You wouldn’t abandon a princess to the dangers of the desert, would you Karim-sen?he imagined the boy saying.Especially a princess so clever and so beautiful?
For some unknown reason, Djet had believed he was a hero.
He wasn’t. Far from it.
And yet… Karim couldn’t help but sense the boy still beside him, watching his every move.
He cursed under his breath as he tossed his pack over his shoulder and grabbed Sitamun’s hand.
“W-what are you doing?” she stammered, stumbling along after him as he began running toward the open desert.
Behkai, thinking it was all great fun, galloped after them.
“I’m helping you, woman!” Karim replied, glancing back to make sure the guards on the boat hadn’t seen them. “Now run a little faster!”
Sitamun picked up her robes so she wouldn’t trip over them and increased her pace. “But being with me is dangerous!”
Karim laughed with heavy irony, the wind rippling the dark curls of his hair.
“Don’t worry, sena, you’ll find out soon enough that it’s even more dangerous being with me!”
29
Rae
Rae stood barefoot at the river’s edge, watching the boats sail by as the sun set. She would have preferred to sit, but the fresh arrow wound in her hip made that somewhat difficult.
With the cool breeze blowing across her skin and the sound of the river rushing past, it should have been peaceful. But inside Rae’s mind, she was still in the Garden of the Dead. Still running for her life, still hiding and bleeding in the dark as men fell like reaped wheat around her. She saw it all—the bodies, the open, staring eyes, Asim’s severed head—every time she closed her eyes.
In a way, she never left that place.
She wondered if she ever would.
A sudden noise made her jump—but it was only theclackof the cattle gate closing. Her father had finished taking care of the zebu for the night.
“Come inside, Raetawy,” he said, approaching. “You need rest.”
When she got home from the Horizon meeting the night before, despite the ungodly hour, her father had been awake. He’d been sitting at their eating table when she’d stumbled in, dirty, tearstained, with an arrow sticking out of her rear end. Upon seeing her, he had simply gotten up and started gathering ointment and bandages.
Luckily, the healer had left enough supplies behind after her encounter with the nomarch to take care of this injury too. Ankhu hadn’t said more than a handful of words the entire time and didn’t question what had happened. When he was done patchingher up, he’d helped her down onto her sleeping mat, and then settled onto his own. Sleepless, she’d watched him doze fitfully in the moonlight, his good hand reaching toward something in a dream.
The arrow wound hurt very badly—but the despair on her father’s face that night hurt more.
When he reached the riverbank, Ankhu stopped to lean against the wooden staff he used to encourage the zebu to go into their pen. His bare chest was leathery from work in the sun and his rough schenti was speckled with mud. There was something about him that reminded her of Asim—two hard-bitten men, relics of another time, protecting what little was left to them. It was no wonder she’d taken to the rebel leader so quickly.
A fresh wave of grief washed over her.
It was better not to think of Asim.
Her father spoke quietly. “I know what happened last night. One of the fishermen told me. His son…” He was silent for a long moment before finishing. “Many are mourning today. I’m grateful not to be one of them.”
Rae wanted him to be angry. To shout at her and punish her for sneaking out and nearly getting herself killed.
Again.
But he just sounded tired.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
