He had an obvious limp, but still his dimples flashed, as optimistic as ever. “Like new.”
The princess’s fingers tightened around his, tears sparking in her eyes, something soft and swift rising in her gut and pushing a lump into her throat. She ripped one hand away to bat at her eyes. Luca wrapped his arms around her and drew her into his chest. She was just tall enough that her ear met the strong beating of his heart as his palm rubbed her back.
Amarande drew in a breath and peered up at Luca, the desire to kiss him overpowering the embarrassment of her tears and the raw emotion found in them: Though they still had a hundred miles to go before they were home, Luca was safe and healthy, and right here with her.
His chin tipped toward her, lips parting, golden eyes hungry in the morning light. She couldn’t look away, obeying the want deep in her gut as she drew onto her tiptoes and—
“Before you get too far into that, I have a few questions for the two of you.”
Luca and Amarande jerked apart and then back together, startling at the voice. A man revealed himself from behind the tent they hadn’t used. He stepped in front of the opening—right in front of where their supplies, her sword, and the Eritrian’s dagger with his boots were stashed for the night.
The man was tall and lean, like a tree stubborn enough to reach for the stars on too few nutrients. The rest of him was nondescript: brown hair, skin that started pale but had been tanned by this life, scruff about his cheeks but no true beard. The voice wasn’t the same as the man’s who’d drugged her two days ago, and the princess wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. She wanted revenge on that one.
“Who are you?” Amarande asked carefully, startled but trying to be polite—they were here as guests of the caravan, after all.
In response, the man crossed his arms, looked to Luca, and said, “Do you always let your woman answer for you?”
“Her question is mine.”
The man smiled, but it wasn’t a happy thing. “I was to meet a group at the Hand last night for the transfer of a prisoner. The group didn’t show. That prisoner is my employer’s property, and it’s my duty to locate him and bring him in. The only people to join the caravan yesterday were the two of you, and you, boy, match the description of the prisoner.”
“There are no prisoners here. We sought medical attention and now will be on our way,” the princess said, and reached for the fire as if she was going to fully extinguish it. Dismissing the man.
Her father’s voice was in the back of her mind, urging her to squeeze more information from this man—“employer” was an interesting word indeed—but Koldo’s advice rang loudest: Escaping alive is the first priority. She’d not lose Luca here after everything else.
“Where to?” the man asked.
“That’s none of your business,” the princess spat, anger now fully on display. She was aware she was making things worse the more she talked to him, since he seemed to think it so unusual that a woman would have an opinion, much less speak for a man, but in Amarande’s estimation, that was his own fault. “I don’t appreciate your questions or that you believe my friend to be here against his will.”
“The group in question was made up of two men and a woman, who I’m told is a savant with a sword.” Luca’s eyes slid to Amarande’s face. She could feel them on her cheek, but she made it a point not to look at him. Not to give it all away. She stared down the man as he completed his theory, growing sicker with each second.
Here—the kidnappers were supposed to deliver Luca here, to this man.
“It’s not such a leap to believe that even a woman such as that would let her emotions get the best of her. Perhaps she killed her partners and missed her drop because she fell for the prisoner, who I’m told is handsome enough to catch a princess’s attentions.”
The man finished with a smile. At her. Amarande did not appreciate what his assumption telegraphed for the motivations of women—her or the girl of the Torrent he was accusing without knowing.
“That’s quite the theory, and incorrect when it comes to the two of us,” Luca said. “Now, if you’ll be going—”
The man drew his knife and shot it at Luca in that moment.
Luca’s words died as his instincts drove his body into motion. Though his balance was unstable and his bitten leg clumsy, he ducked out of the knife’s way while snagging the hilt, just as he’d done that day in the meadow.
The man was already charging Luca, chasing his knife blade, and going for a tackle.
Luca spun out of the way, and at the same time Amarande launched her own knife—in her boot always—straight for the man’s lanky body. But his frame and his movement meant she missed.
The knife grazed his back and clattered into the red earth. Luca was ready and closer, launching the man’s own knife back at him in the same instant Amarande’s missed. The knife pierced the man straight along the spinal column. Instantly his body went raggedy, his control lost as he fell face first to the cold earth.
Amarande hurdled the dying fire as Luca gathered her knife. She grabbed all their belongings from the tent, stuffing them in her arms and immediately heading due east. No looking back. Not to see if the man was alive or dead. Not to ask him whom he worked for. Nothing.
No good-byes to Naiara or Señe. Or Mira. Luca tried out a jog, catching up and trading the princess’s knife for his boots and one of the saddlebags.
“Did I … did we … did he?” Luca was gasping and looking back, trying to shrug on his boots without tying them. “Did that man just die trying to take me captive?”
Amarande wouldn’t look back. She couldn’t see that body on the ground and guess from this distance whether he was in the middle of bleeding out or if he was about to rise and sound the alarm.
“Someone will find him and know why he joined the caravan. And then, if they didn’t know who we were before, they’ll know now,” the princess said, eyes on the fuzzy line of mountains in the distance. They seemed too far for all they had to outrun—the kidnapper pirates, whomever this man worked for, the murder that may or may not have just occurred, and the elements of the Torrent. Maybe more. There was always more. Amarande caught Luca’s eye. “The sooner we get home, the better.”
CHAPTER
35
GAUGING by the sun and the landmarks, Amarande estimated they went about ten miles in the first three hours after their escape. Luca kept pace without complaint, but though she could go faster, the princess held back. They had a hundred miles to go, and if she pushed him too hard and infection set in, there would be no one within a day’s walk to help. And though she was strong, she couldn’t carry him.
Up ahead loomed the beginning of the long, thin rock shelf she’d likened to the dragon’s spine during the sprint into the Torrent with Mira. If they could get there, they could find shade if he needed a rest. People too. Maybe some who’d be swayed by her diamonds to sell them a horse.
Or not.
The princess understood now how little she knew about the world outside the safety of the Itspi, but she never imagined a place where diamonds were refused. Especially considering that was one of the reasons suitors wanted her.