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Arin grinned and tilted his head, considering it. He opened his mouth to speak.
“No.” Draven cut him off, scowl deepening.
“It will add a layer of believability,” Arin argued.
“No,” Draven said. “You’re not walking into the Court of Pain alone.”
“I won’t be alone. Lark will be beside me.”
Draven snorted, scowl turning sharp. “All of this is happeningbecauseof Lark.”
“Thank you for the accusations,” I said. “But I’m not my brother yet. All of this is his doing, not mine.”
Draven twisted on the bench and glowered, his dark eyes full of accusations. “How much of this could he have accomplished if he hadn’t had you maneuvering people for him?”
“Draven,” Arin warned.
Draven’s hand had dropped to his hip, where he’d typically be carrying a blade. Interesting. There was that anger again, the same anger that had always simmered below his surface, the anger of past hurt. “Let him speak. I want to hear the warlord’s insightful words.”
“I don’t haveinsightfulwords, as you well know. But I see you for what you are. Someone who uses others to get what they want. You don’t care about anyone but yourself. Arin is not going with you on this insane plan, but if you want to go home, where you belong, I won’t stop you.”
A silence fell over our table. Draven’s outburst had been brewing for days and he wasn’t wholly wrong. I did use people, but so did his blond-haired, bubbly husband who currently stared at Draven as though determining where to shove a dagger.
“I’ll do what I like,” Arin said, his voice steady and thin, pulled tight with restraint. He’d sounded like that moments before backhanding his father. “And if you think to stop me, Draven, then this is the end of our relationship, or friendship, or whatever it is we have.”
My surge of satisfaction faded at the sight of Draven’s pained face. Arin had Draven’s heart in his hands, and I knew exactly how that felt.
Draven swallowed hard, frowned at this food, then picked up his fruit and began to eat. “Do as you wish. While Lark takes you on what is clearly a fool’s mission, I’ll attempt to talk my way back into War and determine if the crown is missing. To get back inside, I’ll have to denounce our joining.” His voice hitched. “Claim you’re a traitor and I was… duped.”
“That’s probably for the best,” Arin agreed and laid his hand over Draven’s on the table. “The joining was convenient, at the time.”
“‘Convenient’?” Draven grunted, taking his hand back. “I guess I was.”
Perhaps I should have been more sympathetic. But Draven knew Arin had only joined with him for political power, and any connection they had forged was tenuous. Or perhaps that was my own wishful thinking? Because if Draven stepped back, that made Arin free for my taking.
* * *
We traveledwith the traders caravan during the night, heading toward the oasis town of Palmyra, which Draven translated asHeart of the Desert. From there, Draven would catch a supply run back to War and plead his innocence to Ogden. Once he knew the status of the crown, he’d meet us at the Overlook Inn in the Court of Love at the next full moon, assuming the Inn hadn’t been abandoned. Before then, Arin and I had several weeks to transform me into my brother, make the crossing to the Court of Pain, infiltrate the council, locate Pain’s crown, and escape again with it in our possession.
Of course, the more Arin discussed his plan, the easier he made it sound. But he didn’t know Pain like I did. What if Draven was right and Arin shouldn’t go? There was no use in telling him so. He’d already dug his heels in. Besides, his enthusiasm was infectious.
After three days traipsing through the desert, we reached Palmyra. Giant flowering trees flanked the roadways, cascading waterfalls plunged into misty ravines, and humid junglelike pathways snaked between ramshackle bamboo houses. And all of it was nestled in a fold in the desert, obscured by heat haze, making it almost invisible on approach.
Arrival into the town was marked by a bridge spanning a waterfall, suspended close to the plummeting falls. Waters churned in the plunge pool below, and all around, a cool mist rained. Arin stood in the rolling mist like a wet vagrant. He raised his hands, collecting water, and laughed, then shook his wet hair, drawing some odd looks from the local folks.
Draven chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you happy.” He sauntered off, saying he’d secure us lodgings.
I joined Arin on the bridge and lifted my face to the mist. After the heat and grating desert sand, the soft, cool rain kissed my skin like a soothing balm.
Arin leaned against the bridge railing and admired the sprawl of jungle-clad houses and milling people. “It’s spectacular. I like this place.”
I’d learned to treat all beautiful things with caution. I should have heeded my own rule when I’d met him. “It’s charming.”
“‘Charming’?” He snorted. “It’s magical.” He pushed from the rail, spread his arms, and spun in the wet mist. His clothes, like mine, were filthy with sand. Both of us needed a bath, a comb, and a razor, but as he spun, his hair loose and messy, his face smudged with red sand, his eyes burned with their first real brilliance since I’d found him again in War.
I wanted to dance in the rain with him, wanted to count the stars with him, to discover new horizons, dream new dreams, sing new songs—all with Arin. The need became so powerful, it stole my breath and my heart, rendering both silent. I loved him, my prince behind the door. I’d always known, but only now did I allow myself to experience how deep that love went.
He saw me watching and slowed, turning shy. Impossibly, I loved him more with every beat of my heart and every glance he gave.
