A Ring

Jameson

Jameson couldn’t help but laugh at how comically small Rumi looked atop the sandstrider, though guilt quickly extinguished his laughter.

Stables bred these beasts for desert life.

The military was highly selective to ensure they were extremely large, strong, could go days without food or water, and that they had trainable temperaments.

Essentially, the best animals ever.

Seeing her struggle to stay on, after watching her stubborn grit against Sullivan, had a strange war battling in his mind, though shame usually won over the smile that threatened his mouth.

She had a lot of strength packed into a small frame, that’s for sure.

“Do you have a ring?”

He asked Callum, slowing his sandstrider to walk beside them, noting that Rumi, though recovering from the shock, still looked a little rattled.

“A ring?”

Cal’s voice pitched with incredulity.

“Yes, they’ll likely look for it at the gate, since you don’t have papers.”

Cal shot him a wry look.

“I’m guessing by your expression that you came prepared?”

“Sure did. Here.”

He reached out and offered Rumi a small silver band with shiny spots peppering it like it had been hammered by hand.

“Jameson,”

Cal asked with a smirk, “why do you have a ring?”

“See, Cal, I met the love of my life while you were away.

I didn’t get a chance to tell you because I was sworn to secrecy.”

Cal’s offended expression made him chuckle.

“I’m just pullin’ your leg.

Actually, it was a gift from Melba.

She knew I’d run into you again—this whole marriage plot was her concoction.”

Rumi, who’d been withdrawn and quiet during their ride, perked up, and her eyes snagged on the ring.

“You saw Melba?”

She asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“I did.

Seems you made quite the friend.

Me and those sacks of shit we left back there were instructed to interrogate the men who ‘hid the traitors,’”

he said, hooking his fingers around the words.

“She told me she’d hunt me down herself and hang me by my ears if I found you dead.

So, thanks, Cal, for letting me keep my hide.

She is surprisingly terrifying.”

Jameson grinned, the smile pressing into his cheeks as he flashed his teeth, hoping to hide the fact that Melba really had scared the shit out of him.

Then he pressed his heels into the flank of the sandstrider and rode on ahead to let the two of them discuss.

He had little doubt that Cal would get her to see reason and go along with the plan, but that didn’t stop Jameson from surreptitiously scanning her body for weapons.

Honestly, he was relieved that Cal had agreed.

Jameson had figured Cal would be the hard one to win over.

The city of Chirston was built, essentially, off the overflow from the capitol.

When the population had grown too dense and expensive to keep up with the high demands, a group of people found the next best place.

With mills that drew the water from deep underground and their own nearby supply of oritium deposits, Chirston rivaled the capitol in every way, save one—the governor rarely left his palace.

Instead, the magistrate, Quilyn, governed Chirston, reporting to Governor Cesar and Archon Charlem.

When it came to architecture, Jameson had always thought Chirston was the most magnificent.

There was something so raw and beautiful about a group of people gathering together to carve out their space in the world.

The walls reflected the handmade nature of the place, protecting the city from the worst of the sand storms, wind, and prying eyes.

As they drew closer, the spires and roofs from within were just barely visible from atop their sandstriders.

Jameson motioned to Rumi to pull her wrap up over her head, hoping it would help hide her face.

She blatantly ignored him.

Jameson frowned, but there wasn’t time to argue.

The guard at the gate looked bored as they made the stretch across the dunes.

About as bored as Jameson would be in his position.

“Afternoon!”

He called with a smile, waving at the man to get his attention as he swung down from the sandstrider.

A wide-brimmed hat shaded the guard’s features.

He wore a red uniform with an anvil emblazoned on the shoulder.

The man stood as Jameson got closer and stepped away from the small desk and manifest.

“Name?”

he asked with a tired drawl.

“Lieutenant Jameson Bristol.”

“What is your business in Chirston, Lieutenant?”

“I got caught in the rain and need to take the railway.”

He eyed Jameson’s dusty clothes, lingering for a moment on a dark spot that must have been blood from the recent skirmish.

“Speak to Chancellor Balmot.

He’ll get you the proper papers to continue on your journey.

They are enforcing the new requirements for anyone riding the O-rail.

Stables are to the left.”

The guard jerked his thumb and waved Jameson through, then he held up his palm, stopping the two behind him when they approached.

Jameson glanced back at the pair as he entered the gate.

He sincerely hoped that Cal would stick to the plan, that the guard was as disinterested as he seemed, and that they wouldn’t royally fuck this up.