Beyond the Sands: Kingdom of Aggadorn, #3

By Liz McCraine

When a group of magic-wielding barbarians kills her father, courageous Kiera Samsen will do anything to make sure the savages are destroyed for good—even if it means crossing a desert to find their origin.

 

Alek Cartwright has money, fame, and the respect of the finest leaders on the continent. But none of that matters when his best friend is murdered alongside Kiera's father. When he learns of the girl's plan, he insists on joining her. Maybe together they can solve the mystery of where the savages come from and stop any more needless deaths.

 

She's a pant-wearing farm girl with more impulse than caution. He's a reserved young nobleman used to getting his way. In the face of danger, they must put aside their differences and learn to work together. Only then can they survive a perilous adventure that takes them beyond the desert sands to a world drenched in oppression…and magic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liz McCraine
• Release date: Apr 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393704300

Liz McCraine

After living in Ecuador, Germany, and various parts of the United States, Liz McCraine finally settled in the wilds of Montana with her five humans and multiple pets. When she’s not riding horses, chasing 4-H lambs, or corralling children, Liz enjoys writing YA fantasy and romantic suspense novels. Liz has a degree in Psychology from Brigham Young University, which she puts to good use psychoanalyzing her children and developing fiendish book characters. Sign up for Liz McCraine’s newsletter at her website, www.lizmccriane.com, or follow her on social media (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter).

Book preview

BEYOND THE SANDS

by Liz McCraine

BEYOND THE SANDS. Copyright © 2018 Liz McCraine

All rights reserved.

Any duplication or use of this work in any form or by any means without prior permission in writing from the author is forbidden.

This is a work of fiction. Everything contained in this work is a product of the author’s imagination. Any relation to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

Dedication

To my four energetic children.

Thank you for loving me even when I get lost in my work. You are the pride of my life and worth more than all the books in the world to me.

Acknowledgments

The author acknowledges and thanks the wonderful volunteers who beta read this story in its various stages of development, many of whom are incredible writers: Sarah Jordan Gardner, Michelle Higham, Kierstin Marquet, Amy Meyer, Joy Palmer, Michelle Pennington, Martha Rasmussen, and Joel Rees.

The author acknowledges 132369/Pixabay.com for providing the architecture image used on the cover, and faestock/Shutterstock.com for the cover model.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER 1

Kingdom of Aggadorn

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Kiera wrapped one arm securely around the rope and reached for the stone ledge with the other. She missed it by a fraction of an inch, scraping her elbow against rough gray rock as her momentum swung her into the side of the palace.

Oomph. Her shoulder hit the wall hard, spreading a dull ache across her back.

She glanced down and abruptly felt a rush of dizziness. Focus, Kiera. The rope’s rough fibers bit into her hand. Ignoring it, she kept her grip and looked back up at her destination. She was so close. She could do it. She thrived on this type of danger.

Plus, giving up meant serious injury or even death.

Pressing her boot-clad feet to the wall, she wiggled further up the rope. Just a little more... There! She reached a second time for the ledge, found a groove for her fingers, and pulled.

The instant her head lifted above the base of the window, she let go of the rope and hauled herself through the opening, satisfaction soaring through her.

Kiera! Have you lost your mind?

Kiera grimaced as her friend crossed the ornate bedchamber with quick, no-nonsense steps. Hello to you, too. She straightened, rubbing her sore palms against the loose fabric of her tunic. "Nice shoes, Larra. Or should I say, Your Highness?"

Kiera Samsen of Farr, how in the world did you get up here? Larra scolded, jabbing a finger at Kiera. Her blue-green eyes narrowed. Never mind. I can guess. She gave Kiera a cursory once-over then passed her to look out the window. Her full skirts rustled as she moved.

I really do like those shoes, Kiera said to her back. They glitter. Are they new?

Trying to distract me won’t help your case, Kiera. Larra looked left, then right. Of course. She reached for the steel-reinforced arrow sticking out from the side of the newly installed wooden window frame, rope attached. I should have known. Her beautiful face scrunched as she tried to pull the arrow free.

Kiera sighed. I’ll get it.

She pushed Larra aside and reached for the shaft. It was a splendid strike, she stated as she wiggled the arrow back and forth. Spot on, and on the first try. I had to angle it just right to get it high enough in the wood to make the climb. Too far to the left and it would have bounced off the stone. Too low and the rope would have rubbed off on the ledge.

Larra’s brows lifted, and she looked at Kiera as if Kiera had sprouted horns. There are a good thirty feet between this window and the ground, Kiera.

I know. Kiera grunted as she pulled.

And that ground is no cushy lawn. It’s a stone walkway.

I know that, too. The arrow didn’t budge. She’d have to leave it for now.

Not to mention the guards. A shrill edge sharpened Larra’s words.

Kiera swung her bow off her back and set it gently against the wall. Her quiver followed. She counted the remaining arrows to make sure she hadn’t dropped any during the climb.

Larra stomped a glittering satin shoe. Kiera!

Kiera straightened and turned, hands in the air. "What?"

You know what. Don’t you care that you could have fallen to your death? Or that the guards might have mistaken you for a trespasser and killed you? She made a sound of aggravation in the back of her throat. You’re constantly putting yourself in danger, simply for the thrill of it.

Kiera rolled her eyes. I knew I wouldn’t fall, and I talked to the guards before I made the shot. They knew it was me climbing the palace and not some nefarious criminal.

They knew, but they didn’t try to stop you? Larra’s eyes widened almost comically.

If I were a pirate or carnie or something dangerous, I’m sure they would have tried. Plus, I didn’t give them time to stop me.

No, you wouldn’t have, would you? You’re lucky Jess wasn’t on duty. If he had been—

But he wasn’t.

But if he had been, he’d have skinned you alive! He still might when he discovers what you did.

The corners of Kiera’s lips quirked. My brother loves me too much. She walked to the vanity where Larra had been sitting when she’d made her grand entrance.

Sparkling blue gemstones spilled out of a jewelry chest on the corner of the polished table. Kiera touched them tenderly, amazed at how they reflected the morning sunlight streaming through the window. In the mirror, she spied Larra approaching and felt a twinge of guilt. She hadn’t meant to scare her friend, only surprise her.

Don’t be upset, Larra, she said. It’s not the first time I’ve climbed into the palace. She gave an impish grin. Probably won’t be the last, either. And I’m safe enough. Look.

She lifted her arms, the loose folds of her tunic sleeves falling back. Not a scratch. Well, except for this little one. And that one. And the chipped nail...

Larra didn’t smile at her attempt at humor. It’s the first time you’ve snuck onto the third floor, she pointed out. And you took a bigger chance than you think. After all, what if Christoff were here with me? I am married, you know. And he would cut the rope first and ask questions later.

Kiera snorted. The prince? In your dressing room? Please. He’s probably too busy arresting someone to bother coming in here with all this feminine stuff. She motioned to the cluttered vanity.

The lines of strain around Larra’s eyes faded. You like him, admit it.

Only because he loves you and treats you like you deserve. Kiera pulled the blue necklace out of the box. This is pretty. Did he give it to you?

He did. It’s one of my favorites.

Kiera lifted the strand to her throat. The stones might suit Larra’s dark hair and vivid eyes, but they made Kiera’s skin look sallow. With a frown, she tossed them back on the table. It didn’t matter. She never wore necklaces, anyway. They were for fair-skinned ladies who dressed in silk gowns and satin slippers. Not for dingy farm girls in coarse cotton pants with dirt smeared on their cheeks.

She felt something touch her head and looked up.

Since you’re here, Larra said, her fine-boned hand resting on Kiera’s cap, you might as well let me do this. She yanked off the cap and tossed it onto the table beside the jewelry, revealing Kiera’s pale-blond hair. The crude twine that kept the long, thick tresses in a tight knot followed.

As Larra slid a silver-backed brush through the locks, Kiera stared at herself in the mirror. Jealousy nibbled at her, as it occasionally did when she was with her friend, and she forced the treacherous beast back into its burrow. It wasn’t Larra’s fault they were opposites. Where Larra’s hair was dark, Kiera’s was so light it was almost white. Where Larra’s eyes were the dazzling color of a tropical sea, Kiera’s were merely brown. Larra’s face could stop a man in his tracks, but Kiera’s features were nondescript—straight nose, slightly arched brows, a somewhat stubborn chin. And, of course, Larra didn’t have the scars.

Stop it, Larra ordered.

Stop what?

Judging yourself. I can see it in your eyes. She leaned over Kiera’s shoulder. You are stunning.

Kiera pursed her lips. Of course Larra would tell her that. There wasn’t a mean bone in Larra’s body. The princess thought everyone was beautiful in their own way. She’d find something positive to say about a balding, harping hag with inch-long hairs sticking out of her crooked nose.

I’ve never seen anyone so blonde with such dark eyes and brows. It’s very dramatic, especially with those absurdly thick lashes.

Mm-hmm. Kiera passed the compliment off as empty words. While the brush moved through her hair she began to relax, her self-criticism giving way to peaceful silence. She let her eyes drift shut and her head fall back.

So why are you in my dressing room when you should be getting ready for the first day of market? Larra asked.

Papa and I set up the booth last night. I just wanted to see you before things get busy. It’s been six months since you visited your grandmother, and I’ve missed you.

I’ve missed you too. But you didn’t need to sneak in to hear me say so. Your booth will be the first I visit. And the last. Besides, I need to stock up on herbs for my healing remedies, and Farr grows the best in the kingdom.

Don’t forget our soaps.

How could I? Larra began to braid Kiera’s hair, then stopped suddenly. Are you certain you want to wear all this up? You look so pretty with it down. It’s so light against your skin.

That’s because I’m as tan as cowhide from being outside every day. No, just stick it back up. I don’t want it in the way. Maybe I should cut it.

Empty words, Kiera. We both know you wouldn’t dare cut your hair. I just think you should style it every now and then instead of hiding it.

It was a topic they’d discussed a thousand times since Kiera’s mother died and Larra became the closest thing Kiera had to a sister. That had been over ten years ago, back when Larra still lived in Farr. Back before she’d met Prince Christoff and moved to the city.

It’s just not practical when Papa and I have a farm to run, Kiera answered. It was a paltry excuse to cover the truth, and they both knew it.

Do you need to work so hard? I mean, Jess is a soldier now and earning a respectable income. Can’t he send you anything you need?

My brother is everything that is wonderful, but that doesn’t mean we can stop farming. Plus, working with the crops keeps Papa too busy to pine away after Mother. You’d think a decade would be enough time to get over someone’s death, but he still mourns her. Kiera still missed her, too. Her mother’s face was but a blur, yet every time Kiera thought of her, a sense of loss tugged at her heart.

Besides, she quickly continued, working the farm allows me to visit you here in the city. She loved coming to the city for the annual autumn festival, held the first week of the season. The city’s clean, wide streets and flowering courtyards made it a place of beauty, enchantment, and dreams.

Larra finished tying off the braid, and Kiera stuffed her hair back under the cap. I do have a favor... Kiera turned in the chair.

Larra waggled a finger at her. I knew you had a reason for sneaking up here. What is it?

Last year Jess barely had a spare moment to say hello. Can you make sure he has time to visit? I miss him too.

Larra’s face softened into a smile. Of course. I’ll talk to Christoff.

Thank you.

Larra leaned down to hug Kiera. Jess will have plenty of time to spend with you. I promise.

Kiera returned the hug, closing her eyes at a flash of nostalgia. She longed to go back to those carefree days before Larra had left Farr, before the harsh reality of life had stolen her youth. But Kiera had changed too much. There was no going back, only forward.

She pushed away Larra’s arms, then jumped up from the chair and strode to her belongings. She swung her quiver over her shoulders and tightened the straps. The arrows against her spine felt as familiar as her own skin. I’ll see you later.

Larra pointed to the door. Leave like everyone else—by way of the stairs.

Kiera inclined her head. Fine. But first... She reached out the window and untied the rope. The arrow might be a lost cause, but the rope had plenty of use left in it.

After wrapping it up and securing it to her belt, she said, See you at the market. Then with lanky strides, she left the royal chamber.

––––––––

Fresh produce from Farr! Fragrant herbal soaps! Head tilted back, Kiera belted out the words to the throngs of passing people.

She loved the first day of the autumn market. The city crackled with excitement as boisterous crowds perused innumerable brightly colored tents stuffed with merchandise. The smell of freshly baked pastries, meat pies, and perfumes saturated the air. It was so different from Farr, her quiet northern village with its green valley and fresh mountain air. And though Kiera loved her home, loved the stillness in the air and the peace and quiet that allowed her to think as she worked, she loved the hustle and bustle of the city too.

Selling was an act, a play put on for the benefit of both the salesman and the customer. Kiera had no trouble pulling on the cloak of pretense. They didn’t need the money they earned during this single week in order to survive, since they sold their produce at local markets year-round. But Kiera’s father needed to attend the annual tradesmen’s council held during the festival anyway, and the added income didn’t hurt. This year their tent was situated right in the middle of the chaos, a more profitable location than last year when they’d been assigned a spot toward the edge of the marketplace.

Here you go, miss. Kiera exchanged a bar of dandelion soap for a coin, thanking the patron with a smile. Have a good day.

You too. Stay safe. The bonneted elderly woman slid her purchase into her satchel. Those carnies come closer to the city every day.

The customer departed, and Kiera stared after her. Perhaps the woman was one of the hundreds of people who had flocked to the city from eastern Aggadorn over the last several years.

A heavy hand settled on Kiera’s shoulder. You keeping up with these sales? her father said behind her.

Yes, Papa. She reached for the box at the top of the stack he’d brought from the wagon. Are these the last of them? She began to unload the box on the table, making sure each paper-wrapped soap bar was stacked neatly where customers could see them.

Sure are. He surveyed the table. We should’ve brought more.

Sarai was loaded down as it was. Their little gray mare was muscular and dependable, but the weeklong journey to the city could tire any animal.

Her father nodded, his perpetually sad eyes looking over their table and into the crowd. Kiera couldn’t help noticing the deepened wrinkles on his tanned forehead.

Now there’s a fine-looking couple, he said, nodding at a booth across the aisle before grabbing a handful of empty crates and lugging them away.

Kiera glanced over, pausing as she moved a basket of radishes aside to make room for more soap. Sure enough, the young lord and lady looking at baubles under the blue tent were extraordinarily beautiful. The petite blonde’s crimson velvet gown and matching hat screamed of wealth and privilege. From the distance, she didn’t appear to be much older than Kiera’s eighteen years. The lady laughed at something her escort whispered into her ear, her pretty face tilted back, her perfect teeth flashing white.

Jealousy pecked at Kiera’s self-esteem. She could never be as beautiful as the lady, not even if she wore pretty dresses and curled her hair. Forcing the bitterness down, she reminded herself that good looks weren’t everything and that pants and tunics suited her just fine. Bulky skirts would only get torn and dirty when she worked the farm.

She turned her attention to the lady’s escort. She couldn’t see his face, but no doubt he was just as beautiful. He also wore velvet, its blue as deep as a mountain lake. From the back, the fabric strained across his broad shoulders and fit closely around his trim waist. His polished leather riding boots gleamed black, and a fancy cap with a yellow feather tilted across his head.

Kiera’s chest tightened when they turned and the lady pointed at the produce stand. Her breath hitched as they approached and she got a better look at the young, black-haired nobleman. She forgot the lady completely as his handsome features came into view. With olive skin and amber eyes framed by absurdly long lashes, he was the picture of every childhood fantasy she’d ever had about dashing heroes and damsel-saving knights.

They reached the stand.

How much? the lady asked as she lifted a bar to her nose.

Kiera couldn’t respond. She couldn’t do anything but stare.

Excuse me! the blonde’s shrill voice shook her from her fascination. Kiera blinked.

The lady jiggled the bar in her hand. Soap. How much?

Kiera opened her mouth, but her tongue wouldn’t move. It felt thick and slow.

Answer the lady, boy, the gentleman snapped.

The arrogant command, so unexpected coming from the hero of her dreams, lashed at her like a whip. Boy? She shouldn’t be offended. It wasn’t the first time she’d been mistaken for the opposite gender. A pant-wearing female farmer was an oddity. But for some reason, this beautiful young man’s criticism hurt more than all the other mistaken assumptions combined.

I’m not a boy.

The gowned lady burst into laughter, drawing the attention of several bystanders. Y-you! she stuttered. A girl? She raised a gloved hand to cover her mouth.

Kiera’s blood pressure spiked. She straightened, using her height to dwarf the short, insensitive blonde. The soap isn’t for sale. She lifted her chin.

Now see here. The young nobleman’s amber-colored eyes narrowed. Everything is for sale, and the lady wants the soap.

She’d gone too far to back down now. She threw back her shoulders and met his glare. I already told you, it’s not for sale. Not to you.

The lady’s laughter abruptly stopped. One side of her mouth curled in a sneer that detracted from her pretty looks. What do you mean ‘not for sale’? You’re refusing us, you uneducated peasant? Just who do you think you are?

Obviously a better person than you! Kiera retorted, snatching the bar from her gloved hand. She didn’t care that they were drawing an audience.

The lady gasped and stepped back. How dare you!

Her companion moved close enough to jostle the table. I don’t know what your problem is, but you’ve no cause to talk to her like that. His face darkened with anger.

She didn’t treat me any better, so why not?

He didn’t answer, but his brief, insulting once-over said it all. Kiera knew exactly what he thought, that as a poorly dressed farmer’s daughter she was a lower-class citizen. Unequal to them in every way.

She seethed, anger blurring her ability to think clearly. Her hand tightened around the soap, and she had a sudden vision of chucking it at his too-perfect face. Of its own accord, her arm drew back.

Kiera.

Her father had returned. His gentle hand covered hers, and he plucked the bar from her grip and placed it back on the table. My lord, my lady, I apologize for my daughter. She is having a difficult day.

The lady leaned into her companion, her feigned whisper loud enough for them all to hear. No wonder, given how she dresses.

Kiera twisted her fingers together behind her back.

Can I help? How many do you want? Her father’s low voice could have calmed a wild horse.

None, the black-haired nobleman answered with a frown. He took his lady’s arm and threaded it through his own. We’ve changed our minds. After shooting an accusing look at Kiera, he steered his companion away. Within seconds they disappeared into the swirling colors of the crowd. The shoppers who had paused to watch the exchange dispersed, leaving Kiera and her father alone despite the swarm of activity buzzing around them.

Kiera, her father quietly rebuked.

Shame drenched her anger. I’m sorry, Papa. They just made me so mad!

It’s unlike you to respond to their insults. You’ve sold to people of their social standing on numerous occasions. Why was this time any different?

She bowed her head, unable to look him in the eye, to see his disappointment. They thought I was a boy.

So? That’s happened before.

I shouldn’t have been offended, but then they laughed at me. People have never laughed before. She blinked rapidly to keep the tears from falling, but they fell anyway.

Kiera. Her father raised her chin and wiped away the streaks. You know you have the power to stop them from making such a mistake.

He meant that she could dress and act like other girls. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t like them. She was different. I don’t want to. It was a lie, and they both knew it.

Her father sighed and patted her shoulder. He never argued with her about the way she was, and for the first time Kiera wished he would. She wished he would have curtailed her activities a little more when she was younger, would have made her behave like the other village girls. Maybe if she’d gotten over the problem then, it wouldn’t be so hard for her now. She knew he cared about her, knew he loved her in his way, but sometimes it seemed he had stopped living that winter when Mama died. As if he cared, just... not enough.

She brushed away the remaining tears and straightened the sleeves of her tunic. Let’s get back to work. It won’t happen again.

Turning