POV: Soraya
The desert wind shifted—first a whisper, then a roar so violent it shook the dunes beneath my feet. One moment the assassin’s torch flickered, the next the flame ripped sideways as if pulled by an invisible hand.
Tazir stiffened behind me. “Soraya… sandstorm.”
My heart lurched. “No. Not now—”
But the desert doesn’t listen to prayers.
The horizon exploded into a towering wall of whirling sand, a beast made of earth and sky, devouring the moonlight inch by inch. The air darkened. The ground trembled. The temperature dropped so fast my breath turned cold in my throat.
“Tazir, go,” I whispered urgently.
“I’m not leaving you—”
“Yes, you are.” I pushed him back into the shadow of a dune. “If they see you, they’ll kill you.”
He grabbed my wrist. “Soraya—”
“Please,” I whispered. “I need at least one of us to get back to Ashra.”
His jaw clenched, anguish and fury battling behind his eyes. But he knew I was right. The storm was seconds away from swallowing the world. With a curse, he ducked lower, burying himself half beneath the sand as the first harsh winds slammed into us.
I turned back toward the assassins, cloak whipping violently around my legs. The one nearest the fire shielded his face, curses lost to the wind.
“Hey!” I shouted, stepping forward even as grains of sand stung my skin. “Let the scouts go and take me instead!”
He stared at me through narrowed eyes before throwing back his head and laughing. Even over the storm, the sound was sharp and cruel.
“Oh, we’ll take you,” he called. “But you’re not giving orders, princess.”
Lightning made of sand cracked across the sky. The world tilted, vision blurring under the storm’s fury. I staggered backward, digging my heels into the dune as the assassins moved quickly, efficiently—trained to navigate storms like these.
One grabbed my arm, twisting it behind my back, but not violently. Not like the Kharad soldiers once did. This grip was firm, controlled, but… cautious.
They weren’t allowed to harm me.
Zarek wanted me untouched.
The thought made bile rise in my throat.
Two more assassins rushed to gather the scouts, dragging their limp bodies away from the fire. The men barely had enough strength to stand; one collapsed entirely, coughing sand from his lungs.
My heart shattered.
“You said they would die!” I screamed at the assassin holding me. “You said Zarek would kill them if I didn’t return!”
He snorted. “We say many things.”
Rage blistered through my chest. “You said—”
“What Zarek says,” he corrected sharply, “is whatever gets you to walk into his trap. You did that nicely.”
Another blast of wind slammed into us. Sand scraped my skin raw. The storm howled like a living monster. Everything drowned in beige and gold.
“Tazir…” I whispered, praying he stayed hidden.
I couldn’t risk glancing back. If they sensed even a second of hesitation, they’d search the dunes. Instead, I forced my body forward, stumbling as the assassins dragged me toward their hidden dune-crawlers—flat, metal-tread caravans half-buried in the sand for desert travel.
“Move,” one ordered.
I kept my head high, refusing to show fear.
“Let the scouts go first,” I said loudly. “They’re barely alive. They need water.”
The leader turned, amusement curling through his voice. “You aren’t in a position to bargain.”
“Zarek would want them alive,” I argued. “Or does he prefer his own men failing him?”
The assassin’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. He clicked his tongue.
“Very well,” he said. “Give the scouts water skins. Load them first.”
My stomach twisted. He agreed too easily. Because he didn’t care.
Because Zarek never cared.
Two assassins forced the weakened scouts into the first dune-crawler, tying them upright so they wouldn’t collapse. They poured water down their throats—just enough to keep them alive. Not enough to ease anything.
The wind shrieked louder, sand slashing across the caravan as if trying to rip it apart. The entire sky flickered in shades of ochre and black.
The assassin holding me leaned close. “You think you saved their lives,” he said. “You didn’t.”
My chest tightened. “What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “They’ll live long enough for Zarek to make his point. After that… well.”
I jerked, trying to break his grip, but the storm’s force made my balance crumble. His arm locked tighter around my torso, lifting me as if I weighed nothing.
“You’re coming with us,” he said.
Vicious wind swallowed his next words. The caravan groaned as they shoved me into the second crawler, pushing me against the cold metal wall before tying my wrists in front of me—not too tightly, again. Enough to restrain, not enough to wound.
One assassin climbed in after me. Another closed the hatch.
The storm’s howl dulled instantly, replaced by the rumbling engine and the rasp of sand scraping metal.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I forced myself to breathe, slow and steady, even as panic clawed at the base of my throat.
They weren’t hurting me.
Which made this worse.
Because it meant Zarek cared.
Because it meant he planned to use me.
“We ride at sunrise,” the leader said. “The storm will pass by then. Until that time, rest. Your new life begins soon.”
Repulsion flooded me. “I will never be part of Zarek’s life.”
He chuckled. “You’re already the center of it.”
I turned my head away, refusing to look at him.
Through a small port window, I saw the silhouette of a dune buried in swirling sand—and I knew Tazir was somewhere behind it, still hiding exactly where I forced him to stay.
He was safe.
For now.
I took a shaky breath, lifting my chin.
“Those scouts better live,” I said quietly.
“They’ll live long enough,” the assassin repeated, settling onto the bench across from me.
I swallowed the fear. I swallowed the guilt. And for the first time, I let the truth settle deep in my bones:
Ashra wasn’t safe. I wasn’t safe. And whatever Zarek planned next…
…I wouldn’t survive it by being passive.