“NEXT!” Someone shoves me from behind as I shake myself back into the present. I hurry forward and dump my scavenges on the table in front of one of the main guards.
The guard surveys me through beady eyes, unabashedly roving over every part of my body. “Ah…little lucky Clover, isn’t it?”
I raise one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. I lean forward and separate out the items I’ve found from the day. “These are the relics,” I point at the smaller pile on the right. “And these are duds,” I add, indicating towards the larger pile.
The people behind me in the line are creeping up to peer over my shoulder at my haul. I typically have more than others – that’s always been the case, hence why the name Clover stuck.
The guard scoffs. “Like we would listen to a little leaf like you.” The men behind him chuckle, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“Believe me or not, but I’m hungry so if we could hurry this along…”
SLAP. My neck cracks to one side as the guard whips his hand across my face. Something wet drips down, and when my hand comes back scarlet, I see that the guard’s ring cut my face.
“I’ll make sure to take note of what you brought today so it comes off your debt,” he sneers. “NEXT!”
I’m once again shoved away by the next person in line. He didn’t even try to pretend that he wrote down what I made for the day today. I’m one of the very few people here who don’t receive coin directly at the end of the day. Most people make one copper a day, maybe a couple more if they had a good haul. With the amount of real relics I found today, I should have at least earned a silver. But I doubt that anyone here is keeping a good account of the debt I supposedly still owe. The few others I know in a similar situation as me are still here year over year too, grudging along, the guards waiting on us to either give up or wither away.
After the slice of stale bread and moldy fruit for dinner, I resign myself to finding a place to sleep. Out here, there’s no tents or beds or any semblance of shelter. We use burlap sacks as both sleep mats and blankets. I try to pick a spot far away from everyone else. I’m one of the few females in the dunes, and I don’t want to invite any trouble on myself.
I find a nice space on the side of one of the dunes and spread out my sack. I find my water canteen and pour some onto a spare strip of cloth to clean myself the best I can. I go to clean the cut on my face, but it seems to have closed and stopped bleeding already. Satisfied, I lay on my back, hands behind my head. The only positive aspect to the dunes is that I sleep under the starry night sky. I find each constellation and call them by name, wishing them goodnight. Sometimes they’re the only people I get to talk to that listen.
I hear footsteps, and immediately I sit up. A young man with jet black hair, probably a few years older than me, approaches, burlap in hand.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know anyone was back here. I’ll find somewhere else to sleep.” He turns to go, and I make the split-second decision to call out to him.
“Wait!” He stops still, waiting for me to finish. “There’s plenty of space,” I remark, gesturing to the open desert. “I don’t mind if you share it.”
He beams and claims his space only a foot or so apart from mine. I don’t recognize him, so I assume he must be new. Together we lay in silence, listening only to the wind. I miss the sounds I used to hear on the farm – the animals in the fields, the birds chirping, the windchime on the porch, even the children shouting down the street. The desert at night is always so quiet.
Empty.
Alone.
“You can come closer, if you want.” The man’s voice shatters the silence, and I absorb the noise like a sponge. “We don’t have to do anything,” he adds hurriedly.
I take a minute to decide before scooching over to him. He lifts an arm to allow me to curl into him. I can hear his heartbeat, and it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. When he leans in to kiss me, I don’t object, and soon the air is filled with the sounds of our bodies moving and moaning. For those few minutes, I’m reconnected with my body and to the world. But when I wake up, and he’s nowhere to be found, my soul is once again floating untethered, watching as my body mechanically moves through the motions. At least I had one night to escape the loneliness that threatens to drown me.
Chapter 21
Callum
It’s been almost a week since we set sail from Ashven. It’s been smooth sailing so far, but tonight, I woke from a nightmare that had my thoughts going dark. It was the same recurring nightmare that has plagued me since I started training to become a Hunter. A dark place where the King is hurting someone I love – usually Ginna, Hanson, or Rafe. But tonight, Elia made an appearance in this haunting landscape, and as usual, I’m unable to save them in the dream and I watched as Elia died in my arms.
I try going back to sleep, but the vision of Elia dying plagues my thoughts, and I know I can’t go back to sleep until I make sure she is okay. It’s late, so I don’t knock on her door, but instead slowly pull it open. We have a similar arrangement as we did at the palace – with a door shared between our rooms. She had never bothered to lock the one at the palace, and I assumed she wouldn’t here, either.
The sheets are pushed to one side of the bed, and the imprint of Elia’s body is still pressed into the sheets, but she’s not there. My breath hitches as I try not to panic. She might have gone for a walk or was hungry. Or maybe she stayed in Ginna’s room. A quick tug on the door handle shows me Ginna’s room is off the list, so I hurry to the top deck. The skeleton crew is out, but besides the couple of shuffling footsteps, it’s quiet. Where would Elia have gone? I rack my brain until I remember where she was the day we set sail at the stern of the ship. How content she was to stare at the endless cerulean water.
Elia startles when she hears me approach but smiles regardless. She looks stunning laying on a blanket she must have pulled from her bed, dark hair splayed out around her like a halo. Her tan has faded since leaving the desert, and the moonlight makes her skin appear even paler, allowing me to see a hint of freckles splattering across her nose.
I lay down next to her on the hard planks, using one arm as a pillow to cushion my head. I don’t want to interrupt the peace of the night so instead I stargaze with her, letting the quiet still my thoughts.
“That constellation is the Queen,” Elia murmurs quietly, pointing to a set of five stars in the shape of a ‘W’. “When I was little, my mom used tosay that was me. That the constellation appeared in the sky right when I was born.” She chuckles. “I can’t believe I used to buy that. She used to tell me that if I was ever lost, I only had to look to the sky to find my way home.”
Elia points to another constellation near the Queen, another set of five stars this time in a straight line. “That’s the King, the Queen’s other half. My mom always joked that I’d find my own King one day because it was written in the stars.
“I used to make up stories and names for the rest of the constellations I didn’t know. I would talk to them when I was in the camp, confide in them. Sometimes they seemed to be the only friends or family that didn’t leave me. I even tore a hole in the ceiling of my tent so I could always see the stars. That way I wouldn’t be so alone.” Her voice cracks.
I take Elia’s hand and squeeze it lightly. “You’re not alone now, Elia.”
