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Desert Rumi

Rumi

Rumi sat in the bath, marveling at the ceramic detailing on the tub and water basin.

So different from home.

Ceramic and glass were in abundance here, whereas most things in Arryvia were made with tún, the rough surface preferable to wood only because of the silvery whirls and density.

Waterproof and sturdy.

Protective from the rains and weather.

She ran a finger over her shoulder.

Her skin still tingled where Callum had touched her, and for a moment she considered calling him back in.

Then the guilt crept in.

She was betrothed.

This, if it was anything at all, was temporary at best.

So why did the thought of being with anyone else feel so…painful?

Rumi lingered in the water until it was cold, her fingertips wrinkly, and the blood she had washed from her skin turned the water pink.

Wrapping a towel around herself and moving toward the door, she caught a flash of her reflection in the mirror and gasped.

She was nearly unrecognizable.

Gone was the girl with a healthy glow and cheeks full of color and vitality.

Now, she found herself staring at a woman with freckled, sunburnt skin and hollows under her sharp cheekbones that made her tattoos look like a brand on her skin.

Her dark brown eyes seemed to take up her entire face; they looked so large…and sad.

Still, the changes were not all bad. Where the vitality of youth was gone in places, in those same places, she had matured somehow. She seemed more grown. Wise, even.

Several deep breaths later, her fingers brushed the glass reflection and she offered a tight smile.

“Hello, Desert Rumi.

It is nice to officially meet you.”

The light seemed to spark in her eyes at that, and her full lips curved into a smile.

A bit better.

The door to the larger bedroom was open, beckoning to her.

Inside, she found a bag on the bed with a creamy white nightgown laid out beside it.

And slippers.

Her heart squeezed and she clutched her chest as tears brimmed in her eyes.

He had gotten her slippers.

After so long in too-large boots and her own bare feet burning on the sands, the idea of Callum picking out slippers to ease the pain and offer her comfort had deep emotions swelling up her throat.

The events of the day were finally catching up with her and, favoring her wounded side, she buried her face in the soft bed and cried.

They were silent tears that bore the loss of everything that had happened since that fateful day in her homeland.

She wished her mother were here to comfort her, to give advice and kiss her head.

To braid Rumi’s hair like she used to.

She knew now for certain that Callum had not orchestrated what had happened at the tavern.

He would not do that and she was foolish to have doubted him.

It had only been coincidence and fate that Sullivan had found her and she had been drunk on the rust beer.

She had never had a tolerance for alcohol, but her reaction had never been anything like what “rust beer” had done.

When her tears were spent, she dried her eyes and brushed her hair with a boar bristle brush Callum had set on the bed beside the gown.

He had thought of everything.

The silk gown slipped over her head and floated over her skin like cool water.

The neckline seemed to plunge nearly to her navel but with little buttons lining the way to the middle of her chest.

Lace caressed her neck and elbows where it pooled against her skin.

She had never worn anything so extravagant and foreign and without another beat, her feet spun her in circles, making the dress bell out around her knees.

She could stay like this forever.

***

A sharp scent tickled her nostrils and led her to Callum.

Numerous mechanical pieces were arrayed neatly on a cloth over the dining room table.

He was carefully cleaning each piece with a cylindrical bristle brush.

A glass cup, beads of condensation frosting the vertical surface, sat on the table with the piercer parts.

Cal absently took a sip as he placed the brush on the table.

He had stripped down to his undershirt, the astringent smell of his cleaning solution clinging to him like an old friend.

She knew the moment he spied her because a warm smile bloomed on his face in greeting.

“Hey,”

she greeted, uncharacteristically shy, as she leaned against the doorframe.

Her toes curled inside the soft slippers when his eyes met hers.

Those green eyes drew her forward, reeling her in like a fishing line.

She settled onto the chair across from him and rested her chin in her palm.

“Have you eaten?”

she asked gently.

He opened his mouth to reply, slowly letting it fall closed with a chuckle.

“Why, no.

I haven’t.”

He looked at her and the grin returned to his face.

“It’s been a full day,”

he said in an apologetic tone.

“How’s your side?”

“Healing smoothly, thanks to you.”

Swishing silk breezed across the chair as she stood and padded to the cupboards to peruse the contents.

“I could make us something,”

she suggested, keeping her tone neutral.

Could he tell how much she wanted to care for him? It was an odd feeling—not unwelcome, but she was not quite sure when it had begun.

She longed to bring that grin to his face again and again.

Did he know how it made her knees weak?

She glanced back and was pleased to see that his eyes followed her, the disassembled piercer forgotten.

“I’d like that,”

he replied.

“The kitchen is well-stocked and the bread smells amazing.”

“What is a railway?”

she asked from within the cupboard.

“You and Jameson spoke of it.

We are to use it to get to the coast, yes?”

“The Oritium Railway, or O-rail as some say—though I prefer railway—is a relatively new invention.

It’s like a line of carriages all connected,”

his eyes followed her movements, and she felt them searing into her skin.

“Each car has a purpose.

One car is for sitting and watching outside or reading a book.

There’s a car for sleeping and a car with a bar for drinking and playing cards.

Sometimes, that car has a piano for music.

There’s a dining car for eating.”

He smiled when she turned to him.

“It’s like a fancy inn that’s moving on a special track.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

Her voice was wistful as she imagined these moving carriages.

“How does it move? Do people live in these cars? Or is it only for traveling?”

A sparkle in his eyes turned her stomach all floppy and she quickly diverted her attention to getting her supplies.

She found a metal pot and gathered vegetables from the larder and spices she recognized along with some dried meat.

He approached her and leaned against the cupboard, watching her work.

His muscles bunched near his shoulders, emphasizing the wide expanse of his chest.

She gulped, her mouth suddenly dry.

“Oritium is crafted into smooth bars and laid out in parallel lines.

Then the bottom of each car has a thick panel of oritium affixed so it glides smoothly along the rails and can move quickly across large distances.

The engineers in the Capitol have created an engine of sorts that can propel it forward.”

He bent closer to her and she froze in the middle of chopping tubers.

“No one lives in them except for during their journey to the destination.

Ours will take about two days.”

Could he see her fingers trembling? She continued chopping, then dumped the food into the pot with some broth from a jar, brushing her hands on her thighs to relieve this sudden frenetic energy.

“Where I come from, we have hardy rope cords and bridges spanning the trees.

In some spots, you just zoom through the air,”

she explained as she studied the contraption on the other counter curiously.

“I know this is where to cook…”

she murmured, her brow furrowing.

It looked different than the cooking place she was used to.

Cal straightened, his bare feet whispering as he stepped even closer until he stood behind her, his breath fluttering against her neck as he hunched over her.

“This is definitely a rich man’s stove,”

Callum said as he gestured to the four handles. “These,”

he touched a metal rectangle, “are where you can put a pan.

Fire is fed from the other room.

I already got it going to keep off the night’s chill.”

His hand rested on her left shoulder, his right arm brushing hers as he grabbed one of the handles.

“You can cook directly on this metal plate, it just takes a little longer to heat up the pan.

But, if, say, you wanted to cook over an open flame…”

He gripped the handle and lifted the heavy metal rectangle, revealing flames with a whoosh that had her jumping back and into his chest.

He settled the plate back in place, effectively blocking the fire.

“Do you want to try?”

Rumi shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

She had barely taken a breath since he had stepped behind her and made her body go haywire, her mind snagging on the word “pretty.”

She was positive he could hear the erratic drumming of her heart when he was this close.

Did he feel the tingling heat too?

She reached under his arm for the pot and put it on the rectangle.

The oil and aromatic herbs she had added quickly began to heat and fill the kitchen with lovely smells.

She rose on her tiptoes to peer into the pot and gave it a quick stir before turning within his arms until they were chest to chest.

“I, um, would you grab that?”

She whispered breathlessly, pointing to the other ingredients on the opposite counter.

“You’re trembling,”

he murmured, studying her face in a way that made her want to hide.

“It was a long day.”

“Your eyes are red,”

said Callum.

Rumi was not sure what to do as his hand lifted to her cheek and his thumb brushed her cheekbone by her eye, wiping away invisible tears.

Then he tugged her in, his arms encircling her waist, wrapping her in the familiar comfort of his embrace as his thumb brushed the base of her spine through the nightgown.

With her ear against his chest, the skipping gallop of his heartbeat boomed in her ear.

No one spoke.

There were no words needed.

Not really.

For the second time in less than half a day, Rumi felt the burn of tears in her eyes.

His chin pressed to the top of her head, holding her damaged pieces together like she was the most precious treasure.

A long moment later, cold air flowed into the void between them as he stepped away to retrieve the items she had asked for.

While his back was turned, she swiped at her eyes and brushed the dampness on her nightgown.

He set the pile of ingredients on the counter beside her and returned to the table, giving her the space to gather her emotions and calm herself, she assumed.

Rumi could not have been more grateful for the gesture.

Rhythmic metallic clicking and rasps filled the room as he continued cleaning his piercer.

Then he began to hum.

Rumi decided that his voice might be her most favorite thing.

It was a little raspy around the edges and sometimes his hum went so low it vibrated through her bones.

As quietly as possible, to not interrupt his humming, she poured and scooped and chopped until her soup bubbled in the pot.

The scents reminded her of home.

Spicy peppers and ginger root with some onion and garlic and a bit of fig to add some sweetness to the base.

When it was ready, she dished up a large bowl, cut a couple slices of fresh bread she had found, and brought it over to the table where Cal was just finishing up with the piercer.

Rumi had learned about piercers, of course.

Her tutors had told her about the invention and how it worked, but she had not seen one up close.

Not until…

The blood in her veins ran cold at the memory and she quickly shoved it away, turning back to the stove to serve herself.

She sat across from him with her soup and bread.

The clinking of silverware, slurps, and general sounds of eating filled the silence.

“By the way, I saw this on one of the guard’s tables and thought you might want it back.”

He reached into his boot and pulled Sweet Pea out with a flourish before sliding it across the table toward her.

The meaning of this action was not lost on her, and she took the knife back with care, a whispered word of gratitude accompanying her smile.

Ever since it had been stolen from her, she had felt so powerless.

So lost and out of control.

She did not realize just how much this little knife reminded her that she could fight back.

That she had claws.

She did not have to be a victim.

“I promise I will not stab you,”

she said, grinning.

“Oh good, I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

The soup was delicious, but also slapped her in the face like a wet blanket of reality.

Her feelings for Callum were growing and there was no hiding it from herself.

No talking or reasoning out of it.

But she had to go back and find a way to unite her people and…be with Zinhar.

Her stomach twisted.

The idea of someone else touching her, someone not Cal, made her nauseous and left a sour taste on her tongue.

But she loved her people and it was her duty to unite the clans.

No one else could do it.

Her thoughts swirled around and around like a storm cloud over her head as she ate.

She felt Cal’s eyes on her as he chewed on a piece of bread, quietly contemplating.

When she finished eating, she leaned back in her chair with a contented sigh.

“Well, I am going to get some sleep.

You should too.”

“Of course.

I’ll go to bed soon enough.

The larger room is yours.”

He dipped his chin, not meeting her eyes.

Had she said something wrong? His expression was hard to read.

With a sigh, she took her bowl to the sink and washed it, again marveling over the running water before silently padding to the bedroom in her slippered feet.

The room seemed too big and empty as she slid into the cold covers.

Rumi curled on her side feeling like a tiny shell on a vast beach, the four posts of the bed looming over her.

For the briefest moment, they reminded her of the cell bars, and she squeezed her eyes shut to dismiss the memory.

She was free…but not entirely.