by Megg Jensen
He’d kept true to his word. He hadn’t so much as tried to kiss her. A perfect gentleman. It warmed her heart. Perhaps they could be friends, just as she had been with Connor.
Connor. Between the shock at Hutton’s Bridge and passing out in the desert, she’d been preoccupied. There hadn’t been time to contemplate the blue dragon that’d saved her and helped her defeat Stacia.
Clutching an emerald pillow to her chest, Tressa stuffed her chin into it, holding back tears. She hadn’t cried since Granna died. Not when Connor's body had been shredded into bloody ribbons by Stacia’s spiked braid. Not when she’d left Bastian behind in the forest. Not when her mentor, Leo, died for her in the ring so she could infiltrate the Black Guard. Not when Bastian had been injured and she’d had to leave him once again to pursue the mystery in Hutton’s Bridge.
She’d left so much behind. And now, not knowing what was ahead. Tressa ached down to her bones. Her heart felt like a permanently tangled knot. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
Salty tears slipped down her cheeks. She could have held her breath, forced them to stay hidden. Instead, they streamed down her face, turning the silk black where her tears landed. Salt covered her lips.
Tressa didn’t wipe the tears away. Instead, she closed her eyes and gave herself a few moments to feel release. A hand on her shoulder interrupted her quiet moment. Tressa rubbed her eyelids, pretending to wipe sleep away and gave what she hoped was a convincing yawn.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Jarrett whispered in her ear.
She sat up, smoothing out her gown. Pushing her worries to the back of her mind, Tressa gave herself over to the moment, trusting in Jarrett to get them where they needed to be. Once they found help, she’d begin fighting again. For now, there was little to do but follow.
Tressa grasped Jarrett’s outstretched hand and stood. Her cream skin stood in stark comparison to the dark brown of his.
He pushed aside the silken curtain. Tressa threw an arm over her eyes as the blazing sun assaulted her. Squinting, Tressa squeezed Jarrett’s hand. “I’m not used to anything this bright. It was always slightly overcast in Hutton’s Bridge.”
Jarrett laughed. “I know how you feel. I felt it was too dark in the Drowned Country. I worried I’d die in the competition just because I couldn’t see as sharply. It was like constantly looking through a haze.”
The camels kicked the sand around, their mouths foaming. Low, bellowing bleats fell from their wet flappy lips. Their stink made her eyes water. She kept her focus on the sand beneath her sandaled feet until an attendant offered his hand and hoisted her up into the saddle between the camel's two humps.
“The inexperienced travel through the desert and quickly die. My horse did. You nearly did,” Jarrett said.
“I didn’t almost die.” Tressa swayed side to side with the camel’s awkward gait. It was worse than the horse. She expected to be sore the next day.
“Actually…” Jarrett’s voice trailed off. “I was concerned you would. You’re not used to the dry heat of the desert. You were dehydrated and exhausted. You’ve been pushed past your limits.”
Tressa shrugged, a smile on her lips. “You’d be surprised how much stamina I have.” She pushed away the memory of the tears she’d shed not long ago.
“Someday I hope to find out.” Jarrett winked and tossed her a teasing smile.
Tressa’s cheeks flushed. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” Jarrett said with a laugh. “Don’t take everything so seriously.”
“We’re only hiding from two mysterious red dragons who were tramping through my abandoned village, while trying to reach your lover, a queen, no less, who might help us. No reason to be serious. You’re right.” Tressa meant it as a joke, but the weight of her words tamped down all conversation.
A silence fell upon them. Tressa marveled at Jarrett’s navigational skills. In the forest, she’d seen landmarks that could help guide her, streams, unique trees, that sort of thing. But here it was all the same. Only the sun’s position changed, but that happened so slowly Tressa could imagine getting off course easily.
In front of them, four camels swayed, weighed down by the men riding them. With curved steel at their hips and fierce grimaces on their faces, these guards, disguised as guides, protected them from the front. Six more guards traveled behind them, dressed as common merchants and minor nobility.
Jarrett explained how their clothes identified them to casual onlookers. The merchants wore robes, lined with golden fringe. Their turbans sat short and squat on their heads. The noblemen wore fine silk robes with turbans reaching toward the clouds. Tressa and Jarrett traveled under the guise of a man and woman recently married. Her gown was a bright amethyst and he wore a plume of peacock feathers on his back, signifying his virility and dominance.
Tressa thought he looked ridiculous, but Jarrett wore his disguise with pride. Back straight, eyes focused ahead, his camel only an arm’s length away from hers. He wasn’t afraid to let everyone know she was his promised. And while Tressa would have preferred to be responsible for her own safety, she was grateful to Jarrett. Without his help, she’d still be back at Ashoom, not knowing what to do next.
A shadow cast across them, blocking the sun.
“Ah, so you do have clouds here,” Tressa said, shielding her eyes as she looked.
“That is no cloud!” Jarrett jumped from his camel, landing in a squat, his scimitar drawn. “Tressa!”
But it was too late. Something had already plucked her from her camel, carrying her into the sky.
Chapter Fifteen
Fear engulfed every part of Tressa's being. She'd ridden on the blue dragon, but he hadn't snatched her from a camel's back and carried through the air like a mouse dangling from an owl's talons.
The golden dragon's claws wrapped around her arms and under her armpits, piercing her flesh. Blood trickled down her arms.
Tressa shrieked, her throat already torn into shreds from the desert heat, but she couldn't hear anything over the wind's constant screeching in her ears.
Or maybe it was the dragon.
She wasn't sure she'd live to find out.
Tressa's legs dangled, her bare feet tickled by the warm winds racing between her toes. Her sandals had fallen long ago.
She forced her eyes open, hot wind piercing her eyeballs. In the distance she saw it: a castle. Golden, rising up in a spiral from the ground through the clouds. It loomed closer, and with sigh of relief Tressa realized the dragon wasn't secreting her away, deep in the desert, to eat her for dinner. It was taking her exactly where she and Jarrett had been headed. To the throne in the desert, where Jarrett's lover reigned supreme over the land of heat and death.
Her relief turned to fear in a heartbeat. Jarrett had said the only thing that would protect her was her position with him. But the dragon had left Jarrett far behind in the desert. It would be three days until he could get to her. The queen could do a lot to her in three days.
True, she'd learned to defend herself. But one girl against a whole kingdom? She'd done it once, but only with help from friends and a great deal of luck. Here she had no one, and likely her luck had run out with Stacia's death. If Jarrett had told her the truth, and there was no reason to think he hadn't, Stacia's reign at the Blue had been considered a pathetic one by the rest of the Dragonlands. She had so few people to control. So few resources. Jarrett had said it was a like a child playing house.
Here, it would be different. Jarrett hadn’t elaborated, but the hesitation in his explanations and the tight muscles around his eyes told her everything she needed to know. They were throwing themselves at the mercy of the Yellow Queen because they had nowhere else to go.
Her stomach turned cartwheels as the dragon descended rapidly. Soon she could see a platform jutting out from the top of the golden tower. A smooth golden floor without railings. One wrong step and someone could fall to their death.
Without warning, the dragon released Tressa. She
fell through the air toward the platform. Tucking her knees to her chest, Tressa braced for the impact. Forcing her eyelids open, Tressa landed in a hard roll, hoping she'd lose momentum before she came anywhere near to the edge.
She lost speed quickly and after her final roll, let her body unfold, sprawled on the platform. Two fingers drifted over the edge. It had been close, but she was alive.
A sharp snap captured her attention. "Bring her to me!" a shrill voice commanded.
Two pairs of feet clomped toward her. Four rough hands grabbed her arms, hauling Tressa to unsteady feet. "Walk." One of the men tugged, forcing her to take a step forward.
"I can walk on my own," Tressa said through gritted teeth. She shrugged off one and glared at the other. "Let me go. Now."
The voice cackled, hidden inside the dark tower. Tressa couldn't see, the sun was too bright, but she had her suspicions who waited inside for her. "Allow her to walk."
The men released their grip. Tressa's knees buckled, but she recovered quickly by sheer strength of will. She wouldn't appear weak in front of anyone if she could help it.
She’d survived the fog. Trained to be an elite warrior. Slayed a dragon. Walking into a tower inhabited by a queen with a legendary temper would be easy. Tressa strode through the entry, her head held high, despite the throbbing in her arms and the blood still pooling at the talon wounds in her arms. She wasn't a queen, but she carried herself as one.
With squinted eyes, she took in the queen. A crown sat atop the golden curls that fell to her waist, contrasting with her dark skin. Her son Henry's complexion had been very light, but his mother's was even darker than Jarrett. She was absolutely stunning.
Her green eyes sparkled like the emeralds in her crown and her mouth curved into a smile cats reserved for pouncing on a mouse. If her appearance was any indication, Jarrett was right about his queen. His lover was a formidable woman. Tressa held her tongue, waiting to be spoken to. She sank into a deep curtsy and stood again.
"You know who I am?" the queen asked.
"You are Jacinda. Queen of the Sands. The one who sits upon the royal throne of the Risos." Tressa recited the titles Jarrett had coached her on. She hoped they were right.
Jacinda's laughter split through the air like a newly sharpened knife. "You forgot one."
Tressa went back over what Jarrett had told her. She knew Jacinda had two sons, one here and Henry, and even the worst torture couldn't have made Tressa tell Jacinda her son had died at Stacia's hands. That was for Jarrett to tell.
"I am the woman who has bedded your man for four years. Nightly. And yet he dares to take you as a bride, bring you here, and flaunt you. For what purpose?" Her eyes took in every part of Tressa's body. "You are nothing. You aren't even shapely." Jacinda thrust one hip out to the side. "Jarrett prefers curvaceous women."
A blush burned on Tressa's cheeks. She didn't want to think about Jarrett like that, but the way Jacinda's eyes flashed in the candlelit room, Tressa couldn't help but wonder if, despite his flirting, Jarrett really did prefer a woman with more flesh to her.
"He won't be here for three days," Jacinda continued, uncaring that Tressa was speechless. "In that time you will tell me how you met, and when and how he first took you. I want to know if he treats you differently in bed than he has treated me."
Tressa's blush deepened. What could she say? Jarrett had done no more than kiss her, but if he was to believed, her safety here depended on his commitment to her.
Jacinda shimmied over to Tressa's side. With one finger under Tressa's chin, her long nail scraped the delicate skin on Tressa's neck. "Before Jarrett arrives, I will have the answers I seek. Now tell me, when did he first make love to you?"
Tressa hesitated. Before she could formulate an answer, Jacinda slapped her cheek.
"You will answer me now, girl!"
"A fortnight after we met." Tressa spat out the lie.
Jacinda slapped her other cheek. "I don't believe you." She leaned in closer, bent over a bit, her eyes even with Tressa's. "You're lying to me."
"I'm not," Tressa insisted.
Jacinda scratched her nails down Tressa's already sore cheek. "Guards!" The two men jogged back into the room, their muscles flexing. "Take her to the torture chamber. I need to know why she is here before Jarrett arrives. She's lying."
The men yanked Tressa toward an interior door. Her heart thudded. Why did this woman care so much if Jarrett had chosen another? He wasn't her husband. Why torture someone over it?
But she didn't get the chance to ask. One of the guards grabbed her and tossed Tressa over his shoulder, beginning the long descent from the throne room in the tower to the torture chamber far into the bowels of the earth.
Chapter Sixteen
Tressa dangled from the stone wall, her arms stretched away from her body, her wrists bound with rope. Her toes barely touched the floor; her dark hair hung around her face, damp with sweat and tears. Every movement resulted in burning and searing flashes of pain.
When the guards brought her down and tied her up, candles had lit the dank room. As they left, the guards blew them out, leaving Tressa washed in blackness. Every moment felt like many days had passed. Her toes scrambled to find purchase on the floor. Her arms screamed in agony, the veins and skin stretching beyond her worst nightmares.
Torture chamber. All she did was hang there. Was this the torture or only the beginning? She closed her eyes, praying for Bastian, for Jarrett, for the blue dragon she thought was Connor, for anyone, even Leo's ghost, to find her and rescue her. Given any opponent, she'd be happy to fight for her life with a sword. But here, hung and left alone, she couldn't.
The silence was deafening. Not even the light footsteps of a brave mouse could be heard. It was as if they'd dropped her in here and forgotten she existed. Her hands drooped, her fingers limp and tingling. The rope cut deeper into her wrists. She shut her eyes, let out a long breath, and, with a resignation she didn’t know existed in her fighting soul, she gave up.
No one would find her. Even when Jarrett made it to town, he wouldn't know where to find her, and the queen was unlikely to tell him. But on the chance he did know where to look, it would be too late. He was three days out and Tressa knew she would never last that long.
Not like this.
She'd be lucky if she lasted the day.
Or unlucky.
A small noise in the distance snapped her head to attention. Muffled voices became louder; she was almost able to make out their words.
"Help!" she screamed in the room, her voice bouncing off the walls in a pathetic echo. "Help me, please!"
The voices grew louder. Closer. Until she heard a click in the lock on the door. Candles burst to life, one by one, until Tressa could see who had come to rescue her.
"Ah, there she is. My new prize." Jacinda swept into the room, her golden hair twisted in uncountable braids, captured in a bun on the top of her head, and adorned with a golden tiara.
Tressa's stomach sank. There would be no rescue. Not now. Maybe not ever.
An old woman, wrinkled so heavily her nose was the only feature Tressa could make out with any certainty, followed. Her lips and eyes hid within the vast gullies of her face. A small smoking pipe drooped from between two large wrinkles. A sickly, sweet smell filled the room.
It was similar to the incense they'd burned on the oasis. For a moment, Tressa could taste the sweet juice of the papaya dripping down the back of her throat.
While on the oasis, she'd been nothing but anxious to continue their journey and find help in tracking down the people of Hutton's Bridge. Now she wished that she was back on the oasis. Clean, unharmed, and surrounded by the safety of Jarrett's tent.
"What are we doing with her?" the old woman asked, the pipe bouncing up and down with each word. Ashes fell, skittering along the floor like dust mites in a gentle breeze. One finger touched under Tressa's chin as the woman walked closer and stared into Tressa's eyes.
The irises of the woman'
s eyes were huge, crowding out almost all of the grassy green pigment. Drugs. Tressa had seen those eyes before in Hutton's Bridge when she, Connor, and Bastian had stolen some grass from the meadow and smoked it. They'd laughed and laughed, muffling their conversation behind pursed lips to avoid getting caught. But this woman smoked it in the open, not caring who saw. The Sands truly was a strange place.
"I need to pull the truth out of her," Jacinda said, strolling around the dungeon as if it was her throne room.
"What truths do you seek, Jacinda?" the old woman asked. She winked at Tressa, squeezed her chin, then turned back to the queen.
"I need to know the true nature of her relationship with Jarrett." Her eyes blazed. "Everything she's told so far is lies, Miranda."
"And you know this because..." The old woman, Miranda, placed her hands on Jacinda's shoulders. The queen relaxed a bit, her arms dangling at her sides.
"Because I know Jarrett," she said with a sigh.
Despite the clothes and the crown, she no longer looked like a queen. Only a woman worried about her man's wandering eye. Tressa had seen that stooped posture and lost look in herself after Bastian was taken from her and given to Vinya. Still, Tressa hadn't assaulted Vinya or locked her in a dungeon. She understood, but she felt no sympathy from Jacinda.
Jacinda shook Miranda's arms away. She pulled herself up, regal once again. Reaching out, Jacinda grabbed skin from Tressa's arm between two fingers and pinched until Tressa couldn't help but whimper. "You will tell me what Jarrett wants with you. And Miranda will make sure you don't die during the torture."
With wild eyes, Tressa looked to Miranda, who winked at her again. "It's true, my dear. I'm a healer. A gifted one. I can take a person from the brink of death and draw them back to life. Again. And again. And again. Endlessly."
"Jarrett and I came here for help," Tressa said, forgetting she'd promised to let Jarrett introduce their story with finesse. "I'm from Hutton's Bridge."
Jacinda took a step backward, stumbling into a wall. "No! Hutton's Bridge is a tale, nothing more. A ghost town hidden in the fog. There were no survivors." She shook her head, her hair cascading out of the loose bun, dangling over her face. “It’s another lie. Miranda, prepare to heal her.”