A whistle and then a quickpftcut through the wind. Brela’s horse reared back, but she held firm, grunting and grimacing at the effort. As her mare settled, she swore through her teeth, reached around…
And yanked an icicle the length of her hand out of the back of her thigh.
Not an icicle. A long and thin, diamond-shaped crystal, one point dripping with her blood.
Elias, Farrah, and Serill were immediately on them. Cason’s hand was already on the hilt of his sword, his fingers one move away from calling lightning.
Brela bared her teeth and snapped at him. “No magic.”
“Brela…” he warned, scanning the endless desert. Where in the four hells did that thing come from?
“Donotuse your fire under any circumstances,” she growled under her breath, nostrils flaring as she studied the crystal in her hand. Her fingers traced over the details carved into the surface as she let out a hiss through her teeth. “Ah, shit.” She glanced between them. “No fighting and no sudden moves, got it?”
Another whistle and then the distinct noise of crystal embedding in flesh. Brela swore again, this time yanking the point out of her lower back and shoving both into her pocket.
The third whistle never landed. Brela snapped her head around and caught the crystal where it should have embedded in the back of her skull.
She growled, glaring at the desert. “Stay here. Farrah, donotlet him use fire.”
Cason gaped. “You can’t be serious.” Brela just ignored him, dismounting and storming—with a slight limp—toward the endless sand. He made to dismount as well before a frozen hand gripped his wrist and yanked him back onto his saddle with surprising strength. He glared at Farrah. “Let go of me.”
“No,” she hissed, digging icy nails into his skin. “Let her handle this.”
“Handle what?” he snapped.
Halted fifteen paces away from them, blood blooming along the fabric of her thigh and lower back, Brela waved Night Carver to the sky and shouted into the desert. “Zaa, kria zaxova.”
The desert answered.
Tendrils of sand lifted in the space next to her, twisting, coiling, and…solidifying. Glass, or maybe crystal, pieced together slowly, sand filling the inside. It started with feet, the clear glass stacking higher into smooth but muscular calves, thighs, and arms. Gods, even the crystalline torso was broad and strong, the sand making the muscles look like they were flexing.
It was a body.
Four hells, it was a sand sprite.
Cason wasn’t sure his jaw could drop any lower. He was pretty confident Serill was reacting the same way, and even though Farrah and Elias seemed to know more about what was going on, they had their own looks of surprise.
The neck and jaw took shape, darker sand filling in the contours to give the impression of cheekbones, lips, and a nose. Black sand filled the hollows where there should be eyes, and Cason could have sworn it was smirking.
Even as Brela pressed Night Carver to the crystal neck of the sand sprite.
The sprite’s voice was deep and scratchy, like sand on a wind. “Axaczi, ov raokir.”
“Oni,”she replied, her voice cold.
The sprite’s black eyes narrowed on the dagger at his throat, that smirk turning into a wild smile of crystal fangs. “Kraz orxaw?”
Brela rolled her eyes and lowered the dagger, dropping the three crystal blades into his hand with distinct clinks. “Owa kria?”
Cason whispered over his shoulder. “Can you understand them?”
“Shh,” Farrah whispered back. “It’s about to get interesting.”
Cason’s attention snapped away from the spiked crystal hair on the sand sprite when the creature leaned it’s face against Brela’s neck. The air and sand around them seemed to suck toward the sprite, and Cason realized that it wasinhaling; smelling her.
Cason could have sworn his snarl was internal, but the sand sprite’s black eyes darted his direction. Even the sandy wind seemed to hover around him. The next words out of the sprite’s mouth were too quiet for even Cason to hear, and Brela’s eyes flared as she hissed something back. As the sprite reached toward her head, she once again angled the point of Night Carver toward his chin.
His hand halted, and the creature laughed a wind so rough, Cason felt like his lungs were being chafed.
