Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Keera

T he wind pulled my hood back from my face, and I didn’t bother replacing it. I was too busy thanking my luck because the desert surely hadn’t brought the traveler to my oasis.

Crouched behind my rock, I could spy a lone figure silhouetted in the setting sun, moving around making camp. While it was hard to tell from a distance, the large frame suggested that it was a man, and a powerfully built one at that. A horse dipped its head to drink from the pool of water, indicating he was not an exile, just traveling separately from his clan. I tore my eyes away from the elegant slope of the animal’s neck, a lump in my throat, to consider the traveler further. I couldn’t see many details at this distance, but he appeared to only be wearing gray clothing with no colored sash to tell me which clan he hailed from. At least he didn’t wear a maroon sash, marking him as a member of Clan Padra. Something in me boiled at the thought of encountering one of my former people. Robbing them in the night wouldn’t be a great enough punishment for abandoning me.

I shoved that ugly line of thought away, despite the simmering low in my belly, in favor of considering why this man was here and how I might take advantage of his presence. After all, survival was the highest law of the desert .

It was odd to ride without the caravan of a clan, especially this far out from the Great City, but not unheard of. A rider alone was likely to get lost unless they had the favor of the desert, and it was not as if there were any map they could follow.

When I was a girl, I heard it said that those who came from beyond the mountains to visit the Great City of Kelvadan often asked for a map, hoping to trade with the clans of the Ballan Desert. This request would only ever be met with a laugh and a shake of the head. The Ballan Desert was a living thing, ever changing with the winds and her mood. Only trusting the desert with your life—or death—could bring you to your destination. Even then, journeys that took the fastest rider days could take only an afternoon for another. One time, a member of my former clan had ridden in one direction for hours, only to find himself right back where he started. The desert was as harsh as she was beautiful, and without her favor, I was forced to remain at my oasis or risk never finding my way back.

Try as they might, those who came from beyond the mountain couldn’t draw a map of the Ballan Desert. So, they were forced to do all their trading at the Great City of Kelvadan. The thought of the city that could be my only haven made me swallow around the dryness in my throat.

Even when the crushing isolation at my oasis nearly drove me mad, and I considered setting out for Kelvadan—the one place I might be able to make a home for myself—I hesitated. I had been trapped here at my oasis by the knowledge of what the desert often did to those who journeyed alone. Every time desperation gripped at my heart, and I began trudging away from my oasis in search of a reprieve from loneliness, my feet became leaden. Icy fear dripped down my spine, and I would be unable to continue, despite the overwhelming need to be free of the prison of my isolation. Sinking sands or terrifying mirages that made you wander for hours awaited those without the desert’s favor who set out on their own. The desert’s approval had abandoned me here at the same time Clan Padra left me alone among the sands to die.

I hadn’t been lucky enough to find a clan, yet alone a lone traveler, in far too long. My supplies ran thin, and without a new weapon, I wouldn’t be able to hunt for much longer .

Crouched behind that rock, I watched the man set up a sleeping mat. My thighs ached from my stillness as I waited for him to sleep, but he sat staring into the fire for hours. Still, I dared not move and draw his attention, or worse yet, look away to find that he had only been an illusion—a cruel trick of the desert in the face of my growing hunger or my unyielding desire for the voice of another human. It wouldn’t be the first time I imagined such a thing, although the last time I had been recovering from the venomous bite of a snake, delirious from the poison in my veins.

The moon hung high in the cloudless sky by the time the traveler lay down on his mat and I dared creep out into the open. My bare feet shifted silently over the sands; I was glad the sands cooled rapidly in the night air. My tattered sandals had given out two days earlier, and the soles of my feet already carried blisters from the heat of the sand during the day.

The man’s fire dwindled as he slept, affording me the cover of darkness. The horse lifted its head with pricked ears at my approach. I froze, both in fear and in awe of the beast’s beauty. Its coat was as black as the night sky, the sheen of the moon on the silky texture showing off the delicious luxury of thick muscle.

The horse blew out a breath through its nose at me but did not react otherwise. I suppressed the urge to coo reassuringly to the animal, not wanting to wake its rider. Even if I was a desperate thief, I would never harm my target’s horse.

I carefully picked my way toward the small stack of bundles on the ground where I was the most likely to find useful supplies. With quick fingers, I loosened the ties to look inside. While the man traveled lightly, my eyes burned in relief at the treasures I found in the packs. Dried meat, a spare length of linen that could be worn as a hood, a water flask, and sandals four sizes too big, but I didn’t care. These items would protect me from the harshness of the elements and keep me alive until the next clan passed.

I moved all the items I planned to take to one sack and quietly tied it to my back. As much as my hollow belly urged me to take the entirety of the man’s rations, I left a small portion with his things. Hopefully it would be enough to reunite him with his clan .

With dismay, I realized I hadn’t found a weapon. Even if the meat would last me a few days, I needed to be able to hunt. My sling was on the verge of disintegrating completely, and an eagle had flown away with the knife I needed to be able to skin a creature for a hide to make a new one.

I chanced a glance at the sleeping man, just a massive lump in the darkness, the gentle whisper of breath all to indicate his presence. Perhaps he kept his weapons closer at hand. I crept around his sleeping mat to the far side, the direction in which he was facing. I feared waking him, but the fear of starvation was even more present in my mind—a weight that rested between my shoulder blades and never truly abated.

In the darkness I couldn’t see his face, but I was too fixated on what lay in the sand, inches from his outstretched hand, to care. A saber, gently curved and longer than my arm, larger than any I had ever seen, called to me. My palm itched to grasp the cord-wrapped hilt, bracketed by gently curved quillons. A knife would be much more practical for my purposes, but my hands didn’t care, already reaching out for the awe-inspiring weapon. The way the moonlight reflected off the lethal edge called inexorably to me.

A rustle broke the stillness of the air, and I froze. Before I could so much as throw myself backward, the form on the sleeping mat leaped forward. His bulk bowled me over, driving me down into the sand. I kicked wildly, using our momentum to continue our roll, trying to end up on top. With his superior size and the sluggishness of my limbs, he managed to trap me between his thighs. I slapped at him ineffectually, but he gathered my wrists and pinned them above my head with one hand, the other held threateningly at my throat.

Then he stopped.

At first, I thought it was simply because he had bested me, but the preternatural stillness of his muscles and the tick in his jaw belied something else. I shuddered beneath him, a bolt of adrenaline, more intense than any I had ever felt during my struggles to survive, coursing through my body.

While he sat frozen, my muscles quivered under my skin, a feeling of life pouring through me that I had not felt in many years. Every inch of my skin felt drenched in cold water after months of drought. Maybe it was the awareness of how quickly he could kill me, my pulse fluttering wildly beneath his fingers. Or maybe it was just the touch of another human after so long in isolation, the warm pressure of his fingers so solid along the column of my throat. Either way, my world turned sideways in that moment where he held me pinned. He stared at my face as if stricken.

“Who are you?” he asked, voice raw and jarringly loud in the silence of the night.

His solid weight pushed me into the coarse sand, stealing most of my ability to speak. I opened my mouth but found my voice slow to come after years of disuse. Instead, I settled for hissing and wriggling futilely to free myself.

The man exhaled sharply through his noise, letting go of his grip on my neck. I tried to use the moment to my advantage, but in a matter of seconds he had removed his sash and used it to bind my hands. I snarled in frustration, but he ignored me. Then, he stood and unceremoniously dragged me closer to his packs and the burnt-out fire, which we had rolled away from in our scuffle. He quickly located another leather band and tied my ankles. I fought the best I could, but months of inconsistent meals left me no match for his strength, despite how energized I felt.

With me immobilized, he wordlessly turned to the fire to urge it back to life. Curiously, he didn’t light it with a flint. Instead, he just held his hand over the embers and stared for a few moments. It grew beneath his palm, like a succulent after rain, until it crackled and danced as strong as ever. No wonder he was not afraid to travel alone, if he had such mastery over the magic of the desert. While several in my former clan had been gifted with her power, very few had enough to use it so casually. It made something squirm in my gut.

My captor turned to me and crouched. While it brought him level with me, the power in the pose held a promise of violence if I tried to run. With the fire offering ample light, I got my first good look at his face. His features were delicate but proud, his skin oddly sallow looking. In this light, I couldn’t make out the color of the hair curling gently around his temples, although it seemed dark. His eyes were the same luminous silver as the crescent of the moon above us. My heart thundered in my chest under the weight of his stare, as if trying to remind me I was alive after so long feeling as good as dead. It woke something else in me—a burning, roiling storm under my skin.

“Who are you?” he repeated his question again, voice low but firm.

I continued to glare, and the moment stretched between us. Then, I spit in his face.