Page 24 of The Stolen Throne
All I was supposed to do was die for Tabra. This is way more than that, and I can’t do a bloody thing about any of it until we find Cain’s zariphate and figure out a plan together.
“You’re thinking like a Wanderer, not an authoritate.” The low rumble of Reven’s voice up ahead, talking to Cain, has Achlys and me looking at each other. We both heel our horses to move closer quickly. Those two really shouldn’t be left alone together.
“I’m telling you,” Reven is saying as we near them. “A Tyndran queen would never be seen in the getup you brought for her.”
They’re arguing about my clothes? Seriously?
I glance down. They’re a little large but still the typical Wanderer garb. It’s difficult to see where one layer ends and another begins with the way the garments are designed to wrap around the body. I’m not even wearing the razor-thin armor strapped to my legs, torso, and shoulders that most Wanderers do.
“It’s what we wear in the desert,” Cain argues through gritted teeth, drawing the last word out in an exaggerated way. “Where you happen to be.”
“Exactly. She’s dressed the way a Wanderer would be.”
Cain looks around like someone else could explain this to the Tyndran Shadowraith. “Meren practically is a Wanderer. She even wears her clothes the way they’re meant to be, like a desert born.”
He glances over his shoulder and shoots me a wink. I only know because Cain taught me how when I was a kid. Reven, on the other hand, is not wearing his correctly, which is obvious in the once-over Cain gives him.
Reven snorts—actually snorts. “That doesn’t mean she’s a Wanderer now.”
I saw it coming, and even so, the impact of that statement hits me harder than I’m ready for. I give my horse’s neck a slow pat, trying not to let it bother me. Almost my entire life, a Wanderer is the only thing I ever secretly wished to be. But Reven’s right. I’m not and will never get to be that. Despite the fact that Cain sort of proposed.
There’s still a tiny ache of what could have been inside me. For both of us. I could have been happy with my best friend once. Before all this.
I’m glad Reven’s ahead of me—both of them, really—so they don’t see my reaction. Achlys catches it, though. I see her glance over from the corner of my eye.
“Meren is the queen now,” Reven continues. “Ruler of all Aryd. Even over your father.”
I bite my tongue. I’m not queen, I’m a princess. Tabra was the one officially crowned and also wed to Eidolon. I’m just a stand-in. Strictly speaking, I’m not even a princess because of how the hidden-twin setup works, with the second born being erased from all existence. I’m a nobody. Not a queen and not the waif who wanted to be a Wanderer. Not anymore.
I honestly don’t know who I am.
“So you want to truss her up like some overblown authoritate?” Cain demands, flinging a hand in my direction.
Ugh. No thanks. I’ve been trussed up for months, and I’m not particularly keen to go back to restrictive clothing I’m terrified to rip or, goddess forbid, get a crumb on. Especially not in the deep desert. Think of the sweat marks.
“To make a statement? To ensure your father knows who is in charge?” Reven’s voice leaves no doubt about his opinion of the zariph. “Absolutely.”
In charge is the last thing I want to be. On the flip side, though, I’m suddenly picturing Pella’s face when she sees me give orders to her almighty father—her lips pinched and white and eyes narrowed in that snotty way she does. She doesn’t like me. The feeling is mutual.
Come to think of it, that alone might be worth it.
“Fine, but not the full regalia,” Cain huffs after a moment.
As if we have a closet full of garments to select from out here in the middle of nowhere. It’s not like we had to escape from the palace in a rush or anything. I swear, when these two get together, our collective intelligence drops.
Reven just shakes his head, visibly disgusted that Cain can’t see how important it is that I not show up like the poor city girl the zariphate knew before.
“I brought clothing for both my dominas,” Achlys says.
Both men turn in their saddles to look at her. Reven’s gaze skates right over me in the process. Deliberate? Not enough to call him on it. I mean, what would I say? “Hey, you didn’t look at me when you looked at her.” The tug on my slowly fraying nerves makes me shift in my saddle.
“That’s what you were filling those bags with when I was trying to drag you out of the palace?” Cain’s expression is beyond disgruntled.
My turn to snort. “At least she had the foresight to think of it before she got to the middle of the desert.”
A comment that makes both men stiffen, glance at each other, then face forward abruptly. Achlys catches my grin, and her lips tilt up.
My own smile slips when a tremor deep in the ground catches my attention. My amulet, now around my neck and tucked between my breasts under my clothes, is asleep again, but my power over sand isn’t. Which means if there’s enough movement, I can sense it. From terravores to herds of jerombi, the mouselike animals with bat-like ears that hop around on their hind legs, to…a zariphate.
