Chapter 21

Evie

They had taken off my armor. It was the first thing the bastard who snatched me did when he thought he’d put enough distance between us and Aramon. I warned him that he’d made a grave mistake—Aramon would stop at nothing to get me back—but the Kertinal male who had stolen me just laughed. His mistake. Even with at least a dozen notches in his spiraling horns, I knew Aramon would make mincemeat out of him. Those notches might signify twelve kills, but only an insecure idiot would feel the need to brag about that.

With my hands tied behind my back, my body draped over the back of the hover cycle, and his tail the only thing holding me in place, I didn’t dare throw myself over the side. We were moving too fast, and I wore only panties and a flimsy blouse. The bastard had even taken my boots—the very boots Aramon had given me. I was beyond mad, but I was also terrified. Without the armor or a com, could Aramon even find me? The hover cycle left no trace as it swept over the desert.

Then we reached the camp, and my heart sank in my stomach. This was bad, and it wasn’t at all what I had expected to discover. The shapes of the tents were exactly like the ones I’d lived in back on Xurtal, with their distinct triple peaks and the colorful bands of green and red painted along the edges of the thick, heavy cloth. I recognized the handful of Xurtal males who stood guard around the biggest tent too—males I’d seen training back on Xurtal, males with whom Evadne’s guards had regularly hung out. I might have even dated one of those guys.

They were the personal guard of Pelarios, and I was not surprised to see him step out of the tent beneath the shaded canopy to watch us land. The Kertinal male parked his stolen—previously stolen by us—hover cycle a short distance away, at the center of the camp. Then he jerked me upright by my hair, ignoring my pained yelp and protests. Dragging me across the hot, white sand, he tossed me to the ground at the advisor’s feet with a casual flick of his wrist.

I landed badly on my hip and shoulder, but I’d managed to protect my hands, which were awkwardly bent and twisted behind my back. The momentum carried me forward, and I rolled to a stop right at the toes of Pelarius’s shiny boots. The Xurtal advisor had been in the service of Evadne’s father, the King of Xurtal, for as long as I could remember. But he was not old yet—older, perhaps, but definitely not some graybeard.

His golden markings glowed with luster and health along his bare, muscled arms, and a short gold vest was the only decoration on his chest. Once a warrior and a general in the Xurtal army, he rose through the ranks quickly. Stern-faced, he was a male always surrounded by rumors. Some attributed his swift ascent to his status as the King's sister's favorite, a female who had never found her mate. I had never given credence to these rumors, yet I couldn't help but wonder if some of the other, darker ones might hold some truth. Like the whispers of his scheming to murder his opponents, anyone who stood as obstacles to his climb to power.

“Ah, Evelyn Mordew,” he said, “I had a feeling it was you, not Evadne, who’d survived Batok’s hospitality. Evadne was never as tough, never quite as clever as you were.” Though meant as compliments, in theory, each word landed like a blow. He’d known all along? Was he here to punish me for impersonating Evadne when the princess was dead? It was the only legitimate reason I could think of for his presence, but my heavy heart and aching belly told me he had far darker motivations.

“Too tough, as it turns out. But exposing you as a fraud will work just as well for what I have planned. The alliance will fall apart when those delegates realize they’ve been tricked by a lowly human.” He smirked, flicked his long braid of black hair over his shoulder, and lowered himself to a crouch next to my head. When he reached out a hand, I wasn’t fast enough to dodge it, and he curled his fingers tightly into my hair. “You shouldn’t have stripped the dye from your hair. We’ll have to reapply it to make the transition more striking.”

I curled my lip and spat in his face. This was the bastard responsible for Evande’s death; he had as much as admitted it now. Why he could possibly want the alliance to fail could have only one reason: he wanted to grasp power over Xurtal, and he needed a powerful ally to do it—one he had to buy with Xyraxin. When the alliance failed to form, the new Tarkan Queen that would succeed Ashcrao would be able to strike; and with Pelarios having so many loyals inside the military, the army would make way for her.

Pelarios hissed, wiping my spit from his face with a hastily proffered handkerchief. Then he raised his hand to strike me, and I jerked back from the blow, unable to dodge, as he still gripped me by the hair. I tasted blood, but he’d held back, thinking I was weak. My teeth ached, my lip was split, but it could have been much worse. A Xurtal male was far more powerful than a human woman.

“You’ll pay for that,” he remarked with a malevolent glare, rising to his feet. “Lock her up. We’ll get Imala in there to fix her up. I will be speaking to the delegates in an hour.” He addressed two of his guards, dismissing me as though I no longer mattered now that he’d had his say. That was nothing new. The two warriors reached down to pull me to my feet by my arms, and I went willingly. There was nothing I could do to fight this, not from here. It sucked, but it felt like all I could do was wait and hope for the best—stall and give Aramon the chance to find me.

The guards escorting me did not care that the white sand burned my bare feet. Maybe they did not know that it would; maybe it was malice. Regardless, I had blisters along the soles by the time they reached a small tent and brought me inside. There, a raw mat of woven weeds native to Xurtal covered the bottom, providing coolness against my abused feet. There was nothing inside the tent except the poles that held up the triple peaks. They branched out from the center in three directions, and that’s where they sat me down and tied me up.

Nobody said anything; it was all done in silence. I met their eyes, glaring at them, but that was the extent of my defiance. They were only pawns, simple soldiers obeying their commander. Did they choose to follow a traitor? Yes, but could I blame them for following someone as charismatic as Pelarios? No. I had believed he was a good guy, too. I thought that if he could talk to Kalzudaud and the other delegates, everything might turn out fine. Never for a moment had I suspected that he was staging a coup and that he’d go as far as seeing the crown princess murdered to do it.

Once the tent flap closed behind them, I was stuck in the warm, dry heat inside the tent, but it was better than the scorching heat outside. My legs and face had been burned by the sun, and my feet ached. I felt thoroughly miserable. Here I’d been trying my hardest to save a kingdom that didn’t even care about me, and as a reward, I was going to get thrown to the vultures. I shuddered, suddenly cold, and my belly turned queasy, my head pounding the longer I waited. I knew the signs: the beginning of heatstroke.

Things were getting more dire by the minute, the hot tent smothering. My body was switching between cold and hot, my mouth was dry, my head aching. If Aramon did not find me soon, I was going to expire. Hell, if Pelarios didn’t have his meeting soon, he would have nothing. That might save the alliance, actually, but I did not feel like dying for the Xurtal cause.

By the time a Xurtal female entered the tent, I had collapsed in my bindings and thrown up my breakfast. I stared at this supposed Imala through blurry eyes and wondered if I was mistaken—or if this wasn’t one of Evadne’s much younger sisters. Power-hungry, or ensnared by Pelarios’s charisma? Whatever her role, she took one look at me, screamed, and ran from the tent, dropping her hair-dyeing supplies at my feet.

Even sick and possibly dying, I knew the value of those chemicals. With blistered feet, I scrambled over the mat and managed to roll the container closer. I almost had it. If I could just break the lid and tip it over behind my back, I could burn through my ties. But Imala was back with help before I managed, and a guard roughly kicked my ankle to stop me from knocking it over. “What do we do?” the female asked, and her cultured, posh accent confirmed what I had already suspected: a sister of Evadne, another Xurtal princess.

I was freed from the bindings, but, sadly, too weak to fight free of the pair of strong warriors Imala had fetched. I could tell her what I needed, but would that save me or doom me? At this point, it was becoming harder to think and harder to know what I should do. Imala was Evadne’s sister; shouldn’t she be an ally, my friend? Or did she hate me because I survived and her sister died?

When everyone just stood around me, staring, I opened my mouth and croaked, “Heatstroke. Damn it. Cool me. Water.” It seemed like the last thing I wanted—to cool my body when I was shivering badly—but I knew it was the only way to live. The Xurtal knew how to treat this condition because even the most seasoned of their warriors and hunters could be struck by it out in the Xurtal deserts. They had just never seen its symptoms in a human.

My words jerked one of the guards into motion, and he raced out of the tent, returning what seemed like the blink of an eye later. With him came a flood of ice and water. It felt like it rained down on me, but when I surfaced, I discovered that they’d thrown me into a tank of it—wasting their precious water supplies on lowly me. I was trembling, aching, and sick as I hung onto the edge of the open tank, but clarity came back with each slow breath I took.

I had nearly died because of their carelessness, their cold disregard for my well-being. This was the final straw; I was done giving a crap about their people. Closing my eyes, I ignored everyone around me—even the princess as she started fussing with my wet hair so she could dye it green once more.

Aramon had to find me; I was too weak to escape now. Heat had caused this, it was the worst enemy. I wasn’t out yet though—I still had breath, and now I had things that were mine. Like Aramon’s love, the mate bond, and a future with him aboard the Varakartoom. I was given a chance to see parts of the quadrant, make friends with the women on the ship, and carve out my own place. I could be something other than Evadne’s double, the fake princess.

Drawing in a deep breath, I focused on all those feelings, all those wants, and desires. Aramon was a psychic being, forever entwined with the mind of his twin. When he was in desperate need, that’s what he’d drawn strength from. Humans had no hope of ever matching that, but maybe, if I thought hard enough, he’d sense something. Feel something. It was a last, desperate effort, but since it was all I had, I gave it my best. There was no one here to tell me it was impossible, except me, and I wasn’t going to.

Aramon, I’m here. Find me.