Five
With Lirabel shouting orders, Roa ran back to Dax’s tent and darted inside. Sand coated her teeth. Grit burned in her eyes. Grabbing his scarlet sandskarf, she wrapped it tight around her head, pulling it snug over her nose and mouth. Next she grabbed his mantle, pulled it on, and darted out again.
Chaos greeted her. The sun glinted off the guards’ steel sabers as they buzzed like bees in a disrupted nest, scrambling to secure the caravan.
But these tents weren’t sturdy enough to withstand a storm. Those pegs would fly out of the ground as easily as a needle pushed free of cloth.
Why had Dax not done as he promised? And why had no one consulted her or Lirabel or Jas—the ones who intimately knew the sand sea and its dangers?
Roa was about to whistle for Essie, except Essie wasn’t here. The sharp pain of it sliced Roa anew.
She would have to survive this without her sister.
“Roa!” Lirabel’s frantic voice called through the wind.
Roa spun to find her friend—her skarf gone, her long black curls glittering with golden sand.
“He wouldn’t listen!” She clutched her knees, breathing hard. “Oleander spooked and . . . Roa, he’s gone after her!”
Roa peered through the air, growing thicker by the heartbeat. Squinting hard, she could just make out two shapes in the distance beyond the camp: Dax and a horse.
The king didn’t know the first thing about surviving a sandstorm.
Rule number one? Never leave camp.
Nearby, the cook madly tried to pack up their food. Roa grabbed her arm, stopping her, then reached into one of the still-open sacks until her hand found a crisp red apple.
Snatching it up, she tucked it into the pocket of Dax’s mantle, then ran to where Jas was retying the one horse he’d been able to catch. Grabbing Poppy, Roa mounted and dug her bare heels into the horse’s flanks. Poppy sped off at a gallop, whipping sand into Roa’s eyes.
She could barely see Dax in the distance, shirtless and heading into the storm.
Stupid, foolish boys and their stupid, foolish notions . . .
Didn’t he know how deadly it was to breathe in all that sand? It would fill his lungs and suffocate him.
“Dax!” she screamed. But the wind snatched his name right out of the air.
Oleander, a russet mare, galloped away from Dax whenever he got close, taking them farther away from camp. And the farther they got from camp, the closer the wall of sand got to them.
Roa and Poppy raced harder.
“Dax!”
This time he turned, lifting his bare arm and wincing as the sand sliced his skin. His eyes met hers—the only part of her face visible beneath the sandskarf she wore. She held the apple aloft, showing him what she was about to do, then hurled it in his direction.
Miraculously, he caught it.
The red-gold swell swallowed the rising sun and the sky darkened. Poppy, sensing danger, whinnied. Hearing it, Oleander flicked her ears, then looked at the apple in Dax’s hand.
Roa closed the gap.
Poppy’s hooves halted. Oleander came to Dax, taking the apple in her huge teeth. The instant she did, Dax grabbed her reins and launched himself onto her back.
A crack of thunder split the sky. Poppy reared, frightened, and Roa would have slid off if Dax hadn’t reached his arm across her back, his warm hand steadying her.
With both horses under control and the storm growing behind them, Roa nudged Poppy into a gallop. Dax and Oleander kept pace with them.
They raced back to camp.
As Roa glanced toward the king, Dax caught her gaze. All trace of that witless boy was gone. In his place was someone else. Someone Roa almost recognized.
The wall of sand roared at their backs. The king and queen broke their gazes, leaning into their horses, urging them faster.
They hit the camp, racing through the billowing tents. Roa reached for Oleander’s reins, halting both their horses at the same time.
As one, they dismounted.
The wall of sand hit, drenching them in utter darkness, and the temperature plummeted.
Roa squeezed her eyes shut and breathed into the cotton sandskarf. They had two choices now. They could blindly go in search of a tent and hope they didn’t miss, or stay where they were. The first choice was more dangerous—they could walk right out of the camp without knowing, get lost in the storm, and never be found.
So Roa yanked on Poppy’s reins, making her get down on all fours, then did the same with Oleander. Once both horses were down, she reached for Dax, her fingers closing tightly around his bare arm. As the sand stung her face, she slid her hand down to his wrist, then his palm. Threading their fingers together, she kept her other hand on Poppy’s flank, making her way to the mare’s leeward side, bringing Dax with her. Using Poppy as both a shield and a heat source, Roa dropped to her knees, forcing Dax to do the same.
The sand stung her skin. Soon it would start shredding it. In the cold and the darkness, she pushed Dax against Poppy, then tugged off the mantle she wore—his mantle—before dropping into his lap.
“Cover yourself with this!” The sandskarf muffled her voice as she shoved the wool garment into his hands.
Dax’s arm curled around her, pulling her against him as he swept the thick wool over them both, keeping them shielded from the shrieking storm. When Roa started to shiver from the cold, Dax’s arms tightened around her.
With her cheek pressed to his heart, Roa closed her eyes and prayed.
She prayed this was the kind of storm that threw a single shrill tantrum and died out quickly . . . not the kind that raged for days and swallowed you alive.
What felt like both years and heartbeats later, Poppy relaxed, sighing behind them. Roa listened carefully, noticing a difference in the wind. It still screamed, just not so angrily. The sand still whipped, but it no longer hurt.
Soon enough, the wind stopped.
The sand settled.
The storm died.
As the world fell still, Roa lifted her cheek from Dax’s chest. His arms loosened around her as she pushed off the heavy mantle, then crawled out of his lap.
The sand was cold beneath her palms. But when she looked up, the darkness was gone. The sun blazed above her once more. Roa closed her eyes, letting it shine on her face, thankful to be alive.
Rising, she turned to find Dax covered in a layer of gold. The sight of him, safe, brought a rush of relief—
—followed immediately by anger.
She was about to declare how utterly dangerous it was to chase a horse into a sandstorm, when the sight over his shoulder made the words die on her tongue.
Their camp was . . . gone.
Before the storm hit, there had been half a dozen brightly colored tents. Now there was nothing but sand.
Roa quickly did a head count. Jas was pulling Lirabel up from the sand. The cook was searching for her pots—which had all been flung away—and the guards and staff were all accounted for.
But the tents were gone and with them, their supplies. Water. Food. Clothing. All of it gone.
Except Poppy and Oleander, even the horses were gone.
Roa knew what it meant to be trapped in the middle of the desert without water or shelter. If they were lucky, they might last two days.
If they were unlucky, they wouldn’t survive the night.
Three Months Previous
Roa was in her father’s study, hiding from the son of the king.
Dax had arrived earlier that day, without any invitation or warning. As Roa paced the room, she wondered how he dared to return, after all this time, expecting a warm welcome. Wondered how he could think to fall so easily back into place here. In Roa’s own house.
The last time they’d seen each other, Roa’s father was dragging him into a windowless room and locking the door.
The last time they’d seen each other, he’d taken something precious from her.
The sight of him—after these eight
years—was like swallowing a stone.
At dinner, Dax spoke with her brother, Jas, as if they were old friends instead of enemies. And then, afterward, he offered to help clean up.
Roa nearly spat out her tea. The son of the king, she thought, helping in our kitchen?
Her mother refused, as Roa knew she would.
But Dax was not dissuaded. He smiled a winsome smile. He used those warm brown eyes to melt her mother to his will. He even took the dishes out of her hands saying, “Let me carry these for you, Desta.” As if Roa’s mother wasn’t used to hauling heavy sacks of grain in from the fields or her own weight in water from the wells of Song.
To Roa’s utter disbelief, her mother gave in—but not with a smile. Instead, Desta looked at the son of the king with sorrow in her eyes.
Next, Dax stood beside Roa at the washbasin, with a cotton towel thrown over his shoulder, drying the dishes as fast as she washed them, asking after her family, asking after her.
Roa couldn’t stand it. The enemy, not just in her house, but in her own kitchen, trying to win her to his side?
As if he wasn’t the heir to Firgaard’s throne—a throne that had taken the lifeblood of their people, sucking the meat from their bones.
As if he wasn’t the boy who’d stolen Roa’s sister from her.
Didn’t he remember what he’d done? Who he was?
Before Roa could smash a pot over his head, Lirabel stepped in, her gaze catching Roa’s. The look on her face said: Go. Run. I’ll take care of this.
Roa wanted to hug her.
She fled to her father’s study, on the opposite side of the house.
But not even the study was safe. As soon as everything was put away, Dax found his way into the very next room for a game of gods and monsters with her father.
As if her father wasn’t the one who’d locked him in a storeroom.
As if her father wasn’t still grieving the daughter he’d lost—because of Dax.
A soft rap-rap-rap on the door drew her out of her thoughts.
Roa stopped pacing and bared her teeth. Was there no escape?
But it wasn’t Dax who opened the door and stepped into the study. It was Theo. The flames lit up his dark hair, pulled back in a bun, and cast shadows in the hollows of his throat and jaw. He shut the door behind him.
Relieved, Roa let her breath out in a whoosh.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She threw him a look that said, What do you think?
Theo crossed the room to her. When they were children, Theo had been a bully and a brute who Roa found it hard to be friends with. But eight years of sanctions had turned him into something else entirely. Eight years of sanctions had forged a tight alliance between the heirs of Song and Sky.
“Did you hear him at dinner?” Theo whispered, knowing Dax was in the next room. “Talking to your uncle about the grain harvest? As if most of that harvest won’t be destroyed by the blight. As if your parents won’t give what’s left to those who need it more than they do.” Theo’s voice was bitter. “And that slave . . . how does he dare bring a slave into your house?”
Roa hugged herself. “I don’t know,” she whispered. It was abominable, the way draksors thought they could own other human beings.
She started to pace again.
Seeing her agitation, Theo calmed himself. “It’s just a fortnight and then he’ll be gone.” He reached for her arms, stopping her and pulling her into him. “You can handle him for a fortnight.”
She nodded. That was true.
Roa looked to the door between this room and the next. The one where Dax played gods and monsters with her father.
Why have you come? she wondered.
Theo’s voice brought her back. He squinted down at her, as if she weren’t really standing in his arms but somewhere far away and he was trying to find her. Several heartbeats passed before she realized he’d been saying something.
“Roa? Where are you?”
“I’m sorry.” She pressed her palms to her eyes. “I’m so . . . unfocused tonight.” She let her hands fall back to her sides. “Please distract me.”
He smiled his bright smile.
“Gladly.” He tugged on her hand, bringing her to the windowsill, and lifted himself into it. Roa crawled up after him, then sat against the opposite casing.
Capturing her hands, he began planting kisses on each of her fingers, then both palms. Roa closed her eyes, trying to go to the place his kisses normally sent her. But even as his lips moved up the insides of her arms, Roa’s thoughts were with the boy-king in the next room.
“I changed my mind,” Theo murmured against her skin. “Let’s not wait.”
“What?” Roa asked, coming fully out of her thoughts and opening her eyes.
Theo sat back, letting go of one hand and keeping the other. He traced soft circles on her palm. Roa stared at the movement of his thumb, willing it to soothe her.
“We can go to Odessa.”
Odessa was the woman who performed bindings and burnings in the territory of Sky, Theo’s home.
“She can marry us in secret. Tonight.”
Roa’s back was pressed firmly up against the casing as she stared at him, shocked. Their binding was only a month away. Their mothers had it all planned out already. She shook her head. “Think of how furious my father would be! He’d never forgive us.”
“He would. Eventually.” Theo’s kisses moved up her throat and along her jaw. “If you’re my wife, I can take you away from here. You wouldn’t ever have to see him again.”
Roa turned her face to his. Theo’s pale gold eyes, framed in dark lashes, now gazed intently—hungrily—into her own.
“Marry me, Roa. Tonight.”
She reached with her free hand to touch his face. But a sound issued from the room beyond, like the scraping of chairs, and her attention was once again snagged.
What was Dax speaking to her father about?
“Roa?”
Through the wall, she heard Dax laugh at something her father said.
“Roa, are you even listening?”
Suddenly, the door to the study swung open, letting in the light from the hall.
Theo flinched.
Roa turned to look.
Dax stood frozen in the doorframe.
“Roa, I—” He glanced from her to Theo and back. “Oh. Forgive me. Your father said . . .”
His gaze dropped to Roa’s hand, still clasped in both of Theo’s.
“He said you were in here.” Dax stared hard now, his eyebrows knit in confusion, as if trying to make sense of what he’d walked in on. “I didn’t realize . . .”
And then, without finishing his sentence, as abruptly as he came in, Dax stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.
The study plummeted into silence. Only the fire crackled in the hearth, spilling golden light across the carpets.
“Idiot,” hissed Theo, squeezing Roa’s hand.
She didn’t hear him, though. She was too busy wondering: What did he ask Papa for?
Roa trusted her father. She knew he wouldn’t agree to anything that wasn’t in the best interest of Song. But what if this was some kind of trap?
Dax was the son of a tyrant. He couldn’t be trusted.
Roa pulled her hand free. Cupping Theo’s cheeks in her hands, she kissed him quickly on the mouth. Theo reached for her, trying to deepen it.
But Roa pulled away.
“I’ll be right back,” she whispered, hopping down from the sill.
“What? Why? Where are you going?”
Roa didn’t answer. Just opened the door and stepped into the hall.
There was no sign of Dax in the corridor beyond. Nor any of the rooms.
No matter, she thought, her footsteps remembering.
She found the son of the king on the roof of the garden shed. It was the place he used to hide from the bustle of Roa’s household when he’d spent summers here as a child.
As s
he climbed the ladder, though, a memory pricked her like a thorn. Sadness welled up and Roa lost her footing on the rung. The clatter made her wince, and when Roa glanced up, she found herself staring into Dax’s face.
His eyes were just as she remembered: the color of chestnuts gleaming in the sun. And his ears still stuck out a little too far from his head. But his nose—that was different. It was no longer so straight.
Broken, she thought. Maybe twice.
Again, that prick of memory. She thought she saw it reflected at her in his eyes. But if he remembered, he didn’t say a word. Just made space for her as she hauled herself up.
Dax lay back down, his sleeves still rolled to his elbows from washing dishes.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I should have knocked.”
Not for the first time, his voice startled her. Like the rest of him, it no longer belonged to a boy but to a young man.
Roa stretched out next to him. “You weren’t interrupting anything.”
He glanced at her, then away.
The space between them filled up with eight years of things unsaid. Eight years of thoughts she couldn’t voice and memories she’d tried to bury.
How dare you set foot here, she wanted to tell him.
But Roa was a daughter of the House of Song. Her father had taught her to be gracious even when her instinct was to draw her knife.
Especially when her instinct was to draw her knife.
Roa needed to find out why he’d come. She decided to start small.
“Who won?” she asked.
“What?”
“Gods and monsters.”
“Oh.” He cupped his hands behind his head, relaxing a little. “I did. Of course.”
Roa glanced up to find a crooked smile on his face as he stared up at the stars.
“Liar.”
Dax smiled wider. In a flash, though, the smile was gone. He glanced at her and their eyes met.
Both of them looked away.
Silence grew into the space between them, like a thick and choking weed. In it, Roa remembered the locked room. The sobs slipping through the cracks. How she’d listened at the door to the sound of him crying.
“It’s . . . strange being back,” he said, shattering the memory. “Everything’s changed.”
The Caged Queen Page 4