Tair stood over her bed, watching his woman sleep. The fever had finally broken. She was no longer thrashing so violently—thank Allah—but it’d been a difficult several days, days where he wondered over and over if he should air evacuate her to the hospital in Atiq but the doctor he’d sent for assured him she’d eventually respond to the treatment, and she had.
But there had been a night where Tair had doubted the doctor, threatening the physician with bodily harm if anything happened to his woman.
Hiswoman.
A muscle in Tair’s cheek pulled, a grim acknowledgment of a truth he was still coming to grips with. Somehow through the sandstorms and quicksand, knives and asthma attacks, he’d come to see her as his.
His responsibility. His duty. His fate. Whatever that meant.
And now that she was out of danger he’d have to break the news to her. She wouldn’t like what he had to tell her. Not the first bit—she’d been poisoned. Or the second part—the culprit had been discovered and punished. Or the third—and he’d come to a decision.
It was time. To bring her home, introduce her to his people, make her his. He wasn’t sure if they’d accept her but he had to find out now, before it was too late.
Two days later, Tally stared at Tair uncomprehendingly after he broke the news. “We’re going to your home? To meet your people,” she repeated slowly. “But I thought this was your home, and these your people.”
“This is just a military outpost.”
“An outpost!”
“One of three strategic positions that protect our people and territory.”
Tally struggled to sit up, her body still weak. Shaky. “You’ve kept me in a military outpost instead of your home because…?”
“I didn’t know if I could trust you.”
“And now you can?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Because I survived being poisoned by the belladonna flower?”
Tair grimaced. “No. Because I’ve been through your photos. All five hundred of them. And you were right. They’re all of children.” He paused, looked chagrined. “They’re good, too.”
Tally put a hand to her head, touched her forehead as if checking the temperature. “I’m hallucinating. Dreaming. Right?”
“No. You’re sitting up and your eyes are open. You’re quite awake.”
Tally slowly lay back down again, and closed her eyes. “You liked my photos.”
“Yes.”
“And that’s why I’m going to your real home?”
“I know you’re not a spy.”
She pushed up on one elbow. “Then maybe instead of dragging me across the desert to another horrible place I don’t want to go, why don’t you let me return to town? I’d love to have my things back. I miss my clothes more than you know.”
“You’ll like my home.”
“Tair.”
“It’s pleasant there.”
“Tair.”
“It’s already decided. Conserve your strength for the trip.”
Tally’s eyes fluttered closed, even as it crossed her mind that she rather liked the fever and delirium better than this wretched return to reality. Tair had no intention of ever returning her to Baraka, did he? If he had his way she’d live in Ouaha forever, wouldn’t she?
“I’ll have to kill you,” she said dully, filled with weary resignation. “It won’t be easy, but it must be done.”
The tent was silent and for a long moment Tally held her breath, waiting for his response. And then it came. He laughed softly. “Good luck.”
Two more days passed before Tair announced that they would be leaving in the morning. “I know you aren’t completely recovered—”
“I’m fine,” she interrupted, cutting him short.
“—so you will travel with me, on my horse,” he continued as though she’d never spoken. “It will be a long day, we’ll leave early, but we shall reach Bur Juman before dusk.”
“Bur Juman?”
“Home.”
Tally blinked, confused. “I thought this was your home.”
Tair’s hard features shifted, his firm mouth easing into a faint mocking smile. “This was a test.”
“A test?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Now you will see where I live.”
Tair was right. It was a long day traveling, and sitting so close to Tair on his horse made her even more restless than her fevers and delirium. The constant motion of the horse shifted her back and forth against Tair until every nerve ending felt rubbed raw.