Her own thoughts were spinning.
Theo can’t be plotting against the king,Roa told her sister.And Lirabel can’t be sleeping with Dax.
Theo was just angry. And hurt. That was why he’d said those things.
And the skyweaver’s knife...
It’s a myth.
Shivering, she put the notion out of her mind. Pulling hersandskarf up over her head, Roa moved between the darkened tents, heading for the king’s.
When she stood before it, the guards looked at her warily, reminding Roa of the way their hands went to their hilts when she’d argued with Dax earlier. Reminding her of their inherent distrust.
She pushed aside the tent flaps.
The warm, golden glow of her lamp fell on an empty bedroll.
Roa blinked.
“Where is he?” she demanded, retreating back into the cold night.
The guards exchanged nervous glances. “We were given orders to remain here.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
They stood silent, not looking at her. Not answering.
Panic rose like a sandstorm. Wasn’t it their job to keep an eye on him? Hadn’t Dax walked straight out into a sandstorm that morning? He was surrounded by members of the House of Sky now—the very scrublanders who hated him most. He needed his guards more than ever.
She was about to snap at them when it suddenly became painfully obvious. There was only one circumstance in which Dax would command his soldats not to follow him.
He’d gone to someone else’s tent.
How can you lie there next to him?Theo’s words echoed through her mind.A man who cares so little for you, he takes your dearest friend into his bed?
Roa thought of all the time Dax and Lirabel spent alonetogether, in private meetings. She thought of the voices in the hall outside her door, the two lovers heading for her room...
Why shouldn’t she take what you clearly don’t want?
An image of them, together, flashed through her head. Roa stepped back, the storm dead inside her.
“My queen?” asked one of the soldats with peppered gray hair. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, everything’s fine,” she lied, pushing back the flap once more and stepping through. She let it fall behind her, then stood very still, focusing on the breath rushing in and out of her lungs.
Don’t jump to conclusions,she told herself. But her hands shook as she unraveled her sandskarf and set it on the floor of sheepskins. Sliding off her sandals, she crawled into the bedroll. The cold made her shiver. Roa pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them hard, trying to keep warm.
A heartbeat later, she heard voices. A heartbeat after that, the flap lifted, and there was Dax, ducking inside. In the light, Roa saw his face was still unshaven.
“Roa,” he said in greeting, his voice clipped.
She looked quickly away. She didn’t want to see if his cheeks were flushed or his hairline damp with sweat. If his clothes were wrinkled from being taken off in a rush and carelessly tossed aside. Roa turned onto her side, listening to the sounds of those same clothes being shed now, folded, and placed next to hers.
He slid in beside her, and with him came a rush of cold air. This bedroll was larger than the last, which meant they could sleep without touching.
Dax turned down the lamp.
Roa lay awake, shivering in the darkness for a long time. His arm didn’t come around her like the night before. Nor did he pull her against him, letting her take his warmth.
