The Destiny Detour

Escape

Drake

The only plus side to debilitating mental distress was being able to ignore the physical distress of crossing the desert through the blistering midday heat. Mindlessly crossing a desert may not have been advisable, but Drake had experience and location on his side. If they had been slogging through the desert proper and not the northern fringe, the heat would have been unbearable; this was survivable.

"You need to drink water," Drake reminded a still-shaken Daniella.

She did not acknowledge his words, but she did reach for her water skin and obediently gulp down water, oblivious to her cracked lips and violently pink skin. Drake had tried to convince himself time, distance, and flushing out the estrellmar's poison would be all the ex-queen required to snap back to her new old self, but seeing as how his leg felt like it was on fire, the direct effects of the poison had burned off long ago. As much as he personally preferred to rebury and ignore all the mucky feelings the estrellmar had dredged up, he needed to do something for her.

Drake reined in his horse to fall back next to Daniella. They walked side by side in awkward silence. Well, the awkwardness was all on his side; Daniella showed no awareness he was there.

"Did the estrellmar bring back any happy memories?" he asked suddenly. He winced at the words. Maybe he should have segued into the sunshine and rainbows.

Her eyes drifted toward him, and she stared, wordless.

"I know," he sighed. "I'm terrible at this empowering optimism thing. I can only imagine what kind of out of context memories the estrellmar dragged up—you don't even know they were all real."

"Real." Her eyes stared straight through him, glazed and troubled. "They were real."

He was officially making things worse. "All I know is you need to deal with what you saw."

Hypocrisy, yes. Bad advice, no.

"What I saw," she murmured, looking away. "You told me I had done some terrible things. That was an understatement. Why would anyone do those things?"

"Power. Control. Fluid morality." This was not going the right direction at all. "You chose to save my life, so that's a mark in your favor, right?"

"Without you, I would have died in the desert," she replied dully.

"No chance you were together enough back there to think that through," he argued.

Her eyebrows rose, and she looked at him askance. She was an admirable kind of cold and calculating, this former queen.

"Well, either way, I appreciate the saving," he said.

She let the tepid praise settle on her, but it sat there without sinking in. It was like she was trapped inside an iron shell. Normally that shell kept the attacking armies of emotion from getting in, but right now it was trapping the conflict inside with her. Drake had to admit he knew exactly what that felt like.

"I understand," he said quietly. "What it's like to—" He faltered. "I even understand that I don't understand." He sighed. She needed anyone other than him to be sitting here. What did he have in common with a queen who once had nations at her feet?

She did not point this out, but she did run a hand across the back of her bright red neck. Drake unearthed a bandanna and doused it with drinking water. He handed it over. "Your Kianne skin isn't faring well under the desert sun."

"You need the water," she objected, taking the damp cloth anyway.

"There's a creek up ahead."

At least he had forced her into a passing acknowledgment of her own discomfort. That was progress.