That was another of Sendoa’s sayings: If not an eye for an eye, a lash for a lash.
Amarande didn’t let herself think about what would happen to Luca if Renard were able to reach the kidnappers before she did.
The road in front of her yawned open, into the red mouth of the Torrent. Her most recent mountain path evaporated into the dust of a much different land.
Amarande had seen the Torrent before, of course. Plenty of times. But she’d never actually set foot in it. Her father and Koldo had only ever shown her it from a safe distance, at the top of a peak claimed by Ardenia.
For as trained as she was, she suddenly realized how sheltered she’d been.
From afar, the Torrent looked like nothing that could bear its name. There was no water in the dusky landscape below. Nothing that could deluge, flood, cascade.
But here, with Mira’s hooves touching the first specks of red sand, Amarande could understand. It wasn’t that the former kingdom had been called Torrence, though likely that played a part. No, it was the other definition of the word that gave this place its name.
It opened wide and presented itself as something sudden, violent, unflinching. The red sands that seemed like a painting from afar shifted like liquid in the wind that barreled down from the mountains on every edge of this bowl, before being trapped, howling, with no way to get out.
The Torrent.
The fallen kingdom of the Otxoa. The lawless desert of raiders, bandits, and the people too stubborn to leave. The Warlord’s domain, with his fire pits and caravans and stolen power.
Amarande reached into her saddlebags for the first time. Not for sustenance but for something she was thrilled she’d thought to pack—a linen kerchief.
She wrapped it atop her nose and mouth, lacing it behind her head, mussing up the careful braids that were already coming undone with a hard night of riding.
Set, Amarande gave Mira a pointed tap with both her heels.
And pushed on.
CHAPTER
12
THE sun was a searing slash across the sky when Luca’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked to catch his bearings, trying to stay as still as possible. General Koldo’s pity lessons were the first thing in his mind: Lack of preparation can squander the element of surprise.
His cheek was pressed against someone’s back, the sun’s rays hot enough that his sweat mingled through fabric with that of one of the pirates. His ear was damp against that person’s spine. The pirate swayed gently beneath the weight of Luca’s body as they moved forward across earth the color of shattered terra-cotta on a horse that was at least seventeen hands high.
The Torrent.
Luca knew enough of his homeland to know that much of it was burnt and barren. The continent of the Sand and Sky had been named to encompass the closer-to-the-sun locations of the mountainous Ardenia and Pyrenee and the lowland beaches of Basilica and Myrcell, but truly the Torrent captured both. It was the Sand and Sky on the most extreme palette—skies so clear they blinded and burned, a landscape of nothing but sand scorched sienna. Mountains ringed the bowl that made up the Torrent on all sides, coolly standing sentry in the distance. The only variations here were flattop plateaus scattered at intervals across the terrain.
The pirates had been overly cautious in securing Luca—his hands were bound and latched to the saddle, another rope connected his midsection to the horse, too, and his legs were tied to the rider’s stirrups. One rope would’ve been enough to keep him from sliding off, but they clearly weren’t taking any chances. Which was funny, because he hadn’t put up much of a fight in the stable—the evidence was undeniable in the bruises that had bloomed across his back, the knot at his temple, the pounding behind his eyes. Not to mention the blood that coated his mouth, drier than it should be thanks to the arid climate.
His periphery was such that he was able to see a rider next to him, but that horse was just enough ahead of the one he was strapped to that he couldn’t make out the rider. Figuring he’d learned all he could know while still, Luca finally raised his head.
His rider reacted in an instant.
“The cargo’s awake!” It was the girl’s voice—he was tied to her back. Both she and the parallel rider, who he could now see was the tall Myrcellian boy, came to a halt. Luca expected the Eritrian’s voice to come next from up ahead, leader that he was, and the boy didn’t disappoint.
“Welcome. You missed the breakfast we weren’t going to feed you.”
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 still willingly 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—”