Riva pulled her veil down over her eyes and well as over her mouth. The wind was now whipping around with unnerving force. Never had she experienced anything like it. She choked on sand that slipped through the thin fabric. Everything about the desert was a new experience. Peeking out between the folds of fabric she glared at her captor, Imad.
Her cheek still stung from the blow he had dealt. While she could see the logic in his actions she couldn’t understand the reason and the emotion behind them.
Usually when she was around a person she could gauge what they were feeling from their facial expressions. The tiniest flinches and twitches could tell you if a person was angry when they were acting pleased, but Imad was a blur of expressions.
When the King had summoned him, she had seen anger, fear, pleasure, indifference and loftiness all within the frame of a second. All throughout their conversation there had been flashes of emotion underlying what Imad said.
He had been angry with her when he had slapped her, truly furious. She could see it in his eyes and then he was gentle with her, sincerely kind and loving. It was like he didn’t know what to feel, or he had too many and so he kept switching at a blindingly fast pace.
Whatever was going on, Riva would have to stay on her toes.
At least the King had been easy enough to read. Riva sighed inwardly, he was a spoiled child who was indulged to a dangerous point. Riva smiled fondly, remembering the look of distress and blood-boiling anger that had appeared on the King’s face after Imad had struck her.
Having a spoilt child for an ally was better than having none.
What concerned her was the gathering they kept referring to, why were they waiting for a message from the Umed tribe?
They entered a new tent and the sharp sting of the wind blown sand abated. Imad turned to her, sharply he pointed to a rug in the corner. “You will sit there, quietly. I have guests coming and we mustn’t be disturbed. Now, when the storm dies down I want to you go and fetch some water from the well. Bring it back to me, do you understand?”
Riva nodded meekly, ever since he had struck her she had very, very carefully observed his smallest expressions and movements. Right now he seemed... nervous and anxious, although there was excitement and elation there as well.
“Good, go sit.”
She did so and settled down comfortably. Imad moved about preparing for his guests. Riva was glad he didn’t ask her to help, she wouldn’t’ve known what to do or even where to begin. This was a completely different society and while she knew their language, no one cared what the nomads of the desert had to say. They never came to Alsteare and Alsteare rarely went to them. Trade that went through the desert was the only connection the two worlds had.
While he worked, Riva watched, memorizing his mannerisms. The way he brushed his hands free of the sand, or rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. The crisp way he snapped rugs and plumped pillows. For some reason she imagined the King demanding a pet tiger and he had gotten one. Imad felt like a tiger on a leash, just waiting to set free, biding it’s time, pacing.
It made her very nervous.
Eventually she was able to relax, Imad ignored her for the most part anyway, and tried to think of a way to get out of here.
If she could gather provisions and find a horse, she could head east. She’d eventually hit the Goregenus River and she could follow that to Sealidan. Her mind wandered to Ettore, her faithful gelding. Had he survived?
Imad burst into the room without warning and Riva jumped. He brushed by without noticing.
Somehow, Riva didn’t think she’d be getting much sleep.
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