
Malachi, the Archon of Justice, stepped forward, already opening his mouth as if to repair damage caused by my words. Warrick cut him off with a huff of amusement.
“My king has authorized me to use one bargaining chip.”
I raised my brows at him, resisting the urge to tap my foot in impatience.
“Doran has made machines of war—devices that would not be useful to nomadic clansmen who fight man to man in small skirmishes. But they would be invaluable in the defense of a walled city.”
I leaned forward in my chair. While hunger was an enemy that already pounded at the city gates, Izumi might still lead the nine clans against Kelvadan.
She was not as formidable a threat in my mind as Lord Alasdar or Erix had been, but with the people hungry and divided, an attack would be devastating.
As terrifying as these machines of war sounded, I could not turn away a promise of safety for Kelvadan.
“And why do you only mention this now?” I asked .
Warrick uncrossed his arms and lifted his chin. “Because I have decided not to trade them to you. I prefer to bet on the winning side, and you are not a true queen.”
It was as if I had stepped under one of the cold streams of water that poured down from the icy tops of the mountain. The wooden arms of the throne creaked in my grip.
“If I recall,” I gritted out between my teeth, “the clans that attacked were driven back by the riders of Kelvadan. That makes me the winning side.”
“They were not defeated,” Warrick argued. “Their leader surrendered to you, despite clearly having the upper hand. I have waged war long enough to know that one retreat does not mean the enemy is vanquished. No more than it makes you a queen.”
I stood abruptly. Calix and the archons took a step back, but Warrick did not budge.
My hands trembled where I balled them into fists at my side, and I grit my teeth.
Despite the gold jewelry decorating my ears and the intricate cuffs around my upper arms—the fine green tunic and the embroidered red sash—the way Warrick stared up at me in defiance told me he saw past the trappings of a queen.
He saw the filthy exile beneath my skin. The wild, caged thing that had scared my parents away and may yet frighten the people of this city.
But if that part of me knew anything, it was how to fight back.
“If you doubt my ability to protect this city, perhaps you would like to test it for yourself,” I said, my eyes flicking meaningfully to the axe hanging from his belt.
“You offer to duel me yourself?” he asked.
“I offer to duel anyone who threatens the safety of this city,” I confirmed.
A nervous chuckle escaped from Calix, who had been watching this exchange with wide eyes. “Perhaps these negotiations have gotten a little out of hand.”
“On the contrary, I think Queen Keera and I are finally starting to speak the same language,” Warrick declared, his icy gaze not leaving me.
I walked down the stairs from the raised throne, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous stone room, and stopped just before him. Despite my height putting me at eye level with most riders in Kelvadan, I had to raise my chin slightly to meet Warrick’s eyes.
“If I defeat you, you must recognize me as Kelvadan’s rightful queen,” I said, voice deathly quiet.
The challenge came straight from the dirty exile hiding beneath my fine clothing—the one who would go to any lengths to belong .
The one who’s blood boiled at Warrick’s insinuation that I would remain an imposter—an outcast—forever and wanted to force him to eat his words.
Warrick offered a jerky nod. “And if I emerge victorious, then Kelvadan must swear to never supply Viltov with horses.”
My heart stuttered in my chest. He had goaded me into a fight, and by the laws of the clans, if I backed out now after issuing a challenge, my power would be all but forfeit. While not all in Kelvadan ascribed to the ways of clans, my claim to the crown was shaky enough as it was.
The corner of Warrick’s mouth twisted up, telling me he knew what he had done. If I agreed to his promise and lost, I would lose the most powerful bargaining chip Kelvadan had in securing food for its people.
I swallowed. “I agree.”
Titters ran through the assembled riders and archons. It was almost as if the crack that ran through the floor widened, and Warrick was the one with a hammer and chisel, prying it open.
He reached for his axe, unhooking it from his belt. “To first blood?” he asked.
I bared my teeth, swallowing down the retort that duels in the Ballan Desert were to the death. He had already coaxed me to violence for his own gain—I would not kill him and give Doran an excuse to invade Kelvadan to take what they would by force.
I just nodded, pulling my own saber from my belt. The metallic ring of it pulling free from its scabbard silenced the whispers of discontent running through the hall as everyone backed toward the walls, giving the two of us space.
My boots scraped harshly against the stone as I began to circle Warrick—nothing like the soft give of sand underfoot. Warrick held his axe before him with two hands, keeping it between us as I assessed his stance for openings.
A tiny shift of his grip was the only warning I had before he lunged. The axe whistled through the air, flying toward my left side. I twisted, lifting my elbows and throwing my blade between myself and the attack in a hanging parry.
The impact of the blow traveled up my arms and echoed in my head hard enough to make my ears ring. A shot of lightning ran through my elbows and wrists. Before I could recover, he let my block reverse the momentum of his swing, circling the axe over his head before aiming for my unprotected side.
My muscles moved of their own accord, spinning me out of the way. The wind from his strike ruffled my hair as I danced back. As we returned to circling each other, I surreptitiously flexed my fingers on the handle of my sword, trying to restore feeling to my grip.
Warrick’s axe was far heavier than a saber—even Erix’s oversized weapon. I would only be able to block a few strikes from it before my arms gave out or my weapon shattered.
I didn’t wait for Warrick to swing again, instead closing the distance quickly before he could wind up for another brutal strike.
He raised his axe as if to catch my blow on the handle, but I reversed directions at the last second.
My saber cut toward his legs, close enough to snag on his pants and rip them at the knees.
But there was no blood.
Before I could retreat, Warrick slammed the handle of his weapon forward, catching me directly in the face. I stumbled back as stars burst behind my eyelids, and I nearly lost my grip on my sword.
As pain exploded in my head, something savage pulsed in my gut, as if awoken by the sensation. Warmth flooded my veins, and I blinked past the watering in my eyes.
I didn’t bother to wait for my vision to clear before I threw myself at Warrick. My muscles took over, driving me forward with a speed I hadn’t known I possessed. My blade sang to the rhythm of the pulsing rush of blood in my ears .
Warrick blocked my flurry of blows, each more narrowly than the last. He backed away as I advanced, driving him from the throne and toward the door of the hall. Under my onslaught, he faltered. I darted forward, aiming my blade at his unguarded shoulder.
My foot caught on the uneven floor—never a problem in the flawlessly hewn stone of Kelvadan, now ruined by the crack running the length of the palace. My stomach lurched under me, like I had taken a bad step on the sands and started sliding down the steep side of a dune.
I threw my free arm out to catch my balance, and Warrick grasped at my split second of hesitation. The blade of his axe whistled through the air. I flung my saber up between us, and the clash of metal echoed through the stone room as our weapons met.
Yanking on my saber, I tried to pull free to attack again, but Warrick twisted his axe, the blade catching on my quillon and locking our weapons together.
He bore his weight down on me. My knees trembled, and the muscles in my shoulders screamed as I fought against the bulk of his body pushing against me.
A pulse of adrenaline shot through me, filling me with unbridled enmity.
The Ballan Desert was my home, and he would not defeat me before my own throne.
I redirected the newfound energy in muscles, twisting away and spinning out of the bind.
Warrick tried to take advantage of the dangerous maneuver, slashing out in the split second my back was to him—but I was faster.
The wind of my motion whipped my hair as I flung my sword out.
He lifted the handle of his axe to catch the blow, but the curve of my saber arced around it, the back edge slashing across his cheek.
His eyes widened in shock as blood bubbled up before trailing over his face to drip down his jaw. He froze, and for a split second, the only thought in my mind was victory—how this was a duel of honor, and such competitions among the clans could only end one way.
A droplet of blood fell from his chin to stain the floor and the moment was shattered. We were not among the clans, where peace was only bought with death .
Warrick raised his hands in defeat. “Doran acknowledges you as the Queen of Kelvadan.”
The words were the ones he had promised if he should be defeated, but they rang hollowly in the hall which was unnaturally quiet after the clash of weapons.
I nodded my head in acknowledgement and lowered my weapon, but the glint in Warrick’s eyes told me this defeat was not the end of his defiance.
Instead, I looked past him toward the assembled riders, and warmth bloomed in my chest as they all tapped their knuckles to their temples in acknowledgement of my victory.
I raised my own hand and saluted them back, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw the archons exchange worried glances.
A bittersweet ache undercut the warmth of the riders’ approval.
This fight had been won, but with threats both known and unknown around every corner, this would not be the last blood spilled in this city.