Of course that's it. I'm so silly not to have seen it before. Rak is nothing but a coping mechanism, a useful tool for survival, and when I go home, the memory of him will fade—like a bruise. Sore for a while, and colorful, but eventually returning to normal.
After two hours of mental tough talk, I've convinced myself that I feel absolutely nothing for Rak—or if I do, it's the result of my volatile situation.
It's his turn to take watch, so I reach out to wake him—and then I remember him offering to take my night watch for me so I could sleep.
Why would he do that?
My fingers close on his shoulder and his eyes open. "My turn?" he asks.
"Yes." But I don't lie down right away. "Rak, what are we doing? When we move on, where will we go?"
"Toward the mountains, I guess. More towns there. We can find somewhere for you to hide until your father comes."
"What about your mother and sister? Where do they live?"
"In a village at the foot of the mountains. It's not a place you want to go."
"But you need to see them, right? To make sure they are still being protected?"
"I would like to, yes."
"Then we should go to them. All of us, together."
"I'm not sure the others will agree," he whispers.
"They'll go along. I'm paying them, after all. And I'm paying you, too."
His jaw tightens. "I don't want your father's money."
"Then why are you here, helping me?"
"Why would I run off alone into the desert when I can ride Safi's marvelous machine and enjoy Alik's humor all day?" His teeth gleam in the dark as he smiles. "We're stronger together."
"You need to leave as soon as we reach another town," I say. The words come out harsher than I intended, and his smile disappears.
"You're right," he says. "I don't like it, but you're right. This—" he points from me to himself—"it's not going anywhere. It's not like our families would get together every year for Selmastir." He chuckles, and I stare at him blankly. "You have no idea what that is, do you?"
"No. What is it?"
"Only our most sacred religious festival," he says.
"Oh. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry—you shouldn't have to be sorry. You belong with someone you understand, someone who shares your culture—and so do I."
He's agreeing with me, about backing off, not pursuing the connection we have. It should make me happy, but instead something stubborn and fierce rises in my heart, and all the neatly rational things I've been telling myself disappear like frost in the desert sun. "I could learn about your culture," I say.
"There's too much—I could never—" He shoves both hands into his dark hair, sweeping it back from his forehead. "It wouldn't end well, and you know it."
"Maybe I don't care."
"Maybe you should."
We're leaning toward each other. His eyes burn into mine, each word from his lips a glowing bolt. "You're too impulsive. Impatient. Rebellious."
"Says the rebel."
"You don't think about consequences."
"I do, sometimes," I say. "I'm the one who told you to back off today."
"And now you're saying the opposite. It's confusing."
"I know."
"It's annoying, too," says Safi's voice.
I hadn't realized that our voices were rising above a whisper. Heat floods my face. "Sorry, Safi. Go back to sleep."
"Actually, we should get moving again," she says. "We can get some distance behind us before dawn, travel while it's cool. If you two are done with your conversation, that is."
"We're done," Rak says, rising. He prods Alik with his foot. "Up, thief."
"I didn't do it," Alik exclaims, sitting up and rubbing his face. "Where's the gun?" He reaches for his pack.
"Stop it, moron, you don't need a gun," says Safi. "Rak is messing with you."
"Oh." Alik groans and lies down again. "Where am I, and why?"
"Out in the desert, because of the Vilor, remember?"
"Desert. Vilor." Alik stares at the sky.
"Are you always this disoriented when you wake up?" I ask.
"Only when I'm deathly exhausted." He sits up again and shakes sand out of his blond locks. "Where's my flask?"
"Never mind that for now. Load up, and you can drink on the way." Safi slings her pack into the COB.
"Can I drive?" Rak asks.
She quirks an eyebrow at him. "You know how?"
"I've driven military vehicles. Yes, I know how. Better than you, I'd wager. Yesterday was your first time driving any significant distance, yes?"
Safi turns away, scooping up the bundle of food supplies. "So?"
"You did well."
"I've taken the COB around the courtyard," she admits. "But fuel is expensive, and it wouldn't fit through the gate. So no, I didn't have any experience driving it in the desert before yesterday."
"If I'd known that, I would probably have pissed myself when you took us over that dune," says Alik.
Safi glares at him. "You're sitting with the fuel again."
He complains, but once we leave one empty fuel canister behind, giving him more room to stretch out, he resigns himself to the spot. I don't like discarding things out in the desert, but the others don't seem to give it a thought.
Riding through the desert is infinitely better than walking, even if I am sitting on a hard metal perch next to Alik's fuel bin. "How far to the mountains?" I ask.
"A couple of days," says Safi. "If the COB holds up. Longer if we have to go on foot."
"A couple of days stuck in this thing with you people?" Alik rummages in his pack for his flask. "Kill me now."
"We could topple you over the side and leave you to roast," says Safi. "No great loss to us."
"We'd need to take his finance card first," I say, grinning wickedly at him. "He's the only one with money."
Alik clutches his chest. "You wound me, darling. How quickly you've turned from princess to thief! Must be my influence."
"Oh, I've stolen before," I tell him. "A silver horse plastered in fake pink gems. Took it from my best friend's house when I was six."
"So young! I was sixteen when I stole my first timepiece. Snatched it right off a man's wrist and he never noticed. I'd always been quick-fingered, but at that moment I found my true calling." Alik offers me his flask, and I take a sip. He watches me, blue eyes narrowed against the rising sun, a friendly smile on his lean face. "Tell me more of your first times, Princess. How about boyfriends? Had many of those?"
"A few," I say. "Being the Magnate's daughter and reasonably attractive tends to draw a crowd of eager young men."
"Reasonably attractive? Princess, you're lovely. And I'm sure when you're in your natural habitat, you're Sky-born beautiful." Alik says it sincerely, without his usual smile, and something inside me warms. I'm not vain, but every girl likes to hear that she's beautiful once in a while.
"Thank you. You're not so bad yourself." I glance at the back of Rak's head, at the strip of tanned skin between his shaggy dark hair and his shirt collar, at the lines of his broad shoulders. Is he listening?
Alik isn't done with his line of questioning. "So tell me about your first boyfriend."
"It's not very exciting. I was ten. We held hands. The exciting ones came later—at least they were exciting until I figured out that all they really wanted was the connection to my father."
"Ah, poor Princess. Overshadowed by the lust for power and fortune. Do you have a lover at home right now?"
I think of Gareth, and the breakup months ago. Does Gareth know about my kidnapping? He must—he usually keeps up with the newsfeeds. Whether he cares or not is another matter.
"No lovers," I say. "Not for a while."
"No lovers," Alik says again, loudly. "Did you hear that, Rak? You've got a chance with her. And it's obvious you're not seeking advancement from her father, so that's a point in your favor."
Rak doesn't answer, and Safi turns,
frowning. "You are an idiot, Alik."
He flashes her a grin. "What about you, Sky-born? Did you leave a man behind in Ankerja? Some paunchy shop owner or greasy repair tech? Or a winsome woman who taught you to kiss?"
"It's none of your business what men or women I've loved," Safi says haughtily. "I'm sure you've got a long list of conquests that you're dying to tell us about. Quit pretending to be interested in our love lives and tell us your tales. Hot stories for a hot day." She fans her face with her long fingers.
Alik obliges, going into such detail that my face heats up, no powers required. I'm no prude, but usually this kind of talk happens between Vissa, Reya, and I in the privacy of our rooms at university—not here, in the company of two men and a woman I barely know, out in the desert.
Rak doesn't comment on any of the stories, but I hear him laugh a few times—a rough chuckle elicited by Alik's wry, irreverent humor and Safi's sarcastic commentary.
Then the COB's engine chokes.
"Time to refuel," says Rak, shutting it down. Half the morning has passed already.
"Water," begs Alik in mock desperation. "I've been entertaining you all for too long without a drink—I'm parched."
Safi tosses him one of the smaller bottles of water just as he's swinging out of the bin to the ground. The bottle hits a jagged bit of metal and bursts, the precious water spurting in a glittering fountain, raining down to the sand. Rak is on his feet in an instant, and the droplets freeze in midair, then merge together into a glimmering sphere.
"Nice trick!" Alik claps. "Hold it there—I want to try something." He puts his lips against the sphere of water, and as he drinks, it shrinks smaller and smaller. He leans back, wiping his mouth. "Never done that before."
Rak spins the smaller sphere of liquid, floating it over to me. He looks like a sorcerer from a storybook, with his wavy hair falling around his face and those dark eyes glowing. The rugged beauty of him, the gleam of the orb in his hands—my heart pulses harder.
"Thirsty?" he says.
Safi is filling the fuel tank, Alik is stretching his legs and complaining. I kneel on the metal perch so I'm face to face with Rak as he stands between the driver's wheel and his seat. I sink my lips into the surface of the floating water, and I drink until only a few shining beads are left. Rak catches them in his hand and wets his lips with them.
"You're staring again," he says.
"Because you're amazing," I whisper. "You don't even know how incredible you are."
I'm supposed to be withdrawing. Keeping my distance, starving the emotions that are welling up in me. I spin away from him and leap out of the vehicle, bumping into Safi.
"Watch it," she says, screwing the lid back onto the fuel tank.
"Sorry. Need any help?"
She looks at me like I'm crazy. "It's done."
"You should drink something, then."
"What are you doing?" She puts her hands on her hips.
"What?" I'm genuinely confused.
"Offering to help, telling me to drink water. What do you want?"
"Nothing," I say. "That's—what friends do."
She arches an eyebrow. "Hm. Not in my experience."
"You have friends?"
Safi hoists the fuel can and heaves it back into the bin. "Ready, Rak? Alik?"
I glance at Alik—and then I look away, because he's peeing right out in the open, without even attempting to hide anything. "At least give us a warning before you do that," I say. "For example, I'm letting everyone know I'll be doing my business over that ridge, and if anyone comes in that direction, I'll heat his eyeballs until they pop."
"Gruesome," says Alik. "Where did you learn such disgusting talk?"
"From my friends," I say, and I saunter over the ridge.
Once I cross the lip of the sandy peak and descend again, I'm half hidden from the others—and when I crouch, I can't see them at all. The whole process of doing what I need to do is messier, sandier, and hotter than I'd like, but I manage the best I can. I'm about to stand and go back over the ridge when I see something on the horizon—a blur, right at the edge where the sand and sky border each other.
Rearranging my clothes, I adjust my goggles and squint, trying to see more clearly. Then I run back up the dune.
"Safi, hands to the ground!" I cry.
She understands immediately and drops from the COB, palms against the sand. After a moment's focus, she gasps. "They're coming!"
We're in the COB and rolling in seconds, churning sand as fast as the machine will go. But from my perch on the back, I can see the cloud of dust coming nearer, separating into individual shapes. They're faster than we are.
17
"Why are we moving so slowly?" I call to Safi.
"This thing was designed to collect junk," she says. "It was never meant for crossing the desert. The sand is clogging the engine. I was going to clear some of it out, but then—" she points to the oncoming Vilor.
"You have any of that special fast fuel left?" asks Alik.
"No, and even if I did I wouldn't use it. With the engine chambers partly clogged, using that fuel would wreck the fool thing even faster."
"Why are they still following us?" I groan.
"Because we ran from them," says Rak over his shoulder. "And we killed some of their group. And maybe they know about you, or Alik. You're both wanted."
"They travel faster than us—how are they just now catching up?" Safi's words crack. "I thought we were safe."
"They probably stopped to rout the town first," he says. "Then they decided to come look for us. To teach us a lesson."
I don't want to watch the Vilor getting closer, but I can't tear my eyes away from the expanding shapes—seven of them. Five are the two-wheeled double-rider bikes; the other vehicles are larger, probably carrying more men, or supplies.
"Are there women among them?" I ask.
"Sometimes. Not the kind that would show any mercy," Rak replies.
"You've encountered them before." Alik's voice is high, strained. "I've only heard stories. Is it as bad as everyone says?"
"It can be worse. Depends on which warlord is in charge of the group you encounter. The ones that came to my village would let you live if you went along with it, if you didn't fight them. But I don't think we'll be given that choice. It will be a matter of how long they want to drag it out, and who goes first and who's forced to watch."
The dead flatness of his voice scares me more than the oncoming Vilor.
"What is wrong with you?" I twist around and punch his shoulder blade. "You're talking like it's over already!"
"It is over. They're catching up."
"We can fight."
"Zilara, they're going to kill you!" he yells. "Because of who you are, they're going to torture you and kill you, and I'll have to see it!"
The pain in his voices pierces my heart, and joy pulses out, because he cares.
I lay my hand on the back of his neck and heat his skin, just enough to remind him of what I can do. "I'm not dead yet. And I'm not giving up."
"Me either," Safi says, barely audible over the roar of the COB as Rak pushes it harder. He takes us over a ridge so fast that we all jerk and bounce in our seats. Then he yanks the vehicle to one side so that it skids and nearly flips over—and he stops. We're broadside to the ridge now.
"Get the guns, weapons, anything we can use."
"What about my other grenade?" says Alik. "It knocks everyone out except me."
"Some of them are wearing helmets. Will it work in spite of that?" Rak asks.
"I'm not sure."
"Don't use it then. Last thing we need is for you to be the only man standing while the rest of us are helpless and unconscious. Zilara, with me."
Rak steps into the bin and hauls the fuel canisters out, handing one to me and carrying two himself. We hurry toward the ridge and he places the canisters at intervals along the sand.
"Heat those, but not so high that they catch fire—just get the fuel mov
ing," he says. "When the Vilor come over the ridge, I'll shoot the cans, and the explosions should take out a few of their vehicles."
He runs back to the COB and starts shouting instructions to Safi and Alik. Laying both hands on the canister nearest me, I pump energy into it, gyrating the fuel inside, warming it. I have no idea how far to go with it, so I stop the influx of heat after a few minutes and move on to the next one. By the time I reach the third, I can feel the faint rumble of the Vilor machines through the ground, even without an ability like Safi's.
They're almost here.
"Zilara!" calls Rak. "Get back here!"
I run back, my broken shoes sluicing sand in and out with every step. Safi and Alik are crouched in the bin, guns propped on the edge, aimed at the ridge. Rak hunches between the driver's seat and the steering wheel, holding his own gun.
"Here." He hands me a large knife. "I'm sorry we don't have another gun."
"I'll be fine."
"Why do you say that?" Frustration colors his tone. "You know it's not true."
"It could be true. We might find a way out of this."
"A dozen or more of them against four of us?" He shakes his head, eyes locked on the ridge.
"Rak." I twist my fingers into his hair and force him to turn his head, to face me. "If you give up, then we've already lost. Don't go into this planning to fail."
"I can't protect you," he whispers.
"We'll protect each other. And if it doesn't work, it's not your fault."
Light flares in his eyes, a kind of desperate hope. "I will never understand how someone like you came from someone like the Magnate," he says.
"If you're looking for family resemblance, I get my extreme stubbornness from him," I say, and I try to laugh, but it comes out too shaky. I pull my hand out of Rak's hair so he won't notice how my fingers are trembling.
A grating roar from the other side of the ridge. The Vilor machines are accelerating to climb the slope. Rak tenses, aiming at one of the fuel canisters.
"Alik, get the left one," he says. "Safi, the one in the center. On my mark."
The huge wheels and dark mechanical bodies of the Vilor machines burst over the edge of the world, engines grinding and axles shrieking.
Rebel of Scars and Ruin (The Evolved Book 1) Page 16