“Will you stay in the capital for a while?”
“Just until the Relinquishing.”
The Relinquishing was a scrublander festival celebrated on the longest night of the year, one that was only two weeks away. It was the one day of the year Roa looked forward to most—the day Essie resumed her true form.
Her conversation with Jas fell away at the thought of her sister. Roa touched her vacant shoulder, where Essie normally perched. She felt unbalanced without the weight of her there. Felt like half of her was missing.
Where are you?she thought, glancing to the empty sky.
Her sister had not been sleeping on her pillow when Roa woke that morning. Roa called for her, but she didn’t answer.
Her stomach hurt at the thought of it. Essie had never been gone this long before.
She tried to force the unease down.Wherever she is, she’ll find me.
Essie always found her.
But as Roa and Jas walked into camp, somewhere deep inside her, she felt the hum flicker. Like a candle flame struggling to stay alight.
On their way to the scrublands, Roa had been appalled at these tents. Now she didn’t care that they weren’t the work of practical, experienced tentmakers. Didn’t care that their brightly colored panels and decorative stitching, while beautiful, were not made for the harsh conditions of the sand sea. Didn’t care that it was a typical Firgaardian show of wealth and artistry, with no knowledge of the scrublands or how to survive.
Right now, the only thing she cared about was her sister’s absence.
Essie had been gone for a night and day now, and Roa was starting to unravel without her.
When the sun disappeared and the moon rose silver over thegleaming sand, the cold rose with it. This far out, the desert was like a double-edged blade. With the day came scorching heat; with the night, lethal cold. If you weren’t adequately prepared, either could kill you. Which was why, once the night descended, everyone made for their tents.
Roa stayed out longer than most, shivering, as she scanned the dark skies for her sister. When the cold became unbearable and she could no longer prolong the inevitable, Roa sought out Dax’s tent.
Pushing back the canvas flap, she stepped inside, sliding her feet out of her goatskin shoes.
The dragon king rustled in the bedroll, then sat up. The tent lantern lit up his face. His curls stuck out in every direction and a shadow crept across his jaw and chin, hinting that he’d gone a day without a shave. It made him look older. And a little unpredictable.
“Roa? What are you—?”
“Jas didn’t pack my tent,” she said quickly.
Dax studied her in the lantern light. “So you thought you’d bed down with me.”
His voice was barbed. As if Roa’s presence here was an intrusion. An inconvenience.
Maybe it is,she thought.Maybe he’s waiting for someone else.
But Roa had nowhere else to go. So, lifting her chin, she said, “I’m your wife, am I not?”
Catching sight of his wool mantle folded neatly in a pile, Roa reached for it, pulling it over her head. The smell of peppermint flooded her senses.
Ever since they were children, Dax had chewed peppermint leaves when he was worried. It cleared his mind and helped him think.
After stretching out beside the bedroll, she blew out the flame in the lantern.
Darkness descended.
Dax was still sitting. She could see the shape of him looming over her.
“There’s room in here for two, Roa.”
Not a chance. The desert could freeze over and shestillwouldn’t climb into that bedroll with him.
