Page 4

Savanah

I take one more calming breath before I open my eyes to find my friends staring at me warily. Cain’s teeth are so tightly clenched he’s probably giving himself a headache.

“I’m okay,” I tell him, pulling his hands away from my face.

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “What was that?”

“The Shadows,” I say. The easiest explanation. If I told him that I’m terrified Eidolon just did something terrible to Reven, I’d have to undo the numb state I’m in, and it’s the only thing holding me together.

“But now you’ve got them?” Cain demands.

So tempting to laugh in his face. As an Imperium himself, you’d think he’d know better.

All of us who wield a power have to learn it and grow in it gradually over time. With sand, I came into my ability too young, long before Tabra, and was told by Grandmother—ordered by queenly edict, more like—to never use it. Ever. A ruling that Omma, who raised me, enforced by pretending I had no power to speak of. I had to figure out how to control and use it on my own and in secret.

That was before the curse kicked in.

I can also now wield shadows and darkness because the sand nymph connected me to Eidolon’s massive power, allowing me to siphon it into myself.

I suck at it.

Turns out power means absolutely nothing without control. It took me years… years …to learn my own power to control and manipulate sand.

I don’t have years.

“They’re locked down,” I tell Cain.

He stares at me. They all stare at me.

I need to get better at lying if we’re going to survive what’s to come.

Bene flaps his wings from his perch on Tabra’s shoulder and I imagine he’s offering me support. If anyone would know what being separated from their bondmate feels like, it’s Bene. Communication with him has been limited since I gave Aryd’s amulet to Eidolon. I need it to be able to hear Bene in my mind.

I pat a hand over my heart, hoping he’ll see it as gratitude or a show that I’ll be fine.

“Arms in the air and face us slowly!” a voice suddenly yells out from above.

Damn it all.

The blast of purple that lights us up is a problem. Tabra makes a small sound in her throat. I grab her hand, giving it a squeeze, and the light goes out.

Hakan looks up. I follow his eyeline to find the deep pit in which the temple sits now surrounded by at least fifty Savanahan warriors, spears, bows, and other weapons trained on us.

“What was that about Savanahans being too trusting?” Vos murmurs at Cain.

Cain, meanwhile, sidles closer to stand in front of me. “I take it back.”

“What business do you have here?” that same guttural voice, not unlike Hakan’s, demands from above.

Time to play the royalty move.

I touch Cain’s shoulder and he moves—reluctantly. Tabra and I step forward to stand beside Hakan, then throw the hoods of our cloaks back. “We are the Queens of Aryd,” Tabra says, her voice calm and melodious. “And we request passage.”

That’s all we need. Passage. Not even safe passage. We just need to know the Savanahans won’t stop us.

“To where?” comes the immediate response.

Bloody hells. We’d hoped they wouldn’t ask.

“The Snarl,” I answer.

A low murmur rises from the soldiers above us, and several shift on their feet. I don’t need to be close enough to see their faces to recognize apprehension.

“Denied,” their leader says flatly. “Go back to where you came from.”

The blanket of stars in the clear sky dims in a way that reminds me of Reven pulling a veil over the world. I tense. Except the darkness lifts as fast as it came on. Was that me? Did one of the Shadows get out? Or was it just a cloud passing in front of the moons? I shoot a furtive look around to see if anyone else noticed.

“Crone’s eyes,” Hakan mutters, then tugs back his own hood, exposing his face and tattoos. “I am Hakan, son of Queen Wynega.”

He’s what ? The shock that ripples through our group is practically a physical presence. This is the first we’ve heard about his being the queen’s anything, let alone her son.

“If that is true, then you have been banished from these lands,” the leader answers. “Leave now. Don’t make us warn you again.”

“I will speak with my mother,” Hakan demands.

“Denied.”

Hakan holds up his hands and bands of lightning dance along his fingers, sparking and snapping with each move. The air around us sizzles, filling the space with an odd smell of burning, along with a palpable tension and a strangely metallic taste on the tongue.

“You wouldn’t dare!” that voice cracks over the sound of Hakan’s lightning. “We are your people.”

“You were my people,” Hakan answers, deadly calm. “I have new people now.”

Yes, he does. But antagonizing them is not how I want to start this. Our fight isn’t with these people. I need to stop him before he torches the place. “Hakan.”

He glances at me, and for the first time, I see past his passive expression to the pain underneath. These people feared his power so much they forced him out. His own mother—the queen, apparently—let it happen.

Is that my future? One where my friends and family fear me to the point of abandonment and exile?

I give him a small, encouraging nod.

Reluctantly he lowers his hands, the power dissipating, and we’re plunged back into the calm of early dawn.

“We don’t wish to make enemies of you,” I say to the guards. “Aryd and Savanah have long been friends. But it’s important we get to the Snarl. Don’t make us fight you to do that.”

There is a pause, and I can hear the low murmur of voices but not what’s being said.

“Fine,” the guard calls back finally. “It’s your funeral pyre.”

That was fast. I glance at Tabra, who shrugs.

“We will allow you to pass,” he continues. “But on two conditions.”

Of course there are conditions.

“The banished son of Savanah may pass no farther. He remains here.”

Hells. We could really use his power for what’s coming next. “Hakan?” I ask him.

“Agreed,” he says through clenched teeth and with a glance toward Pella.

“And the other condition?” I ask.

“Queen Tabra—the rightful queen of Aryd—remains here with us as well. Under our protection.”

But for me, the false queen—nothing. They don’t say it, but I hear it anyway.

I share another look with Tabra, this one full of a thousand questions and worries. She tilts her head ever so slightly. Her answer.

Relief that at least she’ll be safely tucked away here tries to bubble up with a side of leftover resignation, but I smother both with the numbness inside me.

It’s better this way.

After all, I was always meant to be the sacrifice.