My horse thundered past Galen at the start of the column, and I didn’t look at him as I went charging onward. My horse seemed desperate to run, as desperate to stretch his legs as I was to feel that freedom, and he kept on, strong and powerful.
I heard another horse, and I turned to see Galen riding hard to catch me, a stormy look on his face. I turned forward, urging my horse on faster, delaying his angry lecture as long as I could.
Galen’s horse was bigger, and faster, and he caught up to me. I expected him to take the reins from me, to yell at me to stop—something. It never came, and he rode beside me, galloping along the country road until I was heaving for breath, my chest burning for air, my muscles bright and sore, like I was finally alive. Finally awake.
I kept on, even as it hurt and burned, even as I felt every harsh breath like it was fanning the pain in my cheek, my blood rushing doubly hard there.
I only slowed when Galen fell behind. I drew the reins of my horse gently, and he eased out of his gallop. Galen caught up, coming astride me as my horse began to walk. “Three hells,” he said, smiling at me as he panted hard.
Emotions flooded in with that one rare smile. My heart was still pounding; it rushed with something hot and dizzying. But like a physical reminder of the things that kept us apart, when I tried to smile back, the pain forced the look from my face.
My hood had blown back, and he saw how I couldn’t smile, and his eyes rested on my cheek. I broke his gaze, looking behind us to where Zeph and Theron were ahead of the others, but still struggling to catch up. I tugged the hood back up, making sure it covered my face.
“I didn’t know you could ride like that,” Galen said, facing forward.
“I’m not terribly good at it,” I told him.
Another smile came to his face, and I wanted to pluck this off, treasure it, collect his smiles from him. “I’ve never met a woman who wanted to ride so damn fast,” he said with a laugh.
“I can’t stand sitting about,” I told him.
“Which must be why you walk,” he said, nodding.
“I walk for an hour each day. Maybe even less,” I told him. “In the desert, we’d walk for whole days in the hot sun. To go somewhere. For food, water, shelter. For a purpose. There’s no purpose here.”
He was watching me. I could feel it, but I didn’t turn to him. “It’s half the reason I like fighting,” he said. “The practice. Hours a day, moving, hitting, running. Sweating until your heart is pounding,” he said, placing his hand on his chest. I couldn’t help it—I looked at the hand, his broad chest rising under it.
I nodded.
“Court is a little useless,” he admitted.
“I thought I would have a purpose,” I confessed. “I wanted being queen to be about something more than just being his wife. And I understood, when I arrived, that perhaps I could have that, but only if I fought for it. I’m not afraid of that.”
He glanced at me. “You’ve done tremendous things, Shalia.”
I shook my head. “That is not the word for them. I’ve done things—things I am proud of—but I don’t know that they’ve made any difference. I keep waiting for the sands to shift, and I thought that this child would be the change we needed. And then he lied to me, and killed yet more people, and did this.”
He stayed silent, listening to me.
“Maybe I was wrong.”
His eyebrow rose. “About what?”
About telling Rian that his Resistance was foolish. About trying to change Calix. About believing that this country could be saved through peace. I sighed. At least that last one was safe enough to be repeated. “About believing peace is even possible.”
His mouth pursed, and he nodded. “I spent a lot of time reading as a child,” he told me. I tried to imagine the battle-hard warrior with his broken nose in a book. “Histories, mostly. Of war, and such.” His shoulders lifted. “I was meant to be the military commander from a very young age. It seemed wise. But there have been many rebellions, followed by many wars. In the history of our country, and others. The Trifectate started as a rebellion of a small group of people who were thought at the time to be religious fanatics. When there is a rebellion, no party comes out unscathed. The whole country bears a scar so deep that no one in that generation comes out the victor, not truly. They’ve lost so much, even if they won the conflict, that it ceases to matter. Perhaps the next—perhaps the children the survivors sire will have the chance to know prosperity in their lifetime.”
He was silent for a long time, our horses gently clopping along in tandem.
“I know every man in the army. They’ve all crossed my path at least once. If I choose to believe that peace is impossible, I have to be willing to see every one of those men die.” He looked at me, and the green was bright, catching the light of the sun. “Your costs are different, but no less high.”
My hands settled on my stomach, and I thought of all the people I would watch Calix endanger over the life of our marriage. I thought, too, of the people who he would punish if I never returned to the Tri City. Either way there was blood. I shut my eyes.
“Why is it so important to go to the desert?” Galen asked. “With the baby, I mean.”
I felt my cheeks flush. “I’m surprised that Calix took it seriously enough to mention it. He dismissed it when I brought it up.”
He stayed silent, his stony face impassive, and I wondered if Calix had passed it on the same way.
“It’s a blessing,” I said after a moment. “The clans—we’re nomadic people. We travel the desert for weeks, months at a time. But when there’s a new clan member, they need to know the way back to Jitra. They need to be able to find their feet, and find their heart. So we journey to Jitra, and before they’re even born, they’re blessed in the water there. With all the clan around, so they will know family, and home, and love. No matter where sands and stone take them, they will know these things.”
He cleared his throat and nodded. “That would be a beautiful thing to give to any child.”
I sighed. “He won’t consider it. He knows it’s important to me, and he won’t consider it.”