Chapter Twenty-Four

Six months later…

Harrow adjusted the covering over her mouth and nose and wiped the sandy grit from her eyes, the only part of her exposed to the merciless sun. Ahead of her, Fiona trudged wearily forward at a snail’s pace, not that Harrow blamed her. Her gentle horse had once been unaccustomed to such harsh weather conditions.

Needless to say, after six months, she was now.

Still, no matter how acclimated one became to the Southern climate, it never ceased being a formidable foe. Only the foolhardiest of travelers dared journey through the heat of the day—those unfamiliar with the severe conditions, and those in a great hurry to reach some destination.

Harrow fell into the latter category.

After six months of constant wandering, the time had finally come. As she’d done daily since the beginning of her travels into the barren South, that morning, she’d set up her scrying bowl and dived deep into the Water for signs of the one she waited for.

Finally, she had found results.

For months, she’d traveled with little knowledge of where to go or where he might end up. All she had was a strong conviction that she needed to continue roaming through the desert. She was certain that if she were ever to retreat to fairer lands, she would be in the wrong place when the time came.

After her vision-conversations with the Queens months ago—the last contact she’d had with either of them, though not for lack of trying—she’d turned to the Water as Darya instructed, searching for her next course of action, only to discover she was already on the right path. Her decision to leave Allegra by herself and head South still held up.

So she’d rested a few days in that forest clearing with Malaikah by her side, and then, when she was well enough to travel, said goodbye to her dearest friend and recommenced her journey alone.

Predictably, Malaikah hadn’t left without a fuss. But Harrow had stressed the importance of her travels being completed solo and the fact that Mal was safest at the circus under Salizar’s protection, and in the end, Malaikah relented, returning on foot back to Allegra. Harrow had thanked her profusely for her help, knowing it couldn’t have been easy for her to leave the circus behind. Even going back wouldn’t be easy. There was no way Salizar would take kindly to all the chaos the two of them had managed to wreak.

And so, alone again, Harrow, Fiona, and her caravan traveled south.

It took the better part of a month to cross into Furie’s territory, and another two months to finally penetrate the region known as the Far South. From there, Harrow had traveled through Kambu, saddened to see the deteriorated state of Malaikah’s homeland under the corrupt leadership of the traitor who’d taken it from her family years ago. She’d taken care to hide her identity to protect herself from both Furie and her supporters.

Another month later, the Water had urged her to roam deeper into the desert, where few travelers dared venture and where she was safer. She had loaded her caravan with supplies and obeyed her instincts without question—something she was finally becoming accustomed to doing. Months spent alone had increased the volume of her inner voice and her trust in its wisdom.

For two months she traversed the desolate wilderness of cracked earth and rolling dunes. Her days were spent seeking shelter, traveling from water source to water source. Her nights were spent bundled in her caravan or seeking warmth by a fire.

Every morning, without fail, she filled a bowl with precious water to scry. Always, the sun shone mercilessly down from clear blue skies. The days were sweltering, the nights freezing. It never rained. Bush fires frequently raged across any landscape brave enough to grow vegetation.

Her thoughts were consumed constantly by survival—water, shelter, food, rest, repeat—and yet, in a way, it was a peaceful existence. Just a woman and her horse, braving the desert, searching for her lost love.

And today, she would finally find him.

The vision hit her unexpectedly. One moment she was wiping sand from her eyes, squinting into the desert sun, and the next…

She came back to reality with a gasp, jerking Fiona to a halt. Throwing herself off the side of the caravan, she began to sprint, though exerting oneself to such a degree was never advisable in this climate.

It didn’t matter. Nothing but this moment mattered.

She ran faster, hope filling her heart. Hope that after all these months, her search had finally come to an end.

…

The sun crept under his eyelids as he gradually pulled himself from unconsciousness. Instinct told him to sharpen his awareness, survey his surroundings, scan for threats. He only managed to shift his eyes beneath their too-heavy lids.

Pain assailed him as he slowly became aware of his body. Everything hurt.

He finally peeled his eyes open, only to close them immediately as the glaring sun scalded them. He tried again, squinting into the intense light, and saw blue. Clear sky, not a cloud in sight.

Battling intense weakness, he turned his head to one side. Beside him, the ground was cracked and dusty, an impenetrable hardened crust. In the distance, a lone shrub struggled for life.

A ghost of familiarity assailed him—a certainty he’d been here before, lived this before—but that didn’t make sense. He had no memory of ever—

His thoughts ground to a sudden halt as realization suffused him.

He had no memory of anything.

He had no idea who he was or how he’d come to be stranded naked in the desert. He didn’t even know his own name.

He did, however, feel a strange gratitude for the sensation of flesh bound to his spirit. As if he’d experienced the reverse and much preferred his present condition, weak and pain-riddled though he was.

Unpreferable, however, was the haunting feeling of grief that weighed upon his soul. He felt as though he’d lost something treasured, only he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was.

Was life worth living in such a state? He was too weak to move with his body’s debility and the burden of grief weighing him down. Perhaps without that disembodied longing, he might have summoned the will to save himself, but with it? Death would be a welcome relief.

Funny. He was suddenly certain he’d had that thought before.

With an exhalation through that haunting pain in his chest, he relented. He let life beat him. He gave up. Finally. He relaxed his will, released his instinctive urge to survive, and waited for darkness to claim him—

A voice cried out from a vast distance, pulling him back from the edge.

No, he thought, let me go. Let me slip away. Would death forever be denied him?

“Raith!” This time, the cry seemed louder.

Something about that voice struck him right in the center of that ocean of inexplicable grief. The pain was so intense, he gasped, lifting a heavy arm to clutch at his chest. Suddenly, he couldn’t seem to get enough air.

“Raith!”

It was beautiful, he realized. Though he hadn’t a clue what it was saying, the sound of that voice was so inexplicably glorious, it brought tears to his eyes. To hear such a voice again…

Perhaps there was something worth living for after all.

…

As Harrow ran, finally, she saw it—a dark shape upon the earth a distance away.

Immediately, she cried, “Raith!”

The shape didn’t move. She ran faster.

“Raith!”

Nothing. Still, she ran.

And then she could see him. He lay on his back, head turned to one side, the inky shade of his naked skin seeming to swallow the midday sun. She ran faster, calling his name repeatedly to no effect.

Finally, she reached him, dropping to her knees at his side. He didn’t move. Tears of gratitude filled her eyes, blurring her sight, but she blinked them away, determined not to miss a single detail of his beautiful face.

After six months of searching, here he was.

But he was weakened, unconscious. She had to get him back to the shelter of her caravan. He needed to be out of the direct sun, and he needed water.

Wrapping her arms around him, she dragged his massive form into her lap. His massive, solid form. Even unconscious as he was, his strength astounded her. His body was so huge, so lethal.

Tearing off her headscarf, she draped the fabric over him to cover him from the sun and then unhooked the water flask from her waist belt.

She stroked his cheek gently, fighting back the sobs in her throat. “Raith, my love, wake up so I can give you some water.”

He groaned softly, eyes shifting beneath closed lids, and she was so happy she could cry. She did cry.

“My love, you need to drink.” Gently, she tipped the water to his lips.

They parted, and she poured a little of the life-giving liquid. He swallowed. “That’s it. Take more.” She poured a little more, and he swallowed again, this time with more vigor.

After draining her entire flask sip by sip, he began to regain awareness. She stroked his silken hair, murmuring words of encouragement, telling him how much he meant to her, how desperately she’d missed him, and how long she’d searched for him.

Finally, he blinked his lids open. Through her tears, she beheld those all-black eyes with their fire-wreathed centers. “You’re safe now. I promise I’ll take care of you.”

When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Who…are you?”

…

Eventually, Harrow got Raith back to her caravan. First, she tried getting him to stand up and walk. He made it three steps before his legs crumpled beneath him, and he passed out again.

Rather than repeating that agonizing endeavor, Harrow had been forced to leave his side and run back to the caravan. She then made poor Fiona trot back beneath the merciless sun to where he lay.

Raith drained two more flasks of water before he was strong enough to stand again. From there, Harrow helped him into her caravan. He fell straight into her bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.

She directed her exhausted horse to the nearest oasis—a Seer who drew her magic from the Water could always sense a nearby source. She tied Fiona to a tree beside the spring so she could drink at leisure and keep cool in the shade, and then she went back into her caravan.

Raith was awake, sitting up in bed, already looking stronger than before. Feeling somewhat awkward, especially knowing how much explaining she had to do, Harrow busied herself opening the windows and door to let fresh air in. The inside of the caravan was stuffy, and though it was hot outside, too, a gentle breeze blew through and brought relief.

All the while, Raith watched her closely.

When she could find nothing else to do, she took a seat on the chair by the bed. “Would you like some more water?”

He shook his head. His skin was still midnight shadows, and she realized that he’d changed its color before only because of others’ negative reactions to it. Something Harrow would never do. Black, brown, that brilliant orange he’d once turned… She didn’t care what he looked like.

He was here, alive and well, in her caravan. Finally.

And now it was time to tell him who he was.

“You don’t know me anymore,” she began, “but I know you. I’ll start at the beginning, I guess. Your name is Raith. Well, that’s the name you chose. When we first met, you didn’t have a name. You see, Salizar had asked Loren to paint a sign—” She shook her head quickly. “Never mind. That’s not important right now. Just know that your name is Raith. With an R, not a W.”

“Raith,” he repeated, exactly how he’d said it the day they met.

“Yes.” She smiled. “And my name is Harrow.”

“Harrow.” His face softened slightly. “Harrow.” He appeared to enjoy saying her name.

Her heart felt like it would burst. “And we are… Well, we— I—” How could she say this? Her cheeks were already flaming, and she hadn’t even managed a complete sentence. Finally, she gritted her teeth and just spat it out.

“We’re in love.”

His eyes widened. He looked so utterly shocked, she might have laughed had she not been busy trying to hide her embarrassment.

“Or at least we were in love. Before.”

Now, he looked stricken.

“No, I didn’t mean we don’t— I just meant— We still love each other. Or rather I still love you, and I think you would’ve felt the same before you forgot me.”

Now he just looked confused. Great. She was doing an excellent job bungling this up. “Let me just start at the beginning, okay? I’ll tell you everything, and then you can ask me any questions at the end.”

So Harrow started at the beginning. She told him about how they’d met at Salizar’s circus and how they had escaped. And when she told him about their nights in the room above the tavern, her cheeks burned so badly she was forced to skip the details. By the look on Raith’s face, however, he knew what she was talking about. And finally, she told him about coming after him in the desert.

And…glazed over the rest.

She lied.

Well, it wasn’t actually lying. She just…dodged the truth a bit. But his eyes were as wide as saucers, and she’d just dragged the poor man inside, and surely, she could give him a little respite before burdening him with the dark details of their twisted pasts?

“So what do you think?” she asked when she finally finished sharing their incomplete story. Guilt niggled at her, but she pushed it aside for now.

He cocked his head in that feral way of his. “The most beautiful female in the world just told me she loves me. I think I’m not so foolish as to question my good fortune.”

Happiness burned so fiercely in her chest it was nearly unbearable. Her smile was so huge, her face ached. She scoffed to hide the depth of her pleasure. “You don’t remember anyone else. How can you know I’m the most beautiful?”

“I know.”

Their eyes met. Stayed locked.

“Will you come closer?” he asked quietly. “So I can see you better?”

She practically ran to his side, all but throwing herself at him. Easy, Harrow. He doesn’t remember you. She forced herself to sit beside him on the bed rather than climbing into his lap. Their gazes met again. Connection sparked between them, as powerful as magic.

“Definitely the most beautiful,” he murmured, leaning closer.

She leaned closer too. “I missed you so much.”

He studied her face intently. “When I awoke, I felt I was missing something important. I think it was you.” His hand lifted to rub his bare chest absently.

“I don’t care what happened in the past.” Harrow knew he didn’t remember, didn’t understand what she was talking about. But maybe, somewhere deep inside, he did. “I don’t care what you did or who you were. None of it matters.”

He frowned like he was struggling to make sense of things. All the while, he rubbed at his chest like it was paining him.

“The past is in the past. As long as we’re together.”

Somehow, the space between them had shrunk down to mere inches. Still, his eyes searched hers so intently. She stared back into those fiery irises with equal intent, daring him to see into her soul, to see what she truly felt for him.

“Is this real?” he murmured.

She nodded, lifting a hand. She stroked the edge of his jaw, tracing that flawless bone structure, nearly impossible to see for its incredible darkness. She remembered wanting to scream in horror at her first sight of his true appearance. The memory filled her with shame. Looking at him now, she saw nothing but the man she loved. Thinking him anything else was a mistake she would never make again.

Lost in thoughts of his own, Raith reached up to stroke the frizzy mess of her hair, reminding her she hadn’t brushed it in days or taken the time to put on a nicer dress. Her face was likely caked in sand.

“So beautiful,” he murmured, and she flushed with pleasure.

And then he leaned down to kiss her, and she melted against him without a thought.