She clamped her eyes tight against the imageof Ommar’s outstretched hand, of his frightened face as he waspulled from her grasp.She opened them to the night’s blackness andtook a long draught of her wine, welcoming the wet tartness as itslid down her throat and warmed her from the belly out.
“Sahar.”Aleksandr’s voice was tinged withanger.“What do you mean, I should stay away from you?”
She focused her blurring gaze on his.“Imean, Alekshki, that you should stay away from me, as far away fromme as you can, for your own sake.I am”—she took another swig ofwine and wiped her mouth with her sleeve, pursing her lips at theacrid aftertaste—“bad luck.”
He grabbed for her wineskin, but she swung itout of his reach.
“This wine tashes funny,” she said.
“That’s because you’re drunk.”
“That may be,” she said with a flourish ofthe skin that almost upended her.“But it doeshn’t make mewrong.”
Aleksandr took a long, slow drink from hiswineskin, pursed his kissable mouth, and then fixed her with alopsided gaze.“How are you bad luck?”
She swayed as she saluted Aleksandr with herwineskin.“Im’s not the only one’s drunk,” she slurred.
“No,” Aleksandr saluted her back.“Yer not.However, you still haven’t not answered my question,” hegarbled.
Sahar uncorked her skin and drained it,trying to drown out the vision of Kedar’s rotting corpse.The imageof Munir’s pale, ashen face.The memory of Ommar’s last words.
“Run away, Alekshandar.Far, far away.Anyman who shtands too close to me ends up hurt, or dead.”
CHAPTER 10
Kidnapped
Aleksi woke face down in the dirt, every boneand muscle in his body cold, stiff, and sore.He rolled over ontohis back with a body-wracking groan and tried to lick hisdesiccated lips, but his tongue was twice its normal size and asdry as salted meat.His head pounded against his skull, his neckwas cricked sideways, and his belly was roiling.He peered out frombeneath swollen lids into a blue sky thick with white clouds andlifted a heavy arm against the glare of the late morning sun.Thelast thing he remembered of the night before was sitting on hisbedroll, talking with Sahar and drinking his wineskin empty.
Sahar.
He rolled over onto his side, the side sheshould have been to, and saw nothing but an impression in theground where her bedroll had been.He heaved himself up onto hishands and knees and when his vision finally stopped swimming he saton his heels and looked around.The entire camp was deserted exceptfor Zolotoy, who grazed near the streams bank, his tie-linedangling loose from his neck.
Aleksi dropped his chin and slowly turned hishead from one side to the other as every muscle and sinew from hisneck to his hips resisted and pulled.He sat back and rubbed hisface with his hands until the blood returned to his cheeks and hisbrain.He had never in his life been so drunk that he had passedout before, or woken up the next day in this bad of shape.Hesupposed the combination of three days and nights of hard riding,little sleep, meager food, and the cold, wet, river crossing andits harrowing aftermath could have made the half skin of wine hedrank affect him more than usual.Sahar had drunk as much, and hadbeen slurring her words even more than he had been, and yet itlooked as if she had managed to waken and resume the race.
He grabbed his empty wineskin and stood onunsteady legs, surveying the vacant campsite.By the gods, not oneperson in the entire camp of riders thought to rouse him from hisdrunken slumber.Would he have woken a fellow competitor, or wouldhe have laughed at their folly and let them sleep it off?He likedto think he would have chosen to be the better man, but he knewotherwise.He surely would never have even considered rousing Yagoor Taweel.But he would’ve woken Sahar.So why hadn’t she wokenhim?
“I am bad luck.Stay away from me, far,far away from me.”
Those were the last words he remembered herspeaking to him.Apparently, drunk or not, she’d meant them.Hehobbled over to the stream and dunked his head in the water, thechill chasing away the dull ache with merciless efficiency.Drinking his fill of the cool, refreshing water, he filled theempty wineskin with river water and packed his saddle bags, keepingout a piece of salted meat to chew on.Now was not the time tobrood over last night, or how she’d called him Aleksi, twice.Nowwas the time to get back on Zolotoy, catch up to that trickytigress, and win the damned race.
It was high noon before he caught up to thefirst straggler.
“Prince Saqr,” he called, slowing Zolotoy toa walk beside the prince, who led his stallion on foot, both ofthem limping.
“Aleksandr.”
“Is there anything I can do for you or yourhorse?”
“No, thank you,” the prince said.“Ourinjuries are only serious enough to take us out of the race, butnothing debilitating.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”Aleksi took a swig ofhis water skin and capped it.“Did you happen to see Princess Saharleave camp this morning?”
The prince shook his head.“No,” he said.“Ididn’t.But I wasn’t the first out of camp this morn.Severalriders had already left by the time I woke.”
Aleksi nodded, neither of them mentioning thefact that he’d been left sleeping.It was, after all, every man, orwoman, for themselves.
“I will tell the aide post to expect you,” hesaid.
