Aren nodded slowly. “He especially liked to tell me what he intended to do to you, when you were caught. Would trick me into believing they had you. And I was terrified because I knew if they ever succeeded, I’d tell them anything they wanted to know.”
A dull ache formed in Lara’s stomach. For the pain Aren endured, and also because Serin had been able to use her against him. “He’ll get what’s coming to him one of these days, I promise you.”
“I’m not sure that will change anything.”
Needing to cut the tension, she asked, “What’s my brother like?”
Aren huffed out a breath. “He’s bloody awful. I can’t stand him.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion on him. I asked what he was like.”
“He’s a scheming smartass and quite taken with his own intelligence.”
“Is he intelligent?”
Aren gave a grudging nod. “Yes. But he’s . . . hard to pin down. He claims he only wants the crown because the alternative is a grave next to his siblings, but I’m not convinced. Your father detests him for not fitting the mold he has in mind for an heir, but Keris provokes him rather than accommodating him.” Frowning, he stared at the cracked stone floor beneath their feet. “He’s willing to risk his life to stand by certain principles, but he speaks of himself as though he were a coward. He makes no sense to me.”
“Don’t trust him, Aren. He only helped you and the Valcottan woman escape because feeding Eranahl furthers his own ambitions.”
“I think it’s more complex than that,” he answered, then reached into her treasure box and plucked out the last item. “What’s this?”
“Poison.”
“Most girls keep love letters in their treasure boxes, but you keep murder weapons.”
The laugh that exited her throat was bitter. “It’s what I used to fake my sisters’ deaths—it’s my own concoction. More than a few drops and you’re dead, so mind you don’t stick your feet in my drinking water again.”
“Noted.”
Rising to her feet, Lara shoved the bottle, along with the necklace, into the pocket of her coat. “Let’s go. The sun’s about to set, and we need to start walking.”
31
Lara
Don’t push him too hard. For about the thousandth time, the thought circled Lara’s head, and she cast a sideways glance to where Aren trudged through the sand, his shoulders bowed, face marked by the shadows of the lamp she carried.
They’d been walking for a week, and they still hadn’t reached the nearest oasis in the outpost of Jerin.
She hadn’t accounted for the toll captivity had taken upon him, mentally or physically. The Aren she knew in Ithicana was as fit as a man could be, able to push himself to extremes for days—weeks—at a time without faltering. But during imprisonment, he’d been shackled, never walking farther than the distance between his rooms and the palace courtyards, the sedentary life so at odds with who he was that it was a wonder he hadn’t been driven to madness.
If they’d been able to stick with her plan and journey up the coast, he would’ve been fine, or near enough to it not to cause concern, but the Red Desert was an entirely different journey. An entirely different beast.
Aren knew heat, but not like this. And she doubted he’d ever gone more than a few hours without water. Why would he have to when the skies of Ithicana provided more than one could ever drink? Even true hunger was a stranger to him, for the islands were full of things to eat if one knew where to look—which is why his people were surviving even cut off from the bridge as they were.
The thought of the Ithicanians made Lara grind her teeth in frustration. She and Aren were behind schedule, which wasn’t something they could afford. The calm season—what had once been War Tides—would soon begin, which meant they had little time to secure Valcotta’s assistance to drive out Maridrina. Any further delays and they’d lose the opportunity, for an attack during storm season would be impossible. Even if her father lost the support of the Amaridian navy, it would still be next to impossible for those in Eranahl to survive another storm season without the bridge.
Aren chose that moment to stumble, nearly falling, and Lara’s heart sank. Tugging on the camel’s lead until it stopped, she said, “Get on and ride for a bit.”
“Not a chance.”
Aren did not get along with the camel, which she had christened Jack, both of them casting dark glares at each other when they thought the other wasn’t looking. She’d convinced him to ride once before, but while Aren was still righting himself in the saddle, Jack had stood, sending Aren tumbling headfirst into the sand. To say that he’d taken the incident poorly would be an understatement.
Lara chewed on the insides of her cheeks. “The Jerin oasis is only a few hours from here. If we’re going to get in and out without being caught, you need to be not stumbling over your own boots.”
“We’ve got plenty of water left. We bypass it and keep walking.”
They probably did have enough water to get through, but the small amount of food that had been in Jack’s saddlebags was long gone. Lara didn’t think Aren would make it through another week of these conditions on an empty stomach. Wasn’t certain if she could.
“Jack has gone a week without drinking. He needs some water.” A lie, given the animal could easily go another week without, even in this heat. But Aren didn’t know that. “So unless you want to give up your share, we need to stop.”
“I’m not killing innocent merchants.”
Lara cast her eyes up at the stars, begging them for patience. “There are likely close to a hundred people in Jerin, so killing everyone to keep them silent isn’t an option. Stealth is. But right now you couldn’t sneak through a Harendellian tavern full of drunks.”
She could all but hear his stubbornness warring with his practicality, but eventually the latter won over and he stopped walking. “Only for an hour.”
“Fine.” Urging the camel to lay down, she waited for Aren to climb on and then extracted some rope.
“What are you doing?”
“In case you fall asleep. I don’t need you falling off and breaking your neck.”
That he allowed her to tie him to the saddle was testament to his exhaustion, but Lara said nothing as she completed the work, nudging Jack back to his feet and leading him onward.
They walked through the night and, as she’d anticipated, the rolling stride of the animal slowly lulled Aren to sleep, his shoulders slumping lower and lower until his face rested against the camel’s neck. It was at about that moment that a faint breeze rolled over them and Jack lifted his head in interest, his pace quickening.
“You smell the water, boy?” she asked, patting him on the neck. “Good. You keep walking in that direction.”
Groaning, Jack pulled on the lead, trying to get her to move faster.
“I know,” she murmured, “but I need you to buy me some time.”
Stopping the animal, she hobbled him so that he could only move at a slow walk. Removing all the empty waterskins, she flipped them over her shoulder. “Take care of him for me,” she said, stroking the camel’s neck, then she broke into a slow run in the direction of the oasis.