“Find the anti-venom, pay for it, administer it, and then deliver you to Medikua Aritza before I alert the council to my return.”
“And if we don’t find someone with access to anti-venom?”
“We skip to the final two steps of the plan and hope I don’t have to amputate before we achieve them.”
Luca chewed on that. “What are you paying with? I didn’t see gold in the saddlebags.”
Apparently the fact that she was in a ball gown wasn’t the only thing he’d missed in those early minutes when they’d paused after their escape—perhaps that inattention was the poison already at work. The princess grinned softly and plucked the pouch from her dress. She tugged it open and tipped it his way; the diamonds’ facets shimmered in the light, dancing across Luca’s face. “Leaving right after dinner didn’t simply mean riding away in a dress. Until very recently, this was a necklace from the Itspi’s collection.”
Luca’s eyes settled on the sparkling gems. “Oh, Ama…”
“Don’t finish that sentence, Luca,” was all she said. Tagging on something like you’re worth it would only make it worse. That thing that had sat between them their whole lives reared its head again. He was worth these jewels and more in any situation; but as she was the princess of the sometimes-called Kingdom of Diamonds, the gems weren’t especially precious to her. All she would have to do was say the word on their return to the Itspi, and five other necklaces of greater value would be brought for her inspection.
And so she didn’t add to her sentence either. She wouldn’t cheapen what he was worth to her. He was worth literally everything she’d been through thus far, plus what was to come, and more—diamonds, battle, the political ramifications. Everything.
The princess stowed the jewels and guided their party carefully toward the trickling stream. She was after human interaction, but she stayed cautious, gauging the lay of the land before they made their presence fully known.
The banks were calm, everyone minding their own business—nothing unsavory or violent in progress. Amarande tied Mira to the stump of a tree at the water’s edge and helped Luca off the horse. Careful not to move too much, he sat immediately and began filling the waterskins. Amarande fished out some dried meat from one of the bags, handed some to Luca, and surveyed her choices as she chewed a piece herself.
There were four clusters of travelers—none she’d seen before. A pair of young men made old before their years by the brutal sun. Two women cradling babes in slings across their chests, traveling with a single man and a boy of six or seven. And three men who at first glance sent a chill up Amarande’s spine, because they looked far too much like the men who’d robbed her. They weren’t—their clothes and hair were all wrong, and none of them bore the injuries she’d dealt, but just the sight of three men like that traveling in a pack was enough to give her pause.
She decided upon the family. Amarande wasn’t comfortable around women with children, mostly because they made her think of the mother she never knew. She wasn’t much older than these babes were now when Queen Geneva decided her freedom was more important than her daughter. The tendril of a thought nagged at Amarande then—that when this was all over she should visit the Warlord and put a truth to what her mind wanted her to see a night ago.
Amarande had to cross the stream to get to them. Leaving her sword with Luca, she hiked up what was left of her shredded skirt, took off her boots and stockings, and carried them across. Her knife was hidden in one of the boots, ready should she need it as she waded across the water to negotiate. The women were crouched at the bank, swirling clothes in the waters, cleaning with only the anemic creek’s agitation.
Both women stopped what they were doing and straightened as she approached. One of the babies in a sling watched, too, the other child asleep. The man and boy didn’t join them, busy filling waterskins.
“Arritxu,” she began, addressing the women in ancient Torrentian as ladies—it was something Abene and Maialen had always told her was preferred here—“please, if you’d help me. My companion is in need of anti-venom for a bite from a Harea Asp. I have items for trade and can pay very well.”
The women said nothing at first. The one on the left—young with hazel eyes and freckled brown skin—swung her gaze over to the other woman before finally speaking. “That was no Harea Asp or your friend would be dead, not drinking water from the banks.”
Amarande’s smile dropped. “I assure you he came in contact with a Harea Asp. You are correct that the snake didn’t get a full bite—its fangs grazed his skin. Not a full shot of venom, but he’s feeling its effects.”
The other woman spoke—she was slightly older, with a few strands of silver sparkling in her dark hair. “I know of a healer who is very gifted. What will you give us to lead you to her?”
Here, Amarande needed to be careful. They didn’t have the antidote, so they would get no diamonds. The princess licked her lips, waiting for the right words to come.
“We have oats.” Luca was sloshing through the water now, holding out what was left of the small sack that had been the spark she needed to track him. He smiled at them, kind as always, then pulled out a few oats to prove the contents. “For your horses—or for your babies.”
Genius, Amarande thought. Diamonds were valuable here only for what they could purchase—multipurpose or hard-to-get items were at the top of that list. Oats satisfied both of those criteria, and Luca was cutting out the middleman.
The women eyed the oats and then each other. Finally, the second woman spoke again.
“For the whole bag, we can lead you to the Isilean Caravan, the home of the healer—gifted, very gifted—and her apprentice.”
The princess hesitated. Amarande didn’t want to waste time trying to find a nomadic city. That might take them in the wrong direction. And if they didn’t find the anti-venom there, it could be too late to get to Medikua Aritza at the Itspi.
And then of course there was her last run-in with a caravan. Which had not been pleasant.
But Luca was worth anything and everything.
Any decision she made from here on out would feel wrong, mostly because his life and her heart were riding on it.
The princess swallowed, unsure how to track a meandering city. Locating a caravan, let alone the correct caravan, wasn’t something Koldo or Sendoa had ever covered in her lessons. “How far is this caravan?”
“A couple of hours in the correct direction,” the younger woman said. “It is coming our way. We’re to meet it at the Hand, where it will settle for the night.”
Her best estimate was that there were still about fifteen hours of hard riding between them and the castle.
This was their best bet.
“Can you lead us there the shortest way possible? Please?” Amarande asked quietly, trying very hard to keep the hot desperation out of her voice, afraid it might scare them. Scare Luca. She wrapped a hand around his arm. “For him?”
The women looked to Luca, holding the oats out in front of his body while balancing on one leg. The golden color of his face had gone sallow, a clammy sweat cold over his brow.
The older one nodded. “We will lead you.”