Azariah glanced to the right, where another group of riders joined the road. “Yes,” she said. Sonara could have sworn the girl shivered despite the heat. “You would be wise to hide yourself from him, when he arrives.”
She tucked her fan into her cloak, and for a moment, the fabric slipped aside to reveal that awful scar around her throat.
Her eyes flicked upwards, catching Sonara’s gaze.
All throughout the day, caravans had passed by, heading towards the Garden. It was not a rare thing for the desert trails to be packed with travelers. If not to get a look at the strange, armored Wanderers, then to reunite with friends from Soreia or the White Wastes, or make proposals to provinces from other kingdoms.
The royalty was always in attendance.
The other group on desert cats drew closer, their striped bodies nearly as large as Duran.
He tossed his head, his aura reeking of fear, his soul-ember blazing.
“Easy,” Sonara said to him. “You’ll embarrass yourself in front of the mare.”
He simply snorted in response, tossing his mane as if his fear outweighed his need to prance and act pretty.
“I’ve never met a steed like him,” Azariah said. “It’s as if he listens. Responds.”
Sonara chuckled. “All beasts do that. You just have to know how to listen.” She ran her hand across Duran’s hot neck. “Though, yes, he is different. He died with me. Came back to life at the same time.”
“Shadows,” Azariah said. “Shadows and… a gift.”
“Curse,” Sonara corrected her. “I’ve never known it to be a gift.”
Thali answered this time. “The stories of old would disagree. It is magic we hold. Magic that once had the power to strike fear in the hearts of every living being on Dohrsar.”
Magic.
She’d never heard the word before, and it was strange on her lips as Sonara echoed it. “Magic?”
“Magic,” Thali said again, resolutely.
Jaxon, humming softly to himself on his mare, had fallen silent. He lifted the brim of his hat and spat a mouthful of chew into the sand. “What does it mean?”
“It is ancient,” Thali said. “A word that means power, of the most unearthly kind. A beautiful thing to behold. Though the word itself has lost meaning in recent years as magic has crept far into the shadows, afraid to come back out.”
“Which is exactly why Jira’s forefathers slayed every last Shadowblood on Dohrsar,” Jaxon said. “Their descendants, and their descendants, too. Because they were cursed, and undeserving of a second life. Tainted bloodline to bloodline.”
And that was how Sonara had always felt, since coming back to life.Tainted. Undeserving. Cursed.
She’d lived two lives already, but she was still trying to figure out why in the hell she was deserving of evenone.
Her own mother hadn’t thought she was, and her father… well, Sonara supposed she’d never learn of the man that had sired her. She worried that if she ever did, she’d kill him.
Pay him back for the pain he’d caused her all those years in her first life, not knowing who she was. Not knowingwhyshe’d even been born, if she was to remain unwanted.
The wind howled, kicking up the sand. It was days like this, out in the wild, where she considered opening the cage inside of her. If she did, the physical pain of it, the pressure of holding back her curse, would fade for a time. If she could have a few moments of freedom… it was as intoxicating as the urge to spill guts and gain glory. To track down the truth about Soahm.
Even if letting the pressure out meant it would only come back stronger later.
A tiny taste,her curse whispered.Just for a moment, let me out to play.
She glanced at her companions, silent, despite Jaxon’s off-key humming, which Azariah was kind enough not to object to. Perhaps Sonara could enjoy the ride, too.
She was the Devil of the Deadlands, after all.
She was alive, and she was free.
