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A few workers walk next to the train, looking under the car from time to time. The one with a badly-healed broken nose slides a tool too alien for me to identify in between the wheels. Rev cursed, and pushes by the conductor, covering the length of the corridor in a few long strides.
“Your compartment…sir,” the conductor stammers, unsure of the appropriate way to address a captain of the guards of no noble birthright and yet with enough prestige to travel at the front of the train.
Even if it bothers him, Rev doesn’t answer. He halts next to the door that leads to the rails where workers still tinker with tools.
“It’s the one with the oak tree design on the door,” the conductor rushes to add.
Rev doesn’t even nod and jumps out of the car. It takes only a few sharp words exchanged before the workers pull their tags from their necks and hand them to Rev for inspection. He doesn’t seem to be willing to take any chances with our security.
“Right here, Princess Neylan of the House of Our Sun and Light,” the conductor says, reclaiming my attention.
We have stopped next to a door with a willow weeping over the remnant of a river. Among the emeralds dotting the branches, one has fallen, leaving a crevice through which a dot of light filters to this side. The conductor tries the knob, but the door doesn’t budge. Offering me a flimsy attempt at a smile, he fumbles with the chain of keys on his hip until he identifies the one with a smaller version of a willow twirling at the bow. As the conductor turns the key in the lock, the door slides free to the deep frown on the conductor’s face. He looks at the bow of the key wedged in his fingers and then at the collar peeking from the lock.
“Let me guess, I won’t be able to lock it from the inside.”
My words break through the haze, and the conductor turns to me with his eyes darting from one guard to another. I’m sure he doesn’t even understand how grateful he should be that Rev decided some simple workers required more of his attention than seeing me to my compartment.
“I’m sorry, Princess Neylan of the House of Our Sun and Light. This has never happened before. I…I’m sure we can find you another suite.” He gulps, realizing the car must be full and changes his tactic. “Or maybe we might be able to switch you with someone.”
I sigh and step into the cramped space of what feels like the smallest compartment in the whole car. I wonder who has chosen it for me. It can’t be a coincidence that it looks as if someone had splattered a bucket of green paint all over the suite, coating every surface with a different shade of the nauseating color.
“There will be no need,” I mutter, settling in the deep green velvet armchair.
The conductor brushes his white-gloved hand over his brow beaded with sweat. “Does the princess desire a refreshment? We have the best wine from The Ashen Bend.”
“No, thank you. Just close the door,” I say, looking out the window.
A few men still stand in line for the other car, which shouldn’t be able to hold as many people as I’ve seen board it. As the door to my compartment slides shut, the servants from the palace pass the porter the last of my trunks to stow in the cargo wagon. The baggage safely secured, he jumps down onto the platform. Not a moment later than his feet touch the stones, a whistle pierces the air.
The car staggers, and I catch myself on the sage-colored table before it can hit my chest. Metal digs into my skin as the train staggers again. The beast is unwilling to move after a long rest. It takes another whistle and the will of the workers shoving coal into the engine for the train to crawl out of the train station, gaining speed until it’s gliding through the desert, bathed by the purple rays of the setting sun.
7
The car rumbles on uneven rails. I lose my footing and land back in the minuscule bathtub with a splash of water on the tiled floor.
“Are you all right in there?” Tylea’s voice comes from the other side of a door with another unfunctional lock.
“Fine, fine,” I mutter, climbing back up to my feet and checking a cut on my hip where it made a rough contact with the tap.
“Will you be much longer?”
I sigh, fighting with one emerald button after another. Despite the fact that I hate this kaftan to the last stitch of the green thread, I’m not ready to sift through what the servants had packed for me. I manage to clasp the last button when Tylea knocks on the door. I open it so fast I catch her with her fist still in the air and her mouth agape.
“Go,” I say. “Your beau is waiting.”
Tylea’s cheeks flush pink at the mention of the man whose company she has been enjoying, and her gaze searches for anything to settle on except my face.
“I’m all dressed now. You don’t have to stay to guard the door,” I say, picking up the ebony brush and running it down my long locks. The emerald pins are long gone, traded with the conductor for bits of information about the whereabouts of my betrothed and the guard faithful only to the emperor.
Tylea lingers with her hand on the brass knob. “Promise me something. You’ll come out of this compartment today.” I pull the brush through my locks harder than necessary and have to stiffen a groan. “At least for a meal,” Tylea adds. “You can’t spend a month crammed in here.”
I sigh.
“Do it for me,” Tylea begs.
It’s been five days, and I already crave for a breath of fresh air. My hands itch with the desire to feel the grass of my father’s gardens, but only sand stretches on each side of the rails. Some change of scenery would do me some good.
Tylea doesn’t have to be privy to my thoughts to know that she has won me over, and her lips curve into a victorious smile. She dashes toward the restaurant car where she has been spending every waking hour of the day, and I put the brush down, looking out the window.
