Page 61 of The Traitor Queen (The Bridge Kingdom 2)

A cup was held up to her lips and precious water poured into her mouth while she desperately tried to swallow as much as she could without choking. Then she rolled her eyes up to examine the giant man who’d captured her. He was a product of the desert, his face and complexion courtesy of ancestors from both Maridrina and Valcotta.

“An easy death is no punishment.” He patted her cheek. “And I have money on you lasting through the end of the week. Long enough for the sun to cook the skin from your bones.”

When a cup of water could mean life or death, theft was taken as seriously as murder in the Red Desert and punished accordingly. They’d found a piece of meat stuck in one of the camel’s packs and determined she was the one who’d spooked them, and all the ire that had been directed against the dogs’ owner had been turned on her. It was only this man who’d kept them from beating her to death, but it wasn’t out of a sense of altruism. It had been his apricots she’d stolen, and he apparently appreciated a more prolonged demise.

“Kiss my ass,” she growled, but he only laughed and slapped said ass, the skin, unused to exposure to the sun, already badly burned.

For that, she fully intended to gut him.

That delightful visual was circling Lara’s thoughts when the sound of a man singing off-key reached her ears. It was a vulgar Harendellian tavern song about a man and a mule that she’d heard many a time during her weeks in the northern nation, but not once since.

Lifting her head, Lara squinted against the brilliant light, watching the lone camel approaching the town. The man riding him was swaying in the saddle, one hand holding the reins, the other holding a flask, the metal glinting in the sun. Riding into the market square, he hauled on the reins, the camel coming to a stop right as the man finished his song.

Aren awkwardly dismounted, his foot catching on the saddle and sending him sprawling, inspiring laughter from the few merchants who remained in the market.

“Damn you, cursed beast!” Aren shouted at Jack. “You moved!” Then he lifted the flask to his lips, apparently found it empty, and tossed it aside. “I need a drink! Someone sell me a drink!”

The merchant whose camels Lara had spooked wandered toward him, a bottle held loosely in one hand. “My friend, my friend, how is it that you have come to us alone and in such a state? What has happened to you?”

Lara watched as Aren rested his head in his hands, her jaw dropping as he abruptly wailed, “It’s gone.” When he lifted his head, tears streaked his face. “A storm like none I’ve seen before swept our camp, stealing away my companions and merchandise. All dead. All gone. My grandmother warned me not to risk my wealth to the sand, but my ambitions outweighed my good sense.”

It was all Lara could do not to roll her eyes. Clearly Aren had noticed her in the pillory, the comment as much for her as the merchant.

“The desert is a fickle woman, my friend.” The merchant patted Aren’s shoulder. “How is it that you survived?”

Aren wiped his eyes. “Fortune clearly wished for me to live with my mistakes rather than to rest in ignorance in the endless sleep.” Then his gaze latched on the bottle in the merchant’s hands. “If you are a true friend, you’ll help me drown my sorrows.”

“Of course, of course.” The man extracted a cup and poured a measure, handing it over to Aren, who downed it in one mouthful, holding it out for more. But the merchant clucked mournfully.

“Alas, friend, all things have a price in the desert.”

“But I’ve lost everything!” he moaned. “Take pity on me.”

Thatwas a lie. Lara knew Aren had gold and silver in his pockets because she’d given it to him in case they were separated. It was more than enough to pay for lodging and supplies and for Jack to drink his fill. What was he up to?

“Perhaps you might have something you wish to sell?”

“I’ve nothing.” Aren rested his head in the sand, masterfully playing the part of a spoiled merchant’s son. Jack chose that moment to start walking toward the lake, Aren crawling after him, trying to reach for the reins. The merchant reached out and pulled Jack to a halt, his eyes running over both animal and trappings, calculating their value even as he measured the level of Aren’s desperation.

“Perhaps we might come to an arrangement. That wretch”—the merchant jerked his chin in Lara’s direction—“caused one of my animals to go lame, and I cannot spare the time for the beast to heal. If you’d be willing to part with yours, I’d pay you a fair price.”

Lara’s lips parted, the desire to scream,Don’t you dare sell him!rising to her lips. They needed that camel if there was to be any chance of them getting out of the desert alive.

Except Aren was no fool. He knew they needed Jack, which meant he had a plan. It was only that her sunbaked mind was too sluggish to figure it out.

“But I need him,” he whined. “How else am I to get to Valcotta?”

The merchant rubbed his chin. “Perhaps we can truly help one another, my friend. What say you to joining our party when we leave tonight? Your beast can bear a portion of my goods, and in exchange, we shall safely deliver you from the sands.”

His face filled with disbelief, Aren blurted out, “You would do this?”

Yet even from a dozen yards away, Lara could see the glint in his eyes that suggested this wasexactlythe offer the King of Ithicana had planned to extract from the merchant. And Lara’s blood ran cold. If he went with them, he wouldn’t need her; the men were more than capable of delivering on their promise, and the camel was worth the price of their services and more.

He wouldn’t leave her. He couldn’t. But a voice inside her head whispered,Why shouldn’t he go? Helping you would be a risk, and he owes you nothing.

“Fortune smiles on us a both! What is your name, friend? I’m called Timin.”

“James. And I’m in your debt, Timin.”

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