It’s the most I’ve heard him speak at one time, and I take care to absorb his words. Doing so also distracts me from the feel of his bicep beneath my hand, a sensation I’ve been pointedly ignoring since we started out. “When was the last drought?”
“Now.”
I clear my throat to cover my shock. “Now?”
“Yes. The cisterns will run dry in two weeks.”
He says this with an ease that has me staring at him.
“But,” he says, his eyes trained forward, “you’re here now, so there’s no need to worry.”
I’m certain my mouth would fall open if not for all my tutors’ harping on composure. He expects me to end a drought? I swallow. “Water can be fickle, Your Majesty.” Fickle is putting it delicately. There are a dozen factorsinvolved—the amount of water present, how deep it is, how far away. “It could take some time.”
“I have faith in you.”
A fine sweat breaks out over my skin. What if there’s no water to draw? Or what if the water I find is so far it takes months to draw near the city? What then?
Perform for me, Serah, and I’ll give you anything you want.
Is this what he meant? Perform by ending the drought? And if I can’t, does he plan on sending me home? Recalling Vasna’s debts?
Seemingly out of nowhere, a blistering wind sweeps over us, pelting me with sand. Whether from instinct or surprise, I draw nearer to the king. The wind is fierce, and yet I hear a sharp intake of breath; I feel his arm stiffen beneath my hand.
“A scorcher,” he shouts over the gale.
“A what?”
The king shakes his head and hurries our pace. He tucks me in tighter as the wind strengthens and I’m forced to shield my eyes. When I blink them open, we’re shielded from the wind in a stone alcove fringed in flowering vines.
“A scorcher,” the king says, his voice sharp as he guides me to a recessed bench carved into the wall. “That’s what the wind is called. They come hard and fast off the desert.”
I release his arm and sit, puzzled by his harsh tone. Did I do something to upset him? “Ah, I see. Are they common, these winds?”
When there’s no answer, I sneak a glance up at him. The lines of his face are rigid, his jaw tight. His chin quivers as if restraining himself from speaking.
He lookslivid.
Alarm courses through me. What did I say? Retracing my words, I can find nothing offensive. Is he angry I didn’t sound more confident in my ability to end the drought? Should I not have moved so close to him when we could have been seen? Surely not. He held my hand in front of his subjects, in front of the wyverns even. He openly slept in my chambers for stars’ sake! And yet he stands here as if frozen by rage, every inch of him but his flared nostrils still.
I pretend not to notice his face lift to sniff at the air, his breaths quicken when he does. In truth, I’m wondering once again whether he’s fighting the urge to make a meal out of me. I glance about in hopes another servant is nearby, but we’re alone.
“Well,” I say, rising to my feet, “it sounds as if the wind has died down. These scorchers must pass quickly.”
I sidle over a couple of steps, my back grazing the stone wall. The king doesn’t move.
Think, Serah. Think. All I can think to do is run, but though my gown isn’t restrictive, I doubt I can outpace him in it. Perhaps if I kick him first? That can hardly be good for diplomacy…
“I can’t take this,” he snarls.
I gasp as he whirls toward me, plants both hands on either side of the wall behind my head, and leans in, eyes wild.
“Princess, I must ask you something.Now.”
25
Ask me something? My heart is in my throat, and any words I might be able to force past it seem caught somewhere between my mind and my mouth.
The king’s eyes bore into my own as he awaits an answer, yet I realize he hasn’t even asked anything. He simply pinned me here like a barbarian.
