Luca’s stomach rumbled loud enough that he felt as if it shook the sand beneath their horse’s feet. There was no way the girl didn’t feel it, close as they were. But Luca didn’t say anything about that. He needed to get more answers before they decided they didn’t like him awake.
“I suppose you will be taking me to your ship?”
He’d aimed the question at the girl, who was turned in their shared saddle so she could lay an eye on him. From the twist of her body he could see her curved sword stashed in the well of her lap. Close, but not anywhere he could easily snatch it away. Yet it was the tall boy who answered, sneer on his face. “For this trip, we’re land pirates.”
Luca’s mouth opened—he couldn’t help himself; there was something about this boy that demanded an argument, even with dried blood clinging to his tongue from their first encounter. “Do you even have a ship?”
“We have a ship,” he spat back, chin high.
“Do you? Where is it? We’re a hundred miles from the nearest harbor.”
“It’s docked. Now will you stop asking questions?” the tall one said. “Or I’ll knock you out again.”
“No you won’t,” the girl said, coolly, fingers wrapping around the hilt of her sword. “You’ll be the one to ride with him if his brains are sliding out of his nose.”
“You’re just afraid I’ll ruin his pretty face, Ula,” the boy said, teeth bared.
“Hitting him doesn’t make you any more attractive.”
The boy’s jaw tensed and then he was moving ahead of her, up with the Eritrian, whose peeling neck was already a deeper red than the day before and the morning was only half-over.
When the Myrcellian boy was gone, the girl’s fist loosened on her sword and her other hand dug into a pocket sewn into the front of her tunic. And then in her palm were dates—plump but dry and cracking.
She slipped them into Luca’s bound hands without comment.
“Thank you, Ula.” It was probably dangerous, but if she was to be his ally for any reason—whether it be his looks or the fact that they’d both been born to people from this place—he wasn’t going to squander it. “My name is Luca.”
She barked out a laugh that was just wry enough to remind him of his princess. “Your parents didn’t waste any time on Ardenian assimilation, did they?”
Luca didn’t know if he should tell her that he’d been given that Ardenian name before they’d fled the Torrent. In the end, he decided vague was best. Even if she was kind, she was stillwillingly aiding in his kidnapping. And she’d held a sword to his throat.
“I suppose so.” He took a bite, the sugar immediately vanquishing the bloody taste in his mouth. He spat the pit to the red earth and swallowed. “So—”
“Save your saliva, Luca. We won’t be to water for a few more hours. Just because you’re of Torrent doesn’t mean the Torrent will be kind to you.”
With that, Ula turned completely away and kicked her horse to raise her speed over the endless red sands.
Luca took her advice. He simply put another date into his mouth and then peeked over his shoulder at the vast desert wasteland behind them, the mountains cradling Itspi straight behind them, covered in the same golden light that haloed them every morning.
The wind echoed with emptiness as Luca moved his lips, no sound daring to come out.I’m here, Ama. I’m here.
CHAPTER
13
BYlate morning, Amarande was regretting her choice of clothing.
She should’ve changed out of her evening dress and belted on something of Luca’s besides just his chest plate. Anything of his would’ve been too large, of course. But it would’ve provided more in protection than the lace that covered the whole upper half of her body. It was finely made, but even the best lace was by definition full of holes. Even with armor covering her chest and leather guards at the shoulders, her arms and back seared bare to the sun through the beautiful design.
There was a matter of its distraction, too, garnet red that her dress was. An unusual variant in the range from deep umber, to sienna, to buff and copper highlights of her surroundings as she pushed into the Torrent. Up close, it was worse, she knew. Only the highest members of society owned a dress like the one she had on. And only someone expecting trouble would be strange enough to top it with a too-large chest plate and swords crossed over her spine.
It made Amarande glad Renard’s kidnappers had forged their own trail, the oats and three fresh sets of footprints leading her along the southern side of a rock formation that jutted up like the skeleton spine of a long-ago fallen dragon—rigid, rocky, and whispering of death.
The north side held more shade in the morning sun, and thus,every few miles when the dragon’s spine dipped to its lowest point before the rock face climbed anew, Amarande occasionally glimpsed travelers going this way and that on the other side. They saw her, too.
And therein lay another problem: The Crown would be searching for her.
If not Koldo, gone to the border, then one of her seconds. Serville, Xixi, or the like. Whoever it was, he or she had been trained just as well as the princess herself. There was no getting out of the idea that this was a three-way chase. Her tracks would be much easier to follow. Fresh, and straight from the stable. There wasn’t much she could do to obscure them other than pray the winds picked up—but only after she found the next hint of Luca’s whereabouts.
