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“Good. We should go quickly.”
“Why?” she asked, nonetheless moving into step beside him.
“We don’t know what – or whom – the target for the attack was.”
She frowned. “Don’t we?”
“You presume it was the palace, but what if it was more specific? You, or me, or an intention only to destroy everyone who was at the anniversary?”
She shivered. “You think they’ll come after us.”
It wasn’t a question, and yet, surprisingly, he answered. “It’s possible.”
“This is crazy. The region has known peace a long time – with the exception of our countries, and even that isn’t really violent, is it?”
“No,” he shook his head. “But for a long time before the peace, there was war, and memories of war do not easily fade. Do you want me to carry you?”
She shook her head automatically. The idea made her pulse all thick in her blood.
“Then keep walking. Faster.”
She wanted to tell him that his legs were a hell of a lot longer than hers, and to point out she was moving as quickly as she could in the shoes she wore, but some deep-rooted sense of pride kept her quiet, the same sense of pride that had her reject his offer of carrying her. They crossed the desert, hundreds of metres of it, soft, too-hot sand that swallowed her shoes whole meaning the tops of her feet were scorched after a few minutes.
Ella had to move quickly to keep up with Elon. Eventually, sand gave way to enormous rocks beneath their feet, mostly flat, and easier to traverse than the desert had been. He walked effortlessly and with intent, his head dipped, his sense of direction apparently innate. She didn’t ask again where they were going. Past experience had told her he wouldn’t answer.
Instead, she concentrated on following him, one foot after another. The air grew cooler as she went, the tufty trees she’d seen from the helicopter were actually tall and green, their tops providing a patchy canopy. The difference in temperature was remarkable when they moved beneath them.
On and on they went and eventually, Ella stopped walking, her hands on her hips, her eyes swept shut. “I just need a minute.” She hated having to ask him for that, but the events of the day were finally catching up with her. She felt numb and over-excited all at once.
“Of course.” She looked at Elon just in time to see his head dip in agreement. “Here, drink this.”
He lifted the bag she hadn’t realised he’d been carrying off his shoulder, reaching inside and pulling out a brown leather bottle. She took it suspiciously, unscrewing the top and sniffing it. Nothing.
“It’s water,” he said, and she was surprised to hear amusement in his voice.
“Thank you.” Her own words were crisp. She turned away from him as she drank quickly, so much so that water began to trickle down the sides of her mouth. She knew she should take care, that this might be all they had, but her thirst was insatiable.
He didn’t chastise her when she handed the bottle back over.
“Thank you.”
He nodded silently, replacing the water bottle in his bag before looking up at the darkening sky. “It’s not much further. You’re okay to keep going?”
She was exhausted and in shock, and she was becoming increasingly aware of little pricks of pain as she walked, making her suspect he’d been right when he’d suggested glass might have splintered more than her face.
“I don’t see we have much choice.”
“Let me carry you.”
Her stomach rolled and a sharp memory of his strong arms lifting her over his shoulder assaulted her, making her want to surrender to that, to be held by him, close to his broad, muscled chest, his powerful arms wrapping around her and making her feel safe and protected even in the midst of this madness.
It was weakness; she wouldn’t succumb to it.
“No, thank you.” She softened the prim tone with a smile. “I can manage.”
He didn’t look convinced. She took a step forward, and another, looking at him expectantly. “Only I don’t know the way.”
“Of course.” He began to move again, his stride slower this time, out of deference to Ella. She didn’t comment on it, but she was grateful for his consideration.
