Roa swung to face him, taken aback.
“What did you just say?”
Theo’s eyes widened a little. “You don’t know. . . .”
Something hardened inside Roa. She pushed him away.
“If you’re suggesting Dax is sleeping with . . .” She fumbled the words, thinking of Lirabel staring in the direction of Dax’s tent. Thinking of that last night in the House of Song, of the voices giggling in the hall, of Lirabel never coming to bed . . .
“No,” Roa said, shaking the doubt from her mind and hugging herself to ward off the accusation. “She would never do that.”
“Are you sure?”
Roa glared at Theo, furious he would even suggest such a thing.
“Why shouldn’t she take what you clearly don’t want?” he said. “It elevates her status—something she desperately needs.”
Roa’s mouth opened to refute this, but Theo interrupted.
“She’s a ward in your house, Roa. Unless someone takes pity on her the way your father has, Lirabel has nothing. No inheritance. Just three younger sisters to provide for and a debt she can never repay. Unless her circumstances change, she’ll continue to be a ward of the House of Song until the day she dies.”
Roa swallowed. “Her circumstances have changed. She’s the king’s emissary now.”
“And what if her new status comes at a cost? What if, in exchange for her position, Dax requires . . . something extra?”
Roa’s stomach clenched. The thought made her sick.
“I won’t listen to this.” She stepped away from him. “I know I hurt you when I rode away to help him. I know I betrayed you completely when I married him. But this is your jealousy talking.”
“My jealousy?” He reached for her, his strong hands cupping her face as he pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m worried about you, Roa.”
She stepped out of reach, shaking her head.
“Do you know what I was doing these past few months? While you were off fighting his war?”
Roa paused.
“I was hunting down the Skyweaver’s knife,” he said. “For you.”
Those words made her go rigid.
They hadn’t spoken of the Skyweaver’s knife in years. It was a weapon rumored to have the power to restore life. To bring back the dead.
After Essie’s accident, convinced of its existence, Theo persuaded a grief-stricken Roa to search for it with him. They’d spent years chasing down clues found in the old stories before Roa realized it was a fool’s errand.
Now she knew better. The Skyweaver’s knife was a myth, nothing more.
“It doesn’t exist.”
“I found it.” He reached for her shoulders, turning her back to him. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
Roa pulled away, annoyed. “Where is it, then?”
“In transit from Darmoor. A baron in Firgaard bought it for his private collection.”
She couldn’t believe in magical knives. Not again. Too much hope led to heartache.
“I’m not doing this.” She said it firmly. Defiantly. “Good night, Theo. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Roa walked swiftly out of the tent and into the cold sand. Essie flew after her.
Are you all right?
Her sister’s voice was hazy, fading. But with sleep or something else, Roa couldn’t say.
Her own thoughts were spinning.
Theo can’t be plotting against the king, Roa told her sister. And Lirabel can’t be sleeping with Dax.
Theo was just angry. And hurt. That was why he’d said those things.
And the skyweaver’s knife . . .
It’s a myth.
Shivering, she put the notion out of her mind. Pulling her sandskarf up over her head, Roa moved between the darkened tents, heading for the king’s.
When she stood before it, the guards looked at her warily, reminding Roa of the way their hands went to their hilts when she’d argued with Dax earlier. Reminding her of their inherent distrust.
She pushed aside the tent flaps.
The warm, golden glow of her lamp fell on an empty bedroll.
Roa blinked.
“Where is he?” she demanded, retreating back into the cold night.
The guards exchanged nervous glances. “We were given orders to remain here.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
They stood silent, not looking at her. Not answering.
Panic rose like a sandstorm. Wasn’t it their job to keep an eye on him? Hadn’t Dax walked straight out into a sandstorm that morning? He was surrounded by members of the House of Sky now—the very scrublanders who hated him most. He needed his guards more than ever.
She was about to snap at them when it suddenly became painfully obvious. There was only one circumstance in which Dax would command his soldats not to follow him.
He’d gone to someone else’s tent.
How can you lie there next to him? Theo’s words echoed through her mind. A man who cares so little for you, he takes your dearest friend into his bed?
Roa thought of all the time Dax and Lirabel spent alone together, in private meetings. She thought of the voices in the hall outside her door, the two lovers heading for her room . . .
Why shouldn’t she take what you clearly don’t want?
An image of them, together, flashed through her head. Roa stepped back, the storm dead inside her.
“My queen?” asked one of the soldats with peppered gray hair. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, everything’s fine,” she lied, pushing back the flap once more and stepping through. She let it fall behind her, then stood very still, focusing on the breath rushing in and out of her lungs.
Don’t jump to conclusions, she told herself. But her hands shook as she unraveled her sandskarf and set it on the floor of sheepskins. Sliding off her sandals, she crawled into the bedroll. The cold made her shiver. Roa pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them hard, trying to keep warm.
A heartbeat later, she heard voices. A heartbeat after that, the flap lifted, and there was Dax, ducking inside. In the light, Roa saw his face was still unshaven.
“Roa,” he said in greeting, his voice clipped.
She looked quickly away. She didn’t want to see if his cheeks were flushed or his hairline damp with sweat. If his clothes were wrinkled from being taken off in a rush and carelessly tossed aside. Roa turned onto her side, listening to the sounds of those same clothes being shed now, folded, and placed next to hers.
He slid in beside her, and with him came a rush of cold air. This bedroll was larger than the last, which meant they could sleep without touching.
Dax turned down the lamp.
Roa lay awake, shivering in the darkness for a long time. His arm didn’t come around her like the night before. Nor did he pull her against him, letting her take his warmth.
Instead, he turned his back to her and fell immediately asleep.
Two Months Previous
Roa walked in darkness, her footsteps cutting through the heart of the war camp. One by one she pulled the fingers of her riding gloves loose, then tugged them off. She’d ridden hard from Darmoor, the port on the sea, to New Haven, the war camp in the mountains. She’d spent the whole ride alone with her thoughts.
Thoughts that tossed and turned like an unruly sea.
Thoughts that scared her to her core.
Most of the camp slept, but now and then Roa heard stragglers whispering or laughing around dying fires. Her legs shook and her back ached from riding so long. Her stomach growled with hunger. But there was no time to waste.
She needed to do this before she changed her mind.
Roa stepped up to the meeting tent. Two scrublanders stood guard outside it. Each raised their fists over their hearts at the sight of her, and Roa returned the greeting.
Pausing at the entrance, she breathed in deeply, reaching for whatever courage she had left, then stepped into the glowing tent.
Dax was alone. He sat backward on a chair, leaning toward the rough-hewn desk so that two of the wooden chair legs were in the air. His temple rested on his fist as he stared down the map of Firgaard. There were dark smudges beneath his eyes and a deep frown between his eyebrows. A shadow of stubble stretched across his cheeks.
As soon as she stepped into view, the words tumbled out of Roa’s mouth: “Marry me.”
He looked up, his gaze calm on her face. As if he’d been waiting for her. As if he somehow expected this question.
“You don’t even like me,” he finally said, the back legs of his chair hitting the floor.
“How do you know what I like?”
He studied her with a gaze that seemed both exhausted and more awake than usual.
“I’ve given you an army. I’ve taken Darmoor for you.” Roa took a step toward him. “Now you need reinforcements. Marry me, and I’ll get you the men and women you need.”
His eyebrows shot upward. “Reinforcements in exchange for a crown? That’s a deal much further in your favor than mine.”
“We both know that without the continued help of the scrublands, you’ll lose this war.”
He said nothing.
“Fine,” Roa said. “Then we’re finished here. I’ll take my people and go home.”
But as she turned to leave, he rose and stepped out from behind the desk, coming toward her.
“Roa.” His fingers slid around her wrist. “Wait.”
She went still, her heart thundering, then turned to face him.
His eyes searched hers. “Why?”
“Because if you win this war, you’ll become king.” She lowered her eyes, faltering.
And I don’t trust you to keep my people safe, she thought. The only way I can ensure you do right by the scrublands is if I’m there, ruling at your side.
He frowned. But when she raised her eyes to see if this was his answer, she found him studying her mouth.
Roa’s pulse quickened.
Warmth flooded her as his thumb brushed slowly across her wrist, feeling just how fast her heart beat.
When he reached for her with his other hand, before his fingertips could graze her cheek, Roa stepped back, her heart thudding like a drum in her chest.
“Do we have a deal?” she whispered.
His hand fell to his side and his face shuttered closed, like a door locking on a secret room.
“A deal. Yes,” he said. “Send for reinforcements, and I’ll make you queen.”
Roa dipped her head to him. “It’s already done.”
Before he could say another word, Roa left the tent.
After the wedding, while the music played through the camp and people shouted and danced, Roa and Dax lay side by side, staring at the canvas tent ceiling. He hadn’t drunk anything all evening. He’d been offered wine over and over, and each time Roa watched him refuse.
For every drink Dax rejected, Roa drank two. Trying to numb herself to what she’d done. To what she was about to do.
Her mouth tasted sour now. Her body hummed with heat.
“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered, breaking the silence. “I will never hurt you, Roa.”
Roa knew what came next. They were bound, and the binding needed to be sealed, absolutely, with an intimate act.
She thought of Theo, sleeping on the other side of the sand sea, completely unaware that Roa had just married the boy he hated most.
Completely unaware of how deeply she’d betrayed him.
Roa fisted her hands to hide their trembling.
Taking Darmoor had been easier than this. Than lying here next to Dax.
She remembered the first and last time she’d done this. How it was over so quickly, and how it had hurt. How Theo had kissed her afterward, smiling, and she knew in that moment that he didn’t realize he’d hurt her.
He hadn’t meant to take and give nothing back. But he had. He’d left her aching and alone.
And here was another boy—a boy she didn’t even love—who was going to do the same thing.
Roa couldn’t do it again. It was too much.
She sat up, her head spinning.
Dax looked at her.
“You won’t ever hurt me,” she’d said more calmly than she felt, “because you won’t ever touch me.”
It was a command, soft but final. And with it ringing in her ears, she left him there, all alone, and stumbled to Lirabel’s tent.
Her head ached from the wine, her stomach rolled, and the world tilted around her. Roa climbed in beside her friend. For several heartbeats, there was silence.
And then Lirabel reached out her hand, lacing her fingers through Roa’s.
It undid her. Tears welled in her eyes. She bit down on her lip to stifle the strange sob welling up in her; and Lirabel gathered her up, pulled her in, held her while she wept.
What have I done? she’d thought that night and so many nights since. What have I done?
Eight
Roa woke to the smell of peppermint and the sound of a strong, steady heartbeat. The sun lit up the canvas all around her. The air was stuffy and warm. And her cheek was pressed to someone’s chest.
Her whole body was pressed to someone’s chest.
Peppermint.
Roa swallowed.
Dax.
She kept very still. From his breathing, he was awake. Awake and trying not to move. She felt his arm resting across her lower back, his fingers curled lightly over the curve of her hip.
Roa squeezed her eyes shut.
This was not good.
Not good. Not good.
She must have been so cold in the night, she’d climbed on top of him for warmth.
“I won’t tell anyone if you won’t,” he said softly.
Roa pushed herself up. She glanced down at the bare-chested king whose other arm was bent behind his head. A rusted iron key hung from a cord around his neck.
She meant to look away, but her gaze snagged on the smooth shape of his shoulders. They sloped ever so slightly, curving away from his neck and down to his strong arms. Her gaze continued downward, noticing how his waist tapered. Noticing the dark, curling hairs below his belly button. The ones that trailed down and . . .
Look away, Roa!
She looked away, right into his face. Disheveled dark curls, warm brown eyes, stubbled jaw.
She had a sudden, troubling urge to run her fingertip along his cheek—just to feel the roughness.
The corner of his mouth curved, watching her look at him.
“Please,” he said. “Take your time.”
Panic flared through her. She slid out of the bedroll, needing to get out of this tent.
Her heart hammered in her ears as her hands searched the floor for her clothes, then pulled them on, keeping her back to Dax.
He sat up to watch her. “Since when are you so skittish?”
Roa didn’t answer him. Didn’t dare look his way. She was not like his other girls. She would not be lured in by his charming smile, by that silver tongue, only to be cast aside when he’d had his fill of her.
To break the silence, she said, “Watch your back today.” Catching sight of her sandskarf, Roa quickly grabbed it, then started wrapping it around her shoulders. “Theo is not your ally. So long as Sky travels with us, you need to stay alert.”
Dax stretched, yawning, then ran a hand through his mess of curls.
She averted her eyes, looking down at the tent floor.
“Really, Roa. I’m touched. It’s almost like you care.”
Roa glanced up to find that annoying smile on his face.
“Care?” she said coldly. “You think I care for a king whose intelligence begins and ends with his ability to choose a good wine—or a good bedfellow?” Something prowled in her chest, snapping and growling. “My care for you is directly proportionate to how useful you are. The moment you cease to benefit the scrublands is the moment my care runs out.”
Her words sapped the warmth from his eyes.
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br /> “Why not depose me, then?”
Roa froze in the tent entrance. “What?” she whispered.
“You could rule alone,” he said. “It would be incredibly convenient.”
“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered as she pulled her sandskarf up over her head. Opening the tent flap, she stepped into the sunlight.
The moment the tent flap fell closed, a blur of white feathers almost barreled into her.
Roa! Essie flew in tight circles around her, her worry bleeding into Roa. Come quickly.
Roa ran after her, trying to keep up, as Essie led her to the edge of camp. There she found Lirabel retching up dinner from the night before.
“Lirabel—”
“I’m fine,” said her friend, crouching low to the ground, her arms trembling a little.
“You don’t look fine,” whispered Roa. She ran for a water skin, then sank down next to her friend, uncorking the skin and holding it out.
Lirabel ignored her. Wiping her mouth on her wrist, she rose—a little shakily—to her feet. “I said I’m fine.”
But even her voice trembled.
What’s wrong? Roa asked Essie, who ruffled her feathers from her perch on her sister’s shoulder.
She’s been sick every day since we came to the scrublands. I thought you knew.
Together they watched Lirabel walk back into camp.
Why hadn’t Roa noticed?
Dax had noticed. This was obvious as they rode through the morning. He kept casting concerned glances Lirabel’s way, riding close beside her as they made their way to his mother’s abode.
Roa watched them carefully, Theo’s accusation ringing through her head.
What if her new status comes at a cost?
Roa wouldn’t—couldn’t—believe it. Dax would never use Lirabel like that. And Lirabel would never allow herself to be used.
Roa refused to indulge such an odious thought.
By early evening, their destination shimmered in the distant heat. Here the pale sand turned to packed, dry earth. To the east and west, wild yellow grasses gleamed in the setting sun. And in the midst of it all, the white walls of Amina’s desert home shone like glass.
They would sleep within those walls tonight, then arrive in Firgaard by dusk tomorrow.
The house was just north of the main travel route between Firgaard and the scrublands, and off-limits to anyone but Amina, the former dragon queen. It had been built for her by her husband as a wedding gift.
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