11
Once Valine and Sarim had collected Olivander and the other guard, they retrieved their horses, and returned to camp. Their hunt for the flute had been unsuccessful, yet they did not know that. They’d returned with a flute, but it was a trick. Something played on unsuspecting and foolish men by an opportunistic vendor. Valine falsely commended them—they needed not know that a flute against sand serpents did not exist. However, the soldiers back at camp had successfully erected their tents, and were now gathering up a meager amount of wood for a fire. It was sweltering during the day, but the nights plunged close to freezing.
Valine feigned a headache and retired to her tent, but truthfully, she just wanted to be alone with her thoughts—to compartmentalize her plans, and enact Malik’s wishes. She stared up at the roof of her tent, made from a water-resistant, treated linen, and let one of her many facades fall. She had layers upon layers of falsehoods and trickery, doffing the guise of Larysa Olympias was a balm of relief. She dared not shed another mask.
Before they’d rejoined their group, they had stopped in an opium den, and discarded of their conspicuous linens—Sarim had traded navy for burgundy, and Valine had switched the white for taupe. Into her satchel the jewels and pin had gone, and tossed to the addicts their clothing went. They ensured they were not noticed upon arrival, and their departure was as equally inconspicuous. Thus far, everything had gone relatively smoothly, it was just that the next step risked all their lives, and Valine loathed to admit it, but she was terrified.
After some time, Valine’s racing thoughts had softened edges and their shouts became a low hum as she fell asleep. She tossed and she turned, ink staining her thin pillow. It was not a restful slumber, but for a moment it was enough.
Sarim woke her for dinner with a bowl of stew. The rich scent of beef, broth, and vegetables had her immediately scrambling to sit up. She took the proffered bowl with a smile of thanks, and he handed her a hard crust of bread. She was surprised when she took a bite that the insides were warm and chewy. Sarim took a seat across from her on his own cot, digging into his own bowl.
“You and I are on watch in two hours, but I figured you wanted some time to eat first,” Sarim told her between bites.
Valine swallowed a bite of carrot and potato. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.”
Sarim paused while dunking his bread in the broth. “Why is that?”
“Because,” Valine started, stirring her stew aimlessly, anxiety making her fingers shake. She stopped. “We’re all not making it to Talloh.”
“Valine.” Sarim’s tone had her eyes shooting to his. “Malik would not have sent us through the Twilight Sands if he didn’t think you had it under control. You are capable and there’s something about you that he can’t help but want for himself. He wouldn’t risk you if he didn’t think you’d make it out alive. I’d like to think he wouldn’t risk me either. He’s been my closest friend for the better part of my life.”
“And the guards? Olivander and the others?”
Sarim hesitated glancing away. “Malik makes difficult choices, many of them ones I would not make myself. But he has a kingdom to run, and he must think of the gain versus the loss. I believe he hopes we’ll all remain unscathed, but he’s willing to risk soldiers if that’s what it takes.”
“You know this, yet you still remain loyal to him?” Valine questioned, but her reasons were not accusation, they were curiosity. If someone like Malik with a darkening soul was worthy of the faith that Sarim displayed, could Valine be revered with similar belief?
“Those he cares about, he puts above all else. That’s the only reassurance I have and I choose to believe in him.”
“And you’re fine with that?”
“No one has ever given me more.”
Valine’s heart sank and before she could reply, Sarim stood, pulling up to his full 6’4” frame. There was a sad acceptance in his dark honey eyes when she caught his gaze, and she couldn’t help but imagine what sort of existence quantified such softened desolation. He’d been sold, him and his family separated because of loss and greed, and while none of it had been his own choice, he’d suffered greatly for it. That was the glaring difference between their pasts. Valine had been distanced from her family by death and envy, but she had chosen it. She had been the one to wield the scythe.
“I’ll see you at watch.” And with that he ducked out of the tent, his dark hair slipping forward with the movement.
Valine was once again left alone, as she had originally wanted, but she found that she no longer desired her own company. Something about Sarim’s grief triggered a pang in her heart, something so reminiscent of guilt and camaraderie. Perhaps because their youth glided along similar lines, perhaps it was because the way he saw his loss was likely the same way her brothers had interpreted theirs.
And it was her fault.