She blew out the lantern and lay back, the darkness a thick, comforting blanket. The cool night air slipped through the canvas walls, and she pulled the blanket up to her chin. The stars outside were a blazing testament to the vastness of the universe, and in her small tent, she felt impossibly small.
The doubt was a sharp, cold knot in her stomach. She hadn’t known it would be this hard. And with the doubt came a sudden, aching longing for Max, so strong that it was all she could do not to cry out. After the passion they’d shared the previous night, sleeping alone felt like a betrayal.
She’d allowed herself to imagine that they’d share a tent, that she’d be able to fall asleep in his arms, using his strength as an anchor against the day’s hardships. But he had his own tent several yards away, far enough for propriety’s sake. She had been too afraid, too mindful of the crew, to ask for his company.
She sensed the men’s disapproval, their silent, judging stares, and realized how much she relied on Max to shield her from that, and against her own gnawing fear that he had been right all along. She was ill-equipped for this world. She had bitten off far more than she could chew.
As sleep finally began to claim her, pulling her down into the deep well of exhaustion, she wondered if tomorrow would be the day that broke her.
Chapter Seventeen
By the fourth day, Eden was certain that she was never going to make it out of the desert alive.
Even with the protection of a linen scarf and the most practical of wide-brimmed hats, the sunlight was brutal, a grinding weight that pressed at her crown, worked its way through her skull, and parched her tongue. Sunburn made her face and the back of her neck tight and itchy. Her back ached, her thighs stung, and her knees resented every rise and fall of the camel’s awkward gait.
If the rest of her group felt like she did, they gave no sign. She found herself watching Max, looking for the tiniest crack in his stoic demeanor, something to convince her that she wasn’t alone in her misery, but she didn’t find any. And of course, the Bedouin crew was used to this. So, she kept her expression neutral, only the most decorous squint betraying any hint of discomfort.
The sound of the wind was also driving her to distraction. Dune crests rippled from horizon to horizon, some new and some ancient, all in ceaseless migration. On the first day, Eden had found the bleak grandeur almost sublime. By the third, she found it repetitive, then punishing, and now she hated it.
Max, on the lead camel, seemed carved from the same unyielding stuff as the desert. He sat so straight in the saddle it hurt to look at him, eyes hidden behind battered cavalryman’sgoggles. She suspected he was counting the minutes until she faltered. He’d told her that he would call the whole thing off if she couldn’t handle it. He’d made her promise that she wouldn’t fight him on it if he made that decision, for he wouldn’t make it lightly.
She would not give him the satisfaction. Not today.
But deep down, she wondered how much longer she could endure this. It wasn’t what she’d imagined it would be. Not at all.
Amir was wrapped from head to toe in indigo robes. His face was a study in economy: no movement wasted, each blink or sidelong glance measured. He navigated by the sun, by the whispering winds, and by secrets Eden knew she’d never be privy to. She’d grown to respect him, which was more than she could say for most of the men back in London who deemed themselves experts on this place.
The camels grumbled and spat, as if mocking their foreign burdens. Two days into the trek, Eden’s knees had adjusted to the awkward rhythm, but her mind had not. She caught herself slipping into fugue states, only to be yanked back by the scent of animal sweat and the lash of sand across her cheeks.
Then, early in the afternoon, the wind changed. What had been a persistent, needling breeze became an upwelling, then a blast, then a drawn-out wail. Amir called a halt. He slid from his saddle with the boneless grace of a much younger man and unspooled a length of battered canvas, rigging it in the lee of a dune, gesturing for Max and Eden to huddle close beneath it. The camels dropped obligingly to their knees as a further barrier in front of them, rolling their lips as though amused.
“What’s going on?” Eden asked, her heart racing as they all clustered beneath the canvas, the wind growing stronger. Everyone else seemed more resigned than anything, as though this were simply a normal break in their day.
“Sandstorm,” Max murmured, putting his back against the dune and pulling her against him, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.
She sank against him, pressing her face against his chest, some of the tension leaving her. This was the first time they’d really touched since they’d left Cairo. He radiated a sunbaked warmth even through the layers of cloth between them, and she leaned into him even more, taking comfort in his strength and surprised to still catch a hint of sandalwood. “Should I be concerned?”
“It will pass,” Amir said from a few feet in front of them, his voice muffled but calm. “Maybe an hour. We will be safe here until it is over.”
The storm rattled the canvas. Eden could see only the smallest patch of sky over the camels’ humps, but what she could see was terrifying. “Will the pass be buried? Will this make it harder to get where we’re going?”
Amir considered. “Not likely. The sand will move, but the stones remember.” He tapped his temple. “The desert has no time for forgetfulness.” Then he pulled his robes tight and went silent, as if retreating to a private monastery somewhere behind his eyes.
She had absolutely no idea what he’d meant by that.
