Amarande’s vision still failed her. She blinked rapidly, tears working in vain to eliminate the scratchy grains of sand from her eyes. Yet the princess had her wits about her, keeping her chin down, hoping against hope she wasn’t as recognizable as Taillefer had suggested. Hoping Naiara wouldn’t be questioned about the two instances in which she called this assailant Little Queen. She’d had her frustrations with the healer, but she’d saved Luca’s life and Amarande would forever be in her debt.
“I have her sword and her wrists; check her boots.” That was the first guard.
The princess tried to kick her legs from kneeling—she caught someone in the jaw, but the other guard used her outstretched position as she made contact to bear-hug her boot. Her weight effectively clipped Amarande’s momentum—she was too heavy to shake off.
“There’s a knife in here,” the guard announced, her face pressed tightly against the inner line of that boot. Amarande expected her to release one hand and slip it against the outside of the ankle to snatch the dagger, but instead she simply used all that weight of hers to haul it off the princess’s wriggling foot. The girl peeled off Amarande’s body with the boot, and the knife skittered across the ground.
“The knife! Grab it!” she screamed toward where Taillefer should have been, using the distraction and falling momentum to wrench herself out of the other guard’s grasp.
Amarande’s order received no answer as she twisted to face the guard, hands at the ready to grab her sword, the guard’s sword, her long hair—anything.
But just as soon as she turned to the girl, something thunked hard against Amarande’s temple, tossing her off-balance. Her opponent used that split second to roll onto the princess, driving Amarande’s face into the sandy earth as she sat atop the princess’s back, pinning her in a way that left all of Amarande’s fight useless.
From the corner of her eye, the princess watched through blurredvision as her own boot rolled to a stop—the heel the blunt object the guard had found to use against her.
Beyond the boot, she saw Taillefer, also splayed on the ground, two other female guards taking lengths of rope to his wrists, which, like hers, were wrenched behind his back. As her own guards gathered rope for her wrists, his captors moved on to his legs, binding them above the knees so that he could walk but not run. They followed the same procedure with Amarande. The injured giant looked on, unblinking, hand pressed hard to his bleeding side. His nose was no longer straight.
When both sets of guards were finished, they wrenched their captives to standing.
The princess was suddenly aware of how large the crowd was—what had started at a half dozen was now at least a hundred people. Men, women, children, all startled awake by the fight and blinking into the rising sun. Naiara and Señe were nowhere to be seen.Good.
Amarande wondered if the guard she’d attacked when chained up was present and watching.
If he would tell them who she’d said she was.Little Queen,indeed.
If the new Warlord would hear of it and believe it.
Or if perhaps this Warlord had already received word of Amarande’s escape into the Torrent straight from her mother. Just as Luca’s very name was a flash point to the giant and the crowd.
In the end Amarande never learned how they knew. Only that they did.
“The Warlord demands your presence, Princess Amarande.”
CHAPTER38
LUCA’Sheart sat in his throat as he lay with his chin to the ground, Ula covering him, their cook fire and its smoke all that shielded the pair of them from the guards as they marched Amarande and Taillefer to the Warlord’s tent.
The questions in his mind were grains of sand, swirling together in a never-ending swell and spiral.
Ula’s weight shifted as she disentangled herself from how she’d tackled and smothered him at the sudden close mention of his name. There was no “fitting in” with the way she’d yanked him down—no way to explain her actions other than to call it a protective measure—but all eyes had been on the princess.
Kidege? Luca?
He’d known they were sheltering in Naiara’s caravan. But hearing his name on her lips? After believing she may have seen him? Or, more accurately, seeing and recognizing Amarande and hoping her hooded companion at a distance was him?
That was about as much as to be expected as seeing Amarande herself. Here. Feet from the fire they’d lit for assimilation’s sake, so that Ula could burn coffee beans and toast day-old bread. So close that even before Ula tackled him he recognized Amarande was wearing his tunic—sleeves rolled up but obvious.
Fierce and beautiful and fighting alongside Taillefer.
Taillefer.
“Stay down,” Ula whispered.
He could not. Luca pushed to standing, shaking off her protective hand. “We have to follow them.”
“That is not brave; that is insane. If Taillefer sees you, he will out you.”
“If Taillefer sees me, our disguises were not good enough and we’d be dead anyway,” Luca whispered. “We’re here to watch. I need to watch.”
