The sepequs’s limbless body swam through the sand with ease, moving at unbelievable speed. Emaline sat at the front of the sepequs, holding the reins, while Vera sat sideways across the back. The sun they’d watched rise over the horizon had crawled to the middle of the sky, the peak of the day when it burned its hottest and brightest. Emaline could feel her skin beginning to burn and the sweat clinging to her clothes. She’d attempted to make conversation, but Vera had only responded with either a nod or a one-word answer. Eventually, Emaline gave up on trying to make small talk and instead took in the scenery around her. There was little to look at besides the sand, but occasionally, there was an acacia tree or cactus that would catch her attention.

In the distance rose a town of clay homes with hollow windows. A solar farm sat beside the town, rows of glistening metal panels that hummed softly with energy. The town was so small, so beaten by the wind, that it looked more like a product of nature than of man; something of accident rather than purposeful structure.

“Better stop for supplies,” Vera said. “We ate up the last of our rations last night.”

Emaline steered the sepequs toward a wooden post. She slid off the saddle and wrapped the reins around the post in a playful knot.

Walking through the town, Vera and Emaline passed by slumped figures with somber, sun-stained faces. The townspeople looked at them, not with compassion or hostility, but with mundane interest, like watching a swooping insect or a particularly strong gust of wind.

“Not a very talkative town,” Emaline whispered.

“Talk leads to trouble,” Vera advised. “If you take any lesson from us traveling together, I hope you learn that.”

At the end of a row of homes was a long building with a sign that read Shop in big, red, painted letters. Inside the shop was a man sitting behind a counter, fanning himself lazily with a magazine. A dozing cat with ginger fur snored softly on the wooden counter beside him.

“We’re looking for some grub—nothing that melts or rots,” Vera said.

The man peered up at her and reluctantly opened his mouth to speak. “Last aisle on the right,” he groaned, itching his gray stubble.

Vera tipped her hat and strutted down the metal aisles, filling her satchel with canned and dried foods. While she shopped, Emaline stood idly at the entrance. Her eyes scanned the first aisle and lit at the sight of a sweet bun wrapped in wax paper.

“My wife made those,” the man said, catching Emaline’s gaze. “Made them fresh this morning.”

Vera cut between them, placing her satchel onto the counter and taking out the drawstring bag Emaline had given her. “How much do I owe you?” she asked.

“I’d say…twenty,” the man said, digging through the supplies in the satchel.

Vera glanced back over her shoulder and looked into Emaline’s hungry eyes. “Make it twenty-two,” she added, grabbing one of the honeyed buns from the shelf.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Emaline said as they walked out of the store.

Vera shrugged. “They were cheap, and you look hungry.”

“You know what you remind me of? Those chivalrous knights from the Old Stories,” Emaline said with a sway in her step.

“And what would that make you? A princess?” Vera teased.

“Back home, I pretty much was one.” Emaline took an eager bite of the bun, flakes of pastry clinging to her lips. Her fingers turned white with powdered sugar, which she dusted off onto her clothes.

She’s messy for a princess, Vera thought. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

A few feet ahead of them was an ancient brick well with a rickety wooden roof. Standing in front of the well was a man in a mesh shirt and baggy camo pants, cursing at an old woman in a shawl.

“Y-you can’t have it,” the old woman said sternly, her teeth chattering with anger.

“Move out of the way, Grandma,” the man spat. “We’re draining this well.”

“If you take this, then we’re as good as dead!” the old woman cried.

“I said: get out of my way!” the man snarled, shoving the old woman to the ground.

“Hey!” Emaline raced to the old woman’s side and helped her up onto her feet. “Who do you think you are?” she asked, holding a finger up to the man.

“Wylie Rydes. Leader of the Golden Jackal Gang,” he introduced himself. He had shaggy, dirty-blond hair pulled back into a short ponytail. A silver fang hung from his right ear, and a sharp snaggletooth peeked over his bottom lip.

“You can’t just leave these people with nothing to drink,” Emaline said.

Wylie smirked. “Actually, I can.” He reached out and grasped Emaline’s hand, holding it up to his mouth to kiss it. “A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be out in this heat. I can tell you’re a royal just by looking at you. The rest of my gang is currently dealing with other affairs, but I’d love for you to meet them. Why don’t you come back with us? You’ll be safe with me—”

Before he could finish, Emaline kicked him in the shin, forcing him to let go of her hand.

“Why, you—!” Wylie reeled back his arm as if to hit her, but then froze.

He peered back over his shoulder and found Vera clenching his wrist from behind. Enraged, he took back his hand and turned to face her, but before he could even get a word out, she had already drawn her pistol. She aimed the barrel to the right of Wylie’s head, just below his ear.

Even as the sweat fell from his face, Wylie held on to a toothy sneer. “Is that supposed to be a threat? You aren’t even aiming at me.”

“Wasn’t trying to,” Vera said coolly. She pulled the trigger, a loud bang erupting from the barrel. 

The bullet whizzed past Wylie’s face, ricocheted off a metal sign, and nicked him in the ankle. Wylie yelped like a wounded animal, wincing. The searing pellet dug into the sand beside Wylie’s bleeding foot, smoking.

Trembling, Wylie reached for his earring but only grasped at the air. In a panic, he reached a little higher and sighed with relief when he felt his ear was still there.

“You’ll pay for this!” Wylie spat, limping back toward the hoverbike he had driven into town with. As he turned the key, the hoverbike rumbled to life, skidding off over the dunes.

The villagers all gathered around the well, cheering and clapping. While Vera felt slightly overwhelmed by the adoring crowd, Emaline happily soaked up the attention.

With an annoyed grumble, the shopkeeper peeked out of his store to check on the commotion, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the old woman. He raced to her, holding her face in his wrinkled hands. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“I am now,” the old woman reassured. “These young ladies just saved my life—all of our lives,” she explained, pointing to Vera and Emaline.

The shopkeeper looked at them differently than he had before—his eyes softer, more gentle. “Thank you,” he said. “Please, tell me how I could repay this kindness?”

“There is one thing…” Emaline began with a sly smile.

A little while later, Emaline skipped to the village’s outskirts with a satchel stuffed with pastries. “I knew it,” she whispered playfully to Vera, bumping her hip.

“Knew what?” Vera asked.

“You’ve never taken a life, have you?” Emaline teased. “A pacifist mercenary. That’s a little ironic, now isn’t it?”

“We can reach the next town over if we get a move on,” Vera grumbled, ignoring Emaline’s question.