In a few weeks, none of that would matter. He’d say goodbye to her in Averlyn and he’d return home. But she’d get her freedom, and Cason knew deep down that was more important than whatever…feelingshe had for her. More important than whatever stupid ideas he had of asking her to come back to Aelstow with him when this was all over.
“What do you think is out there?” Serill asked, pulling Cason out of his thoughts.
The prince sat at the edge of the last bit of fresh water they’d have access to for a while, staring out at the endless sand dunes rippling with the heat rising off the sands. Dry heat, at least. Unbearably hot, but still breathable, unlike the sticky heat of the forest.
“This, this, and more this,” Brela replied from the horses, pointing toward the sand with her foot as she tied back her wet hair.
Having already scrubbed herself clean in the water—thoroughly, while making heated eye contact with him—she’d given a pointed glance toward a collection of large rocks and privacy. He hadn’t complained when she kissed him like her life depended on it. Hadn’t complained when she let him take her against those rocks while their friends tried very hard to make as much splashing in the water as they could to drown out the noises.
Now, with a fresh layer of sweat glistening her skin, some his and some hers, she was dressed in a shirt and pants that had once belonged to him.
“You’ve been to the desert before?” Cason asked, eyebrow raised.
“Yes. It’s rather dull,” she grumbled, eyes trained beyond him. She flipped a vulgar gesture toward the mountains and Cason turned to see a small lynxpie hiss at her before retreating. Brela flashed her teeth in a smile at her final victory.
Farrah leaned forward from where she was sitting underneath the shade of a rock, smirking. “Dull? I could still smell the vaarasuxa on you a year later.”
Elias chuckled beside her, but Cason froze.
Serill could barely form words. “The… vaarasuxa. You…”
Cason was struck speechless. The vaarasuxa, a four-legged sand beast with a ten-foot maw, teeth curved for shredding, and claws that could slice cleaner than lightning. Of course, that’s how the crystal-like armor encasing the already bone-spiked back, arms, and tail were formed. The creature was a magnet for desert storms, and the longer they lived, the more ferocious and untouchable they became.
Some believed they were the predators to drive the dragons further north, and the reason there were so few of the fire breathers left in the mountains by Anfroy. The vaarasuxa were violently territorial, and could barely stand their own kind for more than a quick mating bond before the females tore the males to ribbons.
Brela’s vulgar gesture was back out, now pointed in Farrah’s direction as she looked toward Serill. “Not to worry, Prince. They don’t venture this far north… anymore.”
“What do you mean,anymore?” Cason asked, annoyed that his voice shook slightly.
“Reach for your lightning magic first and don’t touch the fire. Strike as far away as possible and use bolts like a lure,” Brela said, attaching Cason’s bedroll and blanket to her own horse. He gave her a questioning look but nodded once. After a careful pause, she sighed. “There’s a reason this territory is… quiet.” She turned to the sands and shuddered. “Still, it’s best we get out of the desert before we run into thatreason.”
Elias snorted. “Emril will be so disappointed.”
Brela’s head snapped toward him as she snarled. “And I should have kicked that reeking bastard into the pits. He’ll get over it.”
Serill, thank the gods, asked the question on Cason’s mind. “Who is Emril?”
“Ovir’s third. The redhead at the auction,” Brela replied casually. Cason had to hide the relief that she looked completely bored at the mention of the handsome man.
Apparently that was all she was going to say on that matter because she hopped onto her horse and said, “Best we take the dunes north a little longer before we turn west. Less chance of any… encounters.”
That only lasted an hour before the sandy hills became too difficult for the horses to maneuver. Brela had been right about the never ending expanse of sand, so much that Cason was already sick of it. Every instinct in his body screamed that they should not be walking away from the relatively safer Magtonas. The swirling wind and sand was whispering danger, his senses flaring at the slightest graze of desert along his bare forearms.
That unsettling feeling was only amplified at the sight of Brela silently scanning the sandy horizon. Not afraid, but wary. Night Carver in her hand and not at her hip was indication of her extra nerves.
He watched a gust of wind pick up, sending a tendril of sand twirling around Brela who bristled at the contact. As it settled, she darted a look at him over her shoulder and inclined her head, inviting him closer.
Cason moved his horse alongside hers. “You look like you’re trying to figure out how to slice wind.”
Her lips twitched slightly, but she only asked, “What do you feel?”
“Sweaty and annoyed that sand has found its way into every nook of my body,” he joked, but he knew what she was really asking. “It feels… odd.” To anyone else, he’d sound like a lunatic explaining what being out here felt like to his perception affinity, but he knew Brela would listen. “It’s like my magic is at war with itself. Dulled from you, but flaring as if the sand itself is—“
“Alive?”
He blinked, if only to realize that she’d put into terms what he doubted anyone else would have understood.
“How did you—“
