Kingdom of Monsters - Empire of Sand Series

Chapter 3.4

She cleared her throat, but her breath couldn't be caught. It ran away, and with it ran her voice.

Lunsa had expected to face Demian's judgment for her silence the day of his whipping, not the judgment of unknowing strangers.

Faces blurred and rippled, of the city and of stranger places too. Rivermen from the near rivers, conscripts of previous wars, soldiers reaped for tribute from annums past and no longer known to her, no longer known to any family in this lost village.

The under-general leaned closer. "What?"

Clearly, this was god-ordained punishment. If it were of an equal measure, she would be beaten until she wished to die and her sister would cross the gates to Elia while she watched, helpless. Her tribe would disperse to the ends of the earth.

With the end of their bloodline, so too would end their brother's curse. He, who had lost his true name, and called down their misfortunes.

Arctavian's smile turned in on itself, and his hand rested on his ceremonial sword. "I have no more patience for this entertainment. Sergeant, send her to Elia."

The sergeant's scarred face flexed in discomfort. "She's not natural. There's no bruise where I hit her. You see? She's unmarked. She has his demonic power."

The under-general's smile split. "If she knew his true name, she would tell it."

He shook his head, backing away. "She controls the General."

"No matter." Arctavian smacked his polished chest plate. "I answer to Prince Usus, Regent of All Lands. You answer to me. Answer!"

"We answer to you!" the men roared.

The sergeant muttered curse-avoidance phrases.

Arctavian sneered. "Of course, you'd give your true name to a kicked dog." He unhitched his sword. "I have no such fears."

A commotion rippled from the edge of camp. There, among the rows of equipment and supplies, mounts and smoke, one man towered above the rest.

Demian.

Her gut clenched.

She reached for Asnul, but he was not there. She faced this trial utterly alone.

The demon general pushed through coughing, smoke-beaten riders, snapping orders with quiet authority that expected absolute obedience. Those closest to him obeyed instantly; others in finer uniforms, he had to shove out of his way. His chest stretched twice as wide as the captain-at-arms, who spoke urgently at his shoulder. His eyes traversed the distance to hers, black as a night absent the moon, and the edges widened. Ah. He knew her too.

His lips curled from white canines. His growl hardened to fury.

She pushed herself to her feet.

Arctavian shifted back, his sword still unsheathed.

Demian stood before them, a vision of gods' wrath.

None spoke.

He had broadened since they last met, finally grown into his lanky arms, and she no longer looked upon a bitter teen ensnared by the bonds of childhood, but a man who had torn his way free. His jaw, wide-set, fit a forehead wider still. Black hair hung in short mats from his head, and two horns curled from the hard ridge above his night-blackened eyes. He wore no armor or undergarments, just a blackened vest and muddied breeches tied with a beast's lead that showed much of his cherry-colored skin. Boots cracked at the toes. No companda hung from his body.

And yet, here stood her destiny.

She licked her lips. Her heart thudded in her throat. Sound flew, distant, and the truth once more knelled behind her breast. "Demi—"