Legacy of Fire and Sand

Chapter 26: Shadows of the Past

Ashara paced her chamber, her mind swirling with thoughts of the dagger and its implications. The idea that someone knew her true lineage and had left such a weapon in her care was enough to send a shiver down her spine. The weight of it pressed against her side, a constant reminder that she was being watched.

She moved to the window, looking out over the darkened streets of Dorne. The city was alive with the sounds of revelry, but it felt distant—like another world entirely from the one she was now inhabiting. The streets below were filled with people, laughing, drinking, and celebrating, unaware of the storm brewing within the Silk Sands.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. She tensed, her hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at her side. "Who is it?" she called out, her voice steady despite the unease twisting in her gut.

"It's only me," came the familiar voice of Arianne, one of the brothel's maids. "I have something for you."

Ashara hesitated before opening the door. Arianne stood there, a tray in her hands with a goblet of wine and a folded piece of parchment. She stepped inside, her eyes flicking to the dagger at Ashara's side but saying nothing about it.

"Mariah asked me to bring this to you," Arianne said, setting the tray down on a small table by the bed. "And this letter arrived just after she left."

Ashara's eyes narrowed as she picked up the parchment. The seal was unmarked, the wax a deep crimson. She broke it open and unfolded the letter, her eyes scanning the neat, precise handwriting.

Your enemies are closer than you think. Trust no one.

Her heart skipped a beat as she read the words. The letter offered no clue as to who had sent it, but the message was clear—she was being watched, and whoever was behind this knew more than they were letting on.

She glanced up at Arianne, who was watching her with a mix of curiosity and concern. "Who gave you this?"

"I don't know," Arianne replied, shaking her head. "It was left at the front door, along with the wine. No one saw who delivered it."

Ashara's jaw tightened. Another mystery, another unanswered question. She dismissed Arianne with a nod, her thoughts already racing ahead.

As the door closed behind the maid, Ashara sat down on the edge of the bed, turning the letter over in her hands. The dagger, the letter—pieces of a puzzle she was no closer to solving. She couldn't shake the feeling that something much larger was at play, something that went beyond her petty quarrels with Quentyn and Nymeria.

She took a sip of the wine, the rich taste doing little to calm her nerves. She needed to think, to figure out her next move before the storm she sensed brewing broke over her head.

Her thoughts were interrupted once again, this time by a sudden noise outside her window. She froze, her hand tightening around the dagger as she moved cautiously toward the window. The curtains billowed slightly in the breeze, and for a moment, she thought she saw a shadow moving outside.

Her heart pounded as she pulled the curtain aside, peering out into the night. The street below was empty, but the sense of being watched lingered.

She pulled back from the window, her mind racing. Whoever was behind this was close—too close for comfort. And as much as she hated to admit it, she couldn't handle this alone. She needed help, someone she could trust.

But who?

As she pondered this question, a new realization struck her—one that made her blood run cold. The letter had been left with the wine. If whoever was behind this had access to her chambers, then they could have done far more than leave a note.

Her gaze shifted to the goblet of wine sitting on the table. Had it been tampered with? Was it poisoned?

She set the goblet down, her mind spinning. The walls of her once-safe haven were closing in on her, and she had no idea who she could turn to. The game had changed, and the stakes were higher than ever.

Ashara moved to the door, her decision made. She couldn't stay here, not with the dangers lurking in every shadow. She needed answers, and she would find them—no matter the cost.

But as she reached for the door handle, the floor creaked behind her. She spun around, dagger in hand, her heart leaping into her throat. The chamber was empty, but the sense of unease only grew stronger.

The dagger felt heavier in her hand, its cold metal biting into her palm. Whoever was behind this, they were playing a dangerous game—and she intended to win.