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Back on his feet, Bonar gives the compartment another glance. “We should go.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere but here.”
Bonar’s gaze glides to my whitening knuckles where I hold onto the planks of the wall for support. It’s the only thing that tethers me to the here and now. Where I can hold at bay tears that burn at the back of my eyes and knot my throat. Where Ajaia is but a man lying unconscious on the floor.
“We can hide in the restaurant car.” Bonar shrugs as if it was the simplest solution. “I can clean your wound there.”
I don’t care where we go, but I can’t spend another moment next to Ajaia. So, with an eager nod I follow Bonar through the car to the sounds of the constant clanking of metal growing quieter as we get further away from my compartment.
We stumble into the empty restaurant car that took the worst of the jumble. The kerosene lamps are already lit, the flames dancing free of the glass sconces smashed into pieces by flying dishes and silverware. The furniture lies in broken pieces mixed with shattered ceramic and shards of crystal and glass. With a whir of gears, the automaton turns to greet us over the split bar. Cogs and bolts spill from his smashed skull and, with one final whiz, he crumples to the floor in a heavy lump.
The clank of metal on metal still echoes through the train, its constant rhythm marking the passage of time where the clock on the wall no longer can.
Bonar disappears behind the bar, and I follow him there, dropping the towel soaked with blood on the polished wood and climbing up onto one of the few stools that survived the abrupt stop of the train. Every muscle tugs on my bones, the strain of the past few hours pulling me into a tight knot.
“That knife of yours might come in useful.”
Our gazes meet as Bonar peers at me from behind the bar. I slide the blade into my palm without a word, and he resumes his rummaging. He emerges a few moments later with a stack of towels, two glasses, a sharp-looking knife, and a bowl of ice.
“Why didn’t you use it before?” he asks.
“I could never…it’s not…” I close my eyes, take a deep breath and start over. “My father has traded me for another favor. I’m Ajaia’s now. No matter how much I hate it, this would happen eventually.”
The words sound final, and I know as soon as this—whatever this delay, this moment of stolen time—is over, I’ll have to go back to Ajaia, beg for his forgiveness, and only hope his punishment will not kill me.
“This empire,” he curses, and the shadows from the dying flames grow longer.
Bonar fills the crystal glasses with a splash of the murky liquid from the bottle he had removed from the ceiling of the car. He downs his in one gulp and winces before replenishing his glass. This time, he pushes the second one in my direction. “This might help.”
I clutch it in my hands, and the liquor tilts from side to side, lapping the faceted glass. Before I can spill any, I imitate Bonar and down my glass. The foul-smelling drink burns my tongue and my throat, a cough breaking from my lips.
“First time?” Bonar asks when I drop the glass on the bar and manage a breath.
I nod and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Mind if I?” He points in the vague direction of my face.
My fingers come away bloodied as I reach for my brow. I drop my knife on the bar, take a deep breath, and nod. His touch is a whisper on my skin as he cleans the wound, and I allow myself to observe him while he works.
Scars and nicks of many battles cover his skin. Some so old he must have been nothing but a child. A sign of an early training with sharp blades or a tumultuous childhood, both of which there is plenty in this desert. Bonar smiles when he notices me watching, and speckles of amber dance in his eyes, but a prickle that burns my brow makes me groan. As he pours more alcohol on a fresh towel and runs it over the wound, I close my eyes and welcome the pain. It’s better than the havoc ravaging my mind.
“After careful consideration, I can safely say,” he pauses, stepping away. “You’ll live.”
“Thank you,” I croak, a prickle of tears already drowning me. Soon, it’ll be so overwhelming I won’t be able to stay afloat.
Bonar throws the towel on the bar and picks up his glass, twirling it this way and that. Fire spurts higher in the sconces on the wall, its countless reflections burning at the bottom of his glass. “No matter what happens, you won’t be going back to that piece of…” The end of what he said gets drowned in the liquor.
“You can’t stop this marriage. The Grand Priest betrothed us.”
“I don’t care,” Bonar says, setting his glass back on the bar. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
Safe. I don’t dare to even imagine what that would feel like. Instead, I say, “You don’t owe me anything.”
“To a princess of Usmad?” Bonar shakes his head. “I’ve made an oath long ago. To serve the empire with each breath I take. This includes you. I won’t stand idly by while that man hurts you anymore.”
I don’t dare to put any hope in his words, to think of a world where I won’t have to marry Ajaia. Glancing at the busted clock on the wall, I wonder how long this moment will last. That’s when I notice it, and my heart lurches in my chest. “What happens when the clanking stops?”
