THEYwoke to the sun, hands intertwined. Amarande first, her eyes blinking open to the salmon sky. She sat up, not releasing Luca’s fingers—after the past few days, she wasn’t sure she’d ever let him out of her sight again. He was a foot away from her, his own eyelashes fluttering open.
Beneath them, the earth was cold, and a fine coating of russet dust covered their skin, hair, and clothes. The heat was coming, and with it, more dust and long travel. They’d slept hard and well and safe, and the princess felt better than she had in days. But it wasn’t her own health that concerned her the most.
“How’s the leg?” she asked as Luca pushed himself to sitting, her voice a whisper, throat parched.
Luca nodded to himself. “Feels stiff but so good that I’m afraid to look and change my answer.”
Still, he began to roll up his pant leg, which had drifted down in the night. Amarande leaned over and brushed her hair back and away, the majority of it pulled clear of her crown braid now, the wind swirling a thick sheet of it in such a way that it obstructed her view.
Even the morning light wasn’t kind to what they saw. The gash along Luca’s shin had shifted from dead black to revenant gray. The swelling from the day before had subsided, yet the whole legstill looked deformed. Like someone had burned a handful of plaster and plopped it on his skin.
“Has feeling returned?” Amarande asked, her fingers hovering above the gash, remembering Naiara’s probing hands.
“Less than I’d like,” Luca answered, unsure. “Help me stand, Ama?”
Amarande immediately stood and offered both hands. Luca took them and gingerly got to his stocking feet, putting all his weight on his good leg until he was vertical, testing his bad one only then. His fingers dropped from hers and there he was, standing on both legs. He took a step. Then another. Amarande’s arms were out, ready to catch him with each successive movement.
He had an obvious limp, but still his dimples flashed, as optimistic as ever. “Like new.”
The princess’s fingers tightened around his, tears sparking in her eyes, something soft and swift rising in her gut and pushing a lump into her throat. She ripped one hand away to bat at her eyes. Luca wrapped his arms around her and drew her into his chest. She was just tall enough that her ear met the strong beating of his heart as his palm rubbed her back.
Amarande drew in a breath and peered up at Luca, the desire to kiss him overpowering the embarrassment of her tears and the raw emotion found in them: Though they still had a hundred miles to go before they were home, Luca was safe and healthy, and right here with her.
His chin tipped toward her, lips parting, golden eyes hungry in the morning light. She couldn’t look away, obeying the want deep in her gut as she drew onto her tiptoes and—
“Before you get too far into that, I have a few questions for the two of you.”
Luca and Amarande jerked apart and then back together, startling at the voice. A man revealed himself from behind the tentthey hadn’t used. He stepped in front of the opening—right in front of where their supplies, her sword, and the Eritrian’s dagger with his boots were stashed for the night.
The man was tall and lean, like a tree stubborn enough to reach for the stars on too few nutrients. The rest of him was nondescript: brown hair, skin that started pale but had been tanned by this life, scruff about his cheeks but no true beard. The voice wasn’t the same as the man’s who’d drugged her two days ago, and the princess wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. She wanted revenge on that one.
“Who are you?” Amarande asked carefully, startled but trying to be polite—they were here as guests of the caravan, after all.
In response, the man crossed his arms, looked to Luca, and said, “Do you always let your woman answer for you?”
“Her question is mine.”
The man smiled, but it wasn’t a happy thing. “I was to meet a group at the Hand last night for the transfer of a prisoner. The group didn’t show. That prisoner is my employer’s property, and it’s my duty to locate him and bring him in. The only people to join the caravan yesterday were the two of you, and you, boy, match the description of the prisoner.”
“There are no prisoners here. We sought medical attention and now will be on our way,” the princess said, and reached for the fire as if she was going to fully extinguish it. Dismissing the man.
Her father’s voice was in the back of her mind, urging her to squeeze more information from this man—“employer” was an interesting word indeed—but Koldo’s advice rang loudest:Escaping alive is the first priority.She’d not lose Luca here after everything else.
“Where to?” the man asked.
“That’s none of your business,” the princess spat, anger now fully on display. She was aware she was making things worse the more she talked to him, since he seemed to think it so unusual thata woman would have an opinion, much less speak for a man, but in Amarande’s estimation, that was his own fault. “I don’t appreciate your questions or that you believe my friend to be here against his will.”
“The group in question was made up of two men and a woman, who I’m told is a savant with a sword.” Luca’s eyes slid to Amarande’s face. She could feel them on her cheek, but she made it a point not to look at him. Not to give it all away. She stared down the man as he completed his theory, growing sicker with each second.
Here—the kidnappers were supposed to deliver Luca here, to this man.
“It’s not such a leap to believe that even a woman such as that would let her emotions get the best of her. Perhaps she killed her partners and missed her drop because she fell for the prisoner, who I’m told is handsome enough to catch a princess’s attentions.”
The man finished with a smile. At her. Amarande did not appreciate what his assumption telegraphed for the motivations of women—her or the girl of the Torrent he was accusing without knowing.
“That’s quite the theory, and incorrect when it comes to the two of us,” Luca said. “Now, if you’ll be going—”
The man drew his knife and shot it at Luca in that moment.
