Princess of Smoke (2020 Reissue)

by Helena Rookwood

  Above our heads, violet smoke began to churn and swirl like a whirlpool, funneling down toward the balcony. I cried out, struggling against Tarak, breaking free. Wind and cold water lashed at my face as the thick smoke wrapped around us.

  I threw up an arm to shield my face, coughing and screaming Kassim’s name into the wind.

  The cries of the guests grew distant. Air rushed past my skin as hollow weightlessness took over. I could no longer feel Tarak’s hands, or the rain on my skin, or the stone beneath my feet.

  The palace melted away before my eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I crashed onto a stone floor, heavy, perfumed clouds still frothing around me. I squeezed my eyes shut against the smoke, coughing at the overpowering scent of frankincense mingled with musk. My stomach clenched with nausea.

  The high-pitched whine in my head lessened. Distantly, a door slammed shut, followed by the click of a key turning in a lock.

  I wrenched my eyes open. Through the haze of purple mist, I could make out the rough shape of my prison, even in the dark. I was in a room. My eyes slowly adjusted, taking in the details.

  It was similar to my chambers in the Astarian palace. A huge, four-poster bed thick with blankets dominated the far side of the room, and I could just see into the adjoining washroom, which housed a vast, brass bath. But the design was unlike anything I’d ever seen in Astaran or Khiridesh. In fact, everything in this room felt foreign to me. Wrong, somehow.

  A wave of dizziness swept over me as I stumbled to my feet, my legs still shaking from whatever magic had brought me here. I staggered to the window and drew back the curtains. It was too dark outside to see, but the cold caught in my lungs, worse than any desert night.

  They’ve brought me to Phoenitia.

  I closed the curtains and spun back around, my shoulders dropping. The room was decorated luxuriously, but the shining walls of black marble were as solid as any prison. An ornate fireplace, designed to look like twin serpents racing toward the ceiling, contained the remnants of a fire allowed to burn too low, the only light in the middle of the night.

  Knowing it was futile, I walked shakily across the room to the door, tugging on the handle. It was locked.

  I turned, leaning back against the wood and trying to contain the rush of panic.

  They’d brought me to Phoenitia, and it looked like there was no way home.

  I slammed my fist against the door over and over, the skin over my knuckles splitting.

  “Let…” slam “…me…” slam “…out!” slam.

  I could hear the guards on the other side of the door, the clanking of metal armor, the slithering of cloaks when they leaned back against the wall…as they ignored my shouts of rage. Occasionally, when I stopped beating on the door for a moment, they exchanged a few low words, always followed by sniggers.

  I didn’t understand their tongue, but even drowsy with sleep, I understood more than enough from their tone. They found my efforts funny.

  Resting my forehead against the rough wood of the door, I took a deep, slow breath and repeated the same vow I’d been repeating to myself all night.

  I will get out of here.

  I stopped pounding my raw knuckles against the door and moved my hands to my skirts, the gauzy golden overlay still floating, dreamlike, over the red silk dress. Tears threatened, and I bit down hard on my lip to keep them at bay. I lifted my hands higher, feeling for the golden disk etched with an Astarian sun in my hair.

  I was still the Princess of Khiridesh. I would still become the Sultanah of Astaran.

  Giving the door one last hefty kick for good measure, I spun around and strode over to fling open the curtains, blinking as the morning light flooded in.

  I was frighteningly high up. Below, balconies were spaced to look like a series of steps down to where the palace dissolved into the city, a tangle of gleaming, black spires and dusty, red roofs. Beyond that, the city gave way to a vast mountain range with white-capped peaks. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself, feeling goose pimples rising under my fingers. It was cold beyond the mountains.

  I glanced up at the sun, a weak, pale yolk visible to my left.

  My heart twisted. That meant the window faced south – toward Astaran. My home. And my husband. Well, almost-husband. Tears pricked at my eyes again.

  Kassim wouldn’t come for me. Even if he longed to, he would put Astaran first. As he should. Besides, the Sultan of Phoenitia had made it very clear what would happen if Kassim came after me or tried to rally support from the rest of the twelve kingdoms. My lip trembled.

  A click sounded at the door and I hastily dashed the tears from my eyes, jutting my chin into the air and placing my hands on my hips before I turned to face my captors.

  Two women with the same pale skin as the vizier slipped through the door. Their dark hair was combed back into neat braids that sat at the napes of their necks, and they wore matching gray gowns. Plain, but of a good material.

  I glanced at the open door behind them, at the opportunity to escape, and my body tensed. I’ll fight my way out of here if I have to. Then two guards entered, their curved, shining swords already unsheathed. Bound in layers of black cloth, they reminded me of Aliyah’s forty thieves.

  I gritted my teeth. Two handmaids I might have been able to handle. Two armed guards I definitely couldn’t.

  “Princess Scheherazade,” one of the handmaids said in a heavily accented voice. I bit back my automatic response of Call me Zadie as the two of them dipped into low curtsies. “Sultan Iram sent us to attend to you.”

  “To attend to me?” I repeated in disbelief.

  The second handmaid pushed past the first into the room, a huge box cradled in her arms. Dropping it onto the table, she gave a heavy sigh of relief, stretching out her arms. She gave me a critical look, her eyes narrowing, as the first hurried to her side and nudged her in the ribs with an elbow.

  My heart twisted. They were so like Mehri and Jevera. What I wouldn’t give now for the two handmaids I had spent so long trying to shake off.

  “We’re to help you dress,” the first said, still in a halting voice.

  My eyes flicked to the box on the table. The second handmaid removed the lid, revealing undulating waves of a heavy, soft material I didn’t recognize. It was a deep emerald green, and as the handmaid pulled it from the box and the skirts dropped to the floor, I saw that it was detailed with black lace, what looked like real emeralds shining at the collar.

  She stepped toward me, and I jerked backward, the small of my back crashing painfully into the windowsill. “Uh-uh.” I shook my head. “I already have a dress.” My hands returned to the skirts of my wedding dress.

  The handmaid holding the dress made a dismissive sound in her throat, then began chattering furiously to the first handmaid, whose eyes darted nervously between us. When the torrent of chatter finally stopped, she cleared her throat.

  “She says, uh, it is too cold for you to wear that dress.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “How many words does it take to say cold in Phoenitian?”

  Pink tinged the handmaid’s cheeks. She reached back into the box and pulled out a black fur stole. “You will find the sultan can be generous, princess.”

  Generous? I’ll be sure to thank him for kidnapping me.

  The handmaid tried again. “You will be more comfortable in this.”

  As if to prove her point, another sharp wind swept through the window, lifting the curtains and chilling my skin. I had no doubt a heavy dress and fur stole would be more comfortable in this strange, cold palace.

  But I shook my head again. “You can take it straight back to Sultan Iram and tell him I don’t accept gifts from enemies of Astaran. Especially enemies of Astaran who think it’s appropriate to hold hostages.”

  A confused look flitted over the handmaid’s face.

  “I’m not wearing that dress,” I repeated slowly, crossing my arms and leaning as far back out of the window as I dared. />
  The second handmaid barked something at the first, whose eyes widened. Spinning around, she took a few furious steps toward me…and halted as the door creaked open again, more guards stepping in.

  These were unlike the brutes idling outside my door. They wore thick, fur cloaks fastened with a silver brooch bearing the symbol of the mountain I had come to recognize, black boots gleaming with polish.

  They looked between me and the handmaids, then began shouting at the handmaids, jabbing fingers toward the dress and then me.

  My stomach turned, my palms growing damp. Being proficient in most languages in the twelve kingdoms felt useless here. The Phoenitian language was unlike any I knew, the sounds harsher, more guttural, and they spoke quickly. I knew I didn’t have a hope of understanding it any time soon.

  As unnerving as it was not to have any idea what was going on, I prayed to the spirits I wouldn’t be here long enough to learn even a handful of words.

  “Please, princess,” the first handmaid tried again. “You will be late for breakfast with the sultan.”

  My jaw dropped. “And what exactly makes the sultan think I’ll accept an invitation to breakfast?”

  The guards stopped shouting, and all eyes came to rest on me.

  Despite the hammering in my chest, I lifted my chin high, speaking slowly and clearly. “The Sultan of Phoenitia is the enemy of Astaran. And…” My voice faltered. “And he ruined my wedding.”

  Silence fell, the guards and the handmaids looking anxiously between one another.

  Taking a steadying breath, I glared at them all. “So I won’t be coming to breakfast. I won’t be eating anything prepared by the hand of my enemy. And I certainly won’t be dining at his side.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The wind whistled past my ear, and my jaw set against the chattering of my teeth. Now the sun had dropped down behind the mountains, it had grown even colder.

  In the desert, the sunsets lit the sky with color, fire dancing over the dunes until the stars winked awake above. Here, the color, like the warmth, seemed to have leeched from the sky with the setting sun. The blue paled almost to white, the barest hint of gold tracing the ridges of the mountain range. My breath came in clouds, my skin tight as the freezing air nipped at my arms.

  Still, I leaned out over the windowsill, the cold marble soaking into my skin as I peered down the side of the tower to the first balcony below. The walls were of the same black marble that decorated the room they’d locked me in, twisting pillars interspersed with carved serpents, scorpions, and leopards decorating the windowsills, prowling through carvings of smoke and dancing flames.

  But the carvings were far apart, not decent enough footholds for me to seriously consider clambering out of the window. It was a pity. With the balconies flowing like a staircase down to the city, it would only be short intervals of climbing at a time, with plenty of opportunities for rest. But no one could climb down sheer marble…

  My gaze slid automatically to the pale circle of skin on my finger where I had worn the ring for so long, the wish sitting on the tip of my tongue. I hastily clamped my other hand over the top. I’d thought Tarak had been my friend. I’d thought he’d cared for Lalana. But he’d gone straight to our enemies the moment we’d freed him.

  Something stabbed in my chest. Knowing Tarak had betrayed me was almost as painful as knowing Kassim wouldn’t be coming for me.

  I raked a hand through my hair. There was no point sitting around waiting for either the sultan or the djinni. I was going to have to get myself out of this. I just needed to figure out how…

  With a sigh, I retreated into the room and pulled the heavy curtains closed to try and keep out some of the cold. I could refuse to dine with the sultan every meal, but if I wasn’t going to eat then I needed to sleep, and I would feel better if I kept the chill from my bones. I glared at the cold fireplace. There was a basket of wood to one side, but I had no idea how to light a fire. I doubted the guards outside my door would start the fire, even if I begged them. And, spirits, I’d die before I asked them for anything.

  A click sounded in the lock, and I looked up sharply. What now?

  The door crashed open. I froze as dark smoke swept into the room, sending fear splintering down my spine.

  I tried to take a step back, but found I couldn’t move. Sorcery? A bead of sweat broke out on my brow and my stomach clenched as a tall, black-clad figure prowled into the room, halting in the doorway.

  Surrounded by billowing clouds of enchanted smoke, her robes falling to the floor in a narrow column and a thin, silver staff clasped in one hand, the vizier looked every bit the evil sorceress. Against the shining black marble and twisted carvings of mythical animals, she looked completely at home. My gaze drifted to the silver, mountain-shaped pin at her breast, where once a golden Astarian pin had sat.

  I knew all along she was working against Astaran. If only I’d figured out it was for the Phoenites sooner…

  The vizier prowled toward me, stopping just inches from my face. A wave of musk washed over me. Her black eyes bored into mine as she grabbed my arm, sharp fingernails digging into my skin until my eyes watered. I tried to reach a hand up to dash the tears away, but I still couldn’t move.

  “We need to have a little chat, Scheherazade.”

  “What a pleasure that will be, I’m sure,” I ground out.

  The vizier’s expression hardened. “There you go again, princess. Always having to have the last word. Well, we’ll see about that…” She banged the bottom of her staff once on the floor, and my next words died in my throat.

  Swallowing, I tried again. But I couldn’t speak.

  “That’s better.”

  She stalked back and forth in front of me while I remained frozen in place.

  Finally she stopped and spun to face me. “At every turn, you bested me. Even before you arrived in Kisrabah, you warned Kassim of my men in the desert. In the palace, you stole the ring I wanted from your dowry.” She paused at that, a cold smile creeping across her face. “Do you know how hard I had to work to convince Kassim he should honor the alliance with Khiridesh instead of turning to Princess Makani? And all for nothing.”

  My chest clenched. Surely that wasn’t true…

  “Then you befriended the thieves I’d hired to steal the ring, stole the book I wanted, figured out how to use the Night Diamond talisman before I could, foiled my attempts to weaken Astaran by freeing Chimaeus and saving Safiyya’s suitors, survived going overboard on The Scarlet Dancer, defeated the Phoenite ambush I organized in Hidu… You even escaped the assassin I sent after you by giving away the ring.” Giving a humorless laugh, her black eyes fixed on me. “And now here, in Phoenitia, it seems you’re attempting to undermine me again.”

  What?

  “I don’t know what makes you think you can refuse the sultan’s wishes, but just as it did with Kassim, your embarrassing behavior seems to have piqued Iram’s interest.” The vizier’s expression grew darker, lips and brows downturned.

  She stepped closer, and my breath caught in my throat.

  “The sultan tells me you refused to join him for breakfast. That you wouldn’t take off that pathetic scrap of material when he generously sent you warmer clothes. Do you know they belonged to his late sultanah? You would find nothing finer in Phoenitia.”

  The vizier trailed her hand down my front, fingering the sheer overlay, and my heart suddenly thundered, blood roaring in my ears. How dare she touch my wedding dress.

  Catching the fire in my eyes, the vizier smirked. “Well, I might not be able to force you to eat, but I can certainly make you reconsider accepting the sultan’s generous offer of a warmer dress…”

  Not my dress!

  I wanted to shout it. I would have lowered myself to the floor, pleaded with her to let me keep this one thing that connected me to Kassim.

  But I couldn’t say a word.

  Returning her gaze to my skirts, the vizier ran one long, bony finger down the
sheer fabric.

  To my horror, the material split in its wake, the fine threads unraveling, beads spilling to the floor with a clatter. She looked up with satisfaction at the anguish on my face and lifted her finger higher, carving the dress from my waist.

  Repeatedly, she ran her finger over my dress, shredding it to ribbons. In places where she had already cut open the material, she brushed my bare skin, and I tried to scream as my flesh split as easily as the dress, the blood darkening the red material and staining the gold.

  “You deserve every cut, every flash of pain,” the vizier hissed, still trailing her finger along my ruined skirts. “If only I could–”

  The door crashed open. “Hepzibah!”

  The vizier stepped away from me, dropping into a low bow.

  Tears flowed freely down my cheeks, relief battling with despair as I caught sight of my rescuer. The Sultan of Phoenitia stood tall in the doorway, his face tight with fury.

  He wore an intricate silver circlet on his head that reminded me of the mountains, but other than that, he was dressed simply — a thick, black tunic, pants, and a silver-gray cloak rippling behind him.

  Raising a hand on which a single emerald ring glittered, he gestured to me. “What is the meaning of this, Hepzibah?”

  The vizier didn’t reply.

  “Let her go,” the sultan commanded.

  The invisible bonds holding me in place disappeared, and I crumpled to the floor. I trembled, each cut on my body throbbing with a sharp, deep pain.

  I was helpless. Just as I had been when Tarak held me over the balcony and stole me away. But that wasn’t the worst thing.

  My hands moved slowly to my skirts. I flinched, squeezing my eyes shut as my fingers met with the shreds of what had once been my wedding dress.

  I didn’t open them as footsteps sounded and a dark, heavy cloak dropped gently over my shoulders. I remained still, unwilling to stand wrapped in the cloak of my enemy, yet not wanting to remain cowering on the floor before him, either.