27
Aren
Aren walked down the cool corridor, listening to the thunder of the typhoon outside, the air heavy with moisture and the charge of lightning. He had a hundred things to do. A thousand. But like iron to a lodestone, he was drawn from even the most important of tasks to find her.
Pausing on the landing of the stairs, he rested his elbows on the railing to look down into the foyer of the palace. Lara sat on the floor amidst a dozen children, who all watched her with rapt expressions. She was reading to them, as she often did during storms, her voice rising and falling dramatically, the children leaning forward with anticipation as the tale reached its climax. Sensing his presence, she looked up, a slow smile crossing her face.
Boom.
The palace shook with the intensity of the thunder, and several of the children jumped in alarm.
“Easy now,” Lara whispered. “There is no danger here.”
Lightning flashed, illuminating the vaulted room, and it struck Aren that for it to do so was strange, because there were no windows.
Boom.
All the lamps guttered out, plunging the palace into darkness. Screams filled the air, and Aren raced down the steps, tripping and stumbling in the darkness. “Lara!”
More screams.
“Lara!”
Lightning flashed again, and for a heartbeat, Aren could see. See the palace floors and walls splattered with crimson. Then once again he was cast into darkness.
Boom.
“Lara!” he shouted her name, feeling around in the darkness. “Where are you?”
More lightning, illuminating Lara on her knees, her father standing behind her with a knife to her throat. “Tell us how to break Eranahl.”
Aren jerked awake.
All around him was blackness and noise, and he coughed violently, his mouth as dry as sawdust, tongue tasting like grit.
Panic raced through him, and he clawed away the scarf wrapping his face, his knuckles brushing against the soft texture of hair.
Lara.
Her shivering body pressed against his. One of his arms was beneath her neck, the other wrapped around her torso, their fingers linked. She coughed, then rolled to face him, still asleep. And though he knew he shouldn’t, Aren tightened his arms around her, holding her close against the icy cold of the desert night.
The noise was incredible—as intense as that from any typhoon—the raging wind slamming sand and God knew what else against the sides of the small stone building. Thunder made the ground shake. Despite the closed door and the total lack of windows, dust and sand still hung in the air, forcing him to pull the scarf back over his nose and mouth, though he hated the suffocating feeling of it.
Lara had said little after revealing they were in the compound where she’d been raised, both of them so exhausted they’d fallen asleep next to one another, her wearing his shirt in lieu of her soaked dress. But it hadn’t required any explanation for Aren to realize that she’d saved his life.
He last remembered being surrounded by gritty, choking blackness, and then nothing, until he’d woken to her pouring water into his mouth. Which meant she’d managed to both find this building and drag him inside, and then she’d gone back out to retrieve water. Seemingly impossible feats, though she’d proven them otherwise, and it elicited from him a grudging admiration.
Lara’s capacity to endure hardship was nothing short of astonishing, and that surprised him and yet somehow . . . didn’t. Even when she’d been hiding her true nature from him, she’d shown herself to be both adaptable and willing to push herself through the worst sort of circumstances. Part of it was training—what Serin and the rest had put her and her sisters through during their time in this place, but that wasn’t the whole of it.
Willpower. That was what kept her going. Sheer force of will and a stubbornness to match.
But what did she hope to gain from helping him?
If it was him taking her back, she was wasting her time. It didn’t matter if the letter reaching her father had been a mistake; the consequences were the same. And it was all the result of her lies, her deception, her manipulation. The woman he’d fallen in love with didn’t exist—she was just a mask Lara had chosen to wear for a time. He didn’t know her. Didn’t want to.
Liar, a little voice whispered inside of his head. Look at yourself! If you weren’t both half dead, you’d probably be between her legs!
Anger fired through him, and Aren pulled his arm out from under Lara’s neck and sat up. Searching around in the darkness, he found her dress, which was dry, and rested it over her sleeping form. Then the winds abruptly died, the barrage of projectiles attacking their shelter ceasing their assault.
The door was outlined by faint light, and he eased it open, blinking at the brightness of the early morning sun, watching as the wall of sand and storm moved steadily west. Entirely different than the typhoons that battered Ithicana, but no less deadly.
Shutting the door behind him, he assessed the place where Lara had grown up.
There was red sand everywhere, piled high enough to cover parts of the stone buildings at the perimeter of the compound, but his gaze went immediately to the trees and foliage, which seemed so out of place in the wasteland of the desert.
As was the smell of water.
Aren walked between the buildings, which were soot-stained, some of the doors shattered or charred. But he didn’t pause to investigate, his thirst driving him forward.
Reaching the trees—battered and leafless trunks thanks to the storm—he found the spring that fed the greenery, though it was nothing more than sandy soup. Scooping out sand until a pool of water formed, he drank from his cupped hands, gagging on the grit even as he relished the feel of the tepid liquid on his tongue. Only when his thirst was quenched did he proceed to the center of the oasis, where he found a large table surrounded by toppled chairs nearly buried by sand. Scattered silverware peeked out, glinting in the sun, and there were broken plates and pieces of glass strewn about.
Curious, Aren stepped closer, but his foot caught something in the sand and he tripped, nearly falling. Reaching down to untangle his boot, his hand froze as he realized what he had stepped on.
A desiccated corpse.
Swearing, he pulled his foot free of the bones and fabric, but as he lifted his head, he realized the body wasn’t alone. Everywhere he looked, bones protruded from the sand, the scene no longer appearing like an abandoned party, but like a grave.
He searched the surrounding buildings, the contents smashed and burned, and found more bodies. Dozens of dead, the fire not hot enough to consume the evidence. Despite having seen more than his fair share of corpses, this place made his skin crawl.
“Aren!” Lara’s voice reached his ears, and he stepped outside, blinking in the bright sun. “Aren, where are you?”
Let her panic, the angry part of his conscience whispered. Let her think you left, that you don’t need her.
Then he saw her coming down the path wearing only his shirt and her boots. She was moving slowly, a blindfold still wrapped around her eyes. What was wrong with her?
“Aren!” Her arms were outstretched, reaching for the sides of buildings for guidance, but her boot caught on a rock and she tripped and fell. She was up again in a flash, but from the way she swayed he could tell she was disoriented. Lost. “Are you all right?”