That meant little considering the desert between her and home. “I thank you for your hospitality.”
“May I ask questions now?”
She nodded. “Please … except first, how may I call you?”
Banneth thought for a moment. “Palandret is traditional. But I am not your king. Would that cause offense to say?”
“No, Palandret.”
Banneth nodded, then went straight to business. “Why were you in Casmun?”
The question no doubt referred to both times, but Sage decided to address only the second. “We were running from a Kimisar attack. We escaped, but they pursued us, and we continued into Casmun out of necessity.”
“You are the only survivors of the attack?”
Sage flinched. “No, most survived.”
Green eyes shifted to Nicholas. “Why do the Kimisar want your young friend?”
Sage’s stomach somersaulted. Somehow Banneth had figured out Nicholas was the valuable one. Her right hand drifted toward the hilt of one of her knives.
Darit tensed. “My King,” he whispered in Casmuni. “I have had to restrain her before.”
The king seemed unafraid as he looked her straight in the eye. “If your friend is worth chasing, worth dying for, you understand my need to know his importance.”
Thank the Spirit Nicholas was silent; it allowed her to think. Sage combed through every interaction she’d had with Darit. Nothing she said now could contradict what he’d seen. “They wanted him for ransom,” she said, starting with what she suspected was the truth.
Banneth nodded. “But not you.”
“No.”
“You are not brother and sister, then?” The king glanced at Darit.
Here was an out—apparently that was what Darit had assumed. She’d introduced the prince as having a different last name, however. Either they hadn’t noticed or she was being tested. It was highly unlikely the Casmuni knew what her botanical name implied—or that they even knew sage was a plant—but it gave her an idea. “Different mothers,” she said. “He is the heir, but I am nothing.”
“I see.” Banneth seemed to understand she was saying she was illegitimate. “And what is he heir to?”
“Land, mostly.” A roundabout truth.
The king nodded again. “Why, then, were you and Nikkolaz in the company of soldiers?”
Sage should’ve anticipated that, but she’d not counted on being questioned in a language she could speak. She racked her brain for what Darit had seen while a prisoner. What must he have learned or suspected about Alex and the mission into the desert?
Alex. The thought of him hit her like a blow. Suddenly she could think of nothing else.
“I am learning to be a soldier,” Nicholas said abruptly.
“Let me handle this, Nicholas,” Sage snapped in Demoran. Her mind still felt like it was stuck in the mud, but the prince’s words were like a rope she could grasp on to and pull herself out with.
“Sage snuck into my training to watch over me,” he continued, unperturbed. “She’s always following me like I need her protection.”
Now she regretted teaching him Kimisar so well. Sage seized his uninjured arm without taking her eyes off Banneth. “Enough,” she snarled. “Not another word, Nicholas.”
“See what I mean?” Nicholas said. She applied pressure to his wrist, and he whimpered but finally shut up.
Sage tried unsuccessfully to smile. “Do you have any younger brothers, Palandret?”
“No,” Banneth said, green eyes sparkling in amusement. “Only a sister.”
Sage brought her hands back to the table and made herself relax. “Would you like to trade?”
The king chuckled. “We can negotiate.”
*
The Casmuni king created a space for them in his tent, adding to the image of their treatment as guests, but it didn’t escape Sage that it also meant they were heavily guarded. The moment they were alone, Sage grabbed the prince’s elbow. “Never do that again, Nicholas. I have reasons for not telling them the truth, foremost being your safety.”
“I know, I just had an idea that explained everything.” His brow wrinkled in concern. “And you seemed to be struggling.”
Sage rubbed her forehead. “You were lucky,” she said. “We were lucky.”
“You have to admit I pulled it off pretty well, though,” Nicholas said proudly.
He had. The prince had saved both of them when her mind had failed. She sighed. “Just promise to consult me first next time, please. No surprises.”
Nicholas nodded. “No surprises.”
He sat down on the blankets and cushions that were apparently meant to be his bed, and Sage settled in the area designated for her. The Casmuni king had a partitioned space on the other side of the tent. “What do you think of our new friends?” she asked.
“I like them,” Nicholas said. “Food’s not bad, either.”
“Trust you to appreciate that.”
“Will you sleep tonight?”
Apparently he’d noticed how little she’d slept on their journey. “I’ll try.”
“Good. You look tired.”
Sage grimaced. “Which is a nice way of saying I look like shit.”
He grinned as he lay down and drew a woven blanket up to his chest. “Yes.”
“Twerp.” She sank back on a cushion and turned away, unhooking a knife from her belt to keep handy.
Alex’s knife. Her inner vision swam with the image of his face, tense with anxiety, as he pressed it into her hand back at Tegann. Remember what I taught you. He’d loved her then, even as she rejected him out of anger and spite.
His last actions showed he’d never faltered in that love. She would never have a chance to prove her betrayal had been out of love, to save him from the consequences of his actions.
Sage squeezed her eyes shut as she gripped the dagger. Alex had died in protection of the prince. Now the only thing that mattered was making sure it hadn’t been in vain.
68
THERE WAS A fire in front of him, the light of the dancing flames penetrating his consciousness. Alex struggled to open eyelids that felt as rough as sand. His mouth was parched, but not as badly as he’d last remembered. He wore only a shirt and breeches from the feel of it, and both were wet, as was his hair. Alex rolled to his back and groaned with the pain of a hundred cramping muscles.
Hands appeared on either side of him, and Alex was too weak to resist as they raised him into a sitting position. Something was put to his lips, and water—warm but blessedly wet—trickled into his mouth. He swallowed with difficulty; the back of his throat felt melted shut.
After a few sips, the water was pulled away and poured gently over his face, and Alex was finally able to open his eyes and see. It was night, and he lay in the shelter of a grove of trees. The faces of two men swam into view. Casmuni.
Apparently he wasn’t dead. Yet.
The waterskin was again brought to his lips, and he instinctively tried to grab it with his mouth and suck on it to bring the water faster, but they pulled it away. “Remoda,” one of the men admonished.
Alex didn’t understand the word, but took it to mean he was to drink slower. He nodded and the water came back. After a few minutes, they took it away and laid him down, this time against a soft pile of something. “More,” he begged them. “Please.”
They shook their heads and left him, shortly replaced by a third Casmuni holding a bowl. This man sat beside Alex and patiently fed him a thick, orange liquid. Between spoonfuls, Alex looked around, counting ten men coming and going around the fire. At least two watched him like it was their job, and all were armed with daggers and curved swords. The soup was made from some kind of stewed fruit, a bit like a tart peach, and when it was gone he only knew he wanted more. Another few sips of water was all they would give him.
His stomach full, Alex’s eyelids drooped with the need to sleep—real sleep this time, not just unconsciousness.
The last thing he felt was his wrists being tied together.
*