Princess of Smoke (2020 Reissue)

by Helena Rookwood

  The blade skittered to the floor, landing by my feet with a clatter. I dropped down to grab it.

  Spirits, this thing is heavy. The sword was much larger than my elij, and straight, unlike the curved scimitars I’d trained with.

  The vizier caught the hilt of the second sword in her hand, and delicately placed her staff on the ground. “Your insatiable desire to show off will be the death of you, Scheherazade.” She gave the sword an experimental swing. “You conveniently learned to fight overnight on the journey to Tigrylon, which means any skill you had you got from a wish.” A dark smile narrowed her eyes. “You forget, without your djinni, you’re no swordswoman.”

  My blood ran cold. She was right. I hadn’t even held a sword since I’d given away the ring, looking for any excuse to get out of my training sessions with Elian.

  Where once my mind had been filled with tactics, maneuvers, and best practice, now it was blank. I had no idea what stance to take or what weaknesses the vizier might have.

  Terror gripped me, and I clutched the hilt tightly with both hands, my palms slick against the dark metal.

  “Pathetic,” the vizier sneered. “You know, I was going to take you to Iram, let him deal with you, but now…” Her eyes flashed in my direction, her face twisting into a wild smile. “I should thank you Zadie. You’ve changed my mind. And I’ll take much more pleasure seeing you bleed to death after I best you in a duel than I would snapping your neck with a flick of my staff.”

  Her dark eyes gleaming with hate, the vizier launched toward me.

  She raised her sword, and the blade flashed.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The vizier’s blade sung through the air, slicing toward me.

  Instinctively, I brought mine up to meet it. Our swords clashed together with a discordant sound, my whole arm jarring with the impact.

  Triumph rushed through me as I grunted and pushed the vizier away, then took two quick steps back, dropping into a natural defensive stance.

  Hope flickered in my core. My body had remembered what to do, even though my mind was empty of the usual flood of instructions from my wish. I’d run these defensive drills so many times with Elian, blocking blows had become second nature.

  I just needed to trust myself. I had trained hard.

  The vizier struck at me again, and just as before, my arms brought my sword up to block her blow almost before my mind had decided what to do.

  My face heated, my arms already shaking with adrenaline and the weight of the ceremonial blade.

  I was going to have to figure out how to finish this fast. I might have retained some muscle memory of my training with Elian, but it was clear that the vizier was as skilled a swordswoman as she was a sorceress.

  “First Kassim,” she breathed menacingly, swiping at me again so that I had to dart sideways, “who I spent years bending to my will, and who you turned to your own in a matter of weeks.”

  She took a step closer, her eyes glittering as we circled each other, waiting to see who would make the next move.

  “Still, although I would have preferred things to have gone differently, his affection for you proved useful in the end.” The vizier continued circling, readjusting her grip on the sword as her lips curled up. “If you hadn’t persuaded him to love you, you’d be useless as a bargaining chip. So there’s that…”

  Anger surged through me, and this time I launched at her with a growl. I swung the sword with both hands, putting as much as my weight behind it as possible.

  She blocked my first blow with a grunt, but I was already swinging again. She only just blocked my second attack.

  The vizier was tall and slender like me, so surely holding such a heavy sword must be tiring her, too? Physically, we were evenly matched. Without the vizier’s magic, whoever tired first would lose. Whoever made the first mistake would die.

  A shadow passed over the vizier’s face as she lurched back, perhaps realizing the same thing. “But then…,” she panted. “Then even Iram seemed charmed by your obstinate ways.”

  My arms burned, my breath hot in my lungs. I charged at the vizier again and our blades met midair, grating against each other as we locked together.

  My jaw set.

  If the vizier thought she could taunt me with words about Kassim, then I could exploit her weaknesses, too.

  “Such a shame for you to have spent so much time in Astaran, away from Iram’s side…” I paused to suck in a breath. “How did it feel, when you got back, to find out he’d given the Order to another sorceress?”

  Hepzibah’s dark eyes narrowed, her lips thinning.

  Our swords swung suddenly swung free and I almost lost my grip. “And if that was hard to discover, what must it feel like to know that he asked me to rule at his side, instead of you?”

  Hepzibah flinched, as if she’d been stung, dropping her guard. I darted forward, using the opportunity to slash at her side.

  She screamed as my sword sliced her arm, a spray of blood filling the air with a pinkish mist.

  “You filthy little...” Her eyes were almost pure black with hatred.

  I took a step back, tense under her venomous glare. Then she hurled her sword at me.

  I yelped, throwing myself to one side and tripping over the discarded jewelry box to land heavily on the floor.

  What is she thinking? Throwing her sword would leave her weaponless. I twisted around, jumping up again. And froze.

  The staff was back in her grasp.

  “Enough of this now.” The vizier shook her head as she struggled to catch her breath. “I’ve indulged you for long enough.”

  “But you said we would–”

  A loud crack sounded. I let out a strangled scream as I felt the bone snap in my right ring finger. My whole body convulsed with pain, but I still didn’t release the sword.

  “You cheat,” I spat out.

  “Perhaps this is the way I’ll end you.” The vizier cocked her head to one side, the staff twitching in her hand. “Bit by bit.”

  A second crack splintered through the air, another finger breaking. This time the sword dropped from my hand, clattering to the marble floor.

  I bit down on my lip hard enough that I tasted blood. Tears streamed down my face. My hand throbbed, the pain streaking up from my fingers.

  “You’re nothing,” the vizier taunted. “The smallest bones in your body broken and you cry like a babe. Kassim and Iram might think you strong, but I know otherwise.”

  Anger seared through my body, momentarily dampening the pain. I took a step forward.

  I stumbled back as I rebounded off an invisible wall.

  What? I put my good hand out, feeling for the boundary that hung in the air. The air surrounding me was faintly blurred, wavering like a mirage but as strong as stone. I spun, feeling around me in a circle, looking for any break in the wall.

  There was none.

  The vizier let out a cold laugh. “You can’t get out, so don’t bother trying.”

  I cradled my injured hand against my chest, looking frantically around for any other means of escape.

  The sword was out of reach. The only thing inside this invisible prison was the jewelry box I’d brought with me. And with the vizier’s magic surrounding me, I couldn’t even throw that at her. I was completely at her mercy.

  It didn’t even matter that I’d bested her with the sword. As long as she could use magic, I could never win a fight against her.

  “You know, before I left for Astaran…” The vizier’s expression grew darker, her teeth bared in a snarl. She took a breath. “I was young and beautiful when I tore myself from Iram’s side to perform this essential task for him. I became vizier to Kassim’s father first. I thought I would be able to get closer to him. Closer than a vizier should be. But he was oddly committed to his sultanah.” Her lips curled into a sneer. “Even after Nayana so tragically passed away, I got nowhere with him. So Iram and I decided it might be better to work with Kassim instead. He was young, and
precocious, and without a father or mother figure…mouldable.”

  The mist of pain cleared enough for me to understand what she was saying. “You killed Kassim’s parents?”

  She smirked.

  I clenched my good hand into a fist, tilting my head back in frustration. Above me, the mirrored ceiling shone brightly.

  Through my fury at what she’d done to Kassim’s family, an idea glimmered to life.

  The vizier took another step closer, her staff pointed directly at me. “You have systematically ruined everything I ever wanted, princess. And after you die, I’ll tell Iram the truth of your motives. He should have never trusted you. I am the only person he can truly trust. The only woman who’s truly dedicated to him.”

  I dropped to the floor, grabbing the heavy jewelry box with my good hand.

  “You deserve each other,” I spat. I met the vizier’s black eyes, willing hatred to shine in my own.

  And then, with every ounce of energy I had left in my body, I hurled the box directly upward.

  It was a gamble. But my invisible prison didn’t have a ceiling.

  The vizier stared, confused.

  The jewelry box met the mirror with a crash.

  Shards of glass rained down, flashing in the golden sunlight. They thundered onto the marble floor, the sound deafening, like hundreds of chimes all sounding at once.

  I dropped to the floor, curling up and wrapping my arms over my head to protect it from the glass. Tiny pieces cut sharp, thin scratches into my skin, before a bigger piece embedded into the back of my hand.

  I screamed, but my voice was barely audible over the shattering glass, more and more shards showering down until, finally, silence fell.

  I lay still, trembling.

  Tentatively, I lifted my head and looked at the wreckage around me.

  My stomach turned.

  In the middle of the room, the vizier’s body lay prostrate on the floor. A huge splinter of glass, as tall as a man, protruded from her back. Blood pooled around her, coating shards of the mirror and the marble floor. Her staff lay discarded at her side.

  I turned, my head spinning, vomit burning the back of my throat.

  My hand pulsed, the ache in my fingers now secondary to the sharp, burning pain from the piece of embedded glass in my hand. Not giving myself time to think, I grasped the piece and wrenched it out, drawing blood from my lower lip again as I stifled a scream, then hastily wrapped my scarf around the wound, binding it tightly to staunch the flow.

  A wave of dizziness washed over me. I bent my head low, focusing on the floor as I waited for the sensation to pass, for the world to stop swimming before my eyes.

  Slowly, the shards of glass came back into focus. But when it did, I almost vomited again.

  Reflected in the glass, I could see the distorted reflection of the sultan walking toward me.

  And although I’d shattered the mirror, Tarak still hadn’t appeared.

  Chapter Thirty

  My hand throbbed as I held it out before me, doing my best to examine it by the dim light of the candles flickering outside my cell. The bleeding under the scarf had stopped, but the pain had not. I gingerly ran my other, undamaged hand over it, tracing the fingers that hadn’t been broken, trying to feel whether the wound had swollen since I couldn’t make out the shape of it in the dark.

  It felt hot. Did that mean it was healing? Or that infection had started setting in?

  I lowered my head to my knees, pulling them closer to my chest with a shiver. My hand was the only warm thing on my body. There was nothing to take the chill from the air, not even a blanket or some straw lining the stone floor. The cell was nothing more than a hollow in the rock, bars lining the opening.

  I could stand the cold better than the dark, though. I guessed the dungeons were on the servants’ side of the palace, which backed against the mountain. Who knew how far underground I was, but any natural light had faded quickly as I’d been marched from the airy, bright ballroom, through the winding, marble corridors, and into the depths of the palace.

  I hadn’t expected to find it so disorientating, but only now did I realize how heavily I depended on the sky to tell me the time of day or night. Or even which day it was. I didn’t think I’d been here long, but how would I know without the rise and fall of the sun and moon to tell me?

  I bit down hard on my lip, overwhelmed with longing for the huge, desert skies of home, cloudless and shimmering with heat by day, cooling to reveal a glittering diamond carpet at night.

  I began to shake.

  I had failed. I had been brought here as a bargaining chip to use against Kassim. But instead of spending my time trying to convince Iram that Kassim was nothing like his ancestors, that he wouldn’t leave Phoenitia to starve or fend off the azhdaha by themselves, I had wasted my time trying to outmaneuver him.

  I had just been so sure that if I could use the spirits, I would be able to wish my way home. That I’d be able to find the Book of Names before the sultan and return to Astaran triumphant, with the information we needed to free the spirits and nullify Iram’s power.

  Something clenched painfully in my chest. Iram might already be on his way to retrieve the book. And now, locked in a cell, I had no chance whatsoever of warning anyone what he was going to do.

  He would find the book before Kassim had ever even heard of Mount Adsurra, and then he would have absolute control over the spirits from the Cave of Wonders.

  Maybe he really would bring down the mountains, as the Order had prophesized he would.

  And it was all my fault.

  I pulled my knees even closer to my chest, squeezing my eyes shut as hot tears pushed their way out and rolled down my cheeks.

  I should never have tried to face the vizier. I’d seen before how useless I was in the face of her magic. How useless I was in the face of any magic. I’d always depended on Tarak, and now he was working for my enemy.

  It’s my fault. My own arrogance, my determination to fix everything myself… Iram would have never have found out the Book of Names still existed if I hadn’t told him.

  And now it was too late.

  I awoke to the distant sound of a metal door screeching open, my head still groggy with fitful sleep.

  I hastily sat up, my right hand shrieking in pain as I automatically pressed it against the floor. Cradling it against my chest, I forced myself to take deep breaths, trying to get the pain under control.

  “You think that cut on your hand and a few broken bones is the worst that could have happened?” Iram leaned against the wall just outside my cell, a blurred, shadowy figure in the low light.

  His voice trembled with fury, but relief flooded through me. He hasn’t left to find the book yet.

  I shifted and forced myself to meet his eyes, giving him my most regal stare. “Sultan–”

  “Hepzibah is dead because of you.” The sultan moved closer, gripping the bars of my cell. He was dressed in his usual black, a huge, amethyst medallion clattering against the bars as it swung forward from where it hung around his neck.

  I flinched at his raw voice, his red-rimmed, anguished eyes. I swallowed. “I didn’t mean–”

  “You killed her.” His voice shook. “You stabbed a blade of glass through her. She died long before she bled out, long before the Order could save her…” His face twisted into an ugly sneer before crumpling into a lost, frantic look. “I should have just listened to her instead of testing you.”

  “T-testing me?”

  He shot me a hateful glare. “You think I would blindly trust you based on a few choice bits of information you were willing to share after you were caught communing with the spirit? It was Suna’s idea to use that Khirideshi servant in the Order to test you. He was instructed to tell you that you could free a spirit by breaking the object it’s bound to. She said if you were not to be trusted, you’d run straight back to free the spirit in the mirror. Hepzi was right about you the whole time…” Iram choked out a sob, “and I didn
’t believe her…”

  A chill spread through me at my own stupidity in believing I had persuaded Iram to trust me over the vizier. Just because Kassim had.

  And Suna… She was even more calculating than I feared.

  I swallowed. “So you can’t free a spirit by breaking the object?”

  Iram’s expression turned hateful again. “Of course not! It takes more than brute force to release the bonds of magic.”

  “But I broke the mirror…” My thoughts seemed to be coming slowly.

  The sultan made an impatient clicking noise with his tongue. “And Hepzi said you were smart. We bound the spirit to something else the moment we realized you’d discovered him in the mirror.” He put a hand to the amethyst medallion around his neck.

  My eyes narrowed, outrage replacing the cold dread that had pooled in my stomach. “Tarak is not some animal to be moved from pen to pen as you will it–”

  “Come, Zadie.” The sultan’s lip lifted into a sneer. “You don’t truly believe that. You don’t even know Tarak’s true name.”

  I dropped my gaze. “Lalana does,” I said quietly.

  “As much good as it will do her.”

  I glared at him. “Fine. So you know I would have freed Tarak if I’d been able to. Can you blame me? You’re trying to destroy Astaran. The kingdom that belongs to…to the man I love.” In spite of everything, it felt good to say it again, lighting a fire in my chest.

  I love Kassim. I won’t pretend otherwise any longer.

  “Zadie,” Iram said in a soft, cold voice, “I no longer care what I ought to blame you for. You’ve already given me everything I wanted.”

  The cold feeling returned, ice sliding down my spine.

  “I did my best, Zadie. In spite of the fact you were betrothed to my enemy, I gave you the finest rooms in the palace, which the late Sultanah of Phoenitia once slept in. I clothed you, fed you, extended every courtesy I would to a guest. I explained my country’s history, told you why we need to fight back against our enemies in the south. I extended the hand of friendship, offering you everything you told me you wanted. I was generous.”