The horses devoured the few spots of shriveled shrubbery into the earth when they stopped to rest. Their lungs were heaving, and Etta’s horse’s body radiated heat until her legs were damp with both its sweet, pungent sweat and her own. She wasn’t cut free until it came time to walk the animals.
One of the guardians located a rough well that had been dug into the hard ground. Sophia translated what he said: that it had likely been left by the Romans who’d used this road to travel to Palmyra, and was still in use by the few Bedouin tribes inhabiting the desert. The water was stale and sickly-looking, collected from weeks-old rain, but the horses drank until there was nothing left, and then it was time to continue on.
There was no shade, no water, absolutely nothing save the occasional ancient crumbling structure in the distance. When the dirt settled, Etta could see a hundred miles in every direction; the heat toyed with the air, making it dance like the entrance to a passage. After a while, the thought of looking for a passage became too depressing, and Etta was too sore and tired to try. Even with the protection of the robe and veil, the sun baked her inside out.
Just as Etta thought Sophia would force them to ride through the night, a cluster of pale, low buildings appeared in the distance.
“Kurietain,” Sophia said, clearly relieved, as she wiped the sweat from her face with her sleeve.
“How far do we have till Palmyra?” Etta asked, sliding down off the bedraggled horse. The poor thing could barely keep its head up, and shuddered as she and the guardian removed their weight for the duration of the short walk to the village.
“About another day’s journey north,” Sophia said. “I want to keep pushing after we get water, but our illustrious guardians seem to think we should try to trade the horses for camels.”
Switching to camels—animals capable of surviving days without water in the desert—sounded pretty reasonable to Etta.
“What are their names?”
“The camels? How the hell should I know?”
Seriously?
“The guardians!” Etta gestured to the two men, conversing quietly ahead of them.
“Why? Do you want to write them thank-you notes?”
“You know what?” Etta gritted her teeth. “Never mind.”
She had more important things to think about: Her mom. The astrolabe. Getting back to Nicholas. Even the debut. That familiar fire lit in her heart when she thought of it now, burning through the dread and apprehension she’d felt about living a life on the run with her mother. She wanted to play—for Alice, yes; so Nicholas could hear her, yes; but even more than that, to take control of her future again, on her own terms.
In Kurietain, men were out talking amongst themselves, smoking water pipes, watching the sunset. They drew a few interested eyes as one of the guardians led them through the maze of sun-bleached streets, heading to what Sophia called a caravanserai, but the others referred to as khan—some sort of lodgings for weary travelers and their beasts.
And water. Clean, cool water. Etta licked her cracked lips. Her goatskin had gone dry an hour before.
“I overheard men talking about hot springs. I can smell the sulfur, can’t you?” Sophia said, taking a deep breath of the evening air.
“Oh,” Etta said sweetly, “I just assumed that was you.”
Sophia’s own smile would have melted the face off a lesser person. “It’s a shame you won’t be able to clean up. It looks like we rode you here.”
Her arms felt like she’d tied hundred-pound weights to each wrist, but Etta did summon the energy to flip off the other girl when she turned back to the road.
The caravanserai was a simple square structure, almost like a fortress. Its exterior was lined with columns and more arches than Etta could count, broken up by a large entryway. Right now, a group of men was walking through it with an unruly herd of camels.
Two young boys were sent out to retrieve the horses and guide them inside, where they were met by a portly, swollen-faced man in fine red robes. He spoke first to the guardians, who must have told him that Sophia was the one with the gold, for the man fumbled for an apology in three separate languages before Sophia deigned to reply in Arabic.
The caravanserai was split between two levels—the upper rooms, where the men slept, and the lower rooms where their camels, horses, and goods were tucked in for the night.
The caravan that had arrived before them had just finished unloading and bedding down its animals. Finished with their sunset prayer, the men began mingling with the other travelers, showing off wares, sharing food.
“In you go,” Sophia said, when they reached their room on the second level. Their escorts moved to the next door down and disappeared inside. She heard the sound of them dropping their bags, and the rustle of fabric as they rolled out their bedding.
Etta stepped into the room to find it was a good ten degrees cooler than outside. At that point, she was so used to the artistry that went into even the simplest of these homes, Etta was surprised to see that the room was as bare as a cave. There wasn’t a door, only a curtain that fell in place after her.