Today was a new day.
The ship that stole Soahm had returned to Dohrsar. Its riders would soon arrive at the Garden of the Goddess, and Sonara felt, deep in her shadowed blood, that her answers would also come.
When she found Soahm, she’d ride south with him. Then she’d fight her way through Soreia until Lazaris pierced their mother’s heart. She’d carry on, leaving nothing behind but blood and metal and bone, until Soahm was seated on his rightful throne.
The life of the Gathering grew with each traveler that arrived. Music whistled across the Garden of the Goddess, laughter and song and stories,and it was that, coupled with time, that allowed Sonara to find the strength to rein herself back in.
A pull on the threads that made herher,tiny tug after tug, until she wove herself a steady mask to hide behind. Until she could breathe again.
The merchants from the Carcass Coast arrived, a desolate territory in the northwest Deadlands. After them came the sailors from Crooked Cove, shipmakers whose intricate sailboats floated along the Briyne. Countless others arrived, from every small and large territory in the Deadlands.
Still, Jira did not appear.
Queen Marisk of the White Wastes arrived next, soaring in on her pale wyvern. She, and the riders that flanked her, wore bone-white armor, made from the tusks of great northern sea beasts. It was lightweight but strong, a piece of loot Sonara had always wanted, but never had the chance to take for herself.
People cheered, throwing flowers into the sky as the Queen’s wyvern landed with the others from the north.
Jira came last, an army of Diamond Guard at his back.
They rode on identical sand-colored steeds. Everything, from the tips of their ears down to their heavy hooves, was covered in hammered gold armor. The soldiers, carrying spears and swords adorned in diamonds on their pommels.
And Jira himself…
“Oh, goddesses be damned,” Sonara said with a huff.
He stood on the back of a golden chariot, pulled by six steeds. The chariot was intricately designed, patterned with hadrus and sand beetles made of rubies and emeralds and more diamonds. His crown, atop his large head, was so bright it cast fractals all across the Gathering as the crowd erupted into murmurs.Others stood in equal parts of terror and awe as the King of the Deadlands rolled through the valley, his monstrous frame practically glowing like a beacon in the sunlight.
All the while, Azariah stood motionless in the thick of the crowd, her hood pulled low, her body pressed close to Thali’s.
There wasfearthat filtered from her. But there was also hatred, as the crowd began to drop to a knee; a deep burn that had Sonara stepping away from the princess as her very insides felt set aflame.
“They bow when they should boo,” Azariah murmured. “They kneel when they should point their swords at him instead. When we are done here, when we make our mark and we steal from him what the Wanderers uncover…” Her eyes followed her father’s retreating chariot as he went to join the queens. “None will ever bow again.”
On and on, the territories arrived from all across the continent. From the east, workers from Miner’s Hope, on smaller, wingless cousins to the wyvern, scaled skin as red as blood. From the south, weaponmakers from Gutshot Bluff, who were known for their skill in blacksmithing. Years ago, Sonara, Jaxon and Markam had paid a visit there to get her sword fixed after a run-in with looters traveling from Soreia to trade in the north. They weren’t as good as the weaponsmaidens from Soreia, but they had done well enough.
With every territory that came, Sonara’s curse itched for escape.
She could scarcely focus on anythingbutthe effort to hold it in. A place like this, with so many come together… her curse would soar out of control. She may never be able to get it back once it did.
It was Jaxon and Markam’s turn to stiffen when a small group of travelers arrived from Wildeweb, their sigil of a tree revealing them. Those who lived in Wildeweb made their homes among the treetops, cautious of the beasts that hunted on the ground. It was the only territory in the Deadlands that had towering plants, a tangled jungle of overgrowth that many of the medicines in the Deadlands were derived from.
Their leader rode on the back of a wagon, hauled by a young wyvern, not yet having grown its full wings. Its jaw was sealed shut with chains.
The steady stream of travelers coming up the mountain pass slowed to a trickle. The valley was filled with hundreds when Sonara first heard the sound:
A buzzing, far away.
Nearing them with every passing second.
“What is that?” Azariah turned and tilted her head. Sonara got a whiff of pure curiosity,sweet as edible stalks of wheatgrass.
The taste traveled outwards from her, to everyone now slowly turning towards the western edge of the Bloodhorns, at the other entrance into the pass.
A pillar of dust rose from between the mountains.
“Sonara! Sonara, wait!”
Fear surged through her, and with it, curiosity like a soaring wraith. She turned and ran, Jaxon shouting her name. She wove through the tents, leapt across smoldering coals.
