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Leivrat.

It was early morning when Shacha left the Orvatan den and walked to the old inn where she rented a small chamber. She was tired and dreaded the conversation that had to follow. She had to report what had occurred to the Masters of the Sands. There was no choice. They will not listen to her excuses, they will blame her.

Eight Deadly Swords take them!

She was so angry she wanted to break something.

Here she was rotting in this dreadful place for almost half a year. Still nowhere close to earning the right to return home.

How was she supposed to know that the prince would actually be stupid enough to come to Leivrat without any guards to protect him? If she had known that he would walk right into her arms, it would have been too easy to be true! All the Masters wanted was to get the prisoner back. The Queen of Aleuta had kept him in the dungeons underneath her palace for over four years and so far every attempt to release him failed. If the Masters had gotten the prince in their power, that would have given them something to trade with the Queen of Aleuta. That would have been enough to get the Masters to lift Shacha sentence that had banned her to Leivrat. She could be on her way home now!

But the opportunity was missed and she could only blame herself.

Shacha lived for the day she could go back to Sumi Sandul, the magnificent city in the sands. She missed the dryness of the air, the sandy dunes, and the sweetness of the smell that hovered over the city. She missed seeing the glass cupolas of the Sandul underground palaces, the perfectly shaped gardens and the cool rainbow springs. She missed listening to the beautiful voices of the night singers lulling her into sleep. Sanduls, her kind, were admired for their exquisite taste. Everything they did, they strived to sharpen to perfection. Sami Sandul was their most beautiful creation.

Leivrat, in comparison, was any Sanduls' worst nightmare. The humid air made her sweat incessantly, her skin looked moist and her limbs swollen.

How much she hated it!

Veilys slowly rotted alive in this dying place among old trees and dark stones they called home. Theirs was a rough life, where there was no place for beauty. If this was how Leivrat looked like six hundred years ago, she could not blame Aleutans for abandoning it and building a new city on the mountain.

Now that the chance had slipped through her fingers, for all Shacha knew, Leivrat would remain her prison for a very long time still.

Creators forbid, she could even die here!

She unlocked the door to her chamber and entered. The door screeched on rusty hooks, welcoming her back. She had never felt as lonely as now.

She closed the door behind her and felt a sudden chill. Gooseflesh pimpled her skin.

Someone grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, and the edge of a dagger pressed hard against her neck.

Her eyes fixed on the man sitting in her only chair.

"Pardon my friend," he said, nodding toward the one who held Shacha in a firm grip. "He hasn't been much around women and can be sometimes rough."

She narrowed her eyes, but there was not enough light coming through the small window for her to see the one who spoke well. Their smell betrayed them to her as Veilys.

"Who are you? What do you want?" she asked.

"I always hear the same two questions when I pay someone a visit. How boring." The man sighed. "I have many names. But most know me around here as King of the Dust."

The King of the Dust! she thought in surprise.

She had heard many rumours about the man even before she had come to Leivrat. Nothing in the city happened without King of the Dust's knowledge. It was said, that anyone who had ever made him their enemy disappeared without trace. It never crossed her mind that she would draw his attention on her and felt her hands tremble. She tried to remember what she could have done that would bring him into her chamber.

"You have almost made a very big mistake today," he said as if reading her thoughts. "The night could have ended very badly for the prince. Lucky for you, I made sure his uncles got him out of the den on time."

"You hate the Aleutans as much as we do, if not more," she told him and felt sweat running down her temples.

"Let's just say I still have use for the boy, spy." He almost spat out the last word.

"I am not a spy," she shot back, hating the sound of fear in her own voice.

"Is that so?" He stood up and her chamber shrunk in size.

He approached her and she gazed at a white mask that covered the man's face. A cloak, typically worn by Leivratans, hid the shape of the man's body from view. In his hands, he held a small silvered box that she recognized. He opened the lid and she saw on its backside the reflection of her own face. "If you are nobody, then this is just a mirror?"

"Just a m-mirror," she stuttered. The grip around her tightened.

The King of the Dust raised the arm that held the box threatening to throw it on the ground and watch it scatter.

"No!" she cried and his arm froze in motion.

"Let's be honest with each other, Shachara of the Sandthorn Sisters. Shall we?" She could feel the blood leaving her face. "Don't look so surprised. It is my business to know everything there is about every Outsider in Leivrat."

She attempted to push away the man behind her and free herself, but he was too strong for her.

"You were banned here by your own kind. To spy on the Veilys, of course. Like every other Sandul." King of the Dust waved with the box at her. "No need to get anxious. Your little secret is safe with me. In fact, I am here to help you." He nodded to the man holding her.

Like a well-trained Aleutan eagle used to doing his master's bidding, the man loosened his grip and stepped aside.

Shacha's hand shot for the dagger she kept hidden under her gown, yet it was no longer there. She turned to face King of the Dust's man and saw it in his fist. She wanted to jump at him and get it back. The dagger meant everything to her.

"You must hate not having any news from him," she heard King of the Dust say as if he knew who the dagger had belonged to. "I could change that."

"Why?" she asked turning to face him again. Everything about the man told her not to trust him.

"Let's just say I have use for you, too, beautiful one."

"What do you want from me?"

"A favour," he replied. That did not surprise her. She had lived among Veilys long enough to know that everything for them had a price.

"No." She shook her head and backed away. Never give your enemy your favour. Once given he could demand anything from her, and she would have to obey.

She darted for the door. King of the Dust's man grabbed one of her wrists. She hit him in his masked face with her free hand. The dagger fell on the floor.

They wrestled with each other, until the man had her in a tight grip again. She could smell the ghastly sweat of his unwashed body pressed against hers and could not conceal her disgust.

She saw King of the Dust pick up the dagger and admire it.

"You don't have to decide now," he said as if lost in thought. "I could of course force you, but I'd rather have you give it to me freely." He approached her, and she felt his glove-covered hand caress her cheek. "You Sanduls fascinate me. Your Creator made you so perfect. Your skin, soft and smooth, made for sensual caresses and kisses. The colour of your hair - able to set on fire even the coldest heart. Your body, painted with exquisite patterns, meant for love." His hand traced the pattern along her arm. "And then your scent..." He lowered his head to her neck and slowly inhaled. "Your scent arousing and intoxicating." He almost whispered now.

She could feel his gaze on her face and could not prevent herself from flashing red. The stench of the man who held her made her drowsy.

"Yet your Creator had a twisted sense of humour." Coldness crept into his voice again. "The humidity of our lands has a gruesome effect on you. I have seen what happens to Sanduls when they are exposed to the heat too long. Shall I tell you about it? Do you want to hear how big and swollen your limbs become? How this perfectly shaped face turns into a huge morbid mass of flesh and skin? How the sweet scent becomes a horrid stench?"

His words trickled through her skin like poisonous venom and she no longer knew whether it was reality or just a nightmare.

I am beautiful. I am the most beautiful of all. I will always be the most beautiful. The thoughts that always calm her, repeated in her head. They did not bring her the usual comfort.

The King of the Dust leaned closer and she smelled the ale in his breath and felt her own bile rising.

"Will he love you then?" he whispered.

"Stop it!" she screamed in horror.

Satisfied with the effect, the man stepped away from her.

"It would be such a pity if anything happened to this beautiful face and this sensual body," he said almost with regret.

Through the tears, she saw his hand slide into the folds of his coat and bring forth a little square box made out of dark green glass. He took her shaking hand in his and placed it into it together with the silver box that contained the mirror.

She looked at him without comprehending.

"See it as a gesture of good will," he told her. Und just like that, she was released. "We will meet again. Soon," threw the King of the Dust over his shoulder on the way out. She heard the dagger fall to the floor again. Behind her the iron hooks squeaked.

Shivering all over the body, she darted for the dagger and raised it at the closing door.

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We finally met the Kind of the Dust, a very powerful and mysterious figure. :) Would love to hear your comments. 

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