32
Aren
Aren woke with a start, hands scrambling for purchase as he slid sideways. His fingers latched on the camel’s neck, his head swimming with dizziness as he carefully righted himself in the saddle. To which he was tied.
He eyed the rising sun, then growled, “Why didn’t you wake me?”
No answer.
Pivoting in the saddle, he scanned his surroundings, but Lara was nowhere in sight. Unease filled his chest. Had she collapsed? Was she back behind him somewhere, lying helpless in the sand?
Snatching up the reins of the camel, he yanked them, trying to force the animal to turn, but Jack ignored him, ears perked forward toward something Aren couldn’t see in the dim light.
“You don’t want to leave her behind,” Aren said, hauling again on the reins. “She likes you. I don’t.”
But his efforts were fruitless.
Giving up, Aren dropped the reins and began to unfasten the knots tying his legs to the saddle, the only thing that had kept him from falling off entirely. Sliding to the ground, he dug in his heels, forcibly pulling the camel to a stop. It was only then that he noticed the hobbles around Jack’s forelegs.
Had she tried to stop for the night and the camel had wandered off with Aren aboard? Even as the thought crossed his mind, he shook it away, his head aching with the motion. Lara’s coat and all of their supplies were still attached to the saddle, and even if he’d spooked, Jack couldn’t move fast enough in the hobbles to escape Lara’s practiced hands.
A faint breeze brushed Aren’s face, and the camel tugged insistently on the lead, showing more enthusiasm for speed than Aren had seen from him during their entire trek. And there could be only one reason for that: water. The camel was heading toward the oasis Lara had spoken of.
In an instant, Aren’s sun-addled mind understood what Lara had done, and he swore, kicking at the sand. Jack took the opportunity to try to carry on, but Aren hauled him back. “We need to wait for Her Majesty to return lest we foil her precious plan.”
The edge of the sun appeared in the east, rising higher and higher, but Lara didn’t return. Aren drank deeply from one of the waterskins, wiping sweat from his brow as he scanned the horizon for movement.
Jack voiced his displeasure at the delay, the noise echoing over the empty dunes.
“I know,” he replied to the camel. “She should be back by now.”
Which meant something had gone wrong.
33
Lara
They put her in a goddamned pillory.
In the middle of the market, the big man and his friends had forced Lara, kicking and screaming, to her knees while her head and hands were shoved into the wooden frame of the pillory, the top piece slamming down to hold her in place while she spat curses at them.
Not that it had done her any good.
Sweat rolled in rivers down her body, the rising sun baking her naked skin because of course they hadn’t allowed her to keep her clothes. They’d taken everything from her, not even leaving enough to keep her decent.
And she knew exactly why.
“Drink, pretty one, drink.”
A cup was held up to her lips and precious water poured into her mouth while she desperately tried to swallow as much as she could without choking. Then she rolled her eyes up to examine the giant man who’d captured her. He was a product of the desert, his face and complexion courtesy of ancestors from both Maridrina and Valcotta.
“An easy death is no punishment.” He patted her cheek. “And I have money on you lasting through the end of the week. Long enough for the sun to cook the skin from your bones.”
When a cup of water could mean life or death, theft was taken as seriously as murder in the Red Desert and punished accordingly. They’d found a piece of meat stuck in one of the camel’s packs and determined she was the one who’d spooked them, and all the ire that had been directed against the dogs’ owner had been turned on her. It was only this man who’d kept them from beating her to death, but it wasn’t out of a sense of altruism. It had been his apricots she’d stolen, and he apparently appreciated a more prolonged demise.
“Kiss my ass,” she growled, but he only laughed and slapped said ass, the skin, unused to exposure to the sun, already badly burned.
For that, she fully intended to gut him.
That delightful visual was circling Lara’s thoughts when the sound of a man singing off-key reached her ears. It was a vulgar Harendellian tavern song about a man and a mule that she’d heard many a time during her weeks in the northern nation, but not once since.
Lifting her head, Lara squinted against the brilliant light, watching the lone camel approaching the town. The man riding him was swaying in the saddle, one hand holding the reins, the other holding a flask, the metal glinting in the sun. Riding into the market square, he hauled on the reins, the camel coming to a stop right as the man finished his song.
Aren awkwardly dismounted, his foot catching on the saddle and sending him sprawling, inspiring laughter from the few merchants who remained in the market.
“Damn you, cursed beast!” Aren shouted at Jack. “You moved!” Then he lifted the flask to his lips, apparently found it empty, and tossed it aside. “I need a drink! Someone sell me a drink!”
The merchant whose camels Lara had spooked wandered toward him, a bottle held loosely in one hand. “My friend, my friend, how is it that you have come to us alone and in such a state? What has happened to you?”
Lara watched as Aren rested his head in his hands, her jaw dropping as he abruptly wailed, “It’s gone.” When he lifted his head, tears streaked his face. “A storm like none I’ve seen before swept our camp, stealing away my companions and merchandise. All dead. All gone. My grandmother warned me not to risk my wealth to the sand, but my ambitions outweighed my good sense.”
It was all Lara could do not to roll her eyes. Clearly Aren had noticed her in the pillory, the comment as much for her as the merchant.
“The desert is a fickle woman, my friend.” The merchant patted Aren’s shoulder. “How is it that you survived?”
Aren wiped his eyes. “Fortune clearly wished for me to live with my mistakes rather than to rest in ignorance in the endless sleep.” Then his gaze latched on the bottle in the merchant’s hands. “If you are a true friend, you’ll help me drown my sorrows.”
“Of course, of course.” The man extracted a cup and poured a measure, handing it over to Aren, who downed it in one mouthful, holding it out for more. But the merchant clucked mournfully.
“Alas, friend, all things have a price in the desert.”
“But I’ve lost everything!” he moaned. “Take pity on me.”
That was a lie. Lara knew Aren had gold and silver in his pockets because she’d given it to him in case they were separated. It was more than enough to pay for lodging and supplies and for Jack to drink his fill. What was he up to?
“Perhaps you might have something you wish to sell?”
“I’ve nothing.” Aren rested his head in the sand, masterfully playing the part of a spoiled merchant’s son. Jack chose that moment to start walking toward the lake, Aren crawling after him, trying to reach for the reins. The merchant reached out and pulled Jack to a halt, his eyes running over both animal and trappings, calculating their value even as he measured the level of Aren’s desperation.