The Princess Will Save You, page 13
The watering hole, the innkeeper, and now a change from the endless red dirt. What else would she find?
The wind kicked up and brushed a fine spray of sand into her eyes. Mira halted, her nose peeled back against the gust, her own eyes tightly closed. Amarande pulled her cowl up tighter and waited for it to pass, tears sticking in her eyes as her body sagged with exhaustion. Her stomach rumbled once again—if her adrenaline failed, at least her hunger would keep her awake. Like sleep, food was something of which she’d never been deprived, even in her training.
A weakness among many. She’d been highly trained, yes, but she was still completely unprepared.
When the air quieted down and it was safe to open her eyes, the princess did so, blinking to reorient herself before moving on. Mira waited patiently for her nudge.
Home, in the gray shadows of mountains to her right.
The Port of Torrent, somewhere up and to the left.
And there, angling toward the thick stain of trees on the horizon, were three little specks.
CHAPTER
23
BY the time the sun was beginning to set on another day and twilight fell in a silver cloud over the rushing red dust, the first thread of doubt looped its way around Luca’s heart.
Amarande still hadn’t come.
A second full day had passed now—Luca could no longer be ignorant to the length of time that had expired between his kidnapping and the present.
He pictured the princess as he last saw her, in the arena, jaw set, appeal unwavering as it lifted above the crowd. That girl wouldn’t give in to bribery. She wouldn’t trust the words of some unnamed letter writer to ensure the safety of her best friend. Deep down, that thread plucked itself into something resembling a sound, a fiddle string loose and thumping.
Luca glanced over his shoulder. Ula was riding beside him—he’d been pawned off on Urtzi in the late afternoon. Beyond her, the world was growing dark. The distant mountains to the east—Ardenia—had swallowed the last vestiges of the sun there, darkness consuming them. To the west, the last hour of light. Behind them, the wind shifted the dust in swirling clouds that gave the appearance of travelers on the horizon where there were none. Before them, their path was opening toward a thin ribbon of trees, jutting up from the earth like fingers pointed crooked toward the darkening sky. In this landscape, it almost appeared to be a forest, though nothing so robust was supposed to exist in the Torrent.
“She’s not there, Luca.” This came from Ula, who didn’t glance his way, nor did she bother to look behind her to confirm what he wasn’t seeing.
“Oh, but she is, Ula.”
Ula’s golden eyes slipped into their periphery. After a moment of watching silvering night, she looked back to Luca, trying to read his face across the distance. Luca wasn’t sure what exactly she was trying to deduce, other than possibly to see if his viewpoint would project itself across his features for her.
“My princess is one of the best-trained hunters in the Sand and Sky. She won’t let herself be seen.”
At this, Ula shook her head, the linen she had wrapped around the fall of her long dark hair snagging gently against the pommel of the curved sword, which was slung across her back without Luca in the saddle. “Your confidence in her is more than I have in the sun continuing to rise.”
“I—” Luca started, only to be cut off by a guffaw from up ahead.
“To the stars, you are the absolute sappiest male in our entire species. Stableboy, why are you still looking for her?” Dunixi wrenched his whole body around, his neck red enough again that clearly it hurt too much to fold the skin with a turn of his head. The linen had done little to protect his skin, which was still a vibrant pink beneath the cloth and in the waning light. “Your princess may be different, but she’s not coming, because she doesn’t care.”
“I would like to remind all of you,” Urtzi said, voice proud and projected from his spot inches from Luca aboard a honeyed-butter palomino named Ferri, “that I thought we’d snatched the wrong boy. And perhaps we did. The stableboy isn’t her love.”
“If she doesn’t care, and I’m not her love, then you must let me go,” Luca argued, knowing quite well that his cheeks were pinking at the thought of Amarande’s heart finding him so. “I’m not worth it for you to drag around. I’m a liability, even—your man will be very disappointed that you’ve been hauling around no one of value. Return me and I’ll help you find your rightful hostage.”
Dunixi laughed again, but it was stiff, his shoulders still so as not to disrupt his neck. “Nice try, stableboy.”
The trees they’d been pointed toward were suddenly upon them. No water here, but shade, not that they needed that now—the sun had dipped below the western horizon, the mountains’ shadows falling long across the bowl of the Torrent.
Though this copse of trees was a respite from the wind and exposure, there were no other people in sight. Wherever they were going, whether it really was toward an actual ship or somewhere else entirely, was not somewhere many people seemed to want to go.
Near the middle of the strip of trees, Dunixi slowed his ghostly gelding, Boli, and swung a leg around. “Urtzi, rustle up our meal and secure the perimeter while you’re at it. Ula, graze the horses and double-check that bonehead’s perimeter work. Boy, sit down and watch me cook a meal you won’t enjoy.”
“Is that because you’re an awful cook?”
Dunixi grunted. “No, it’s because though we’ll give you enough water to keep you around, the truth is you can survive weeks without a morsel to eat.”
Luca decided not to remind the boy that Ula had given him dates for breakfast both this day and the last, plus part of her meal the night before. Perhaps the pain from his sunburn was making him forgetful.
The light died faster than Luca felt it ever had in the Itspi, the trees and high western mountains leeching it out in record time as the blond boy piled together sticks for a fire. Luca was surprised that he’d go to the trouble but didn’t question it—maybe Dunixi believed they weren’t being followed, that nobody cared that they were there, but Luca wouldn’t stop the boy from announcing their presence with flame and no protection such as what they’d had the night before.
Ula returned first and tied the horses in careful intervals around the camp, a makeshift fence against the interests of the night. Urtzi returned almost a half hour later, four dead hares hanging by their ears in his huge hands.
“This is exactly why I keep you around, my friend,” Dunixi said, snatching the hares away in greedy hands. “Don’t get excited, stableboy. There are four hares only because the hunter eats twice as much as everyone else.”
The Myrcellian smiled wide at Luca, but it wasn’t necessary; he believed the boy would have no trouble downing both hares. Urtzi had at least a head of height on Luca and was made of only hard things—muscles, bones, and ligaments. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. Even Koldo would covet the chance to mold a soldier with a body like this one. Though, considering both his attitude and his opinion of women, she’d likely have much to mold.
Dunixi went about skinning and preparing the hares for the fire. And he was a capable cook—his knife skills were as good as Maialen’s, and that was saying something. The hares were on a spit in record time and dressed with curds and whey pulled from a pouch within the blond boy’s saddlebag.
Urtzi made it a point to squeeze in next to Luca. The lean bodies of his two hares swam in sauced cheese curd upon a wooden plate pulled from Dunixi’s saddlebag. The Myrcellian ate them with all the gusto of someone who knew he was being treated, and it was clear he hoped Luca was watching, mouth watering. In truth, Luca was starving, but he didn’t show it, his body relaxed against the base of a tree, eyes set on the fire.
Ula sat next to him, savoring her food slowly, while Dunixi sat across from them, trying very hard to put on the same sort of show that Urtzi was. Luca watched as he tried to drink from his flask without tossing his head back at any angle that would upset the blistered skin. Luca drew in a thin breath, thinking back to many dinners in the kitchens at the Itspi, and Maialen healing more than just nightly hunger. Medikua Aritza was talented, but she cared little for a stream of worn castle staff. “Dunixi, if you’ll let me, I can calm your burn.”
Luca was surprised when the boy didn’t bat an eye at his name falling from his captive’s lips. Luca may have been a “stableboy” to him, but they were on this journey together and he would address both Dunixi and Urtzi with respect, even if they didn’t give it back to him in the same way Ula did. Moreover, he was quite sure the names every one of them preferred weren’t the ones they were given at birth. Not that it mattered.
“My burn?”
“Your neck. I can help your neck. You don’t even have to untie me, just allow me to use my hands.”
“I don’t—”
“Stop talking for a second and listen to Luca,” Ula snapped, tossing a hare bone into the fire. “You’ve looked like you might pass out all day.”
That shut him up. Luca met the Eritrian’s eyes across the fire.
“How about I describe what I’m going to do before I do it so you’re not surprised and you can decide if it’s worth it or not?” Luca offered.
At this, Dunixi didn’t say a word, which was actually slightly stunning to Luca. Unsure, he met Ula’s eyes for a moment and then pressed on, knowing the answer but asking it anyway. They didn’t need to know what he’d done with the oats. “When you knocked me out, I had a bag of rolled oats in my hand. Do you still have it?”
Luca knew they did, but he didn’t want to let on. Any oats that escaped beyond what he’d released would find Amarande’s notice. He was sure of it. That bald rope was a stroke of luck he didn’t want to ruin. Ula nodded and held up her bag.
“If you allow me access to those oats and give me some of the whey from the cheese, I can make a paste that will take the sting out of the burn on your neck. It may help dry the blisters as well.”
Dunixi swallowed. “Oats and whey? That’s all you need?”
Luca nodded. “Honey and a mortar and pestle would be ideal, but those are the basics, yes.”
“And why would you do this?”
“Because you’re in pain and you need help.” It was true.
Dunixi’s eyes narrowed, shadows falling over the near-colorless blue. “Kindness won’t keep me from killing you.”
“I know.”
The Eritrian laughed. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”
“Yes. Now would you like to stop questioning me and let me help?”
The boy’s attention skipped to his seconds. “Urtzi, watch his hands. Ula, you apply it. I don’t want him anywhere near my windpipe.”
Luca nearly smiled—the girl was a much bigger danger. By the time Dunixi figured that out, he might already be dead.
CHAPTER
24
BY the time Amarande hit the trees, her eyes were closing for long periods, no matter how much she told them not to. Her grip was slack on Mira’s reins and she knew sleep would come for her soon—she was her father’s daughter, to be sure, but even the Warrior King needed rest. Ardenian tigers couldn’t stand forever.
She shook it off.
The three specks had disappeared into those trees. She was sure of this, even with her eyes failing her.
Either they would emerge on the other side, or they would break for the night. They were human and they didn’t realize they were being chased, and so she hoped for the latter.
This was her chance to see what she was up against and then plot her attack.
Amarande dismounted Mira, patting the filly on the nose before guiding her between spindly trees that grew toward the cobalt blue of a new night. This was the type of brush that provided cover but also hid the worst of what nature could provide. Things with fangs, and claws, and venom. Everything Osana had made her recall, plus the impossible black wolf and more. The sun and the Warlord and mongrels like the trio of thieves weren’t the only dangers here.
The princess and her horse walked slowly, carefully, quietly, for an hour before Amarande saw it. A flash of orange light.
She paused, unsure whether it was real or simply hope manifesting in her exhausted eyes.
When it flickered again, she knew it to be true and tangible.
Flame.
A fire.
A distance of maybe a hundred yards.
Amarande tied Mira’s reins to a nearby trunk and pressed her hand to the horse’s nose. She hoped she didn’t have to order the girl to be silent, because this close, she didn’t trust even a whisper not to carry. Mira blinked patiently and let her master go without a single neigh of protest.
The princess reached into her boot and brought out her knife, leaving her sword strapped to her back—a long sword wasn’t made for stealth, unless that was all one had. She kept her pace measured and careful, navigating underbrush that might give her away if met with the weight of a step. The ground here was soft and swallowed her steps, the earth sparkling with dew as the temperature dropped, the moisture-starved climate appeased for a moment.
The closer Amarande got, the more confident she grew that this was right. Three horses were tied up at intervals around a natural campground, brush pulled away and space for a fire in the middle of a ring of trees. Long ago, a tree near the center had fallen, and someone had cleared everything but a stump, creating a pocket among the tightly packed spindles that allowed for this kind of space. Which meant, Amarande realized, that these kidnappers had been here before.
The exhaustion she’d felt just moments earlier receded, her eyes wide open and heart pounding. She held fast to the knife, ready to act—Make the first mark—but hoping for the opportunity to take a more measured approach.
Ten feet out, she sank into a near crawl, crouched into the shadows and close to the ground as the people came into view.
There were four bodies surrounding the embers of a fire.
A boy with white-blond hair that shimmered in the bare light. His back was to her as he lay on his side, some sort of medicinal paste flaking from his neck. He appeared to be asleep.
Toward his feet lay another boy, this one long and lean, with smooth tawny skin and a mop of curls that shaded his eyes from the firelight. He also seemed to be asleep.
Closest to her, a girl, propped up with her back to Amarande, long dark hair spilling out of a linen kerchief and over her shoulders. From the gentle movements of her right forearm, the princess knew she was awake, and writing or drawing. Amarande shifted to the right to see, and, yes, the girl was scratching at a leather-bound book with the stub of a pencil. It wasn’t the only thing in her lap, though—a long curved blade lay across her knees.
It was such a casual place for a weapon that Amarande knew at once that this girl could use that blade as well as she could use her own.
Amarande sucked in a deep, quiet breath and shifted her gaze to the last body in the circle—sprawled out on the ground next to the lookout and her deadly weapon.
The moment of truth.
Raven hair, the right build, clothes that seemed familiar.
Heart pounding hard enough that she thought the girl might hear, Amarande took two careful steps to the right and squinted across the short distance to read what she could of his face.
Amarande’s heart stuttered.
Luca.
Relief spread across her shoulders and down her back as she saw his chest rise and fall. Luca, alive. In front of her.
He was rolled onto his side, one arm wedged beneath his ear as a makeshift pillow. She couldn’t tell from where she crouched if he was awake or asleep, unharmed or injured, but considering how they’d secured him, he had either put up a good fight or given them quite the reason to believe he would. Both his hands were bound, as were his feet, meaning that to use one arm to buffer his face from the ground, the other fell across his face at a slanting angle. The ropes that held his limbs were secured to another rope that was tied to the tree behind him. Amarande made note of each restraint, running through the blocking in her mind of what she’d have to do to pull him free—sawing and hacking at the restraints would take only marginally less time than releasing the knots.
Ropes cataloged, she began to document everything else, crouching against the trees, melting in with the shadows, forming a plan. Much of good reconnaissance was in training, but part of it was in luck—and here she’d been lucky, approaching the lookout from behind.
The girl stowed her pencil and journal in the saddlebag at her side, then sheathed the knife at a slant across her back as she got to her feet. Out of instinct, Amarande sank back farther onto her heels, watching as the girl picked her way around Luca and the fire before crouching over the lanky boy asleep on the other side of the flames. Her back was to Amarande as she tried to nudge the boy awake by tapping his calf.
The boy startled, hands out and ready to throw a punch. As if she’d done it before, the girl caught his knuckles in her palm.
“Your turn, you big oaf.”
“You like me more than your nicknames let on,” the boy answered, a smile sliding across his face. In the dark his teeth were the same brilliant white as the moon.
The girl dropped his fist.
“Keep telling yourself that,” she whispered, and stood, turning her back on the boy and heading back to her spot next to Luca with a bemused turn to her lips.
Amarande dared not even breathe with the girl facing her now—she was exposed more than she’d been at any previous moment. The knife’s weight seemed to double in her palm, her training flashing her through the motions she would use if the girl saw her.
