Rhea released Zar’s hand and darted into the little room, standing under the light. Zar followed her in, looking up at the hole in the den’s roof. All he could see was brightness and blue sky.
“A hole in the hill,” the princess declared. “Father says it was formed by water.” She darted to the edge of the room, showing Zar a little smirk, positioning herself so she stood facing his right shoulder. “Don’t you hear the music?”
Princess Rhea circled to Zar’s left, stepping twice before dipping, then stepping twice again. She circled back to the right: two steps, a faint dip with feet parallel and close, then another two steps. The princess kept up the steps and Zar drifted over to the center of the room, now understanding what was happening.
Zar wasn’t much of a dancer, but it was a simple one, and he’d sooner make a fool of himself than not oblige Princess Rhea. She repeated the movements, circling the opposite way, and then back to her original position. She walked to the center until she stood right in front of him and clapped her hands. Then, she turned around and walked back to the perimeter, clapping her hands with her back still turned before rotating around to face him again.
Rhea circled to Zar’s left: two steps, dip, two steps, dip. Then, back to his right: two steps, dip, two steps, dip. She spun around, her back facing him, dancing in the opposite direction; and then she danced back, white linen dress soaked with shadow, fluttering on the edge of the funnel of light. She turned back in and walked up to him, taking his right hand in hers, hopping to the left, her right foot behind her left, as in a curtsy, then hopping to the right, left foot behind her right. Zar knew it was time for the twirl, and he pulled her arm toward her left shoulder and over her head, and the woman pivoted and spun in accordance. Rhea reversed the previous sequence, hopping first to the right this time, then to the left, opposite foot behind the other after each hop, and poised herself for another twirl. Zar twirled her again, their joined right hands clasping together, palm to palm, immediately after.
They circled to the right, open hands pressed together. At the end of a half-circle, they joined their left hands in the same fashion, revolving in the opposite direction. At the end of the rotation they bowed, still holding hands, dipping forward to one another—the formal closing of the dance.
Rhea giggled and beamed, looking excited as a child offered sweets. Zar couldn’t help but grin, either, for as much as he tried to restrain himself from letting his happiness show, he was overtaken by the joy and peculiarity of dancing in a sunlit cave. It was near magical, the uniqueness of the cave, a hole in its roof allowing a great funnel of sun to pour through, and, of course, his dancing partner.
The two snuck back into the darkness, chortling like children at play, arms waving in the air and against the cave’s stone walls to find their way.
Zar teased Rhea for having put out the torch. “You didn’t consider the way back, did you?”
“Just follow me,” she returned, her voice emanating from the darkness. Zar could feel her hand pulling on his arm, but he couldn’t see anything at all.
The princess turned and pushed him the other way.
“No,” said Zar. “That’s the way we came. I’m sure of it.”
Zar whirled around, hoping to spot the faint grey glow of the passage that led to the sunlit chamber they had come from. That way, they would at least know which way not to go.
He could feel the princess moving, shuffling to gain her bearings, folds of her dress’s skirt flapping over his legs. She laughed out a “sorry” as she kicked Zar. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Debatable,” said Zar, chuckling. He spun away from her, keeping contact with his left hand as not to lose her. “Look for the light—the passage to the room we came from. It should be the opposite way, right?”
“Aye,” said Rhea.
Zar could feel her moving, and he twisted around, not knowing the princess was turning in the same direction. The two collided.
The princess cried a short, sharp scream, drowned by laughter soon after. Her shoulders were just under Zar’s, and she clung on to him, her face buried beneath his chin, giggling without end. Zar’s laughter joined her giggling and the two kept it up for so long it exhausted them. They stood there trying to catch their breath, Rhea’s head still cradled against Zar’s throat, breathing in the quiet dark.
Rhea’s hair rustled against Zar’s neck. Her head pushed his chin up, breath as warm as the soft skin he could now feel against his cheek, and although he couldn’t see her, Zar knew the woman was looking up at him. He knew her face was only a movement away from his—just a movement away—until it wasn’t.
Zar kissed her.
It was a short event, but even in its brevity Zar felt she had kissed him back, leaning in and pressing her lips against his as tightly as her bosom was pressed into his chest. Then he felt her move away, and Zar wondered what would’ve been on her face if there was light to see it.
“This way,” she said, pulling him by the hand. “I think it’s this way.”
They fumbled around until Rhea at last found the rift they had squeezed through. The outside light shone at the entrance of the chamber, and they could see the current of water running in front, diving down and disappearing under the mouth of the cave.
They rode back to the palace with barely a word between them.
When they dismounted in front of the stables, the bell over the Place of Prayer rang, and Rhea called “a guest!” as she looked toward the chapel.
Zar grabbed her horse’s reigns, leading it beside his own. “Go see about it, then. I’ll stall the horses and meet you there.”
The Place of Prayer, the One God’s chapel annexed onto the palace, was a place that held much meaning to Zar. It was where he had become a prince. In his time at Xuul he’d come to realize that the chapel served in conjunction with the palace, never independent of it. It was an extension of the palace itself, with all important matters taking place or made known there. It was only fitting it was situated on the building's right side, for it was, in every way imaginable, the palace’s right hand.
The roof of the chapel was grandiosely high, a pointed affair that housed a grand bell tower that was more regal than any other structure in the city. The bell was a giant cone of bronze, its edge curled out like flared nostrils, and it rang for many occasions. One chime meant a visitor; four chimes signaled prayer time—whether morning, midday, or evening; and seven chimes announced a special occasion that the palace folk dare not miss.
Zar had housed the horses when he heard Princess Rhea yelling his name. He looked to see the woman running towards him, looking just as excited as after their dance in the cave.
“For you!” she called, beaming. “The guest is for you!”
Up the hill, far behind Rhea, a figure came into sight. It was a woman wearing a cloak the color of blood, hood down and resting over her shoulders, her face soaked with so much emotion Zar wanted to look away. But he couldn’t.
His breath caught in his throat. It was Shahla.
15
Shahla jumped on him, her cheek against his, stirring scents and feelings Zar didn’t want to indulge—not in front of Rhea.
Shahla stepped back and just looked at him, holding his face in both her hands so firmly it almost hurt.
“I thought you were dead!” she exclaimed. “I thought you were—”
“I’m fine,” Zar assured her. “I would have sought you out had I not had other business. It wasn’t my intention to worry you.”
Shahla drew in close again, curling both hands into Zar’s chest until she held fistfuls of his tunic. She leaned up and in, eyes closing as she drew closer, and Zar knew she was going for a kiss.
The situation between him and Shahla had always been complicated and delicate. She was the daughter of his dearest friend, a once innocent and naïve young woman who fate had turned into a fighter. It was a thing Zar still blamed himself for, that fight on their way to Gara where she had killed her first man. Lat
er, she had been kidnapped, and although that was no fault of his own, he still felt terrible about it. For it had changed her.
She was now called Scarlet Quill, dubbed so by the red arrows she used and the red cloak she wore to match. She was dangerous and rather well-known, and if Zar remembered correctly, the last time he had called her Shahla she politely corrected him, insisting that Shahla had died and there was now only the Scarlet Quill.
It was shocking to see who she’d become when he met her at the hot spring that day. It was even more shocking what had happened, the time they shared at that place—No, thought Zar. Not that. Not now.
Zar felt like the worst man in the world.
“How good it is to see you!” he said, dodging the kiss by hugging her again, pulling her cheek beside his and shaking her warmly. It was an embrace of friendship and nothing more, no matter how excited he looked to see her, no matter how he held her and shook her like a thing most cherished. He crafted the hug to look like one shared between comrades.
Shahla came out of the hug looking at Zar with a face that was rather blank. Her eyes were still, and she looked at Zar for so long that it felt like he had words written on his face and she was reading them. Zar introduced her to Rhea to break the silence, and he searched the princess’s face to see if she had noticed the awkwardness. Her expression revealed nothing.
If the first surprise meeting outside the palace was bad, dinner with the royal family was even worse.
“Scarlet, is it?” Queen Kora confirmed, waiting for a nod from Shahla before she continued. “How is it that you know Zar?”
The table, a plane of polished mahogany dressed in a red and gold embroidered tablecloth, held baskets of bread and fruits, plates of roasted pheasant and venison, and ample jugs of wine.
Zar didn’t want to let Shahla speak. “Her father and I are the oldest of friends.”
“Aye,” Shahla agreed.
King Aron was donned in a magnificent tunic, beige like buckskin, trimmed in a gilt color that accented the gold in his crown. He sat at the center of the table, Queen Kora beside him, and the young Princess Bree beside her mother on the left side.
Alyn was seated directly across from his father, and Rhea beside him. Zar sat on Rhea’s right side with Shahla beside him on the right. With each girl at his side, Zar felt both special and miserable, knowing that, in his situation, he would have to betray one of them. And so far, it had been Shahla.
“And the sea was kind to you?” Aron asked. “Alyn tells me there is a woman who calms the dragon with music—and another friend of Zar’s at that!” The king bellowed an excited chuckle, eyes flashing at Zar, showing pride and wonder.
Shahla turned to Zar, and Zar looked her way without meeting her eyes before looking back to the king.
“Lyla the Dragontamer,” said Zar.
“You know her?” Shahla asked like she couldn’t believe it.
“I had the pleasure of running into her on the road. I daresay we got off to a rough start.”
Zar glanced at Shahla, only because he could feel her staring at him, eyes burning into the side of his head as he looked across the table. She was looking at him like she’d never looked at him before, like he was some sort of stranger, foreign and puzzling.
“Have you seen her lately?” asked Shahla, although it sounded more like a challenge, and Zar was left wondering what she meant, intrigued by the fire in her tone.
Alyn gave Zar a look, and Zar knew his brother had picked up on the conflict of sentiments, and he called with a smile, “Did the Dragontamer not seem fit to you to be counted among Zar’s friends? I myself know it is a place hard-earned.”
Shahla pulled her lips to a smile, but didn’t let it stay on her face for more than a second. “I’m surprised Zar and I are talking about the same person,” she said. “The Lyla I know is selfish and greedy, covered in bracelets and necklaces of rare jewels, swarmed by a throng of servants at all times. She calls herself the Queen of Coasts, and she charged every person aboard the vessel one hundred pieces of gold to play her songs. What she can do is amazing, and that I acknowledge. But know that she does it for the gold and not out of the goodness of her heart.”
The table fell as silent as the grave for just a few moments. Then, Zar spoke, hardly realizing he was saying the words and not just thinking them until he heard his own voice. “It’s only been a month since I last saw her. How could she have changed so much?”
“Maybe she hasn’t changed,” said Shahla. “Maybe she’s being herself. I’m telling you, an eye must be kept on that one.”
“But she can do it?” asked princess Bree. “She can make Leviathan not attack?” The young woman was an interesting blend of a specimen, wavy hair like King Aron, but with a honey hue that she didn’t share with anyone else in her family, likely a feature of her mother’s paleness.
“I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” said Zar.
“And so have I,” Shahla added.
Princess Bree insisted that Zar tell her what it was like to see Lyla calm the dragon, and Zar recounted the tale, not shying from any embellishment that might bring the story to life. For while the experience had been awesome and frightening in itself and did not require exaggeration, he felt it was a situation where a person needed to be present to fully grasp its gravity. He used any means necessary to convey the experience: too many hand gestures, outrageous faces, a scream here, a yell there, and spirited yet poorly imitated sound effects of Leviathan.
The food felt like a stone in Zar’s stomach, and the weight of it pulled him to drowsiness almost as fast as a song from Lyla.
“I’ll show you to the guest quarters.” Zar felt strange as soon as he’d said it.
This was Shahla he was talking to, not some traveler he’d met on the road. It was Shahla. They had shared rooms and meals and beds and more, and Zar acknowledged that the look of bafflement on her face was justified under the circumstances. He was as close to her as he’d been to any woman, possibly any person, and he was treating her like some casual acquaintance.
Shahla gazed at him, bangs of black locks falling down her forehead like threads of silk. “We are to be in different rooms?”
“Only here in the palace,” said Zar, a pleading in his voice that sounded pathetic when he himself noticed it. “We dare not offend our hosts. I’m just down the hall.”
Zar behind him pointed to the old wooden door at the other end of the hall, wondering if it was a good idea. He showed her to the chamber, clutched a half-hug around her and left without any more words. He walked to his room, shut the door behind him, threw off his tunic, and jumped into bed.
He felt his stomach do something, and he couldn’t tell if he had overindulged in the food or felt sick over how he was treating Shahla. What was worse, he didn’t know why he was treating her this way. He and Rhea had shared nothing but a kiss, and he’d never really considered anything beyond that. Still, for some reason it was immensely important to him that Rhea didn’t know about him and Shahla. He didn’t know why but it mattered more than anything.
He considered that maybe it wasn’t Rhea herself who was so appealing, but the idea of Rhea, or what came along with her. He was prince in name only, adopted by the king and queen for service to the realm. A marriage to Rhea—and a child—a thing he had never considered, would secure his royalty in blood. Was this why he was holding her feelings sacred while discarding Shahla’s like dross? No. He had never coveted thrones and crowns, he had never lusted after rank or position.
He’d lain in his bed for over an hour before he figured it out. The reason he held Rhea’s affections in much higher esteem than Shahla’s was namely this: He had never forgiven Shahla for what she’d done to Ramla, and the feelings he felt for her meant far less than what he’d thought they had.
It was no more than a few seconds after he’d come to this conclusion that there was a faint rapping on the door. Zar hopped up and answered it.
He titled the heavy door open a bi
t, revealing a figure in a scarlet cloak, hood up, hiding most of her face save a smirk of mischief. Shahla pushed by him, squeezing into the room. When she brushed by, a hand came from under her cloak and grabbed at his linen shirt. Her lifted arm made her cloak tent out, and Zar could see from the opening that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
“I’m bored and alone,” she said, dropping the cloak from her shoulders, “and you’re in a room down the hall.” She kissed him, her hands reaching all over, bare skin warm like autumn sun. “Why am I bored and alone if you’re in a room down the hall?”
Zar knew he couldn’t let her stay; someone would hear her, or worse, see her leave in the morning. With Zar’s luck, it would be Rhea herself, perhaps coming to his chamber door to wish him good night, as she was accustomed to doing.
Shahla was grabbing at so many places Zar swore she had more than two hands.
“Scarlet, not here,” Zar whispered. “The king and queen are just down the hall.”
Zar shuffled away, but Shahla practically chased him.
“We haven’t had a moment since I’ve come.” Her hands fiddled with his pants. “No one will hear.”
“Not here,” said Zar, fighting away her hands.
“Yes, here.” Shahla grinned and giggled like it was all just a game.
“Not here!”
Shahla froze, and so did Zar, not meaning to have been so stern—or so loud. Worse, Shahla raised her voice to match his.
“Is it the princess?” she asked. She didn’t wait for an answer, but instead looked at Zar like he had three heads, picked up her cloak from the floor, threw it on, and left the room.
Zar crept up to the door, glancing about the hall to see if anyone was around, then shut the door with care, not making a sound. He crawled into bed and blew out a sigh, closing his eyes and relaxing for the very first time that night.
Songs for the Sacred and the Soulless Page 11
