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I snatched my hand back and she frowned at my lack of understanding. “Broken, weak, damaged, not perfect, given to sands.” She gestured, as though scooping something up.
“The court givechildrento the sands?”
She nodded. “Yar. Boys and girls from War. Too small, broken, different.” She made the same motion again,giving the children over to the sands.
Different. Scarred, physically or emotionally, or different, such as loving the same sex? And the Court of War gave them up?
“The children out there are from the Court of War?” I asked again. I needed this to be clear, because it sounded unbelievable. “You take them in?”
“Yar. Too weak to be warrior.” She motioned for me to eat. “Eat. Be strong. Not weak.”
I plucked at the nuts and nibbled, grateful when she left so I could shove the bowl under the rear tent flap for the three children who giggled and ran off with it. They’d bring the empty bowl back once they were done so I could please my angry nurse with evidence I’d eaten.
Ogden had not looked kindly on anyone who couldn’t swing their bodyweight in forged metal. The nurse implied that any child deemed useless would be cast out—given to the sands. But did they truly toss them out like trash? Not even Pain were as cruel.
The more I knew of the courts, the more warped and twisted they all revealed themselves to be. Was Justice as broken? If it was, then Razak would have no trouble manipulating them. He knew where to find weaknesses and how to make them work for him.
I tried to sleep, but the camp grew loud and jubilant as the temperature dropped. I almost wished Draven would drop by, then grouse about my lack of sleep.
But he’d be at Arin’s bedside, as was proper for a joined couple.
I tossed and turned, wondering about Draven, about Arin’s kiss in the cave. It had been a mere flutter. And as kisses went, it had been clumsy, and dry, both of us dehydrated and near delirious. It probably hadn’t meant anything, only that Arin had been losing his mind to the heat, and he’d felt the need for company while facing our final days. Still, as much as I tried to deny it, I couldn’t shake the feeling there was more there than my grasping at straws and his need for companionship. When I’d distracted the sandworm, he’d stayed. He could—should—have fled with Draven.
I shifted on my cot bed some more, then stared at my tent’s canopy.
I’d been Arin’s first sexual encounter. Had I known, I’d have made it more of an event, although we had started out attempting to cut each other’s throats, so candles and silk would have been unlikely. There hadn’t been time to discuss his experience or preferences. Did heknowhis preferences? Of course, the fact he’d hidden himself away for years meant he hadn’t had much choice, but as the Prince of Love, he could have invited anyone into his bed, man or woman, both together.
I touched my neck, where his blade had kissed me in front of my brother. Arin had impressed Razak with that move and surprised me. He’d never stopped surprising me.
There was some way to go before trusting him. The Prince of Flowers was a gifted liar. Yet, I sensed he’d changed—we’dchanged.
Thoughts tumbled around my head, each one vying to be the truth. Whatever the outcome, sleep remained elusive.
Venturing from the tent, I stepped into the camp’s cooler nighttime world. People sat around crackling fires, drinking, eating, and with the traders all gone, only the nomadic desert dwellers remained. I drifted on their peripheral, following the sounds of music to a crowd around a large fire. People gathered in groups, some danced, together and alone, and the music played on. The instruments were different to those I knew, unlike anything I’d seen, making music that was upbeat and fast-paced, urging me to dance.
I wandered, smiled at strangers, nodded greetings, drawing less attention than Arin might have with his golden locks and freckles.
Someone planted a drink in my hand and beamed at me. The wine was sweet, slightly warming, certainly better than the gritty water I’d been forced to consume. I finished that cup, found another, and wandered some more, losing myself to the sultry atmosphere. This was better; my mind wandered pleasantly as I drifted among these people. No bad dreams, or stalking memories. Just wine and merriment.
Arin’s voice drew me up short. A woman left a nearby tent—probably a caregiver—and before I could consider talking myself out of visiting him, I ducked through the flap, plunging inside.
“Lark!” Arin sat shirtless on his bed. He flung a sheet over his lap. “Don’t you knock?”
“It’s a tent. There’s little to knock on.” I stumbled and lurched across the dirt floor. “Did I interrupt something?”
He frowned. “Are you drunk?”
“No?” I eyed my cup. I hadn’t eaten, so there was a chance the wine had gone to my head. “Perhaps.” It was rather strong. I handed him the cup. “Try it.”
He eyed the contents suspiciously. “Where did you get it?”
“Someone handed it to me.” I waved his concern away and dropped onto the edge of the bed beside him, dislodging a small pot of what appeared to be a clear gel. “Do not worry; nobody here wishes us harm. Drink. If it’s poisoned, I’d be dead.”
“That’s not encouraging.” He drank anyway, and his blond featherlight lashes fluttered. “Hm, that reallyisgood.”
I picked up the pot I’d disturbed when sitting and dipped a finger into the gel. Smooth, cool,lubricating.
Arin spluttered a laugh. “Stop.”
