At night, he trained with her on the Devil’s Dunes, the twin moons their only watching eyes. She was not skilled, by any means.
But holding Lazaris gave her a reason to believe in herself.
For what was a sword, without a warrior to wield it? Perhaps someday, she’d be strong enough, skilled enough, to earn her own weapon.
“Lost in your thoughts, She-Devil?” Soahm asked, drawing Sonara’s attention away from Lazaris. The Queen’s procession faded away and the sound of chewing steeds took its place. A red bloodfly buzzed past Sonara’s ear.
“Not quite,” she said, and swatted the bloodfly away. “No, I don’t think that’s the right name. The She-Devil? It doesn’t have much of a ring to it. But it was a worthy try.”
Soahm sighed. “I’ll figure it out eventually.” He turned over a water bucket and sat down on it to keep her company while she worked, his chin propped upon his ringed hands.
“Tired already?” Sonara asked, tossing the brush at him again. “You’re becoming lazy, princeling.”
“She-Devil,” Soahm said with a wink as he stood to help her. “Definitely a She-Devil.”
Sonara leaned against the rough edge of a round pen, watching the royal trainers with longing in her eyes.
Duran had already thrown three riders from his back, his tail fountaining behind him in silkiest black as he pranced, feathered legs dancing with each pound of his hooves against the sand.
The day was uncomfortably warm. The scent of steed sweat mixed in with the nearby smell of the sea. Across it, a pasture of golden seagrasses waved in the wind, the sky above darkening. A storm would soon arrive from far across the sea. It would crash onto the shore like a maelstrom, and everyone in Soreia would head inside.
“Easy, Yima!” the head trainer shouted. “Don’t give him too much control of his head, or you’ll be thrown, too! We should head in. Call it for the day.”
Yima was one of the finest riders, from a noble family of steed breeders in eastern Soreia. Sonara watched from outside the pen, clicking her tongue as Yima, heavy in her blue scaled armor, climbed atop Duran’s back.
And dug her heels in deep.
“Not so easy,” Sonara murmured beneath her breath.
She saw the telltale shift as Duran’s ears flattened against his head, nostrils flaring.
Yima yanked on the bit as she clicked her own teeth at him. The steed’s sides were already bleeding from countless riders and spurs, his breath heaving as he fought against their control.
Sand kicked up against Sonara’s legs as Soahm appeared at her side, blue robes flapping in the wind.
He often left the castle during morning hours, but she hadn’t seen him in days. Their mother kept him in the castle for hours on end. Taking requests, calling on visitors, learning the ins and outs of what it meant to lead a kingdom, a whole room full of ancient councilmen and women droning on and on about goddesses only knew what.
It was a life Sonara had never wanted. Deserved? Half of her blood said yes.
But wanted? That was a very different sort of thing. She would rather stand here now, hair unbound and face freckled from the sun, the kiss of the sea upon her tanned skin. And the sound of hoofbeats pounding in time with her heart as Yima tried to gain control of Duran.
“I stopped by the betting house this morning,” Soahm said softly as he watched the steed crow-hop past. “I placed ten gold coins on Duran.”
“People are betting on whether or not he’ll be tamed?” Sonara sighed. The steed’s reputation had spread across the capital, then. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’d bet on him, too. He’s going to throw her. Any moment now.”
Soahm shrugged and leaned over the railing. “Looks like she’s got it under control to me. But, ah… isn’t watching Yima’s impending doom a fine way to spend your birthday?”
“My birthday,” she said with a frown.
She’d nearly forgotten.
Soahm laughed. Then he frowned, too. “I forgot to bring you a gift.”
“No gifts,” Sonara said.
Soahm looked at her as if he disagreed.
“No gifts, Soahm,” she said again.
“Of course,” he said with a wry smile, and pointed back at the round pen. “The height of the show.”
Duran snorted and huffed, tossing his deep black mane. Sweat foamed upon his neck and chest as he fought against Yima’s commands.
“I call it in three,” Sonara said. She winked at Soahm and held up three fingers.
Across from them, Yima dug in her heavy-booted heels and pulled the reins sharply to the right. Duran’s head turned with her, his body following chase… but Sonara could see him fighting, chomping at the bit.
“Two.” She dropped a finger.
“You’d better be right,” Soahm said.
Sonara smiled as Yima made the gravest mistake of all. She looked away from Duran’s head, for only a moment, as a flock of fowl soared past, searching for refuge from the oncoming storm.
Sonara pointed her remaining finger inside the round pen. “One.”
Yima’s body took to the sky as Duran launched her off his back.
She hit the sand with a heavy thump, armor clinking as the beast pranced to the corner of the round pen. He snorted and stomped his front hoof into the sand, proud as only a young steed could be.
“No one will tame this demon,” the head trainer said with a growl, while the others standing around, who’d been so hopeful before, groaned and booed as Yima brushed her armor off.
“I could,” Sonara said softly.
Soahm turned around, leaning his back against the round pen as he looked at her. “Truly?”
“The trainer is a fool. He’s not meant to be tamed,” she said. “His spirit is as wild as the wind.”
Some days she swore she could feel it, almost sense it in the gentle huff of his breath, when they sat alone in the stall, hidden from the judgemental eyes of the world.
Duran was like her.
Different to the others.
Misunderstood, because he didn’t fit into their perfect Soreian mold.
“So what would you do differently, then, little sister?” Soahm asked.
Sonara smiled, tilting her chin towards the oncoming storm. The clouds were darkening now, rolling above the angry waves in the distance, where sky met sand and sea.
“For starters, I’d ride him without that heavy armor. Right when the rain hits.”
Soahm laughed, for when it came to riding unarmored on a beast as fierce as Duran, that most certainly sounded like a death wish. Couple the storm with it, and any steed’s attitude would change.
But Sonara had sensed Duran’s fighting soul from day one. He was born too early, a squalling and scrambling thing, scrawny legs and thin neck and a mare that did not have enough milk to sustain his endless hunger.
“He won’t survive the week,” the royal horsemaiden had said, considering the beast a burden.
But Sonara had refused to give up on him.
She did not sleep for days, so focused was she on filling him with donor’s milk. Bottle after bottle, she’d sustained him.
Duran grew quickly. He cheated death, and in the months after, Sonara spent countless hours grooming him, whispering her hurts and her pains into his fuzzy ears. Kissing him on his velvety snout. Sometimes, soaking her tears into his neck in the dark of night, when her problems surfaced and her demons tried to reel her in. Her soul always felt lighter in his presence. Like he was taking some of the burden off her back and placing it upon his own.
Sometimes, she swore he looked into her eyes and saw through to her soul.
He didn’t know what she was, a bastard without a true call to a crown.
He just knew that she was his. He’d claimed her heart from the moment she laid eyes on him.
And he was hers.
“Then I’d open these blasted gates,” Sonara said louder now, watching Duran’s dark-tipped ears flick towards the sound of her voice. “He was n
ot meant to be confined to a pen.” His head turned to her and his blazing red eyes fell upon her face in recognition. He tossed his mane and pranced across the sand, snorting as he stopped before her. Sonara held out a hand, feeling his warm breath dissolve against her skin. Home, her heart whispered. “Then I’d turn him towards the crags, where the seagrass catches the breeze. I’d give him his freedom, allow him to think with his own head instead of a bit. We’d run until the storm broke. I wouldn’t slow him. And when he grew tired…” she smiled, thinking of the freedom, “we’d stand on the edge of the crags, watching the horizon where the sky meets the sea.”
Silence.
Then laughter, as Yima stalked over, catching Sonara’s gaze.
“The groom thinks she can do better than a cadre full of riders.”
“I don’t think,” Sonara shot back. The wind blasted her hair back from her face. “I know I can.”
The other trainers standing around laughed. But Soahm…
“A gift, Sonara,” he said softly.
He winked at her, just before he stepped forward and lowered his hood from his head. The crowd gasped, the riders dropping to their knees as they realized the Crown Prince of Soreia was in their presence. His blue curls lifted as a gust caught the strands. The storm wind pulled at the fabric of his cloak, tugged at the heavy chain around his neck and the black stone dangling from it, sealed carefully in a ring of forged gold.
For centuries, the amulet had been in the royal family, passed down from generation to generation, from one heir to the next, marking the successor to the Soreian throne. There was no story behind the stone. Only that it was ancient, that it once belonged to the very first Soreian queen, who’d always seemed to know how to find favor with her people. Beloved. Admired.
She wore the stone upon her neck until the fading sands of time called her home.
“You’ll let Sonara inside the pen,” Soahm commanded, that very same stone hanging from his neck. He placed his palm over Lazaris’ pommel. “Give her a chance.”
The gate opened with a creak as the storm rumbled overhead.
Sonara stared at Soahm blankly.
Go on, he seemed to say, with a nod of his head.
She swallowed, heart racing as she stepped slowly inside. Gently, she removed Duran’s bridle and looped it over the railing. She ran her hands against Duran’s side, as if she were running a brush across him. Easy, so easy, she stepped closer.
“You and me,” she whispered.
Murmured laughter sounded behind her, but she paid the riders no heed. She was used to drowning out the sounds of the world, the whispers. The lies.
Soahm gave her a leg up, and as she gently settled atop Duran’s back, armorless and light as the air around them… something in her soul felt like it was home. Soahm commanded the gates be opened. They creaked with a warning groan, as if even the gates knew she should stop.
But Sonara leaned forward and dug her fingers into Duran’s thick mane, heart hammering in time with his.
“You’re sure about this?” Soahm said.
“I’m sure,” Sonara said. She nodded, and stared between the tips of Duran’s ears, right into Yima’s judging eyes. Something inside of her seemed to shift. “I am not afraid.”
Duran’s ears flicked backwards, as if he’d heard her words.
Then the gates swung wide, and Sonara’s stomach shot into her throat as Duran leapt into a lope, practically becoming one with the wind.
Hold on, Sonara told herself. Don’t you dare let go.
They soared past Soahm, and Sonara heard his cheers mixing with the others. The prince leapt and clapped as he yelled, throwing all formality to the sky as he screamed, “Ride, Sonara, ride!” His amulet bounced on his chest, thunder cracking as the storm finally released its wrath on the world.
Rain fell in sheets across her eyes, but Sonara no longer cared. For she and Duran were now one with the storm, furious. Untethered, as they left the castle grounds.
Together, they ran…
And they did not look back.
A gift, Soahm had said.
The greatest one he could ever give.
Five Months Later
Sonara found him at the ocean’s edge.
The suns were just setting, a double green flash as they sank out of view beyond the furthest stretch of sea.
Seated on the sand, toes not far from the lapping waves, was Soahm.
A mere speck in the distance, she hadn’t seen him in weeks, not since the battle. Not since he’d returned home, wounded from a skirmish in the neighboring Deadlands, his leg torn open and bloodied as he lay in the back of a soldier’s cart.
“Slow, beast,” Sonara murmured to Duran now, leaning back a bit.
The steed dropped to a calm walk, responding to the motion of her body. She’d trained him to respond only to the pressure of her legs, to the click of her tongue, to the shifting of her weight or a gentle murmur of a practiced command.
The trainers had called her a fool, at the beginning. But now the bastard girl of Soreia had become the beast’s master. And perhaps one of the finest riders the kingdom had to offer.
“Go on,” Sonara murmured as she stopped Duran and slid down from his back. “Eat your fill.”
His nostrils flared as he trotted off towards the dunes, fresh pale seagrass waving atop it. Soahm’s mare was already there, happy as could be. The wind blew, carrying her scent down the hillside, and Sonara swore she could feel a bit of peace wash over her.
Her footsteps were drowned out by the crashing sea as she approached her brother. The prince was busy sketching, the back of his left hand turned dark from smudges of charcoal. She rarely saw him without those telltale smudges. The moon was out in full tonight, a beautiful blue that cast a cool glow across the beach.
“What are you doing all the way out here, Soahm?” Sonara asked.
They were nearly an hour’s ride from the castle, on the fringes of the freelands where herds of wild steeds still roamed. He often came out here, to think. To enjoy the silence, without their mother barking commands, or filling his list with countless princely duties.
Sonara wouldn’t know a life like that. And in that, at least, she was grateful for her separation from the ones she could have called family.
“Sonara.” Soahm sighed her name in greeting.
She could sense the sadness in him, as deep as the ocean floor. He tossed a lilac shell into the sea. “I can’t lead this kingdom the way she wants me to.” He glared at his injured leg, splayed before him in a splint. Beside him, a discarded crutch that had become his constant companion. “I’m broken, Sonara.”
“Broken?” Her dark eyes widened. “You’re injured, Soahm. That’s a far cry from broken. You’ll heal.”
“There’s a chance I won’t.” Soahm looked at her fully, and his blue eyes, so unlike hers, were rimmed with red. “The healers say it’s possible that I’ll never fully recover. The people want a warrior, Sonara. Like our mother. They want to know that their future king will rule with sword and shield, will not balk or falter in the face of his enemies. I cannot give them that.”
“Perhaps you never could,” Sonara said with a shrug.
Those blue eyes widened ever more.
She held up a hand and offered him a gentle smile. “You’re not like that, Soahm. Before the injury, after it… it’s never been you. If they want a king like that, they can move north to the Deadlands, and bow at Jira’s feet. Or worse, to the White Wastes, and praise the ice queen.”
Soahm frowned, his brow furrowing. “You think me weak?”
“The opposite,” Sonara said. “I think you’re strong. But in a different way. Perhaps a better way…” She considered for a moment, as a distant pod of sea wyverns splashed their tails above the waves. “Yima rides with heavy heels. The steeds respond, but they don’t respect her.” Sonara reached out, and scooped up a handful of sand, letting it fall through her fingertips. The grains danced away on the wind. “The people wan
t someone they can respect, and it isn’t always earned with a warrior’s sword. Give them a reason to follow you. Give them a leader they can be proud of. Bend a knee to their level, and show them you understand their struggles, their worries and fears, that you care about filling their bellies and giving their children a safe place to learn and play and sleep.”
“But how can I do that?” Soahm asked. “How can I do that like this? The Great War ended when Jira rose to power, but skirmishes still rise. There is still unrest on the borderlands.”
Sonara grabbed her brother’s hand and squeezed it, forcing him to pay attention. To look at her clearly, with her muddied blue hair, her dark eyes, her differences that marked her as a bastard. The lowest of the low. “See them, Soahm. All of them, not just the wealthy and the nobles. See them all, the way you have always seen me.”
He squeezed her hand back, then let it go. They sat together for a time, watching the stars wink down from the sky. Behind them, Duran had crossed to the hills, his face buried in the seagrass as he filled his ever-hungering belly.
“Let’s walk,” Soahm said. His voice was a bit lighter, the heaviness replaced by what Sonara felt was, perhaps, hope.
She reached out a hand to help him stand. He took it gratefully, a prince that was never too proud, and together they walked, their cloaks dancing behind them in the wind. In the distant sky, a star was falling, a trail of glitter in its wake.
“I’ve spent more time sketching,” Soahm said. “Mother doesn’t know, of course. She’d slay me herself if she thought I was wasting my time sketching when I could be studying.” He reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out his leather-bound journal. On the front, a stamped insignia of a rearing steed. He flipped through the pages until he landed on a sketch of a warrioress, seated atop Duran.
“It’s me,” Sonara said.
She smiled.
“The She-Devil,” Soahm said with a wink. “Keep it.” He passed her the journal. “I have plenty. Try your hand at a sketch, Little Sister. It’s kept me busy during my recovery.”
Sonara laughed, for she’d never been able to sit still enough to sketch, but she tucked the journal into her cloak anyway, to humor him. She was about to suggest they turn back, her body growing tired, when the star in the distance caught her eye again.
Blood Metal Bone: An epic new fantasy novel, perfect for fans of Leigh Bardugo Page 2
