Not caring what the healers thought, the princess pulled his head into the cradle of her lap, fluffing the fabric of her skirt and underpinnings so that he might lie more comfortably. Then she watched him as the women cleaned up their tinctures and dressings. As they finished, Naiara knelt next to Luca.
“Little queen, he must be stationary for a day.”
The princess’s eyes flew up. “A day? But we need to get home.”
The healer was unmoved. “Twelve hours, but then no walking. Riding only.”
“You just took our horse. How are we supposed to ride?”
Again, Naiara ignored her question. “His body must have time to accept the medication. And if there are complications—”
The princess’s heart stopped. “Complications? What complications?”
“A bite like this is difficult to judge for dosing. Given too much, and his blood might clot more than it should. Or his body may reject the serum altogether and send him into shock.”
Amarande swallowed, trying very hard to recover her voice. It was tight when the words finally came. “I wish you would’ve told us this before you administered it to him.”
The woman’s eyes met hers. They weren’t cold, simply stern. “Would you have not done it?”
“Well, I … no, I would’ve done it.”
Naiara nodded, eyes downcast on Luca’s face.
“Little queen,” the woman said, a drop of kindness finally in her voice for the princess, “I’ve done all I can to ensure he will survive this. Now you must heed my warning and let him rest as long and as well as you are able.”
CHAPTER
33
THE caravan trudged on for hours more until it slowed, the swell of orders and answers pushing past the carriage curtains.
They’d reached their destination for the night—the Hand.
Some said the ashen rock formation appeared after the Warlord took over the Torrent. A metaphor for his—her?—power grab over the ousted Otxoa ruling family. But Amarande didn’t believe it any more than she believed any other wild tales about this place. She’d learned much in the past day and a half about the Torrent, but nothing to convince her that instant geological phenomena were possible.
And though the Hand was impressive and just as described—seven horses high with four distinctive fingers and a thumb, tapered at the tops and sloping to a wide palm and heel—the princess barely glanced at it.
She only had eyes for Luca, in her lap, dead asleep. Naiara had said he’d be out for an hour, but by the time the Hand came into view and the caravan slowed to a halt, he’d been asleep for at least two, maybe closer to three.
Not a good sign.
Naiara and Señe allowed them to stay in their carriage as the caravan made camp. A tent city went up in a matter of minutes, cook fires started, the smell of roasted meat mingling with the scent of smoke and parched embers. The lilt of a thousand voices came in a buzz of an insect’s wings. And it was only then, with the sun hanging low in a sky just as orange as the earth surrounding them, that Luca’s eyes fluttered. They focused and Amarande watched, her own face hanging over his head in her lap.
“Ama, you’re here,” Luca whispered, his voice waking, too.
“Always, Luca.” He smiled at her echo of his often-used phrase, and her heart skipped with the hope that maybe he really was saying he loved her every time the words left his lips. She bent to kiss him, awkward and upside down and working around his smile. Execution didn’t matter. After a sloppy few seconds she whispered against his cheek, “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
The princess called for the healer then, and Luca’s leg was inspected. It was still swollen and flat black, either with no sensation at all or registering a feverish pain—but the necrosis had halted.
“Much better, kidege,” Naiara said as she gently removed her hands from the injured leg. “Eat and drink well, and rest for the night. We must watch for infection or any delayed reaction to the anti-venom.”
Amarande didn’t want to stay with the caravan for the night, but she also didn’t want to endanger Luca by running too soon. He had yet to test the leg, and she hadn’t yet found a solution for the loss of Mira.
Naiara secured them food and a tent. She told them they were welcome to eat with the caravan, but Amarande knew that doing so would mean questions. Who they were, where they were from, what had happened.
In the bag Amarande had stolen from Luca’s female captor, she found an extra pair of trousers and a tunic. They’d been worn—sweat stains ringed the waist and under the arms—but they would do.
Luca sat with his back to the princess as she changed into the pirate’s clothes behind a few yards of linen, but apparently that didn’t keep a blush from creeping up his ears, because after a few moments Naiara cackled, “Oh, kidege, you’ve got your color back.”
Amarande blushed, too.
As night bloomed from the horizon, they were led to their tent, set aside on the eastern edge of the caravan—outsiders were literally left to the outside in places like this. Spots such as this were undesirable—open to the wind, open to attack from vandals as well as the animals that roamed here—but it was better than the princess expected. And it allowed them to eat alone.
Amarande made a fire, and when it was good and hot, they roasted the food Naiara had secured them—a skinned fox and wrinkled plums—their stomachs growling side by side as the flames did their job.
Luca’s appetite was healthy enough that Amarande could barely pay attention to her own food, watching every morsel that passed his lips to make sure he could swallow it down.
As the sun disappeared for good, Luca disappeared into the tent. When he reappeared, it was with sleeping blankets tucked to his chest.
“What are you doing? Stop that,” Amarande whispered from where she was adding to the fire so that it might last the night. She’d seen one black wolf and she wasn’t about to let another attack at night—if any other impossible animal roamed these open spaces, it had lived long enough to steer clear of flame.
“I don’t think we should share the tent. I’ll stay out here.”
The princess immediately turned red enough that she was thankful for the night sky. Amarande hadn’t kissed him since that waking moment, and suddenly she was feeling both shy and completely emboldened. She stomped over to the tent and pulled out her own blankets. “I’m the one who should stay in the open. You get back in there and protect your wound from the elements.”
Luca didn’t answer, just plopped down by the fire.
She plopped down next to him.
“Princess, please.”
Amarande shook her head. “If you won’t use it, I won’t either.”
“If I didn’t know you were born in the Itspi, I’d guess you were born stuck in the mud, Ama.”
“Stubbornness is an admirable trait.”
Luca’s dimples caught the firelight. “I didn’t say it wasn’t.”
Amarande scooted closer to him. Close enough to mimic what the spatial arrangements in their tent would’ve been. She made it a point to lie in the same direction as Luca, their shoulders nearly touching, as they both looked up at the stars. “Good, because now that I’m set, I’m not moving. I got you back and then I worried all day I’d lose you for good, and now I’m going to take every precaution possible to make sure I wake with you by my side.”