His mockery would stand only as long as it took for me to spring my trap, and then I would tear him to shreds.
“It matters not, princeling,” I told him. “Ride however you see fit. Only, ride quickly.”
He bowed again, and I was gone before he could stand up to gaze at the empty place where I had been.
THE FIRST THING ARWA pulled out of her pack was a pair of shoes. They were soft-soled, which meant they couldn’t be new. That was probably for the best. New shoes were almost as uncomfortable as small shoes, and if Saoud’s face was any indication, the Little Rose was going to have to get accustomed to wearing them quickly. They were sturdy, though, and the laces were simple enough that the Little Rose didn’t hesitate before tying them.
“Here,” said Tariq, and passed her another veil.
She had been wearing Arwa’s, which was enough for the mountains, but it would be noticeably small on her head if we met people on the road in daylight. A woman of the Little Rose’s age customarily wore one that was large enough to reach her waist. It was not enforced, as a rule, but if Saoud wanted us to escape notice, a girl with a small veil would stick in a person’s memory. The Little Rose changed quickly, as she had done by the pool earlier, but we all still saw her head and her newly cut hair. When I turned back to Saoud, he was looking at me with a measuring expression on his face, but he didn’t say anything.
“What about a dress?” the Little Rose said, spreading her skirt. “This one is clearly of a different style than Arwa’s, and the cloth is better.”
“We couldn’t find one,” Saoud said. “We had to cut our trip short.”
“If you wear a pair of Tariq’s trousers and a tunic from Yashaa, you will look enough like me to pass, I think,” Arwa said. “We will have to alter the tunic, but I can do that tonight.”
“I will do it,” Tariq said. “You are still more concerned with straight lines and even stitches than speed, little goat, and this must be fast work.”
“I have to practice!” Arwa protested. Saoud hid a smile.
“We’ll find something for you to practice on,” he promised. “And you’ll need to set the pins for Tariq anyway.”
Tariq disappeared into his workbag, while Arwa led the Little Rose behind their privacy screen and began the task of preparing a new outfit for her. Saoud took stock of the cave, noting the basket, but passing over it for now. Clearly there were larger concerns, and I wanted to know what they were.
“Can you hear us, princess, if we talk now?” I asked, having selected my best tunic and given it to Tariq.
“Yes,” she replied. I could hear the whisper of fabric as she changed.
“We made it to the first village easily enough,” Saoud said. “Their market was very poor, and we couldn’t find the sort of supplies we needed. Also, we didn’t want to buy things that were obviously meant for use in the mountains, or on a long trip. Word is spreading of the Little Rose’s apparent kidnapping, you see, and it would be suspicious.”
“We feared as much,” I said. I watched Tariq lay out his needle and awl and then turn his attention back to what thread he had left.
“We may have underestimated them,” Saoud said darkly. He had never been good at sitting idly, and had taken out his knives to check for damage. I passed him my whetstone.
“What sort of pursuit have my parents arranged?” asked the Little Rose.
“Stay still!” said Arwa, and the Little Rose murmured an apology.
“Messengers were sent to every village, if what we heard is to be believed,” Tariq said, without looking away from the trousers he held up in front of him. They were clean and nearly new, and would probably fit the Little Rose with minor adjustments.
“I believe it,” said Saoud. “And there is worse news.”
Arwa came out from behind the screen with the pinned-up tunic and switched it for the trousers. Tariq set to work, needle and awl moving together like two halves of the same whole through the heavy cloth of my tunic. My mother had made it, of course. I hoped she knew, somehow, that the Little Rose would wear it now.
“The Prince of Qamih is coming to Kharuf,” Saoud said. “To rescue his beloved bride.”
“What?” exclaimed the Little Rose, bursting out from behind the screen. Arwa, who had apparently been marking the hem of the trousers, was bowled over. The Little Rose stumbled on the extra fabric Arwa hadn’t pinned up yet, but caught herself and let the skirt of her underdress swirl around her legs.
“The Maker King’s son is riding to your rescue,” Saoud repeated, his voice dry and his face carefully blank. “The merchants from Qamih are besotted with the very idea of it, though your own people are slightly more reserved in their hopes.”
“I will not go with him,” the Little Rose declared. “He is to have me when I am eighteen and not a moment before.”