Page 95 of Sins of His Wrath

The servant shook her head, unable to understand her, and set down the tray laden with fruits, flatbread, andkkermo.

After bathing and eating, the servant helped her into the elaborate gown. The fabric settled against her skin like a cool embrace, surprisingly lightweight despite its ornate appearance. The cut differed from the styles she’d worn in the Lox Empire—more flowing, with a high collar and wide sleeves that narrowed at the wrists. When she caught her reflection in the polished metal mirror, she barely recognized herself.

The blue deepened her skin tone, making it glow with warmth, while the gold accents highlighted the amber flecks in her eyes. Her copper-colored hair, usually bound back for practicality during their research, had been arranged in an elaborate style with strands woven with thin golden threads. She looked every inch a princess—though not of her own land.

A knock at the door announced Prillu, who entered with a formality that matched Naya’s attire. The diplomat was dressed in robes of deep burgundy, with gold patterns that complemented Naya’s own. Her usual severe expression had softened into something almost serene.

“You look magnificent, Princess,” Prillu said, smiling. “The color suits you well.”

“Thank you,” Naya replied, still studying her reflection. “Though I don’t understand the occasion.”

“The Day of Voices is our most sacred observance,” Prillu explained, leading her toward the door. “Even in times of crisis—perhaps especially then—we honor the traditions that bind us together.”

They walked through corridors that seemed transformed. Gone was the tense, harried atmosphere of the past days. Instead, a peaceful quiet had settled over the palace, broken only by the soft murmur of distant voices and occasional gentle laughter. Even the air felt fresh—infused with subtle fragrances of food and spices. Naya realized she had never asked Tshel about her faith or tried to understand it. She needed to do that so she could appreciate days like this.

As they neared their destination, the sounds grew louder—not chaotic or frenzied, but the harmonious hum of many voices in animated conversation. Prillu led her toward a massive set of doors Naya had never seen before, intricately carved and inlaid with precious metals.

“The Throne Court,” Prillu said, her voice dropping to a respectful murmur as the doors swung open.

Naya’s breath caught at the sight before her.

She entered an enormous courtyard with high walls decorated with the biggest artworks she’d seen in the palace so far—sprawling mosaics depicting landscapes and battles and rituals, all rendered in vibrant colors and precious metals that caught the morning light. In the central space, people meandered, murmuring to themselves or in silence. Plants, cushions, and low chairs lined either side of the space, but no one used them.

Dominating the courtyard was a giant ornate throne, so high that it reached the top of the courtyard wall. Pillars sat behind either side of it, and on the ground, it was guarded by golden animal head sculptures, their gaze eternal and unwavering. To the left, a waterfall spilled over a rocky wall, sending echoes of running water throughout the space.

Despite the recent devastation that had ravaged Onn Kkulma, the people gathered here seemed transformed. They wore their finest garments, rich fabrics in jewel tones complemented with gold and silver adornments. Children darted between groups of adults, their laughter carrying on the breeze. Elders sat in places of honor, surrounded by attentive youth. The atmosphere was one of communal joy, of celebration despite hardship.

As Naya moved further into the courtyard, she spotted members of the council dispersed throughout the crowd. They looked starkly different from their usual demeanor in the strategy room—relaxed, engaged, almost radiant.

Tshel, usually so reserved, was surrounded by a group of children, her hands weaving patterns in the air as she told them what appeared to be an animated story. Her red robes had been replaced by flowing garments in shades of amber and gold that made her seem to glow in the morning light.

Ranin stood conversing with a group of elders, his usual serious expression replaced with genuine warmth. Even Nrommo, forever scowling in their meetings, appeared at ease, his massive frame less intimidating as he bent to hear the words of a tiny, wizened woman who barely reached his chest.

Oppo approached through the crowd, resplendent in robes of deep forest green embroidered with gold. His face split into a wide smile that transformed his features as he spoke in his language, bowing slightly.

Tshel appeared at his side, translating smoothly. “He says you honor us with your presence,” she explained. “And he asks what you think of our Throne Court. It is the heart of Onn Kkulma—the place where our people have gathered for generations.”

“It’s magnificent,” Naya admitted, her eyes drawn again to the intricate mosaics that covered every surface. “I had no idea this existed within the palace.”

Tshel translated her words for Oppo, whose expression softened as he responded.

“He says there is much beauty here that survives, despite everything,” Tshel interpreted. “Our people understand suffering, Princess. They have endured more than most. But they also understand joy—how to seize it, how to create it, even in the darkest times.”

A hush fell over the courtyard. All eyes turned toward the great doors on the far side of the space, which slowly swung open to reveal Akoro.

Naya’s heart stuttered in her chest.

He was a vision of power and grace, dressed in ceremonial attire that emphasized his imposing stature. Deep crimson robes fell from his broad shoulders, embroidered with intricate patterns in gold thread that caught the light with every movement. A golden collar circled his throat, inlaid with gems that matched the color of the robe. His dark hair had been elaborately braided close to his scalp, intertwined with golden threads that matched Naya’s, and his beard had been trimmed to sharp precision.

But it was the crown that commanded attention—a circlet of gleaming gold set with a single blood-red stone at its center. It transformed him from merely a powerful man to something almost elemental, a force of nature clothed in human form.

The crowd parted before him, bowing their heads in deep respect as he passed. His steps were measured, deliberate, his presence filling the space with an authority that needed no words. Naya found herself unable to tear her gaze away, captivated by the way the light played across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the intensity of his dark eyes.

He ascended to the throne with fluid Alpha grace, turning to face the gathered assembly. His gaze swept the crowd, pausing briefly when it found Naya. Something flickered in his expression—recognition, perhaps, or something deeper that she couldn’t name.

When he spoke, his voice carried to every corner of the courtyard, deep and resonant, in his native tongue. Though Naya couldn’t understand the words, their power was unmistakable. The crowd responded with murmurs of agreement, some pressing hands to their hearts, others bowing their heads.

Prillu leaned close, translating in a hushed whisper. “He speaks of endurance, of the strength of our people through generations of hardship. He reminds us that the Voices of the Sands have guided the ssukkurian people since the beginning of time, through triumph and tragedy alike.”

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