that the clothing once strewn over the floor had been washed and neatly folded, no longer stained with sweat.
A few more seconds passed until her brain caught up with the current events.
The brimstone and ash-kissed bay rum scent of Xavier’s skin still lingered on the pillow beside her. She breathed it in and centered herself, waited for her galloping pulse to level, and eventually she crawled from bed. One set of clothing remained, and it was the softest linen she’d ever touched in all her life, enveloping her like a cool hug from the heavens.
By the time she emerged in the gold-trimmed plum tunic and matching skirt, she found her dragon setting plates on a table heaped with meat and unfamiliar grains. The sun nearly touched the horizon, and a cool breeze swept in from the water, dancing through the open windows.
Her mate could have been another person, the bath and nap sweeping away the remnants of his illness. The differences between his rested condition and previous one struck such a stark contrast she stared, taking in the color in his cheeks and the vanquished dark shadows beneath his eyes that had stood out against his fair skin like coal smudges.
“What?”
Rosalia stepped up to him. “You look better.”
“I feel better,” he replied.
She cupped his face between her hands and kissed him lightly, threading her fingers through the long hair cascading around his pointed ears. She kissed him for every moment she’d missed during their journey, and for every second ahead that fate would deny them the opportunity.
Strong arms wrapped around her waist and his warm palm pressed against the small of her back. At the end, he peered down at her. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that about?”
The answer eluded her for some time. She could only gaze up at him in return, into pretty green eyes and see that same haunting image of him dying at her feet, gasping for each breath that could have been his last. “Seeing you well makes me happy.”
“Mm. If that’s for feeling well, what do I get for feeling extraordinary?”
Rosalia laughed until he nudged forward and the hard truth of the matter pressed against her lower abdomen. Her empty stomach issued one demand, her arousing needs another.
Food, she told herself. They both needed food.
“We should eat.”
His exaggerated sigh brought another smile to her face. “Can’t blame me for trying.”
The table was small and stone-carved, a quaint design with desert creatures chiseled into the legs. He slid a plate in front of her.
He didn’t name the mystery meat, but she could guess from the suspiciously reptilian shape of the seared portion on his plate. During their time on the road, rations of waybread and dried meats had sustained them, with the occasional roasted supper cooked by his breath whenever he caught one of the gamey buzzards always soaring overhead.
Tender meat practically melted in her mouth, flavored with honeyed glaze and unfamiliar spices. Too starved to question it further, she shoveled the exotic meal into her mouth and savored every bite as if it were the last. For all they knew, it very well could be. They’d still yet to really meet their reclusive but kind hosts.
A knock came at the door only moments after the sun had finally set and they stepped outside to greet Hyraj. The girl had pulled a dazzling shawl over her shoulders that held every warm color of the desert in its woven fibers, though her midriff was still exposed and her skirt now resembled the setting sun, purple and pink and beautifully dusky with silver speckles that shone more brightly with each passing second. Magic itself hummed from the garment, as it did the rest of the village.
For the first time since their arrival, Rosalia began to understand why the tribe isolated itself from the rest of the kingdom. Their greedy ruler would have bled them dry for their secrets and magic.
“You look much better,” she said, her placid smile leading Rosalia to wonder if the girl appeared younger than her true age.
“We feel better. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“It is nothing.”
Torches lined the pathways in the village, illuminating the community with a subtle golden glow, the soft light gentle on Rosalia’s eyes after days of harsh sunlight reflecting off sand in the desert. The activity had dwindled dramatically, and no young children played in the streets. All was quiet save for the whistling of a flute and rhythmic drumbeats from the village square.
“Follow me. I’ll lead