An ocean of ochre sand stretched out before Claire. She stood in the shade of a spindly tree while Azra and Farron’s horse nibbled on a sparse patch of greenery nearby. The desert of Zaqar. It had its own sort of beauty, even if it was hot. And bright. The sun was merciless as it beat down on them. She’d long ago shed her layers as they neared the region, her arms and mark bared for all the world to see. Except, there was no one. They hadn’t seen a soul in at least a week.

It had taken them almost a month to reach Zaqar after they’d left the mountains. They’d avoided the capital and any large towns on their way, only stopping in remote villages for supplies or a much-needed bed and bath, at Claire’s insistence. Crossing the great Rift again proved troublesome, but nothing some threats hadn’t solved. Whether or not the guards had recognized Farron remained to be seen.

The elf in question stood at the edge of the last remaining shade before the sea of sand, scanning the horizon, squinting at the brightness.

“It won’t be easy,” he said, then looked over at her. He’d shed his layers as well, along with a few weapons, and only one silver hilt stuck up over his right shoulder.

Claire nodded. “I suppose that was the point,” she said, referring to the plan to hide the artifacts. “Have you ever been in the desert before?”

He shook his head. “I never had the need, nor desire, to.”

“I could call for Razi,” she said, a smile forming, though she was somewhat serious. He was from Zaqar, after all.

Farron frowned at her.

That was a no then. She did have her own apprehensions about Razi still. He may have gotten wise to the Council’s scheming, but he wasn’t free from them. Not when they still held his family. So, the hard way it would be.

She sighed, already tired from the prospect of crossing the desert. The silver contraption had held her mark back so far, but she still felt the fatigue, like her life force was slowly draining away.

“We will travel in the evening,” he said. “We should rest until then.”

Claire nodded. It was as good a plan as any. As to where they were headed and what they were looking for, she had no idea. The map back in the cave gave no clues other than the dots of light. They were just heading in the general direction. And then? She didn’t know. She’d tried searching for hints of magic, like the kinds she’d felt in the Haven and the cave, the way she had been drawn to the water. But the contraption made it nearly impossible.

Sleep came easy after their relentless trek, despite the sun burning bright above.

 

It felt like she’d only been asleep for a few minutes when Farron stirred her awake again. But when she cracked open her eyes, the sun hung low on the horizon. He knelt beside her, his gaze concentrating on something far away. Claire followed his focus to find a cloud of dust rising in the northeast.

A caravan soon came into view. Wagons covered in colorful cloth made up the bulk, surrounded by men on horses and a few people walking on foot. The men on the horses were armed with long spears and curved swords at their sides. Claire stood up next to Farron, unsure what to do. They didn’t look harmful, but she couldn’t be sure these days. A chill swept over her and she noticed that the temperature had dropped considerably since earlier. She went to Azra, dug her jacket back out, and put it on. It would help hide most of her mark from view and at least now it wouldn’t seem so strange for her to be wearing it.

The caravan slowed as it approached them. A few of the men on horses rode ahead. Farron tensed, but his hands remained at his sides. The men shouted to them in another language and Claire and Farron just shook their heads to show they didn’t understand. The men circled them twice before coming to a stop, the tips of their spears trained on them. Azra and Farron’s horse stirred nervously. Farron held his hands up in surrender and Claire followed suit.

“Who are you?” asked the man in front of them, his accent thick. He had the same dark features as Razi, with a closely trimmed beard and hair tied back into a bun. His clothes, as well as the others’, were colorful. A saffron, long-sleeved top hung loose on his frame atop dark blue pants. A deep red sash similar to Razi’s encircled his waist.

“Just travelers,” Farron replied carefully. He eyed the man and the ones surrounding them. “We’re looking for passage across the desert. We can pay you if you’ll allow us to accompany you.”

The man raised his eyebrows, considering Farron’s offer. He looked him and Claire over and then lowered his spear. He said a few words to his men and they lowered theirs as well. “Which way are you heading, stranger?”

“West,” Farron answered.

“Very well then,” the man said, a smile breaking across his face. “A man with gold is a friend to me.”

Farron lowered his hands and went to his horse. When he returned he tossed a few gold coins to the man.

The man caught them and bit each of them, testing them with his teeth. When he was satisfied, he smiled broadly at them. “My name is Toriz. I will be your shepherd.” With that, he turned and rode back to the caravan, followed by the others.

“Well, that solves that problem,” Claire said, turning to gather her things and Azra. “Now let’s just hope gold is enough to keep them from asking too many questions.”

 

They traveled well into the night by the light of the moon. Millions of stars dotted the expansive sky. Nothing surrounded them but sand. Claire felt exposed, not used to such… openness. The Zaqari welcomed them warmly. They’d asked questions, but nothing too probing, so far.

Just when Claire didn’t think she could stay awake any longer, they stopped to make camp. With the wagons in a circle, the men and women started a massive fire in the middle, singing in their foreign tongue as they cooked and set up tents. Before she could protest, the women pulled her away from Farron and set her to a task of cutting vegetables for a stew. Farron just shrugged when she looked after him, and joined the men in setting up the rest of the tents. The women talked and laughed around her. And even though she didn’t understand a word they were saying, their jubilance seeped into her, making her smile and putting her at ease. She didn’t know how much she had missed the hustle and bustle of people until now.

“They wonder,” said an older woman next to her. An orange scarf held her dark hair back. “If he is your lover?”

Heat rushed to Claire’s cheeks. She could feel the other women’s attention on her as they waited for an answer. “I—” Claire stuttered. She didn’t know why she was so embarrassed. It was the truth after all. But she had never had to admit to it out loud. To complete strangers, none the less. “I suppose so.”

The surrounding women giggled as she confirmed their suspicions, making her embarrassment even greater.

After supper and another round of singing, Claire was exhausted, her eyes barely able to stay open. But when it came time to finally retire, the women commandeered her again, shuffling her off to a separate tent. Farron looked after her helplessly, his mouth open, ready to protest, but he held his silence.

“You may be lovers,” said the older woman from before, “but in Zaqar, we don’t share tents unless we are married.”

It was Claire’s turn to shrug as Farron looked after her. A little distance would make the heart grow fonder. Or drive them both mad.