Gold to Dust

Chapter Eight

Eight

Even with the food Faine had found, Ellegra's body still felt as if it was shutting down, one system after another gradually dying. Her feet kept up the laborious task of keeping pace with Faine; wherever he turned, they followed their own intelligent minds and kept track of him.

For two nights, whenever they stopped to camp she would throw herself onto the ground and immediately crash in a dreamless sleep, a pattern that left her groggy and irritable in the morning. Faine scarcely made conversation, but when he did it was more to himself than her. "Doesn't look like a steady journey, does it?" he'd say. Before she could even answer he'd shake his head at himself. "No, not at all." Then he'd continue down the path, following invisible tracks that were lost to the wind. She'd given up talking to him, but each time they stopped for a rest she stared at him from afar, watching the way he'd look out at the sky and study the stars. His dark hair blew in the wind.

   Since infancy she'd been told never to trust a Khalysrian. They were shady characters, selfish thieves and murderers, con artists and liars. Not worth the energy spent to kill them she remembered one of her father's guards say. Their races had always harbored a not-so-secret hatred for each other. How she was even still with Faine astonished her. Her father would have died from the disgust. She shouldn't even be near him, yet here she was, begging for his help.

   They walked in silence for hours on end, from sunup to sunset, until finally he was the one collapsing on the ground from exhaustion. Heaving, he lifted a hand in the air. "I just need a minute," he panted.

   Ellegra nodded. "Say no more." Careful to avoid another bruise for her knee, she lowered herself to the ground and spread her arms and legs out. By now she had more sand in her body than blood. She stared up at the sky set ablaze with colors of red and purple and orange.

   Her thoughts drifted off to places she didn't want to venture. Tamshie, the young servant girl turned fugitive all because of what she knew and what someone told her she had to do. "A duty to your kingdom" was what Baz had undoubtedly told her. He had a way with persuading people— especially young, easily susceptible girls who didn't know any better— to get his way, but he was not manipulative. There was not a single bone in his tall, extraordinarily deceiving body that could change a person's heart once it was set to something. Tamshie had wanted to help, no matter the consequences, but she was never truly understanding of what that meant. Unfortunately, she now knew, if not felt, what those consequences actually meant. She had been taken from a life of knowing where she would belong in the world and flung into one that left everything to chance. Nothing was certain anymore.

   Cilas haunted her the most. In her dreams, in her nightmares, in the shadows that followed her everywhere she went— Cilas never left her. Every second of every day, she felt the sting of his eyes piercing through her, the burn of his words as he spoke, and the white-hot pain that engulfed her skin from where he'd touched her. It didn't matter how dreadfully hot it was around her— when it came to Cilas, every part of her felt like ice. Frozen. Her hand felt like an icicle moving toward her face, naturally roaming over it to the scar on her right eye. She trailed it down to her jaw, wincing as she saw the glint of the blade rushing toward her. Then her hands moved to the others elsewhere: the bright slashes on her back from a riding "accident"; the pink hole on her hip from target practice that had gone wrong; and the long slash that dove between her breasts. She recalled that day better than any other in her life. Her body froze stiff thinking about it. That was the day she'd learned that nothing she could do would make Cilas love her. There was no word she could say or joke she could tell that would make him look at her with something other than malicious hate.

   Her breath choked on the ice moving up her throat. Closing her eyes, she stressed her need to breathe, concentrating on not feeling the burn of her calves, but the way the air flowed through her lungs and into the air again. She thought of Baz. The way he'd talked so animatedly about his future duties as king filled her with pride. He was her brother and best friend. No other person in the world could make her smile or laugh like he could. It didn't matter whether it was from hysteria or pain, Baz was the only one who could soothe her.