Chapter Forty-Two
Why are we always so against change?
Tabitha Wysteria
Alina found the witch in one of the bathhouses carved deep beneath the mountain, where steam clung to the stone like a living thing and voices echoed softly against the cavern walls.
It was late afternoon, yet the pools were crowded, far more than Alina had expected.
Dawn had always struck her as someone who preferred solitude in such moments.
Without ceremony, Alina stripped off her garments and left them folded upon a nearby rock. She slipped into the warm waters, the heat licking at her skin, and ignored the pointed look Dawn cast her way.
It was a strange thing, to know that the wyverian woman reclining against the stone was, in truth, a witch. Not merely any witch but the one who had altered the course of Alina’s very existence.
‘Why is it,’ Dawn drawled, leaning back against the heated rock, her damp hair trailing over her shoulder, ‘that every time I bathe, you appear? Are you secretly in love with me?’
‘Do not flatter yourself,’ Alina replied, her voice sharp enough to cut through the steam.
Her gaze drifted over the other women in the baths.
She noted their movements, the way they watched without seeming to watch.
Her eyes found the garments laid upon the surrounding rocks—half-moon shaped daggers tucked discreetly within the folds.
Dunayans.
‘We need to continue our training,’ Alina said quietly.
‘Here?’ Dawn arched a brow.
Alina shrugged, the water rippling around her shoulders. ‘We will find somewhere private. We are only remaining a few more days before we depart north, to wherever Saren has fled.’
The steam curled between them, thick with heat and unspoken tensions.
‘Do you think it’s true?’ Dawn asked quietly. At Alina’s faintly puzzled look, she clarified, ‘What Mareena said. About the gods.’
‘Perhaps.’ Alina continued to slowly observe the cavern. Deeper within, elderly women knelt by the edge of another pool, washing garments against smooth stone, their laughter soft and untroubled. They appeared wholly absorbed in their own world. ‘I don’t particularly care.’
‘If gods truly walk among us—’
‘What would that change?’ Alina’s attention snapped back to her, sharp as a blade. ‘The world would still be rotten. Hagan would still be breathing. And Saren…’
Dawn hesitated. ‘Do you think she’s… truly a god?’
Alina exhaled through her nose, already weary of the line of thought. ‘I do not care what she is. I intend to kill her.’ A faint smirk curved her lips at the way Dawn’s eyes widened.
‘You can’t kill a god.’
‘Why not?’
Dawn faltered. ‘Because… no one ever has. And it sounds almost… wrong.’
‘The heavens can crumble for all I care,’ Alina replied. ‘Saren is on my list.’
‘List?’ Dawn echoed, frowning.
‘Of those who have wronged me. And who will pay.’
‘You have a list?’ Dawn coughed when Alina’s eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Is it so long you needed to start keeping count?’
‘I have only two names upon it,’ Alina said, irritation threading through her voice. ‘I would not object to adding another.’
Dawn lifted her hands in surrender, water dripping from her fingers.
Despite herself, Alina felt a soft smile tug at her mouth. It reminded her of another time, when they had spent entire days together, laughter spilling between them as easily as breath. The memory struck without warning, vivid and warm.
Then came the sting.
Betrayal flooded in behind it, bitter as bile at the back of her throat. She was so tired of being wronged. So tired of being wounded.
‘We meet tomorrow before first light,’ Alina said at last, her voice once more iron-bound. She turned and climbed from the pool, water cascading from her skin onto the stone. She did not look back at the way Dawn’s expression dimmed.
And she most certainly did not allow herself to dwell on the small fracture forming in her own heart at having caused it.
…
Alina had spent the past few hours tending to her dragons when Mareena approached.
Both of them had wrapped their heads in cloth against the relentless desert sun.
Alina watched the phoenixian princess draw nearer, noting, despite herself, the fluid sway of her hips, almost hypnotic in its rhythm.
She glanced away at once, irritation flaring at her own weakness and at the traitorous way her body answered to the sight.
‘You are allowed to feel again, amira,’ Hessa’s voice drifted beside her.
Alina did not startle. She rarely did anymore. The ghost leaned languidly against one of the dragons, arms folded across her chest as though she still possessed weight and warmth.
‘It’s too soon,’ Alina replied quietly.
‘Is it?’
Alina’s hand rose instinctively to the white stone pendant resting against her skin, fingers curling around it as though it might anchor her.
‘You lied about that,’ Hessa said, her eyes narrowing. ‘You told them I gave it to you. But I never had the chance.’
‘But you would have, wouldn’t you?’ Alina stared at the phantom, so close she could almost touch her, yet forever beyond reach. When Hessa smiled and gave a small nod, Alina added, almost defensively, ‘So what difference does it make what I said?’
‘You find it too easy to lie these days,’ Hessa replied, her features tightening with quiet displeasure. ‘She’s changing you.’
Alina stilled at that. ‘I thought you wanted me to feel again. Which is it?’ The words left her sharper than intended.
She turned to witness Hessa’s reaction, but the space beside the dragon was empty.
Hessa was gone.
A hand brushed her arm and Alina flinched, turning sharply to find Mareena standing just behind her.
‘Did I frighten you?’ Mareena asked, one brow arching.
‘No… I was simply… meditating.’
Mareena inclined her head, though the depth of her red gaze told Alina she was not convinced.
‘The Altaa Saqardatis wishes to see you,’ Mareena said.
‘For what?’ Alina struggled to keep the edge from her voice. The Altaa Saqardatis was Hessa’s mother, and a bitter spark still flared within her at the thought of a woman who had chosen the gods over her own child.
‘I do not know,’ Mareena admitted, casting a pleased glance at the dragon beside them. ‘But the Saqar are attempting to persuade the people that the evil upon this land is not Saren, but you. If you can convince the Altaa Saqardatis of the truth…’
‘I do not care what any of them think.’
‘Alina.’ Mareena’s voice remained soft, patient, yet threaded with warning. Be clever. Be better than them. ‘You grieve, but you must not let that grief blind you to what stands before you.’
‘And what is that?’
‘An opportunity.’ Mareena’s smile deepened, bright as a blade catching the sun. ‘To earn their trust. To draw them to your side. To bind them to your cause. You would no longer stand as merely twelve dragons against the world, but twelve dragons with the desert kingdom behind you.’
‘That will not happen.’
‘It could,’ Mareena said, stepping closer still, her presence warm and deliberate. ‘If you play your cards correctly.’
Alina wanted to ask why Mareena was helping her, what she stood to gain from it all. But the question lodged like a stone in her throat. She feared the answer too much. So she swallowed her doubts instead and inclined her head.
A quiet gasp escaped her when Mareena took her hand, her fingers warm and deliberate as they traced over Alina’s knuckles. She lifted Alina’s hand and pressed a slow, reverent kiss to it.
‘You and I could change the world,’ Mareena said, stepping closer until the space between them vanished entirely.
Alina’s instinct was to retreat, as she always did. To guard herself, to place distance where her heart might be exposed. But she was so unbearably tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of standing alone.
And so, for once, she did not step away.
Mareena’s fingers rose to trace the line of Alina’s jaw, the curve of her cheek.
The touch sent a tremor through her, her body tightening with a hunger she had tried so hard to bury.
She wanted to return the touch. To pull Mareena down into the sand and feel her heat.
To drown in her and forget the world entirely.
But white eyes flashed in her mind. White as the stone around her neck, burning into her flesh as a reminder that Alina was not just fighting for her own revenge but for Hessa’s too. She could not, would not, allow her loneliness or sadness to wash Hessa away from her truth. From her world.
Alina stepped back, away from Mareena’s touch.
And in that red gaze an understanding shone.
To wait. To be patient. To give Alina the time she needed.
Alina cleared her throat and turned away.
Between them and the mountain stood a group in silent witness.
The Saqar.
Watching.
Mareena smiled softly, almost sadly. ‘Take as long as you need,’ she whispered, the promise in her voice curling low and dangerous, settling deep within Alina’s body.
Alina swallowed whatever reply threatened to rise and allowed herself to be guided forward.
The seven Saqar did not speak. They simply turned as one and began walking out into the desert, their movements fluid and silent. The figure at the centre was taller and held herself differently. She was unmistakably the Altaa Saqardatis, Hessa’s mother.
They walked for some time. Sand shifted beneath their feet, wind tugging at fabric, until the mountain was no longer a looming presence but a fading silhouette against the horizon.
The Saqar’s faces were entirely veiled, their thoughts unreadable behind layered cloth. They stopped at last, the desert stretching endless and merciless around them.
One of the women spoke. ‘The Altaa Saqardatis will speak to you now.’
Alina stepped forward with Mareena at her side, but the woman who had spoken lifted her hand, halting them.
‘She will only speak with the sun-haired one.’
Mareena’s red eyes narrowed, a flicker of irritation passing through them, yet she did not argue. Instead, she inclined her head with controlled grace.