Chapter Thirty-One
REIYANA
Reiya spoke a few quiet words to Solmaz before they departed the bathhouse, thanking her for the sanctuary, the care, and the use of the private chamber. Solmaz accepted her gratitude with a graceful nod, her dark eyes warm with understanding.
“We’ll speak again at first light, before the caravan sets out,” the woman promised.
With a final, lingering glance at the place that had sheltered her through the worst, Reiya turned and followed Kaelen and Alarik into the cool hush of the night.
Somehow, they returned to the caravanserai just in time for her to slip beside Su Lian and Ru Rong, helping to prepare supper. The market had stayed bustling well past sunset, swelling with travellers pouring into Zohara, and the stall had remained open longer to catch the last eager buyers.
Now, the air was thick with the scent of roasted lamb and saffron, a warm, rich perfume clinging to the cooling night.
Reiya fetched water, her steps unhurried, savouring the rare steadiness within her. No fever gnawed at her edges. No restless ache buzzedbeneath her skin. For the first time in what felt like a long while, she allowed herself to justbe.
She filled the jug at the communal well, balancing its weight easily in her arms as she turned back toward the wagon, already thinking ahead—to their departure at dawn, to the long stretch of road beyond Zohara, to the next leg of the journey—when she collided with something solid.
Water sloshed violently side to side within the jug. She stumbled, catching her balance just as a slow, mocking voice grated against her ears.
“Miss me, baby bird?”
Her stomach dropped.
Jodhar.
Reiya’s grip tightened, fingers curling around the jug’s handle like a lifeline. So he’d returned from his errand.
“Does your job involve nothing but pestering caravan members? Because I have nothing to say to you,” she said.
“Ah, but I have plenty to say to you.” He stepped closer, breath thick with the scent of stale liquor and dust. Then, low enough for only her to hear . . . “Princess.”
Her pulse thundered.
The title hung between them like a blade, meant to slice through any illusion of safety she might’ve had.
She kept her expression cool, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Is this where you swap your sword for gossiping like an old washerwoman?”
Jodhar smirked. “Not gossip.” He leaned in, his voice silk-wrapped steel. “Truth. And don’t worry—I’m not in the mood to share it. No, a prize like you is far too valuable to let slip away.”
A sick, twisting anger curled low in her stomach. Heknew. Somehow, he had pieced together what the bounty notice hadn’t said. But he wasn’t shouting it, wasn’t drawing attention. He was hoarding the knowledge, savouring the power before he decided precisely how to use it.
She raked her brain, remind herself that the caravan was leavingtomorrow. Just half a day’s ride to Dune Crest, and he’d be nothing more than dust behind them.
She stepped past him.
His hand shot out, fingers brushing her wrist before locking around it, tight.
The jug slipped from her grasp, shattering against the ground in a burst of clay and water. Around them, conversations faltered, heads turned, but all Reiya saw was Jodhar’s smirk—cruel, knowing, daring her to fight back.
“Did I say you could walk away?” His voice dropped lower, coiled with venom.
Before she could wrench herself free, another voice cut through the air.
“Let her go.”
The voice was calm, steady, a quiet promise of danger.
Alarik.
