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“Why?” She’d been having a better time than she’d imagined possible, within the grounds of the ancient palace.
“A sandstorm. Can’t you smell it?”
She shook her head and breathed in, tasting only the freshness of the tree-filled air.
“It’s the clay,” he said, shaking his head and standing, before lowering his hands for her grip. He helped her up, then put a hand in the small of her back. Again, she was reminded of Raffa, of that confidence that must surely have been innate. “This way.” He guided her through the forest, a different way to that which had brought her to him. His path was more direct, though steeper, so she slipped once and had to break her fall by grabbing the branches of a tree. It cut her hand though so she had a small amount of blood in her palm.
“Are you okay?” Amit asked with obvious consternation.
“I’m fine.”
She kept moving, but Amit stalled her, with a quick, urgent: “Look!”
Chloe followed the direction of his outstretched hand, frowning as her eyes adjusted. “What?”
“Look!” he said, pointing again. And in the distance, she did see it. Barely discernible at first, there was a haze far away, but it was getting closer, plumes rising from the desert sands into a sky that was turning from blue to black before her eyes.
“Hurry,” he murmured, gripping her hand and pulling her after him.
Her hair caught on a branch and she lifted her free hand to hold it back from her face.
They were close to the palace now, so that within minutes they’d entered the garden to the side – a grove of fruit trees that were as fragrant as they were beautiful. But their divine scent was dampened by what Amit had detected far, far earlier than she. Now Chloe smelled it, thick in the air. He’d called it clay, she’d have said tar. An earthy, over-heated, rumbling smell that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
They reached the palace when the storm was dangerously close to them. Security guards didn’t meet Chloe’s eyes but she saw the surprise in their faces as she and Amit rounded a corner and headed towards a large, open doorway.
“You fool,” one of the guards chastened Amit, and pleasure instantly extinguished from the young boy’s face.
He lifted his radio transceiver and began to speak into it. Amit shot the man a fulminating glare, so reminiscent of Raffa’s that Chloe was once more amused by their likenesses, before gripping her wrist and pulling her into the palace.
“You have to go,” he said urgently, then frowned. “You have blood on your face.”
“Oh.” She lifted her fingers and wiped at herself self-consciously. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”
“Yes, but you really must go. If the Sheikh finds
you with me, he’ll be furi--,”
“Too late.” The words rung out in the corridor, as Raffa stood a little distance away from them, his strong legs planted wide apart, his arms crossed at his chest. His hair was in that bun he wore, high on top of his head, and his eyes glittered like the sky speckled with sand now.
“Well?” He demanded, looking from one to the other. “Would either of you care to explain why you were outside?”
Chloe took one look at her young friend’s face and felt her heart drop. He was terrified! And of his own father!
“It was my fault,” she said. “I … got lost. And Amit found me, and helped me home. I shouldn’t have walked so far from the palace but it was such a nice afternoon and I was following the stream.”
The full force of Raffa’s energy transferred to Chloe, so she felt as though a cable had wound around them and surged with electricity. It made her tremble at her knees, but she remained outwardly cool. She had learned, as a girl, that the best defense was a good offence.
“Is that a problem, your highness?” She demanded tartly, taking a step closer to her husband, putting Amit at her back. “Would you prefer I stay chained to my rooms?”
His eyes held a warning she wouldn’t heed. “You shouldn’t put ideas into my head.”
She held her pose, tilting her chin defiantly. “I wasn’t making a suggestion.”
He ground his teeth, so that a muscle jerked at the base of his jaw, drawing her attention to the thick column of his neck and the vee of his chest that was exposed by his shirt.
“Well?” He growled the word, and Amit came to stand beside her. She threw the boy a look of sympathy.
“Stop acting like an angry bear,” she chastised Raffa in a way he’d never been spoken to in his life. “Didn’t you just hear me? Amit found me and…”
