Chapter 63
Elizabeth
The desert sun scorched overhead, making the horizon appear soft and hazy. Elizabeth walked along the dunes, her footsteps leaving shallow impressions in the sand.
Beyond the rolling waves of golden sand, brown mountains rose in the distance.
Between the dunes and the distant mountain range stood her destination: a large, sandstone building that seemed to have grown out of the sand itself, its honey-coloured walls perfectly matching the desert sand that stretched for leagues around it.
Elizabeth had traded her thick cotton dress for something better suited for the desert heat.
The women here typically wore long, flowing robes in bright colours.
She had selected a loose-fitting robe in a shocking cobalt blue that reached her ankles and wore a matching scarf over her hair.
The colour would have appeared loud and much too bold at home, but here, she blended in with everyone else.
In Israr, it was the fashion to cover one’s hair, to keep the sun’s heat at bay, and as a sign of modesty and respect for the gods.
Elizabeth liked this particular custom, as it allowed her to easily conceal her hair—a feature that marked her as Rhodean—and let her slip unnoticed through the land.
Not that anyone would recognize her in this corner of the world, but with angels and demons on her tail, she couldn't be too careful.
The wind picked up, flinging grains of sand at her exposed skin. Elizabeth turned away, pulled the scarf tighter around her face, and continued on. The wind whispered and hissed across the desert sand.
As she crested the final dune, the building loomed before her in all its mysterious grandeur. The entrance was a masterpiece of craftsmanship—twin doors of dark wood, inlaid with geometric patterns, surrounded by an archway of carved stone.
The archway was set into an enormous building that was the size of a city.
Elizabeth grasped the heavy bronze ring and let it fall against the door. The sound boomed, echoing like thunder across the silent desert.
The door opened with surprising swiftness, as if she had been watched from within.
An olive-skinned woman appeared in the doorway. Her emerald shawl and headscarf were bright against her skin tone, and her dark, kohl-rimmed eyes appraised her, dropping to the travel-worn bag slung across Elizabeth’s shoulder, and taking inventory of the few possessions she carried.
Elizabeth wordlessly handed her a gold coin.
The woman accepted it, holding it up to examine its legitimacy.
Satisfied, the woman tucked it into her robes. When she lifted her gaze to Elizabeth’s, her stern features transformed into a knowing smile.
“Lady Elizabeth,” the woman said, her voice carrying the faint accent of the desert people of Israr. “We’ve been waiting for you.”