Guilt charged through her. If she had wanted it badly enough, she would have unearthed some useful information by now. Except she, convinced of her greater purpose, had not taken a single step toward locating him.
She marched out of her room and knocked on the prince’s door.
“Fairfax!” The glimmer of cautious hope in his eyes made her lungs hurt. He reached forward as if to touch her, but stopped himself. “Please, come in.”
She stepped into what had been one of her favorite places.
“Some tea?” He was already moving toward the grate.
She steeled herself. “No, thank you. I only want to ask you if the new entrance to the laboratory is ready.”
He stilled. “It will be by this afternoon.”
“Is it all right if I make use of it? I need to look up some things in the reading room.”
“Yes, of course. You are more than welcome to it. Anytime.”
That undertow of despair, was it hers, or his? She clutched her hands together behind her back. “That’s very kind of you, Your Highness. Thank you.”
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No, thank you.”
He looked back at her. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am sure,” she made herself say.
She returned to her room and leaned for a minute against the door.
So this was what it had come to, this stilted courtesy, like that of a divorced couple who must still deal with each other.
With she being the one who hadn’t found anyone else, of course.
CHAPTER 13
The Sahara Desert
TITUS SPUN AROUND, FEAR LIKE a dagger in his lungs. He was about four miles out from the blood circle. Here the true sandstorm raged and visibility was less than three feet. A blessing, as they could have no better protection from pursuers. But he could not possibly find her, if she had moved as little as—
A hand gripped him around the ankle. His wand was pointed and a savage assault spell about to leave his lips when he realized it was her. She had hidden herself under a layer of sand.
He crouched down, took her by the arm, and pulled her out.
She was barely conscious and he could see smears of blood around her lips, but she managed to open her eyes. “You all right?”
Before he could answer, she vomited a stream of blood into the sand.
He could hardly breathe for the panic that erupted inside him. If the panacea could not keep her alive, then no power he possessed would help.
He cupped her face. “Go to sleep. Go to sleep and you will be fine.”
Her eyes closed and she dropped off.
There was no point doing anything except taking shelter. From one of the larger pockets on the outside of Fairfax’s satchel Titus unearthed a tent that had been folded down to a tight square. As flying sand struck it, the material of the tent changed from a nondescript green to the exact same color and opacity as the sand—a camouflage tent. Even better, it could be pitched in a number of shapes, some of them quite passable imitations of natural formations. He settled on one that looked like a gentle undulation of the land, maneuvered Fairfax inside, crawled in after her, and sealed the tent from within.
His back again felt as if it were on fire. He took more pain remedies and allowed himself to nap for a bit, jerking awake every time there came the noise of sand against metal—an armored chariot in the vicinity—then dozing off again as the danger receded.
When he woke up for good, he ate half a nutrition cube, and made a thorough study of the contents of her bag. Besides the well-stocked pharmacy, she had just about everything a fugitive could conceivably need, including a raft, heat sheets, hunting ropes, and reins that could be made to fit wyverns, perytons, and assorted other winged steeds.
Each item came with an explanation on its use written on paper as thin as onion skin yet as strong as canvas. Overly detailed explanations, as if the writer had expected the satchel to end up in the hands of someone much less capable than Fairfax.
It was when he progressed to the smallest compartment of the satchel that his brows rose sky high.
Atlantean civilian wands, 2.
Angel keys, 6.
Destination disruptor for Delamer East Interrealm Hub, Translocator 4.
Atlantean civilian wands were state issued, each one numbered and registered, used as a means of personal identification. Penalties for reporting theft, loss, or accidental destruction were high, to discourage any Atlantean from owning duplicates.
But duplicates still cropped up periodically on the black market. On the other hand, angel keys, so called because there were no doors they could not open, were far rarer and almost prohibitively expensive. And a destination disruptor tailored to a specific translocator—that could not have been obtained from the black market even if one had a fortune to spend.
Had Fairfax intended to travel to Atlantis by illegal means and, once there, pass herself off as an Atlantean and . . . open doors she had no business opening?
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