Page 12

The desert is motionless, and only the passage of the train disturbs its silent existence. The sand whirls around the metal beast, tapping gently on the glass between us. A glint on the horizon catches my attention, but it’s gone in a mere moment. The sun is playing tricks on my eyes. No one would be mad enough to venture this far into the desert without the protection the train offers.

A rattle of the car on uneven rails makes me stumble and takes me out of my thoughts. I might as well go now.

Outside of my compartment, a woman in a kaftan of dazzling yellow offers me a small smile before disappearing inside her own private suite.

A wave of sand glides off the closest dune, sending ripples over the desert. I take a deep breath of dry air as I wait for it to hit the train and take us into its depth. With a hiss and a cloud of steam, the train takes the hit, staying on its rails despite the assault, and the sand drifts past us into the bottomless precipice of what once was a river on the other side. I wish the sand were more resilient. I wish the train hadn’t survived the assault. I wish I never had to confront the choices my father made for me. I’m sick of the cage with ornate wallpaper and lavish carpet. Though I may not see it, I can feel the coldness of metal seeping through the fabric, gnawing on my skin, weighing on my chest with every breath.

A door to the compartment next to mine slides open, and I fight the urge to hide back in mine. I wanted to leave the palace, to see the world outside. Now that I’m here, I owe it to myself to see as much of it as possible before I’m locked in another place of riches and intrigue. I dare a glimpse over my shoulder and catch sight of a man with a thick stubble on his cheeks and chin. His black eyes twinkle with an undying spark as he notices me looking, but I turn away, fixing my gaze on the barren land with flowing sands.

“Good afternoon,” his warm voice reaches out through the thunder of clanking metal and swirling sand.

I nod with a taut smile, sparing him but another glance, hoping that it’s enough to let the conversation die. Yet like any man in the empire with at least a morsel of power, he won’t take no for an answer.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he says.

“We have not.”

The amusement warms his voice when my attempts at being rude don’t dissuade him. “Might I ask for your name?”

“You might.” From the corner of my eye, I can see the man raise his scarred brow. “Just as I might not tell you what it is.”

The stranger chuckles, shaking his head, and a few strands of hair escape from a cord holding them at the back of his head. “Let’s make a deal,” he starts and runs his gloved fingers over his hair in an unsuccessful attempt at keeping it out of his eyes. “We discuss it over lunch, and whoever utters the other’s name last pays the bill.”

I swallow hard, still not looking at him. I didn’t think we had to pay for the meals. The conductor never demanded payment when I asked him to bring a tray of food to my compartment. Not that I have even a single coin. Maybe I could say that Ajaia will cover any of my expenses. Or, Rev.

The door at the far end of the corridor slides open, and, as if hearing his name uttered if only in my thoughts, Rev steps through. He stops, his gaze lingering on my figure.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” says the stranger, looking over my head. “I don’t want to impose.”

Rev takes one step in our direction, and that’s all it takes.

“It’s a deal,” I say, hiding my gaze under my long lashes.

Without daring another look over my shoulder, I motion for the man to start walking and follow him into the restaurant car, hoping Rev will take the hint.

As the door slams shut behind us and stays closed, I allow myself a deep breath.

An automaton with a face of spinning gears is mixing a chilled drink behind a bar that takes up the center part of the car. A collection of spirits of every color and variety hangs down from the ceiling above it, a tap screwed in each bottle’s neck.

With one last rattle of ice on metal, the animated machine opens the shaker and pours the contents into a crystal glass. It slides the cocktail to a man who has a small golden hoop dangling from his ear. He spills a few coins on the bar before the automaton can roll to another noble thirsty for a refreshment.

As if feeling my gaze, the man offers me a crooked smile before he pulls his dark hair away from his face, downs his drink, and jumps down from the high stool. He walks past us with a nod, but his black eyes never leave the clock made of buzzing lamps and switching numbers that hangs on the wall behind the bar as if he had somewhere to be where only eternal sand and rattling trains existed.

The mysterious man, whom I’ve dubbed “Nameless One” until I can discover his name, barely has time to take a few steps into the car when a server drifts from behind the bar toward us. His spotless blue attire sags on his shoulders, but he guides us to the last free table in a swift manner.

I spot Tylea as I take a seat on a cushioned bench. She lifts her glass in my direction before a man in a charcoal vest similar to the one the Nameless One is wearing claims her attention. That must be the suitor she had mentioned. I think his name started with a N but I can’t remember what it was. As I wrack my brain, the server slides a small bowl of nuts for an appetizer and waits patiently as we peruse the menus. Once he has taken our order, he offers us a small bow and departs toward what must be the kitchen.

An uncomfortable silence settles on our table. At least for me. Starting a conversation was never my thing. The Nameless One doesn’t seem to mind. His gaze set on the desert on the other side of the glass, he twirls the silver spoon with his gloved fingers. It’s such an unusual thing to do, but whatever he’s hiding, I’d rather know his name than his secrets. At least for now.

I lower my eyes to the elegant cutlery and battle the desire to steal a knife. I’ve never missed my swords as much as I do now. Before I can slide the polished silverware into the sleeve of my kaftan, the server comes back with the plate of steamed vegetables for me, and a bowl of cold soup for my companion.

We clank our glasses with chilled tea, but the Nameless One’s gaze rests on my face. I quickly lower my eyes at the roasted eggplant and carrots on my plate, but it’s too late. A knowing smile creases my companion’s handsome features.

“So, it’s either Ishta, Kayala, Sumari or Neylan,” he says, reciting the names of the four green-eyed daughters of the Emperor of Usmad while he takes off his gloves and reveals scars left on his skin by corrosive flames.

“I seem to be at a disadvantage here, Nameless One,” I say with a smile mirroring his own tugging on the corners of my lips. “My eyes betray me in a way none of your features do.”

“I’m willing to offer you an honest answer to a single question,” he says with a shrug and swirls his spoon mindlessly through his soup.