Later in the day we explored the outskirts of town, reaching an establishment of wide, low buildings and a long row of stables which housed camels exclusively. The creatures were strange and shaggy with bulbs on their backs, as I had only ever seen as drawings in books. They were cute animals with enormous eyes encircled by envy-worthy lashes, and their fur, especially the area around their noses, looked soft like velvet.
A huge caravan—several heavily loaded wagons, merchants, and even three traveling families—left town along the main road. The company drifted into the desert, soon hidden behind a rise and bend in the path. The immense sea of sand seemed to lead to the very end of the world. My gut twisted, a reminder of the nightmare pains, of crimson soaking the ground, and a blade blinking in the burning sun as it plunged—no!
"Let's go back to the market."
As merchants put away their wares beneath the searing sun, Fiar settled into a midday lull. As the city slept, we resorted to a stroll through empty streets, searching for an inn. My body didn't seem to agree well with this climate and I fought off nausea for a while, carefully hiding my condition. Sir Sigve was too quick to worry.
"Around this corner is a place to dine," I guessed, as a sandy gust peppered my cheek. We turned to see taverns lining the street, merry light spilling out their windows. "Hah, I was right. I'm getting better."
"You're getting lucky," Sir Sigve pointed out. "We should settle on a place to stay."
Cold crept down my arms.
"Do you see over there? It's even near your beloved camels. If the inside matches the outside, I think we've found our place. If they have room, that is." He seemed satisfied with the discovery, eyes gleaming with well-known anticipation of strong drinks. "Let's put our bags down for the evening."
Crammed between a smithy and a closed grocer's shop, a small inn was visible beyond his pointed finger. Torches illuminated a facade of dragons on each side of the entrance, welcoming travelers through a door made from dark, old wood.
"Fine. Take a skaal with me?" A toast with Sir Sigve wasn't the worst thing to do after a long boat ride. I would miss out on wandering through the town at night, viewing the lights, partaking in feasts. Although I was not above sneaking out again later.
Our entrance barely disturbed a hum of laughter and easy banter. Behind a gleaming counter, an innkeeper methodically wiped glass mugs as his wife flitted about, distributing drinks and food. A few men had gathered around the tables, all of them of leathery skin and gray in their beards, looking as if they were more comfortable with each other than their homes. It was a place for playing games and sharing news. A common, ordinary, in-all-ways-typical tavern.
A sudden pain clenched my stomach, and my breath heaved. The air was surely all too stagnant. "No." My voice cracked. "Let's go. I don't feel like staying here."
In truth, it seemed like a respectable establishment, where a good drink and an even better story should be possible to come by. And yet, as I turned for the door, my condition instantly improved.
That sensation faded fast. From the dim light of the doorway, two men emerged, cloaked by darkness.
I tried acting normal—I really did. Greeting with a smile, relaxed posture, and arms at ease by my sides. I failed. My lungs heaved, gasping for air which suddenly was too sparse.
And they all gawked. Every person in the room turned for a glimpse at the hysterical girl by the entrance. Of course they did.
The man closest to me leaned forward, hitting my nose with a pungent odor. "It is her," he declared in a dull voice.
"Are you sure?" This one was younger, though no less gruff. He had to bend around his companion to get a better view, with a wide-eyed stare and mouth slightly ajar. When he moved again, the light caught something glinting from the shadow of his cape.
"Do you see other girls with golden hair around?" The older man adjusted his stance, a tinge of rust coming from him in waves. His gaze pierced pain to my throat.
"And her eyes. Yes, that must be her," the young one said, stepping forward. The candles shining down on him revealed clothes stained over and over until the color had turned a patchy, strange brown. "I think I liked the portrait better." His voice was just loud enough for me to hear, and he had the indecency to smirk. As if I wasn't already aware of my travel-worn self.
Stepping forward, Sir Sigve glared down at the men.
"I don't care about your likes," the first said, sparing his partner a taste of fish and stale ale before again facing me. "You, come here."
"You have the wrong person. I'm not who you think." I backed up a step, clammy palms pressed against the fabric of my dress. I held my breath.
They shared a look.
"No. You're exactly who we think. Now come along, Princess Soledad." The man held a hand at his belt. Between his fingers, I caught a glint of steel. A chill ran down my back. Kidnapping?
"On whose authority?" Thank the gods for Sir Sigve. He stepped forward, obscuring my view of the men.
I glanced behind us. Throughout the room people were busy pretending a confrontation was not happening by the entrance.
The man reached inside his cloak to reveal an official-looking scroll. "Move. We have our orders. The princess has been su—"
"It's fake." As the words tumbled out, I knew them to be true.
The man narrowed his eyes, his hand sinking like a stone in water.
I took another step back, throat constricting. "I'm not coming, whatever you say or show." Only the fingers digging into Sir Sigve's arm kept me from crumbling to the floor.
The rude one sneered, facing my companion. "Your princess will come with us."
"I'm afraid I cannot allow that." Sir Sigve stood his ground, right hand finding the hilt at his hip.
"Do you still wish to do this the discreet way?" the man asked.
"No," the other said. His eyes were pinned on me. "Better here than not at all." Curved daggers spun into two pairs of hands. They moved as one.
"Soledad . . ." Drawing his sword, my companion held off the advancing men. He met their daggers with a twist of his blade. Metal screeched as blade grinded against blade and Sir Sigve sidestepped, his sword flowing like an extension of his arm. A knife flew past him as Sir Sigve lunged. The rude one ducked and the older man stepped in, his daggers cleaving air. As one threw blades in quick succession, the other reached for more knives at his belt. Sir Sigve's labored breath already hit as bolts of lightning. "Go, Princess. Run."
They came at him with renewed vigor and twin grins, promising pain, sharp edges ready to deliver death. Kicking and upending a stool, Sir Sigve created some distance, desperate eyes piercing me for a fleeting moment as he whirled around.
I looked around the room. There had to be another exit. Sir Sigve would be fine. He was such an accomplished fighter, striving, heaving, protecting me. A table toppled over, halting the strangers for a second. A blade pierced the air; Sir Sigve dodged, losing balance and falling hard against the bar. The dark men advanced. As if Sir Sigve was a pesky inconvenience, their eyes followed me. Perhaps if I fled, they would leave him be. A back door. Surely, if I only reached the other side of the room, I would find a way.
The scent of copper reached me from behind, a grunt and the poor person coughing. But Sir Sigve was fine, so skilled—a thud, the dull impact of flesh against hard stone and another immediately after—and then came the steps, following fast, and it was not Sir Sigve because his were heavier and these, so light.
Blood hung in the air. I pushed past a table, a stool crashing down in my wake. A glance behind—a shape on the floor—and I stumbled forward, nausea again flooding my senses. I grasped for something to hold, clutching the bar counter and meeting the brown eyes of a pale innkeeper. Behind me was a blotched cloak, a dark figure dashing toward me, yelling. My heartbeat was in my ears, and every other sound came to me as if through water.
A hand grabbed for me—grasping only at air—and I stumbled forward. The wall towered before me and there was no door, nowhere to go. He would never expect a princess to fight back, but surely, I could punch even though I had never hit anyone in my life. My only option. His breath was at my neck, and so I turned—
Wide, pleasantly surprised eyes stared into mine as his dagger plunged into my stomach.