Page 83 of Reign

“That one looks like a manlier version of you, Smith,” Red teased.

I returned his jest with a jovial barge as I scanned the crowd, hoping the man Red thought I resembled wasn’t unsightly.

“Who?” I asked as I struggled to spot anyone I bore a likeness to.

Red pointed to the back of a man’s head—his shoulder-length locks were dark like mine.

“Wait till he turns around,” he said.

The slight curl of his hair, the rounding of his shoulders, and his heavy-footed gait were unmistakable. My stomach dropped as I scrambled for a better vantage point. When the man turned, his side profile revealed a slight bump on the bridge of his nose—an inherited trait in the Smith household. Without a doubt, I knew it was him. Finn.

“That’s—” my words faltered as I felt a rumble underfoot.

It reminded me of all those months ago, in the Walled City, when the ground shook like something was trapped beneath the cobblestones.

The soldiers dispersed, backing away from the source of the trembling—where the sand erupted and frothed like a ruptured hot spring.

Then the tremors ceased—the grains now eerily still, as if time had frozen in Cambas.

Before I could sigh in relief, something coiled out from the sands, emerging with blurring speed. The thing was made of rubbery skin in a muted pink and appeared boneless and blind—its tongue flicked from its mouth, as if it could see through taste.

Red balled his hands into fists, like he was planning on beating the beast with punches alone.

“By the gods,” he said, his fiery hair blowing in front of his feral gaze.

“That’s one mighty worm,” Godwin gasped, shielding his eyes from the glare—his scar pulling taut as he squinted.

Its segmented body writhed, as if adjusting to its surroundings, before stealthily threading through the sands.

“Run!” Fitzroy bellowed from below the bank I stood on.

The men didn’t hesitate to obey their commander’s orders.

Finn darted across the sands—frantic and clumsy. I willed him to find stamina he didn’t possess. As I watched him stumble and slip, my heart thumped in my throat so aggressively I worried I’d throw it up.

The beast swept its long tail end across the sands, swiping the legs out from underneath the soldiers and sending them skyward. Each one thumped onto the ground with dull impact, like conkers dropping from a chestnut tree.

I held my breath, anticipating my brother being struck—but Finn narrowly escaped, darting left just in time to avoid the whip.

The worm shrieked—its great mouth opened wide, strings of thick mucus flailing from jagged and yellowing teeth. Then, with rapid speed, it burrowed its tapered head into the charred sands. In a blink, the entirety of its thick, wriggly body was beneath the earth.

I finally breathed, drawing in a ragged wheeze. The worm was gone. Relief flooded me—until I noticed Fitzroy.

He stood stiller than a stone wall—feet shoulder-width apart, hand resting on the hilt of his sword as if waiting.

A slight rumble rippled the blackened sands, moving the grains like lapping waves.

Suddenly, the worm reemerged—jetting upward, spraying the lucky soldiers in grit and throwing the unlucky ones aloft.

This time, Finn wasn’t fortunate enough to escape the creature’s wrath. He was flipped high into the air like a tossed coin, landing head side up facing the murky sky.

Panic overcame me, leaving no room for rational thoughts.

“Brother!” I wailed, bolting toward Finn—fearing he’d broken every bone in his body.

I stumbled, tripping over the bank and tumbling down, kicking up grains as I picked up speed. By the time I reached the bottom, I was sprawled out with black sand clinging to every crevice of my face. I clambered onto all fours, spitting out the gritty, salty specks.

My vision spun as if I was caught in a whirlwind. Slowly, the dizziness passed, and my vision shifted into focus.