Nelay’s eyes widened. Cinab gave up lying down and moved closer to hear better.
“Two days later, their water ran out. A day after that, the men started hallucinating. A woman appeared on the horizon. She came alone and unmolested into camp, for it was said the sentries believed her a mirage. By then old king Sansit had died, but his son Kutik still lived. The woman promised to lead them to water on two conditions. First, that King Kutik marry her and make her his queen. Second, that he swear never to venture into the desert with his armies again.”
Rycus leaned back on his elbows. “And that is how Marif, a chieftain’s daughter, became the strongest queen to ever live, and Zatal’s mother.”
Nelay had finished with the bowls. She piled them neatly in their crate, then smoothly drew her swords and turned to face Rycus. “Are you threatening me?”
Delir, Bahar, and Ashar scrambled to their feet, while Cinab gaped at her. Scand continued snoring, oblivious.
Rycus eyed her steadily. “Why would you think an old story a threat?”
“Don’t be asinine.”
He gestured for his men to stand down. They sat reluctantly, their bodies still tense.
“Not a threat, High Priestess. A lesson. In your temple, there are only games. A loss for you simply means you don’t get to ride rose-draped horses through the city streets. Here, a loss means you die or you wish you had.”
Furious, she tightened her grip on her swords. Obviously he had eavesdropped on her conversation with Cinab—had probably sent the boy to speak with her in the first place. “You think I don’t know that?” she said.
Rycus set his jaw. “No. You don’t.”
She leveled her sword at him. “I grew up just inside the Idaran border. I remember the hunger. I remember what it felt like to watch my father dying. He lived, but my siblings weren’t so lucky. The dreams of my mother’s keening still wakes me at night. So don’t tell me I don’t know what loss is.”
Rycus studied her with an expression of surprise. She shoved her swords back into their scabbards. “You don’t get to teach me any more lessons. You don’t get to look down at me as some weak, pampered Idaran. Another word in disparagement, and I will crush you. Is that clear, smuggler?”
He inclined his head. “It is, high priestess.” This time there was no mockery in his tone.
Nelay lifted her chin and strode to the other side of Cinab. He was the only one who hadn’t jumped to defend against her, even if he had been ordered to be her friend. She lay down, glaring at the tent. Cinab watched her for a moment before sheepishly lying down. Fuming inside, Nelay closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.
She heard the boy shift so he was facing Rycus. “Since King Kutik couldn’t conquer the desert, he turned to the Clanlands?” Cinab asked.
“The Clanlands don’t even have a standing army—it’s all militia,” Rycus replied. “Zatal took their continued resilience as a personal insult to his military prowess.”
Cinab’s voice dropped to a whisper. “They say the Winter Goddess herself protects the Clanlands. That her lover is one of their men.”
It wasn’t the first time Nelay had heard as much.
“Don’t believe their nonsense,” Scand snorted, rolling onto his side. “And keep quiet! Some of us are trying to sleep.”
“If only you kept your own advice,” Delir shot back, and the others snickered.
After a moment, Cinab persisted. “But do you believe it?”
It was Delir who answered. “Personally, I think it’s their very, very large battle axes.”
“You’ve fought them?” Cinab asked in awe.
Nelay had yet to even see a Clansman. She turned her head quietly and opened one eye as Delir’s enormous hands waved in the air. “They are pale, their skin white like a maggot’s,” he said. “Unless they’re upset—angry or sick. Then it turns red or even whiter—really, you’ve never seen such disgustingly colorful people. And their hair comes in the color of copper.” He paused, then said quietly, “But the strangest thing . . . the strangest thing of all is that their skin is cold to the touch. And when they speak, cold vapors flow from their mouths.”
Cinab’s eyes looked like they would pop out of his head.
“He’s teasing you,” Nelay said. “They have pale features, but other than that, they’re just like us.” Or at least that’s what the priestesses had taught her when she’d learned Clannish. With a glare aimed at all of them, she held her shamshir to her chest and settled down. This time she didn’t fight sleep.
Nelay commanded her camel to kneel. It did so jerkily, going first to its knees, then dropping to its hindquarters, then sitting back to let its front legs relax. She stepped toward it to mount but stopped to watch a lizard scurry off. Another fairy sent to find her? As horrible as having the Sight had been—as scary as the fairies were—at least back then she could see her enemies. Now she was blind to them, and that was worse.
She had just started to climb on the camel when a hand landed on her shoulder. Nelay knew immediately who it was. She grabbed his hand, wrenching his knuckles down and his wrist up, and shoved him back. “You don’t get to touch me.” She glared at him, actually hoping he would rush her and she could work out this tension instead of trying to stuff it all inside.
Rycus shook out his hand, looking at her with his brows raised and mischief in his eyes. “If you’re this angry over a disagreement about histories, I’d hate to see what happens when you lose at gambling.”
She leaned forward, a challenge in her eyes. “I don’t gamble and I don’t lose.”
He shrugged. “Probably for the best. I’d beat you easily.”
Angry he hadn’t taken the bait, Nelay got on the camel and kicked it to make it rise. As they moved out, Nelay turned back to see Rycus watching her. She’d thought she’d made her point and he would leave her alone, but he rode up behind her. “You know you can’t actually outrun me, since we’re traveling together. Also, my camel is faster than yours—you have to pay more for the fast ones.”
She ignored his teasing—ignored him entirely—though she still itched to hit him. But he wasn’t done yet. “Have you heard the story about how the stars came to the sky?”
Nelay cast her eyes to the heavens, silently asking for help from whichever goddess would listen. “You told enough stories last night.”
“Ah, but that wasn’t even close to my best one.” He cracked his knuckles as if preparing for a fight instead of a storytelling. “A wise old priestess tired of the world being lost to the dark of night. So she created a new kind of luminash, one that never stopped burning.”
Despite herself, Nelay’s interest was piqued. Luminash that never ceased to burn? The possibilities of such a substance were endless.
“The priestess formed an expedition and climbed the highest mountain in all the world,” Rycus explained. “From there, she tossed the burning luminash into the night sky.”
“Only someone with a death wish would do that,” Nelay interrupted.
He shot her a pointed look and went on. “It caught her on fire, as she’d known it would, killing everyone in her party. As she lay dying, she watched the luminash scatter across the sky, settling in place to form the stars.”
Nelay kicked her camel into a trot, determined to outdistance Rycus. But he simply hustled his camel after her.
“Then something happened that she did not anticipate. Some of the luminash fell back. As her soul departed her body, it passed through the burning particles.”
Despite herself, Nelay tipped her head to the side to listen.
“Her soul became so bound to the luminash it burned like cold fire. Even more than the burning substance around her, her soul lit up the night sky. And so she decided to remain, offering light to all those in darkness. Over time, her name was lost to the ages. And so the world called her moon.”
Nelay didn’t know what to say. Suddenly Rycus urged his camel to the front of the group, leaving her in her oppressive s
ilence.
That night at camp, Nelay was staring at the inside of the tent, cold and lonely. Rycus’s voice again rose, loud enough for her to hear even though he was again on the opposite side. Every night and every morning it was the same—more tales of love and loss, betrayal and hope. Each one contained an undercurrent of sacrifice, of giving of oneself to make others’ lives better.
Despite Nelay’s distrust of Rycus, her determination to keep him at a distance, she could not make him angry. And she tried. For twelve days she tried. Eventually, it became almost a game between them. She would toss out a dig, and he would end up telling a story, which she would listen to in rapt attention while pretending not to.
On the twelfth day the wind blew dirt into her eyes and ears and mouth. She was hot and bored. Though resisting the urge to engage with Rycus on principle, she found herself riding closer and closer until she was beside him. “Is there a reason for the slow pace, smuggler?”
He looked her over. “No. I just enjoy annoying you.”
She made a show of rolling her eyes. “I paid you a lot of money. The least you could do is keep it interesting.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Are you asking for one of my stories?”
“Of course not!” she huffed, yet she couldn’t bring herself to ride away, either. Smirking, Rycus let the silence stretch. Finally, Nelay let out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, anything would be better than listening to the wind howl.”
He grinned at her, and something softened in her. She liked it when he grinned. Liked the way his eyes lit up when he teased her. Liked how he always looked after everyone, telling jokes and tales to keep their spirits up.
“How about the very first Tribesmen to cross the Adrack Desert?”
She pretended to hate the idea. He pretended to believe her. Somehow, it had become a thing between them.
“Hazree crossed the Adrack Desert,” Rycus began, “before even the founding of Idara.”
“Proof that the Tribesmen descended from imbeciles,” Nelay said.
“All it proves,” Delir called from behind them, “is that even imbeciles know to choose the Adrack over Idara!”
Rycus snickered and Nelay shot them both a glare, but there was laughter just beneath the surface. And this time, she wasn’t sure she kept it entirely hidden.
“I’m not telling any stories unless you promise to stop interrupting, high priestess,” Rycus said, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Well, if—” she began.
“Not another word!” he growled teasingly.
Nelay bit her lip in a show of silence.
His gaze snagged on her mouth before he quickly looked away. Something seemed to catch inside her—catch and refuse to tug free no matter how hard she pulled at it.
He cleared his throat. “Hazree crossed the Adrack before even the founding of Idara. He went in search of the elice flower to heal his dying wife, but instead found a canyon with high walls. He explored these canyons and discovered several underground lakes of brilliant blue water. He thought it would be easy to divert some of the water to irrigate the canyons’ rich soil. Inside one of these caves he found the flower he’d been searching for. He returned home with all haste and healed his wife. Then he took his family and his family’s families deep into the desert to this hidden canyon. And that was how the Tribesmen were born.”
Nelay noticed the camels perking up and picking up their pace. Blinking her sand-scratched eyes, she shot a questioning look to Rycus, whose eyes crinkled the dirt on his face as he smiled. “The cistern is ahead. We will rest for a day. You may bathe, else we will not be able to bear your company any longer.”
She leaned over to smack the back of his head, and he had the decency not to avoid the blow. They didn’t carry enough water to waste on bathing, and for the first time in her life she wished for smoky incense to cover the stench of sweaty bodies and camel hair.
Kicking their camels into a gallop, Ashar and Delir rode on ahead to circle the cistern for signs of an ambush. Nelay didn’t see the entrance until they were nearly upon it—an outcropping of rock, a black void beneath it. Her camel must have smelled the water for she broke into a gallop. But the entrance wasn’t tall enough to accommodate Nelay riding the camel. She pulled back hard on the reins, hard enough to pull the peg out of the camel’s nose. But even with blood leaking from its nostrils, the animal forged on.
“Nelay!” Rycus called. “Slide off her back!”
Nelay saw the top of the cavern looming toward her. She pushed herself up and over the saddle, slid off the animal’s backside, and landed hard on her bottom.
Rycus dropped off his camel to kneel beside her. Despite his concerned gaze, Nelay could tell he was trying very hard not to laugh. She glared at him, her headscarf twisted so she could only see him with one eye. He reached out and righted it before bursting into laughter. He sat and cocked one arm around his knee, his sides shaking. The others were laughing too, even Scand. Nelay felt a smile spreading across her face. Then she too was laughing.
Rycus helped her up, and for once she didn’t shy away from his touch. She moved toward the cistern and her wayward camel, but Rycus held out his hand. “Not yet, high priestess. A cistern is a dangerous place.”
She examined the shadows. “Are there snakes?” The reptiles loved to hide in dark holes from the heat of day. The scar on Nelay’s ankle seemed to twinge as she thought of the time she and her father had been bitten. “I hate snakes.”
Rycus scanned the horizon. “Snakes aren’t what I’m worried about.”
The itch from a mixture of sand and several days’ worth of salt from her sweat seemed to worsen by the second as she forced herself to wait until the other men returned to confirm they were alone. Only then did Rycus nod for her to step inside the cistern.
Inside, it was immediately cooler, the air damp against her skin. But that wasn’t what took her breath away. The first cistern had been little more than a cave. This had grand columns interspersed throughout, the water blue-green. Her camel stood in it up to her knees.
Rycus waded out, took hold of the reins, and pulled the reluctant animal out of the water. Standing at the edge, Scand heaved on a pulley, which released a torrent of water into a shallow trough carved into the ground. He called for the others to let their camels in. The beasts drank from the trough almost as fast as the water filled it.
Nelay felt a tug on her arm and turned to find Rycus behind her. “This is my favorite part,” he said. He led her around a column, part of a pair that flanked the entrance. Behind it was another trough, this one much deeper. He lifted a pulley, filling it with cool water. “It’s for bathing. That way the drinking water stays clean.”
Nelay didn’t wait for an invitation. She stepped into the cool water with a groan of pleasure. It was deep, reaching halfway up her thighs. With cupped hands, she splashed it on her face. Even that wasn’t enough, so she submerged, clothes and all.
Rycus crossed his arms, laughing at her. “Don’t drink anything yet, high priestess. We must boil it first.”
She was too happy floating on the still surface to acknowledge him.
“How’s your backside?” he asked.
“It throbs.”
He chuckled. “All right. We’ll make camp while you play.”
A while later, she sat up when Rycus splashed her. She grinned at him, too happy to affect an imperious air. But at the sight of him wearing only a dhoti, she felt herself go still—her insides catching again. He was hard and wiry everywhere she was soft. And though she was still fully dressed, her clothes were plastered to her body.
He held up a cake of soap. “For you, I bring myrrh-scented soap. But you better hurry. The rest of us want a turn.” He tossed it to her and disappeared again. She wasted no time stripping out of her robes and setting her necklace carefully on the edge.
She scrubbed herself twice for good measure, her hands running across the soft bristling of hair that had grown on her scalp i
n the weeks since they’d left Thanjavar. She turned her arms over, studying the ink stains that were mere echoes of what they had been. Once she was clean, she scrubbed her desert robes and wrung the water from them, wishing she’d thought to grab her training clothes to change into. She wrapped the damp robe around her body like a towel and moved onto the sandy stone, then winced as she realized her feet were no longer clean.
Stepping outside, she found all the men wearing only their dhotis, their dark skin glistening with sweat under the relentless sun. When they saw her, they hustled past her into the cistern. Rycus slowed down, his gaze lingering on her bare shoulders and legs, before he hurried to catch up to the others. There was splashing and laughter.
Nelay moved to her camel packs and withdrew a dry set of robes. After dressing, she settled down in the shade of the tent the men had set up and began combing her long hair. She’d just worked out all the snarls when the men emerged. Smiling, they nodded at her and returned to their banter.
Their lack of interest in her as a woman was baffling. When she danced the fire dance for the men of Idara, their covetous gazes had followed her with more than a little fear, for priestesses were well trained in the art of death, and fairly impervious to the law of the land. Not to say that the high priestess wouldn’t make an acolyte wish she were dead, but that was different from a prison or a death sentence.
Nelay was something to be revered, feared, and desired—usually in that order. And yet these men didn’t seem to see her as anything but a friend. Warmth blossomed in her chest. For the first time since leaving Jezzel, Nelay no longer felt alone. She took a deep breath in, smiling with happiness.
When she opened her eyes, she found Rycus unabashedly watching her and the catch in her lower belly felt more like a tug. Perhaps, she thought, the men’s distance has more to do with the way he has begun to look at me.
Dressed in clean robes, Rycus plopped down beside her. “I have to admit, clean is a better look for you than filthy.”