It was late by the time I finally pulled myself from the tossing surf of the shifting hills and collapsed next to Cion.
“Better,” he said.
“But good enough to beat Rodric?” I asked. Because that’s what I needed. And fast. Especially after overhearing those soldiers.
He looked at me sidelong. “If you got him mad enough that he focused more on his rage than his training, then yes.”
“So really, that’s a no.” I sighed.
“Rodric thinks his strength will carry him through any fight. His weakness is dismissing those he sees as weaker opponents. Remy once got Rodric’s sword from him in a training fight by pretending to be injured.”
“So Rodric can be beaten,” I replied, hoping that was the message I was meant to take away.
Cion shrugged. “It was only a mock fight. It’s hard to say what would’ve happened in a real one.”
“I guess I’ll get to find out.”
“I’d trade places with you if I could,” Cion said, “but I don’t think I’d look as good as you do in that gladiator gear.”
I looked down at my clothing. My skirt didn’t even reach my knees. One of the leather flaps arranged to flare out over the base when I spun around had been torn away while I was in the shifting hills. The leather of the breastplate was beginning to fray. Dirt and dust covered everything. My legs looked darker because of it, and a swipe across my scalp proved sand still matted my hair. Not to mention the small cut above my ankle where the spiral cactus spike had scraped me.
“I don’t look any different than any of the other Desert Boys,” I said.
Something in the way Cion looked at me told me that wasn’t true.
I tried to ignore his gaze. No one had ever looked at me like that before. It wasn’t the greedy look Rodric always gave me. It wasn’t the weighing look my father always judged me with. He was simply looking at me. And yet, it felt like he was the first person to ever see me. Not the gladiator. Not the princess. Just me.
“Come on,” he said, pulling me to my feet. “I’ve got a surprise.”
I ignored the way his hand clasping mine sent a tingle up my arm. “A surprise?”
“You’ll like this one,” he assured me.
I rolled my eyes but followed.
It was late by the time we arrived back at the cave, which thankfully meant the soldiers had cleared out for now. I congratulated myself on being able to pick out the dune from several peaks away. I never would’ve found my way back on my own, but I was learning.
Cion led me through an entrance to the large cavern where the caravan had departed. Several mounds of supplies and goods still lay where they’d been unloaded.
Cion moved toward one of the piles and started looking through them. But he seemed to have trouble locating whatever he was looking for.
“What are you trying to find?” I moved toward the pile of bolts of fabric and pulled a silky bundle off the top. It was a rich red color, the same as many of the blankets the women in the marketplace sold.
“I saved you a woven dress so you could get out of your gladiator gear for a while,” Cion said from beneath the stack. “But it looks like one of the boys must’ve put it with the ones we were sending into town.” He dropped the bolts of fabric back down and straightened.
“What’s this?” I asked as I unrolled the fabric I held. A portion slipped to the ground. The part I still held turned out to be a pair of thin pants.
“That’s a sand dancer costume that got sent by mistake. We can’t sell those because no one can afford them, and if we gave it away, Rodric’s men would know where it came from and try to torture our location out of the recipient.”
He picked up the top I’d dropped and shook the sand away. “You don’t have to wear that. You can stay in your gladiator gear for the celebration tonight.”
“Celebration?” I wasn’t aware we had anything to celebrate. In fact, I was more worried than before after overhearing those soldiers and wondering how I’d find enough new moves to beat Rodric.
“Every time a caravan arrives, we celebrate. It’s tradition.”
“Is there anything you don’t celebrate?” I asked.
“When life is as hard as it is out here, you celebrate as often as you can.”
I looked at the gauzy red fabric in his hands. I hated wearing those outfits back at the palace, but that’s because they were meant to please my father.
I stroked the silk pants.
My mother had worn something similar when she caught my father’s eye during one of her performances. She’d taught me the steps when I was little, but the lessons had died with her. Though I could still remember one lesson with my mother. She’d taken my hands and guided me through my steps, shown me when to point a toe and when to dig my heel into the floor.
“You’ll be a master yet,” she had said, adjusting the position of my arm. “You’ll be better than me.”
At the time, all I’d wanted was to be her. I wanted to shimmer like she did when she danced. I wanted to twirl like she could because that’s when she was happiest, when she locked herself away with me and spent hours dancing. It was the only time I saw her smile and heard her laugh.
At the end of each lesson, we’d clasp hands and spin around until we ended up in a heap on the ground, laughing. But after this lesson, we’d sat in front of her wardrobe, and she’d pulled out her only remaining sand dancer dress.
The shimmering green fabric had been so vibrant. So alive.
“One day, you’ll wear this,” she’d said. “Maybe you’ll catch a man’s eye.” There was sadness in her voice. “I pray you’ll find a kind man. A generous man.”
She’d kissed me on my forehead and returned the dress to the back of the wardrobe. She thought I didn’t see when she wiped away several tears.
My mother had died a little more than a year later.
“I’d like to wear the costume,” I said to Cion, pulling the top from his fingers.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded. Not only did I really want to get out of my gladiator gear, it was time I reclaimed more of my mother. More of myself.