“Perhaps we might come to an arrangement. That wretch”—the merchant jerked his chin in Lara’s direction—“caused one of my animals to go lame, and I cannot spare the time for the beast to heal. If you’d be willing to part with yours, I’d pay you a fair price.”
Lara’s lips parted, the desire to scream, Don’t you dare sell him! rising to her lips. They needed that camel if there was to be any chance of them getting out of the desert alive.
Except Aren was no fool. He knew they needed Jack, which meant he had a plan. It was only that her sunbaked mind was too sluggish to figure it out.
“But I need him,” he whined. “How else am I to get to Valcotta?”
The merchant rubbed his chin. “Perhaps we can truly help one another, my friend. What say you to joining our party when we leave tonight? Your beast can bear a portion of my goods, and in exchange, we shall safely deliver you from the sands.”
His face filled with disbelief, Aren blurted out, “You would do this?”
Yet even from a dozen yards away, Lara could see the glint in his eyes that suggested this was exactly the offer the King of Ithicana had planned to extract from the merchant. And Lara’s blood ran cold. If he went with them, he wouldn’t need her; the men were more than capable of delivering on their promise, and the camel was worth the price of their services and more.
He wouldn’t leave her. He couldn’t. But a voice inside her head whispered, Why shouldn’t he go? Helping you would be a risk, and he owes you nothing.
“Fortune smiles on us a both! What is your name, friend? I’m called Timin.”
“James. And I’m in your debt, Timin.”
The merchant hauled Aren to his feet, leading him and Jack off in the direction of the stables. And Aren didn’t so much as give her a sideways glance as he passed.
The ache in her chest surpassed the throb in her head for intensity, and Lara slumped in the pillory, her eyes burning, though she was too dehydrated for tears. She’d thought things had changed, that Aren had, if not forgiven her, at least let go of the hate that had been consuming him.
But maybe she’d only seen what she’d wanted to see. What she’d hoped for. Or maybe he’d only been pretending. Either way, it appeared as though Aren planned to leave her here to die.
Lara’s chin trembled as she struggled not to sob, then she clamped her teeth down hard. She was a queen. A warrior. But more than that, she was the little cockroach.
And she had no intention of dying.
The hours stretched, the sun moving slowly across the sky, the only respite from its blistering heat the shadow cast by the pillory. Lara kept her head low, hair concealing her face, her hands curled as far under her wrists as possible in order to protect them from the sun. With her knees and toes, she slowly dug into the ground, covering her lower legs with sand while keeping her thighs beneath the shadow of her torso.
But there was nothing she could do to protect her back or her bottom, her exposed skin already burned to the point of blistering. More scars to add to her collection.
Like clockwork, the big man brought her water, which Lara drank greedily while contemplating how she’d kill him once she was freed. Never mind that she still had no notion of how to escape the pillory.
Not once did she see Aren.
He was resting, she supposed, taking advantage of the arrangement he’d made with the merchant to have a few hours of sleep in the cool confines of one of the buildings. But despite her own predicament, a flood of relief filled her chest when he returned to the market, flanked by the merchant and two of his companions. They walked toward the tavern and settled themselves at a table in the shade of the building.
Bottles of amber liquor and tiny glasses appeared, along with a plate of candied dates, and soon the men were drinking and laughing as though they were all old friends, none merrier than Aren. More men joined them, and soon it was a veritable gathering, Aren regaling them with a fabricated version of his survival of the sandstorm.
From time to time, one of the men would break away from the table to take a piss in the sand near the pillory. Lara flinched away from the disgusting splatter even as she imagined depriving each perpetrator of a certain body part. The stench around her was nearly unbearable in the heat.
The sun was low in the sky when Aren decided to take a turn.
“It’s not looking good for you,” he said, unfastening his belt. “These men take theft very seriously.”
Grinding her teeth to keep her anger in check, Lara lifted her head. “Can you get me that bottle of poison? It’s in my coat, which was attached to Jack’s saddle.”
He lifted both eyebrows. “This vial?”
The brown glass appeared in his hand, then disappeared just as quickly back into his pocket.
“Aren—”
“It’s an interesting plan.” Finishing, he buckled his belt. “But I wouldn’t recommend it. They plan to feed your body to the dogs. You’d better come up with another idea.”
Without another word, he turned back to his companions. “Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen. I’m going inside to chat with that pretty girl behind the bar.”
He disappeared into the building and didn’t emerge for a long time. And when he did, he appeared even drunker than before.
Aren wasn’t going to help her, and whether it was because he didn’t wish to jeopardize his escape or he thought she deserved this, it didn’t much matter. Lara was on her own.
When the sun was little more than a glowing sliver of orange, Aren, the merchant, and the rest of their party rose, laughing and slapping their drinking companions on the shoulders as they said their farewells. Aren swayed unsteadily on his feet.
“Idiot,” Lara muttered. “I hope you enjoy being on water rations with a hangover in tow.”
“Talking to yourself, pretty girl?”
The big man was back. Crouching, he poured water into her mouth before carefully feeding a heel of bread to her piece by piece. “Eat! Eat!” he murmured, his breath stinking of alcohol. “I wish for the sun to cook your flesh from your bones, and that takes time.”
Lara bared her teeth, but he only chuckled and straightened. As he did, he swayed drunkenly, catching his weight against the pillory. The wooden frame groaned and shifted, but he didn’t seem to notice, more intent on adding to the puddles of piss around her.
Buckling his belt, he leaned against the pillory again, the sand beneath Lara’s knees moving. “I’ll see you later, pretty girl.”
Lara waited until he’d rejoined his companions. And then she smiled. “You had better hope not.”
34
Aren
“How long will the journey take?” Aren asked Timin, walking unsteadily down the path to the stables where their caravan was waiting. He wasn’t precisely drunk. But neither was he precisely sober, his recent deprivations having given him no head for the strong drink these men preferred. If he were going to make this plan work, he needed a clearer mind.
“A week,” Timin answered, clapping him on the back. “Perhaps ten days. Where will you go next, my friend?”
“The coast.” One of the stable boys handed Jack’s reins to Aren. The camel lifted one lip as though he might bite before deciding Aren wasn’t worth the effort. “I’ve had enough of sand.”