CH. 53 the Trial of Endurance, Part II
The desert wind slaps me across the face like an angry grandmother.
Heat shimmers off the dunes, the sun carving shadows sharp enough to stab someone. We've barely walked ten minutes since the wasteland turned into a giant oven, and I already regret every single decision that brought me here.
My mask - the one hiding my current Andromeda-face - is now hotter than a cursed kettle.
"I AM SWEATING IN PLACES A HUMAN SHOULD NOT SWEAT," I announce.
"Stop shouting," Gavin snaps, wiping his forehead dramatically. "You'll attract attention."
Farro wheezes. "Honestly, at this point, attention might carry us to shade."
Sorien shields his eyes, scanning the dunes. "Stay close. There are tracks."
"Tracks?" I squeak. "Animal? Monster? Demon? VERY ATTRACTIVE LOCALS?"
"No," Sorien murmurs. "Bandits."
Farro groans. "Oh gods. I hate bandits. They always smell like regret and onions."
I nod solemnly. "Yes. A universal truth."
We trudge on.
The heat presses harder.
My mask feels like it's melting onto my face.
Then-
Something whistles through the air.
A rope snaps around my waist.
"HEY-HEYHEYHE-NO-STOP-BAD-BAD-STRANGER DANGER-!"
Before any of them can react, I'm yanked off my feet and swallowed by sand as a trap door closes above me.
The last thing I hear is Sorien shouting my name.
---
A dark tent.
A campfire.
Sweaty bandits who haven't bathed since the last century.
Lovely.
They've tied me to a post like a misbehaving goat.
The tallest bandit crouches down, breath absolutely committing war crimes.
"Well, well," he growls. "What's a fancy little masked lady doing out here?"
I inhale through my mouth so I don't die.
"Tourism."
The bandits laugh like someone stepped on a harmonica.
Another bandit pokes my mask. "What's with the face? Hiding burns? A curse? Or are you just ugly?"
"Oh, you have no idea," I mutter.
Their leader grins, revealing three teeth total. "We'll ransom you. Royals always pay for pretty things."
I gag. "The only thing you're getting paid for is dental work."
He grabs my chin. "You've got a smart mouth."
"And you've got a stupid everything."
The tent flap explodes inward.
I blink.
Because in the entrance stands-
Three princes.
Looking absolutely homicidal.
---
GAVIN:
"Drop her, or I drop your limbs in alphabetical order."
FARRO:
"You touched my aide?"
(He cracks his knuckles.)
"Big mistake, sweaty man."
SORIEN:
(Quiet. Cold.)
"Step away from her."
The bandits stare. "You're... princes?"
Gavin's smile is all poison.
"Unfortunately."
Sorien moves first - a blur of steel.
He slices the rope on my wrists without even looking at me.
Farro slams into a bandit so hard the tent collapses halfway.
Gavin kicks another straight into the campfire.
Bandits scream.
Sand flies.
It's the most violent rescue I've ever witnessed, and I once watched a merchant fight a goose for an apple.
Within seconds, it's over.
Sorien kneels in front of me, brushing sand off my face.
"You're not hurt?"
"I'm offended," I pant. "But physically fine."
Gavin rolls his eyes. "Of course she got kidnapped. It's literally her brand."
Farro helps me stand. "Next time, walk between us, not fifty steps behind complaining about armpit sweat."
"I was NOT complaining," I protest.
"You were absolutely complaining," all three say at once.
Rude.
But also... kind of sweet.
---
The desert stretches endlessly, but something has shifted.
Gavin stays near my right side.
Farro hovers on my left.
Sorien walks just ahead, glancing back more often than usual.
A breeze sweeps across the dunes.
"We need shelter before sunset," Sorien says.
Farro nods. "Bandits are worse at night."
Gavin smirks. "Not when they're all dead."
I sigh dramatically.
"You three do realize that I can walk without needing a royal escort, right?"
"No," Sorien answers instantly.
"Nope," Farro says.
"Absolutely not," Gavin agrees.
I stare at them.
They stare back.
"...Fine," I mutter.
We keep walking - four silhouettes against endless gold.
For the first time since the desert began, I feel safe.
(Annoyed, sweaty, thirsty, furious at the heat.
But safe.)