Chapter Sixty-Two #2
‘Not exactly,’ Saren replied calmly. ‘I believe the Sun God sent two of his messengers here. That Razia and Gabriela walk among us.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘Is it?’ Saren tilted her head thoughtfully. ‘Then tell me, how did you survive the fall?’
‘So what?’ Alina’s eyes narrowed. ‘You think they somehow intervened?’
‘I’m certain of it.’
‘And they’re messengers of the Sun God?’ Alina scoffed again. ‘Even if they were… why me? Why bother saving me? I’m nothing but a lost princess from a kingdom that no longer exists.’
Saren watched her carefully.
‘Have you never wondered why your mother suffered such terrible headaches?’ she asked. ‘Why other Seers receive their visions without pain, yet your mother endured such torment?’
Alina’s grip tightened around the staff.
Around them the restless crowd began to murmur with impatience. They had come to witness bloodshed, not conversation. Yet the two women continued circling one another across the sand.
‘Your mother’s visions were never natural,’ Saren said quietly. ‘She was not born a Seer. She was made one when she was still a young girl. The Sun God visited her… and gave her his blood.’ Her eyes gleamed. ‘He gave her that blood when she was already carrying you.’
Alina froze.
Her entire body went rigid as the words struck her.
‘How… how do you even know any of this?’ she asked, her voice cracking.
But Saren only laughed.
And something inside Alina finally snapped.
With a furious cry she lunged forward, her patience shattered. She was done with the lies, with the half-truths, with the endless questions and no answers. Surely Saren was trying to break her concentration, to twist her thoughts before the fight even began.
Because none of it made sense.
Alina forced the flood of questions from her mind. She would deal with all of that later. Right now, there was only one thing that mattered.
Killing Saren.
She swerved sharply to the right, lifting the staff and wielding it like a longsword. The weapon cut through the air with swift precision as she launched a series of strikes.
Yet Saren evaded them all.
Every single one.
The Dunayan moved with effortless grace, slipping past the blows as though they were little more than passing breezes. She did not strike back. She simply defended.
Alina ground her teeth, frustration simmering beneath her skin.
Saren wasn’t even trying to fight her.
The two continued like that for what felt like an age; a deadly dance where one moved forward and the other retreated. Strike and slash. Dodge and step away.
Again and again.
‘Scared to fight me?’ Alina called, hoping to provoke her.
Saren only chuckled, clearly seeing straight through the attempt.
When nothing changed, Alina shifted her strategy.
If Saren refused to fight her properly, then perhaps she could use the time differently by wearing her down, tiring her out. And while she did, perhaps she could pry more information from her opponent… truths she could lock away until the moment came when they truly mattered.
‘Why are you helping Hagan? And how do you know him?’
Saren slipped neatly past another of Alina’s strikes and laughed, clearly delighted by the question.
‘Out of everything I’ve said, that’s what interests you?
’ she replied. She licked her lips before darting to the right, narrowly avoiding another blow.
‘Hagan is irrelevant. Just another mortal to be used. He leads the witches, and the witches crave revenge. It was simply…convenient. A perfect way for us to rid ourselves of the kingdoms.’
‘But why do you want to destroy the kingdoms?’
Saren gave a casual shrug. ‘Why not? My sister and I wish to begin again. We will tear everything down and build the world anew.’
‘Your sister?’ Alina frowned, trying to recall everything Hessa had once told her about Saren. She was certain, almost certain, that Saren had never had a sister.
Saren laughed again.
‘Oh, you really are innocent,’ she said mockingly. ‘Thick, too. You truly believe I’m actually Saren.’
Alina nearly stumbled.
Was Saren admitting the truth, that she was not the woman whose body she wore, but something far older… a god inhabiting mortal flesh? No. That could not be possible.
Alina faltered when she suddenly saw Hessa standing beside her.
She looked exactly as she had in life, long brown hair falling over her shoulders, warm sun-kissed skin, and those unmistakable white eyes.
Gods, how Alina had missed her.
‘Don’t give up now, amira,’ Hessa said softly. ‘Fight!’
Alina nodded.
She twisted sharply and lunged at Saren, throwing her entire weight into the attack and forcing the other woman backwards. They both lost their footing and crashed into the sand.
Alina raised the staff high above her head and brought it down with all the strength she possessed. But Saren shoved her aside and rolled clear at the last possible moment, the staff striking the ground where her body had been only a heartbeat before.
Alina lunged again, gripping the staff and driving its tip down with brutal force. But each time she aimed for Saren’s skull, the woman rolled aside just in time, the weapon striking nothing but sand.
Again.
And again.
Frustration burnt through Alina’s chest.
Then Saren’s foot lashed out, slamming into her stomach with punishing force. The blow sent Alina hurtling backwards, the staff flying from her grasp and skidding across the sand, far beyond her reach.
Alina cursed under her breath.
Before she could recover, Saren struck.
Her fist crashed into Alina’s face, splitting her lip. Blood burst from her mouth as her head snapped back. Alina tried to push herself up, but Saren was already upon her.
She dropped down, planting her knees hard against Alina’s ribs and pinning her to the ground.
Saren drew her desert dagger.
The blade slid lightly across Alina’s cheek, cold and deliberate.
‘You may not want to hear this, Alina,’ Saren said calmly, ‘but you carry the blood of a god in your veins. The Sun God gave you his blood through your mother. That’s why you survived the fall.
’ Her eyes gleamed with cruel amusement.
‘That’s why his foolish little messengers followed you across the desert. ’
‘Shut up!’ Alina spat, her bloodied saliva striking Saren’s face.
Saren barely reacted.
‘All because of your brother,’ she continued, grabbing Alina’s jaw and squeezing hard.
Alina stopped struggling.
The moment the word brother left Saren’s lips, Alina’s body went still. Her eyes widened as she stared up at the woman holding her down.
‘Who are you?’ she whispered.
Saren chuckled softly.
‘My true name is Enyo,’ she said. ‘The goddess of war.’
Alina screamed and tried to twist free, but something had changed. The strength holding her down was no longer mortal. No matter how she struggled, her body refused to move.
Was Saren using her godly power?
Where was the staff? She needed the magic. She needed it now.
Alina stared up into those pale, merciless eyes. Then she stared at the familiar scar that had once been carved across the face of the real Saren when she was only a child.
‘Do you like it?’ Saren teased lightly. ‘Would you care for a matching one? I’ve heard you were always the prettiest of drakonians. A pity about your horns.’
Alina spat blood at her.
‘I will kill you,’ she promised through clenched teeth.
‘So you say.’
Without warning, Saren raised her desert dagger and slashed it across Alina’s face.
The blade tore through flesh in a brutal sweep, carving a deep wound from one side of the princess’s face down across her cheek—mirroring the scar that marked Saren’s own.
Then she rose smoothly to her feet and stepped back.
‘Now,’ she said calmly, ‘let us fight like equals.’
Alina cried out as the pain exploded across her face, hot blood spilling freely down her skin and dripping onto her chest. Somehow she forced herself upright, staggering to her feet, her tunic already dark with her own blood.
She could feel the torn flesh, the right side of her face swelling shut, her eye useless beneath the agony.
The pain was unbearable.
But this had to end.
And it would end with Saren’s head mounted upon a spike.
Alina seized her desert dagger.
And lunged.