Page 20 of Across the Crimson Sands

“Never mind, then,” he muttered, withdrawing the leaf.

“No. Please,” I begged, and he reluctantly offered it again. The water burned as it slid down my parched throat, but it quenched my thirst surprisingly well.

Rokan discarded the shriveled leaf, and I hurried to fall in step behind him before he could yank the leash again.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

He paused, head tilted. “You’re welcome.”

I considered that progress. “I appreciate you keeping me alive, even though you don’t have to.”

“I don’t want you dead.”

My face heated up once more, a small, hopeful smile tugging at my lips. “Thanks.”

“You’re worth more breathing.”

Damn. His icy words pierced through me, shattering any foolish hopes I’d entertained. He saw me as nothing more than merchandise - a living, breathing commodity to be bought and sold.

I’d been a fool to search for a shred of humanity in those cold eyes. Sure, he cut an impressive figure - tall, chiseled, with features that could make a girl’s heart race. But beneath that alluring exterior lurked a heart of stone.

His raw physicality and rugged good looks ticked every box of what I found irresistible in a man. Yet what did it matter when he lacked even a hint of warmth or humor? Any attraction I felt withered in the face of his callous nature.

If only circumstances were different. If only he wasn’t about to hand me over to a life of chains and misery. But wishing wouldn’t change cold, hard reality. He’d made his priorities crystal clear - and I wasn’t one of them.

It was kind of hard to argue with that glaring red flag.

ROKAN

The vast Crimson Sands faded into a flatter expanse. Little Smelton materialized on the horizon, a shimmering oasis of civilization. Arilee’s fate hung in the balance, her return to her owner all but assured once we reached town. My steps grew leaden, each one a battle against the ghost of my conscience.

The job was simple - deliver Arilee. But nothing about this felt simple anymore.

I hunkered down by a towering cactus, plucking leaves from a small plant at its base. Arilee lingered close, her shadow falling across the stems as she peered over my shoulder. The contrast helped me discern their hue.

“What is it?”

Two things had changed in my detainee over the course of our long march. She had grown quieter, the relentless sun finally sapping her energy for all but essential communication.

The other constant companion on this trek was her insatiable curiosity. Perhaps she had learned to adapt like we Vinduthi had been forced to do in this hellscape since the war’s end.

Perhaps out of habit, I treated her as I would any fellow soldier. “Limintu hypothanlus. Gicca, a common desert plant. Edible, but only the flowers. The stems can be poisonous, even the leaves aren’t good for you.”

“Deadly?” she echoed, eyes wide with wonder.

I gestured for her to look closer. “See that purple stem?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, delicately examining the plant with her fingertips.

“Purple for poison,” I explained, stripping a few while we talked. She looked startled when I popped a handful into my mouth without hesitation.

“Just the blooms,” I said, dropping another bunch into her palm and guiding her hand to her lips. “C’mon. It’s full of electrolytes. You need it.”

She accepted the plant, her fingers brushing mine as she placed it on her tongue. I watched, waiting for her expression to shift from interest to revulsion.

“Yuck,” she grimaced, but I kept my hand over her mouth until I felt her dutifully swallow. Her obedience did nothing to alleviate the tension brewing between us.

Yet, she remained silent.

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