Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
KAELENDRIN
T he festival buzzed around him—laughter, music, the crackle of the bonfire—but Kaelen barely heard it.
Leaning against a post at the bonfire’s edge, his gaze kept drifting to the wagons beyond the firelight.
His jaw tensed, thoughts circling, weighed down by words left unsaid .
. . and the ones he should’ve chosen more carefully.
The soft crunch of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. Alarik emerged from the shadows, three mugs of wine in hands. He placed them on a nearby bench.
“Didn’t expect to find you sulking here.” He arched a brow. “Weren’t you dancing? Where’s Yara?”
Kaelen sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She needed space.”
His brother’s expression shifted, the faintest furrow appearing between his brows. “What happened?”
“Anna?s came up.”
Alarik stilled, his jaw tightening. “And?”
“I didn’t get the chance to fully explain,” he admitted, the weight of it settling in his chest. “I wanted to, but she left before I could.”
Alarik exhaled slowly, his voice edged with warning. “Do you realize what that must sound like to her? She needed to hear the truth, not half of it.”
Frustration twisted in his chest. “I know,” he said, the edge in his voice slipping through before he could stop it. “But all I did was upset her.”
Alarik pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, clearly reining in his temper. “We can’t let this fester. If she thinks she’s standing in Anna?s’s shadow, it’ll eat away at her trust in us. You know that.”
He opened his mouth, but the words died on his lips as a terrified voice pierced the night.
“Help! Kai, Lark! Help!”
They turned around and saw Mei Mei sprinting toward them, face pale and streaked with tears.
“It’s Yara!” Her voice trembled, small hands clutching desperately at their arms. “A sandshrike!” She took a gulp of air. “Inside the wagon! Hurry!”
His stomach dropped.
They tore through the festival, the blur of stalls and shouting vendors vanishing beneath the thunder of their boots. He reached the wagon first, hand locking around the handle. He stilled despite the pounding in his chest, forcing himself to count to three. Panic would only startle the sandshrike.
Carefully, he cracked the door open.
Lantern light flickered across the cramped interior. There—Reiya knelt in front of a thrashing basket, her hands straining to keep it pinned. Sweat slicked her brow, stray curls sticking to her pale face.
He dropped beside her, eyes scanning her face, her neck, her hands. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” she gasped. “It’s inside the basket.”
Alarik moved swiftly, the edge of his dagger flashing.
He studied the thrashing basket for only a moment before striking, his blade piercing through woven reed and flesh.
The sandshrike let out a piercing shriek, sharp enough to make Kaelen flinch.
Alarik didn’t hesitate—he struck again, silencing it with a final, decisive blow.
Relief crashed into him, sharp and disorienting, but it couldn’t drown the storm raging inside. His pulse slowed just enough for the weight of it all to sink in. Across from him, Reiya slumped back, as if the tension had drained from her body altogether.
He reached for her, hands gripping her shoulders, grounding himself in the fact that she was alive, unharmed.
But the thought circled relentlessly—how close had he come to losing her?
His voice came rougher than intended. “Are you sure it didn’t touch you? Bite you?”
Sandshrike venom was among the deadliest in the nine kingdoms, its antidote rare and difficult to craft. Few healers possessed the skill to brew it properly, and more travellers perished from sandshrike bites than from heatstroke or thirst in the unforgiving desert.
“No, it didn’t,” she whispered.
He pulled her into his arms, holding her as if his arms alone could keep the shadows at bay. She quivered against him, her shallow breaths warm against his chest. He felt the effort she poured into holding herself together, and it only made him tighten his embrace.
“You shouldn’t have stayed,” he murmured against her hair.
She lifted her head to look back at him, brow furrowed.
“The moment I left, it would’ve slithered back into the shadows. What if we couldn’t find it again? What if it found Su Lian, Ru Rong, or worse—Mei Mei?”
He eased back slightly, his hands framing her face, searching her gaze. “You were very brave,” he murmured, voice rough.
Her quiet strength humbled him, filled him with fierce, aching awe. She’d stood her ground against one of the deadliest creatures in the desert, all to protect the family she’d come to see as her own.
Together, they lifted the basket, revealing the bloodied carcass beneath. His gaze met Alarik’s over the lifeless body, and the look in his brother’s eyes confirmed what he already suspected.
Sandshrikes avoided human settlements, especially noisy, fire-lit encampments like this.
They were reclusive creatures, striking from the cover of desert brush, not slithering into an enclosed space teeming with people.
Most deaths by sandshrikes weren’t from direct attacks, but from unsuspecting travellers who disturbed their nests, stepping where they shouldn’t, angering the creatures into protecting their eggs.
But this wagon—Kaelen’s gaze swept over the sealed floorboards, the tightly drawn canvas, the lack of any gaps wide enough for a snake to slip through—there was no way it had crawled in on its own.
Someone had placed it in here.
“Let’s talk outside,” Alarik muttered, hefting the carcass with ease while Kaelen grabbed a rag, swiftly wiping the floorboards as clean as he could. Moments later, the Xians arrived, their expressions shifting between shock and confusion—but above all, relief settled over the night.
Outside, the cool desert air did little to temper the fury simmering beneath his skin. Once they were clear of prying eyes, Alarik wasted no time.
“The snake was a message,” he said, his voice grim. “And not a friendly one.”
Reiya exhaled shakily. “From Jodhar.”
Kaelen’s jaw tightened. “He knows where the wagon is. If he wanted to take you, he could’ve tried tonight . . . but he didn’t.”
His brother’s expression darkened. “He wasn’t after Reiya. Not yet, at least.”
Kaelen pinched the bridge of his nose, the beginnings of a headache pressing against his skull. “The Xians treat us as family, but the wagon belongs to them, not to Reiya—not to us. By planting the sandshrike inside, he was hoping to harm one of them. That would’ve been his revenge.”
Alarik turned to Reiya. “But you ruined his plan.”
Kaelen muttered, “This is only the beginning. If we stay, even for one night, the Xians and everyone else at this festival are in danger.”
Alarik heaved a long sigh. “We were leaving for Asadia anyway. What’s a day or two earlier?”
He barely heard his brother. His gaze drifted to Reiya, watching as she stared at the Xians’ wagon, her expression caught between longing and quiet heartbreak. The firelight flickered against her face, illuminating the unshed tears in her eyes.
In such a short time, she’d found something precious here— belonging, family, a place where she wasn’t a runaway Omega but simply . . . Yara.
And now, because of him, she had to leave it behind sooner.
“It’s time,” she said softly, her voice steady, but he heard the ache beneath it.
He saw it in the slight hunch of her shoulders, the way she held herself as though bracing against a loss she hadn’t yet allowed herself to feel. She was agreeing to leave, but it wasn’t what she wanted.
And that realization struck him harder than he expected.
He stepped forward, his fingers catching her chin, tilting her face up to his. His thumb brushed away a tear before it could fall.
“I’ll make this right,” he murmured. “I swear it.”
She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly as though drawing strength from him. Despite everything, she still trusted him.
And that trust was a lifeline he couldn’t afford to betray.
“Rest,” he urged softly, his voice steadier now. “You and Mei Mei need it. Alarik and I will make sure no harm comes to you or the family tonight.”
Without waiting for her to answer, he turned and strode away.
He climbed the dune, needing a vantage point, needing space—anything to keep the frustration from swallowing him whole.
Below, the festival pulsed with life, music and laughter drifting up from the camp, a stark contrast to the silence pressing around him.
Guilt sat heavy in his chest, each thought sharper than the last. He should’ve handled Jodhar sooner. Should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve stopped it before it ever reached her.
“Kaelen.”
Reiya’s voice cut through the quiet, stopping him in his tracks.
He turned sharply, startled to find her just a few feet away. The torchlight bathed her in a warm glow, illuminating the concern in her expression. Her shawl was pulled tight around her shoulders, the breeze tugging at the fabric’s edges.
“I told you to stay near the wagon,” he said.
“And leave you to brood alone?” She stepped closer. “I can’t do that. Not after tonight. ”
He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “Reiya, you should be resting. You’ve had a shock, and I?—”
“You’ve had a shock too,” she interrupted, her voice steady. “But you act like you don’t need anyone. Like you’re the only one who has to bear this weight.”
Her words landed like a blow, knocking loose something raw inside him. He dropped his gaze to the sand.
“Because I do,” he said hoarsely, nails digging into his palms. “I provoked Jodhar. I thought humiliating him would keep him away, but I was wrong. If I’d just handled things differently in Zohara .
. .” He lifted his eyes to hers, the weight of his own failure pressing down on him.
“I put everyone in danger—especially you.”