She could hear only one, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more. Didn’t mean that they weren’t coming up from all sides, ready to attack.
Twisting, Lara pressed her back against the wall next to him, scanning their surroundings for any sign of motion while cursing her blurry vision.
But there was nothing. Nothing but the single individual whose camel was now drinking at the spring. An easy kill.
Or would be, if she weren’t blinded by tears.
Lifting her weapon, Lara took a deep breath. “On three,” she mouthed to Aren.
“One.”
Aren raced around the corner. Swearing, Lara ran after him.
Only to collide with his back.
“What are you doing?” she snarled.
“Thanking Lady Luck,” he answered, then stepped aside. “See for yourself.”
29
Aren
The camel had its head shoved into the spring, its throat convulsing as it swallowed mouthful after mouthful of water, though one eye shifted in his direction as Aren approached.
It still wore a bridle and saddle, the latter sitting upon trappings in Maridrinian colors, but what interested Aren more was the dead man dangling upside down next to the camel, foot tangled in part of the saddle.
“I suppose no one explained the rules about the water to the camel.” He started toward the pair.
“Aren, it could be a ruse!” Lara leapt into his path, panning their surroundings.
He sidestepped her. “I don’t think so.” Or at least, that was what his gut—along with years of experience repelling raiders —was telling him.
The camel sidled sideways when Aren reached for the dangling reins, making an awful noise before snapping its yellow teeth at him.
“Don’t bother it while it’s drinking.” Lara came up next to him, weapon still in hand. With a frown, she unhooked the dead soldier’s foot, the man falling to the ground with a thud.
Aren dragged the corpse out of reach of the camel’s hooves, then crouched to examine it. The soldier’s body was battered from being dragged, skin scoured by sand and storm, but Aren judged that he’d been dead for less than a day. Which meant he was very likely one of their pursuers. And hopefully that meant the rest of them were dead.
Lara removed the animal’s saddle and dropped it next to Aren, leaving him to unfasten the buckles on the saddlebags and extract the contents. Dried meat, fruit, and nuts. Not much, but it would be enough to sustain them for a few days. Possibly a week.
There was also canvas and ropes for a tent, the missing poles easily replaced. Two waterskins, which he added to the pile, and at the bottom of the saddlebag, a flask that was filled with whiskey.
“Seems sound.” Lara released the camel’s rear hoof, which she’d been inspecting, and gave the animal a pat on the rump. “Do the bags have what we need?”
“Enough to make do.”
“Good.” Lara dusted her hands on her skirts. “We’ll let this boy drink his fill and then give him what fodder is left in the stables. Let's get some rest. We leave tonight.”
30
Lara
Instead of heeding her own advice, Lara left Aren asleep on one of the beds, unable to resist further exploration of the place that had once been both prison and home.
Her legs carried her through the dormitories, moving from room to room until she reached the one she’d shared with Sarhina, which was largely untouched. Barely big enough for the two narrow cots it contained, it was devoid of any personal touches, for such things had always been forbidden to her and her sisters. The small chest of drawers was marked with soot, but opening it revealed the clothing she’d worn during her time here.
Pulling off her ruined dress, she inspected her injuries as best she could, her eyes still streaming tears. She pulled on clean undergarments, trousers, a linen shirt, and a coat, then braided her hair, feeling more human than she had since the night she’d rescued Aren.
Dropping to her knees, she lifted the loose stone beneath her bed, revealing the tiny hole where she’d hid her wooden box of childish treasures. She sat on the bed with the box in her lap and lifted out the contents one by one.
A bracelet Bronwyn had woven for her out of leather, which she slipped onto her wrist.
A shiny silver coin Sarhina had found and given her, the face worn beyond identification, which she tucked into her pocket.
Scraps of paper with notes complaining about their masters, which her sisters had written and passed among each other.
Those she flipped through, smiling at some, her heart breaking at others, for many of her masters had been cruel in their tutelage. Serin’s name was notably absent, none of the girls brave enough to write anything critical about him. He’d always been too good at ferreting them out.
Setting the package aside, she reached back into the box and pushed aside a vial in favor of a silver necklace with a sapphire pendant dangling from it. It was sized for a child, too small to fit around her neck now, but she still held it to her throat, tears that had nothing to do with sand welling in her eyes at the feel of it.
Her mother had given it to her. Lara had only a few memories of the woman, but one of them had been of her fastening this necklace around Lara’s neck. She’d been wearing it when her father’s soldiers had taken her, and she’d hidden it all these years, her most cherished possession. Proof that at one point, she’d been loved.
And the mother who’d loved her had died for it.
A sob tore from her throat, and she doubled over, shoulders shaking.
“You all right?”
The cot across from her creaked, and she looked up to find Aren sitting on it, elbows resting on his knees as he regarded her.
“My mother gave it to me,” she said, holding it up. “It’s the only thing I have left of her.”
“I’m glad you had the chance to retrieve it.”
Rubbing her thumb across the stone, Lara nodded. “I was wearing your mother’s necklace the night . . .” She trailed off, giving her head a shake. “It was how I got back. I traced the stones on a piece of paper and used it for a map.”
“Clever.”
“I assumed you’d want it back, so I left it in Eranahl.”
He didn’t answer, only stared at the ground between them. “When I looked for you, I found the room where Serin kept his . . . implements.”
She stiffened, knowing exactly what Aren meant. Serin considered torture an art form to be perfected, and courtesy of his training, she’d been on both the receiving and delivering end of the implements.
“Serin couldn’t physically harm me, so he made me watch while he tortured the Ithicanians he caught. When he wasn’t asking damnable questions about how to breach Eranahl’s defenses, he’d talk about the things he’d done to you and your sisters. And the things he’d had you do to each other.”
Lara felt the blood drain from her face, and she looked away. “We twelve weren’t the only girls brought to the compound. There were twenty of us. Two died from illness. Four were killed in combat training, and one in an accident. But one . . . Her name was Alina, and she refused to play Serin’s games. Refused over and over again. Then one night, she went missing.” Lara swallowed hard. “I don’t think she escaped.”