Page 63 of Bound By Wishes

“We may need some for the road,” he assured me, cramming as much as he could into the pockets of his cargo pants.

“Slow down,” I warned him. “You’re not going to be able to walk if you keep on.”

“Here, put some in your pants,” Malik urged, thrusting a fistful of coins toward me.

“I don’t want to put them in my pants,” I replied, stepping back as gold fever overtook him.

“What exactly are you putting in your pants, Sayyida?” Ranen purred in my head, sending a rippling effect of embarrassment through me.

“Nothing,” I hissed, my face flushing withheat. I eyed Malik up and down. “Come on, Malik! We can treasure hunt later. Have you forgotten we have a Nightshade to stop?”

Malik stuffed his pants with coins and jewels until they overflowed, reluctantly trailing behind me. I smiled to myself as I heard fabric ripping, followed by the clattering of coins and jewels spilling onto the ground. Turning back around, I found one of his pockets had split open, and he was scowling at his treasure that was now scattered across the floor.

“Serves you right for being so greedy,” I scolded him, a hint of satisfaction in my voice.

I stopped at the entrance, recalling our near-death experience with the arrows. I touched the staff to the dusty ground, hoping its magic would disarm any other hidden traps. As soon as the staff made contact, power surged through it, transforming the dark, dusty tunnels before my eyes.

The gloomy passageways were now regal and grand, their walls lined with polished stone that gleamed. Brass torches lined the walls, flaring to life with flickering flames. The floor beneath our feet smoothed into polished stone, reflecting the torchlight and creating a path fit for royalty. The oppressive darkness was banished, turning what was once a place of danger into a walkway meant for a king.

“That’s much better,” Malik said, stepping onto the shiny, polished floor. As he moved forward, a trail of coins fell from his overstuffed pockets, the metallic tinging echoing against the floor, leaving a glittering path in his wake.

I shook my head at his antics and followed him downthe stunning, winding hallway that led us out of King Thalorian’s mines.

My heart beat a little louder as we neared the exit, the sound drumming in my ears. I wasn’t sure if it was the foreboding thought of what—or who—lay ahead that made my pulse quicken.

Sand from the desert outside blew in, the grains sprinkling across the marbled floor as we stepped out of the tunnels. The moment we emerged, the heat hit us full force, as if someone had thrown a heavy bag over my head. The scorching air wrapped around me, making each breath feel thick and labored.

Ranen lounged nearby, hovering just above the desert floor as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The scorching heat seemed to have no effect on him, his demeanor relaxed and almost indifferent. But the moment he saw us, he slowly lowered himself to the ground, his eyes immediately locking onto the staff in my hands. Something dark and intense swirled in his irises, a hunger that made me instinctively tighten my grip on the staff.

“You’re hurt,” he said, motioning to the blood that now stained the staff, smearing across its smooth surface. The crimson streaks stood out against the silvery sheen.

“It’s nothing,” I assured him, brushing aside his concern as I tried to sidestep him.

He extended his hand toward me, his gaze locking with mine. “I thought we were past this,” he said, his voice lowering. “You don’t always have to be so strong. It’s hard enough just watching you carry it all.”

“If you’re not strong, you break,” I said with a huff.

Ranen stepped closer, his breath warm against my ear. “In my kingdom,” he whispered, “broken things are mended with gold. The flaw becomes part of the object’s story, a mark of its history that only adds to its beauty.”

“You don’t have to be so philosophical,” I said, handing Malik the staff and holding out both of my scraped and bloodied palms before Ranen.

The raw skin and smeared blood looked worse than it was. As his magic flowed over me, caressing the wounds and knitting the torn flesh back together, a cool, soothing sensation spread over my skin. The pain faded almost instantly, replaced by a calming warmth that made butterflies dance in my stomach.

Ranen’s gaze shifted to my injured arm. With hands that were surprisingly gentle for their size, he carefully untied the makeshift bandage. His scowl deepened as fresh blood pooled from the deep slash and ran down my arm.

“Ouch,” I yelped as his magic began its tedious work. The sensation wasn’t painful, but his gentle touch and proximity made me feel antsy. I tried to break the spell he seemed to be weaving over me.

As his gaze locked with mine, Ranen’s lips curled into a smirk. “You know, it’s quite the inconvenience having to heal such a remarkable troublemaker all the time,” he said in a low, growly voice. His hand slid up my arm, pulling me closer and stealing the breath from my lungs.

“I hate to interrupt this tender moment, but we have company!” Malik shoved the staff back into my hands.

The same riders in dark cloaks and face coverings who had attacked us at the dig site crested the far hill, their thundering hooves pounding across the dunes as they charged toward us.

“The Canaari Medjai,” I gasped, turning to Ranen. “What do they want?”

“To stop us,” Ranen answered, and his magic began to swirl around us.

A plush carpet materialized beneath us. “But they’re too late,” he added with a gritty edge to his voice.

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