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Two.
Three.
The gag fell away so suddenly I jolted and took a gasping breath through my mouth.
"You need to work on clearing your mind," Helene said without so much as a backward glance. "That can be your task for the rest of the journey."
Luther leaned over and whispered loudly, "The appropriate response is, 'Yes, Hemathea.'"
I gave him a look just short of rolling my eyes and said nothing until I felt the press of air on my cheek again.
"Yes, Hemathea," I said more quickly than I intended.
I caught an approving look from Luther in the corner of my eye and grimaced inwardly.
Evidently he saw that as a point won by him and Helene. No doubt, Helene would agree.
I was determined they wouldn't win any more of them.
I caught a glance from Knox, who rode to the side of me, and a little toward the front. He clearly heard some of the exchange, although he wouldn't have seen it all. He couldn't have seen the gag, but he must have watched me clutch at something over my mouth.
He looked disapproving before he, too, turned away.
I glanced to the other side of me, but if Luther caught Knox's expression, he didn't let on.
Helene was right about one thing, now was a good time to concentrate on clearing my mind. Frustration and anger would get me nowhere.
I set my gaze on my horse's ears and half my attention on the landscape. The other half I used to watch and listen. The swordsmen said little, but once in a while Elgar would shout an order, or listen to a scout who returned from ahead or behind the group.
From what I could tell, no one followed us. Elgar seemed more concerned with the way ahead. As the day wore on, his face seemed grimmer and grimmer. He shared words with Helene here and there, but for the most part he just scowled.
Between Helene and Luther, it seemed to me not much could pose a real threat. Why, then, was Elgar so concerned?
I tried to listen, but the man only let a stray word escape here and there. Not enough for me to make sense of it. I sought out his scent—the bond hadn't suppressed that ability—but all I found was sweat and irritability. That was common to all of us right now.
Even with a scarf over my head and most of my face, the sun was merciless. Why didn't we travel at night? Maybe the risk from sand dragons was higher than the risk of sunburn or heatstroke.
Neither held a great deal of appeal. I missed the ocean breezes from the residence in the city. Hades, I'd kill for some AC right now. Why the fuck weren't we travelling by a comfortable bus, or a plane? Surely the Vault had those?
The further we rode, the fewer breezes of any kind blew. Those which did, were hot and dry, like a blast of the sand itself, and laced with the subtle scent of dried bones.
I could have imagined that last. Stories about deserts often mentioned hallucinations to drive a traveler to distraction. Or worse.
I pushed away the idea, but the scent remained in my nostrils. I'll probably remember it for the rest of my life, after the other details of this journey were long forgotten.
Some smells lingered.
I didn't say a word until we made camp that night. Even then, I slid down from my horse in silence, took his saddle off and set it aside beside my tent.
Knox walked past on some task or another, but I didn't glance at him twice. I kept my eyes down after I was handed a plate of food. I didn't acknowledge anyone else until Luther flopped down on the ground beside me.
"You want to know what happened," he stated.
"Do I?" I replied. I regarded him over a chunk of bread before I put it in my mouth.
"I killed a man," Luther said, as though he'd entirely missed the irony in my tone and expression.
"It happens," I replied nonchalantly, but my curiosity was piqued. I could tell he saw that in my eyes and continued speaking.
