Dawn of Cobalt Shadows (Burning Empire Book 2)

by Emma Hamm

  “Thank you for the warning.” Solomon bowed low and deep. “Now go back to your pretty, golden throne. I have a blade waiting to taste your blood.”

  Nadir turned and left the room. He didn’t need the torch, his eyes adjusted in the dark hallway easily enough. Regardless, he wasn’t interested in letting anyone know where he was.

  His footsteps thundered in tune to his heartbeat. Was he really going through with this? Was he going to let someone else sit in his rightful place, the place he’d earned through blood only?

  The door to the throne room creaked when he opened it, and eyes from beyond stared at him with interest. They wanted to know what the Sultan was doing sulking in the hallways. Another rumor would fly from the mouths of nobles throughout the kingdoms saying they had never thought him normal.

  He wanted to walk away and have no one recognize him. Just for a few moments in his life.

  Heart pounding a rhythm in his chest, Nadir made his way back to the throne and sat down upon it.

  Abdul leaned over and hissed, “Where have you been? People were talking.”

  “Let them talk.”

  “Everyone here is waiting for you to pass judgement. When you waste their time, you waste the time of the kingdom. Or have you forgotten all that I taught you?”

  “I haven’t forgotten, advisor,” he snapped. Waving an imperious hand, he gestured to the guard holding back a teeming line of people who were already trying to push forward. “Let them through. Who would like to hear the sultan’s words?”

  A man stepped forward, but he couldn’t focus on what his subject said. His palms were sweaty. Waiting for pain was almost as bad as the moment when he would feel it.

  They hadn’t talked about where this wound would fall. His pride couldn’t have something that would scar him for the rest of his life. And yet, it had to be convincing enough for him to cover his face for a prolonged period.

  Nadir realized in that moment he’d been a fool. No matter what, he was about to change his own features forever. The wound must be believable. Which meant, it had to be bad.

  A whistling sound was the only precursor to the blinding pain that sliced across his face. Nadir couldn’t guess what the Qatal assassin had done to him. All he could focus on was the white hot ache that spread from his forehead, slashed diagonally down his right eye, and onto his cheek.

  Gods, what had he agreed to?

  Everyone burst into motion. Abdul shouted for the guards to find the person who had attacked the sultan, that they needed to have the person beheaded immediately. Four of his personal guards raced forward to circle him, their swords raised toward the crowd as if the peasants were the ones who had done this.

  The screams of his concubines rang in the halls like the shouts of precious birds. They were ushered out of the room by the rest of his advisors, and someone grabbed his arm.

  “Sultan, we need to move.”

  He let the guard lift him by the elbow and forced his legs to move. He pressed his other hand against his face.

  Nadir drew his hand away when they left the throne room and stared down in horror at the amount of blood coating his fingers and running down his wrist. Was there supposed to be that much blood?

  He could only see out of one eye. There was too much blood dripping into it. Or maybe the damned assassin had taken the eye entirely.

  “In here, Sultan,” the guard at his elbow said. He was steered into another room, set roughly down onto a cushioned seat, and then pushed down onto his elbow. “There’s water in front of you. Splash your face so I can see the damage.”

  “There’s koi fish in the ponds. I’ll get an infection.”

  “Just do it.”

  Who dared—? Ah. The thought sparked in his mind. How in the hell had the assassin managed so quickly to not only find a guard’s uniform and armor, but also be the one to get him out of the room? Were his soldiers so poorly trained?

  “You?” Nadir grunted, leaning down and cupping the crystal clear water with one hand. “How did you manage that?”

  “You’re really underestimating the Alqatara. Splash, now. I want to make sure I didn’t do too much damage.”

  “Where are the other guards?”

  “Probably still marching down the halls and scaring people. They won’t notice you’ve left for a few moments more. Which means we need to switch clothes immediately.”

  Nadir watched blood stream into the clear water and wondered what he’d done. He’d put the keys to the kingdom in the hands of a very capable man, but also didn’t know where to even start with trusting him. He’d stolen armor and then managed to hide Nadir from the entire palace.

  Who was this man?

  Solomon reached out, grasped his chin, and jerked Nadir to face him. Surveying the damage, the Qatal grunted. “It’s not as bad as I thought.”

  “For an assassin, you’ve terrible aim.”

  “I did exactly what I wanted. You turned at the last second. If someone is aiming for your face with a blade, don’t move next time.”

  “I didn’t know when you were going to throw the blade. Was I supposed to stand like a statue and not move? That wouldn’t have made everyone suspicious.”

  Solomon grunted, then pulled him to his feet. “Take off your clothes, Sultan.”

  “I bet you’ve waited your entire life to say those words.”

  “Don’t make me put a knife in your gut as well just to make things more convincing.”

  Glaring at each other, they both removed their outer layers as quickly as possible and swapped clothing.

  Nadir smoothed his hand down the worn leather armor and the metal plates that covered the most vulnerable parts of the body. He knew this armor like a second skin. He’d spent years preparing to lead the armies, to fight and grow comfortable with weight on his body. As a child, he’d been a wiry scamp who had wrestled with the other boys just to prove a point. He was stronger. He was better.

  He would become the personal guard of the sultan and right hand to the man who ruled the empire. When blood needed to flow, he would have been the one to open the dam. And now, look at him. Wasting away on a throne, because someone had told him that his brother was poisoned. Because someone thought it was a good idea to try and wipe out the line.

  “It fits you just fine,” Solomon grunted, pulling out the knife and handing it to Nadir. “I know you can’t see what your own looks like, but anything close enough will do. The blood covered up most of it. You’re a spurter, you know.”

  “Don’t move,” Nadir snarled as he moved forward to cut Solomon as well. “I’m going to enjoy this a little too much.”

  Solomon caught his hand as he moved forward. “There’s a pack hidden behind the largest boulder next to the back gate of the castle. It has extra food, water, clothing, and a salve which will stop the bleeding of that wound. Travel south, as far as you can possibly go. The Alqatara will find you.”

  “I’ll fly, thank you.”

  “Don’t. Someone is bound to see you, and that’ll get back to the castle. You cannot shift until you’re as far from the city as possible. Do you hear me?”

  The man wasn’t wrong. Someone was definitely going to see him if he flew, and then what would he do? Even Nadir couldn’t fly fast enough to stop his advisors from beheading Solomon and then the Alqatara were likely to start a civil war. All the work he’d done in the kingdom would be destroyed that easily.

  So, Nadir nodded. “Understood. It would be wise not to.”

  “Good, I’m glad we see eye to eye on that.” Solomon's fingers squeezed tight on Nadir’s wrist. “Be careful, Sultan of Bymere. The path you walk will bring you to things you never thought could exist. To people you never even dreamed were real. The Alqatara are not like the legends, they are much more.”

  “And you be careful as well, Qatal. It’s not called the Red Palace because of the stones it was built out of. Many people have found their death here, and many more will. Keep your mouth shut.”

 
And with that, Nadir drew the blade down the other man’s face, turned on his heel, and ran from the room toward an unknown future.

  11

  Sigrid

  The high-pitched whistle of wind threaded through the cavern like the sound of a flute. It rivaled the greatest musician in Hallmar’s castle. The one he’d brought from a far off land, because he loved the sound of her music so dearly. Of course, Sigrid had always thought it helped that the woman was a willowy creature who looked like one of the mythical women made of mist who lured men into swamps. Never to return.

  She sat cross-legged in the center of the cave, hands on her knees, breath even and deep. Her eyes had drifted shut long ago. Sigrid could hear better if her eyes didn’t give away the source of the sound. She could feel the wind on her skin and the movement of things around her far more reliably if she didn’t know where they were coming from.

  A deep gurgle rocked through the earth as ice shifted all around her. It was the bass grunt of a troll, hidden far in the forests and away from prying human eyes.

  Her wet clothing hung from a branch she’d crisscrossed over the mouth of the cave. Wind brushed through them, the leather flapping like the wings of a great bird.

  Fire crackled around her, but the soft pops were far more comforting to her than any other sound. She knew the way fire moved. She knew it’s taste, its sound, the way it touched her skin in a caress none had ever been able to mimic.

  She’d built the fire as high as it could possibly go, then taken off her clothes, spread them out to dry, and sat down in the center of the bonfire. The dragon in her spread its wings and let the heat sink into every part of its body. Sigrid herself finally felt warm for the first time in what felt like months.

  This was where she was supposed to be. Deep within the arms of an ancient thing, impossible to ever understand. The elements were far beyond the minds of humans. Beyond the minds of Beastkin. None knew where the gods had gotten such things, but none should question such gifts.

  It was an honor to have them. She would never forget that.

  One of the embers near her right knee snapped. It popped off the log and fell tumbling to the stone floor, rolling and rolling until it came to a hard stop.

  That wasn’t right. Sigrid tilted her head to the side but kept her eyes closed. The ember should have continued to roll. There was a steep incline in the cave that brought it out to the mouth. She should have heard the continued movement, then the soft crunch of snow, the sizzle of water as it met a burning creation of the gods.

  What else could she hear? The wind hadn’t changed or shifted around a form that stood in the mouth of the cave. She hadn’t heard the fabric of her clothing hush as someone pushed them aside.

  It was possible someone had come through the other end of the cave. She hadn’t closed the mouth of the previous place. If someone was daring enough to squeeze through the same route she had, then they were brave enough to face her in battle.

  Sigrid’s fingers inched to the side just slightly, still on her thighs, but ready to lunge for her sword if she needed it.

  “Who are you?” she said, her voice a whispering thread that snaked through the cave.

  The wind touched upon something. It rattled against the gentle movement, two or three items clinking softly against each other.

  When no one responded, Sigrid tried again. “I can hear you.”

  “Your eyes aren’t open.” The voice was the rustling of reeds in a stream bed. Deep for a woman, but still softened by the years. Not quite dangerous, certainly not accusing, but still strong enough to give Sigrid pause.

  “I don’t need my eyes to see you, visitor.”

  “You are the visitor here, Beastkin. Open your eyes and see who has come to greet you.”

  Slowly, she blinked her eyes open and stared at the mouth of the cave.

  A woman stood there, appearing unlike any female Sigrid had ever seen before. She wore furred boots, dark and nearly black. A loincloth split open down the sides of her legs, revealing pale thighs painted with dark blue stripes. Her torso was surprisingly uncovered. Nothing but long, black hair parted to cover her breasts.

  Skulls dangled from a rope around her waist. Small creatures mostly, what looked like rats and perhaps a few felines. One delicate hand rested on the top skull, her fingernails overly long and jagged at the ends.

  But it was nothing the woman wore which captivated Sigrid’s attention. It was the large mask which covered the woman’s face.

  One large horn created an arch over the woman’s head. Two more hung from the arch, seemingly held in place by silver hooks, dangling beside her ears like the finest of jewelry. The wooden mask over the top half of her face had no features. Only red paint that made it appear garishly created.

  The bottom half of her mouth was revealed, and the lips curved into a smile. “Have you looked your fill, Beastkin?”

  “There are no eye holes in your mask,” she murmured. “How did you know my eyes were closed?”

  “I do not need eyes to see either.”

  Sigrid unfolded her legs, stretching her toes out, then stood. “Who are you?”

  “I think you already know.”

  She didn’t have the faintest idea. There weren’t supposed to be locals living this far out, and she couldn’t imagine any person would willingly live in this forsaken place. That left only one answer, and it was one she didn’t want to entertain.

  Had Camilla been right? Sigrid had searched for the ancients what felt like forever. She’d traveled through this damned snow, nearly died on a mountain peak, only to find the ancients were… this?

  The other woman tilted her head to the side, mimicking Sigrid’s movement before, and then smiled. The firelight sparkled on something in the woman’s teeth. Upon closer inspection, Sigrid could see that the woman had bored holes through all her front teeth. Tiny stones were inlaid in the holes.

  “You know who I am,” the mysterious creature whispered. “Why won’t you admit it to yourself?”

  “You can’t be one of the creatures I’ve searched for.”

  “Why not?”

  Sigrid had no answer. A part of her wanted to shout that it was because this odd, strange creature looked so unlike Sigrid. She wouldn’t be caught dead in clothing like that, or wearing body paint, or having strange animal skulls clinking at her waist.

  Perhaps the woman was a mind reader as well. She reached down to the skull at the top, a large rat skull, and brought it to her ear. “What’s that Grim? You think she’s frightened of us?”

  “I am frightened of nothing.”

  “Then you are frightened of everything. True warriors know there is much to fear in this world. They let the emotion wash through them, like waves through sea kelp. They do not let fear rule their minds because they live alongside it. To not accept your own fears is to let them run rampant in your mind.”

  Sigrid hesitated. She didn’t know what to say to this strange creature. What could one ask? This couldn’t be the ancient of old, and yet, it seemed as though she might be.

  Knowing the woman couldn’t see her, she gestured back at the paintings far beyond the twisting cave. “Did you paint those?”

  “No.”

  “Who did?”

  “No one knows. Some old Beastkin who found their way to see us long ago. Perhaps one who had already met us and was trying to return home. I’m certain his bones linger here, along with the spirit who walks beside you.”

  A cold chill sent gooseflesh all down Sigrid’s arms. “Spirit?”

  “There are many who walk beside you, but one appears to be newer than all the others.” The woman muttered something else Sigrid couldn’t catch under her breath, then strode toward her.

  She forced herself to remain still as the strange creature snatched at the air over her shoulders. More mutterings revealed the woman was speaking in a tongue Sigrid did not know. Over and over again the woman tugged at a world Sigrid couldn’t see. And strangely enough, she felt h
erself growing lighter.

  Eventually, the woman muttered in the common tongue, “Let go, you old fools. She’s made her way to us at last, we’ll take care of her from here. Off with you.”

  “Who are you talking to?” she asked.

  “The souls who guided you here. Spirit guides, seekers of truth if you will. They wanted you to come here just as they wanted me to find you. They were the ones who told me you were in this cave, after all. But they’re foolish things who speak too loudly. One can’t think when they’re all muttering over each other.” She dashed away the last one, then lifted the skull to Sigrid’s eyes. “Look into Grim, and see your future.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  “Some don’t want to see the future, because they’re afraid of it. Others, because they already know the path they walk will be a difficult one. Which one are you, Sigrid of Wildewyn? Daughter of Freydis the White?”

  It was the first time in many years she’d heard her mother’s name. Earthen folk didn’t like to say the name of their relatives who no longer walked the earth. They thought it would bring their souls back in times when they should be resting.

  “Freydis,” she repeated, the word white and effervescent on her tongue. “You know my mother’s name.”

  “And you had nearly forgotten it. Grim gave it back to you, not me.”

  Sigrid’s eyes flicked down to the rat’s skull and recoiled when she saw the black smoke deep in the creature’s eye sockets. “What is that?”

  “Old magic. Ancient magic that you should not touch. I told him that, but he wanted to meet you more than anything else.”

  “Why?” Sigrid stared at the swirling mass inside the skull and wondered if she was still asleep. This wasn’t possible. People could turn into animals, their clothing remaining intact, certainly. But that didn’t mean all magic was possible… did it?

  “You’ll have to ask him.”

  “I don’t want to talk to your rat.”

  “He’s not a rat,” the woman replied, cupping the skull close to her bare chest. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll explain it all to her in due time. But first, we have to get her out of the cave.”