Throne of Shadows

by Emma Fenton

  Vili stood up and spread his arms wide. “On this historic day, Helhath will name its next queen. The two princesses will fight in a demonstration of strength and will to prove their worth. Princess Jaya.” At this, Jaya stepped forward, raising her right fist as the crowd cheered for her. “And Princess Ria.”

  Ria stepped forward. Murmurs broke out among the nobles as they took in her outfit. Women rarely wore pants in Helhath, and when they did, their tunics were always to-the-knee. It was scandalous for Ria to wear something so revealing of her figure, but she could not find it in herself to care. Nor did she attempt to rally the crowd as Jaya had done. Instead, she waited for the Council to give the word with a grim face. She was here to win, but she would not make herself their entertainment.

  Vili looked like he might die from the shock of Ria wearing pants, and so Nasir stood in his place. “May the goddess Ellura of life and the god Masmo of death choose their contenders.”

  A polite way of saying that one of us will die, Ria thought. She spared a brief thought for the gods, a silent prayer that they would not be mad at her for what she had done. And for what she was about to do. They were supposed to keep the balance. They were supposed to decide who lived and who died. But Ria had taken fate into her own hands the moment she had summoned a demon. Please forgive me.

  Nasir nodded at Jaya and Ria. “Begin.”

  Ria knew it was coming, but Jaya was still so fast. The knives were in her hands and swinging mere seconds after Nasir’s command, leaving Ria to stumble backward, only just keeping her footing. The blades sliced through the air with a hiss, narrowly missing Ria’s cheek. Ria drew her own weapon and held it in front of her. Jaya circled, just watching. Looking for an opportunity.

  Adrenaline was already coursing through Ria’s veins and the pit of nerves in her stomach doubled. Everything was so sharp, in focus: the sand shifting beneath her boots, Jaya’s blades hanging deceptively still by her sides, the jeers of the crowd. Jaya lunged forward again, apparently tired of waiting for Ria to make a move. She sliced up with her blades, and Ria caught the edge with her broadsword, deflecting it. Ria parried quickly, doing her best to keep Jaya at a distance, but it was hard. Jaya was too fast and too good at keeping Ria on the defensive. Ria was so busy blocking that she didn’t have time to launch an attack of her own.

  Move, a voice inside her said, and she did, attempting to match Jaya’s dance of movements. She found a rhythm—even Jaya’s fighting was not without its occasional predictability—and even got a few good swings in, her sword connecting on more than one occasion with Jaya’s armor. But it wasn’t enough. Her sword would never pierce the plate metal or the chain mail, and she wasn’t landing the blows with enough force to throw Jaya off balance. Rather, she lunged forward too far, feet sliding on the sand, and Jaya’s knife skimmed the surface of her bicep.

  Warm, wet blood trickled from the wound as Ria scrambled back, the crowd’s cheers roaring in her ears. First blood, she thought grimly. Not fatal, at least.

  Jaya had paused to observe her handiwork. It was a shallow cut, barely more than a scratch, but it plastered Ria’s shirt to her arm and stained the fabric dark. Ria swallowed down her rising panic. I’ve made the first mistake and it could have killed me, she thought, first with terror and then with growing rage. Where in the hells is that demon? The filthy, lying, cheating bastard.

  She raised her sword again, a slight tremor in her hands. Jaya would have been a fool not to notice. They resumed their dance, metal clashing and echoing in the arena. Ria was grateful for her pants; they did not tangle around her legs or create resistance as she moved, though she had to admit that Jaya was not letting her skirt inconvenience her in the slightest. Jaya twirled and slashed with all her usual grace, seemingly uninhibited by the armor or the heat.

  As for herself, Ria was beginning to feel the weight of the sword in her hand. It wasn’t very heavy but swinging it around was taking a toll on her muscles and her grip strength. And the sweat. Her whole body felt like a wet noodle, slick and unpleasantly warm. Sweat dripped from her forehead into her eye, but she could not spare even a second to wipe it away. She lunged forward almost blindly, and by some miracle managed to slash a small, shallow wound across Jaya’s thigh.

  Both girls stopped, shocked. Jaya pressed her hand to the wound and it came away red. A lot of red. The older girl stared at Ria, mouth agape, for only a second before her entire face morphed into something hideously furious. She let out an inhuman growl and lunged forward again, faster than before. Jaya moved with ease, unbothered by the cut on her leg as if her anger blocked out the pain.

  Ria realized almost immediately that Jaya had only been toying with her before, giving her the illusion of an almost-even match. Jaya, now fueled by her fury, was an unstoppable storm. Ria blocked one hit only to have to twist her body the next instant to dodge another. Jaya was relentless, never once stopping her assault. She caught the edge of Ria’s sword with her knife, twisted, and disarmed her, sending the sword flying several paces to the right.

  No, Ria thought even as she scrambled to dodge the fury of Jaya’s blades. No. Gods help me. Swipe. A thin cut appeared on Ria’s cheek. She didn’t have time to note anything more than the sting and the immediate warmth of the wound before she was ducking again, twisting and dodging. Swipe. A miss. Swipe. Her shoulder was cut. Swipe. Her arm. Swipe. Another miss, but Jaya was still pushing forward. Ria dodged and looked around for her sword. It was only a few paces away. If she could just get a little closer, maybe she could make a dive for it.

  A sudden searing pain in her right shoulder pulled a shout from her. She fell to the sand hard, one of Jaya’s knives lodged in her flesh. Her body landed with a thud that knocked the breath from her lungs, the sand hot against her skin and sun bright in her eyes. A tall shadow stood over her. Jaya.

  I’m going to die today, she thought, rage gathering in her chest, and when I get to hell, I will track that demon down and make him suffer. If it’s going to be my hell, it will be his too.

  “I always knew it would end like this,” Jaya said with mock pity. “You’ve been weak your whole life, Ria. Useless. From the moment you were born, I knew.”

  Her shoulder screamed in agony, but a silver shimmer in her periphery caught her eye. Her sword. It was just out of reach, and she could never get to it with Jaya watching so closely. She needed a distraction. Even if it was just for a second.

  “Mikhael knew it too,” Jaya taunted, drawing Ria’s attention back to her. “The Council knows it. That’s what brought us here. You’re worth more dead than alive.”

  The knife. The knife in her shoulder. She could use it, but she’d have to be quick. It would hurt, oh gods, would it hurt. But she might just buy herself the time she needed. Just a second. That’s all it would take.

  “It’s a mercy to Helhath that I get to kill you. You would ruin this country.” Jaya looked around at the stands for a moment as if imagining what horror Helhath might look like under Ria’s rule.

  This was her moment. With a vicious tug, Ria yanked the knife out of her shoulder and stabbed it into Jaya’s soft-booted foot. Jaya shouted in pain and Ria rolled, her hand wrapping around the hilt of her sword. From the corner of her eye, Ria could see that Jaya was starting to move, so she hauled herself to her feet.

  She could barely hold the sword. Her wounded shoulder protested the weight, and the exhaustion from the fight was taking hold. Ria knew her stance was off, her body weak. Yes, she had gotten her sword back, but what good would it do her? If Jaya lunged at her again, Ria didn’t think she could block it or even dodge.

  Jaya pulled her own knife out of her foot and screamed at Ria. Her eyes were wild, knives flashing dangerously in her hands. She limped forward, teeth bared like a wild animal.

  This is it. Now we see who has the Dead Man’s card, she thought, slowly raising her sword. As she did so, a wave of warm, tingling magic washed over her. It spread through her body like a wildfire, filling her limbs with st
rength. It was more power than she’d ever felt before, more strength than her body could have ever naturally possessed. The sword felt like a feather in her hand. The pain in body was numbed.

  The demon had come at last.

  Jaya lurched forward, unbalanced on her wounded foot, but Ria dodged with ease and swiped down with her sword, knocking one knife from Jaya’s hand. The other knife came up in a quick arc. Ria was ready for that one too and caught Jaya’s wrist. Her grip was bone-crushing—Jaya’s wrist audibly snapped under Ria’s inhuman strength—and she twisted, forcing Jaya to drop the other knife.

  Jaya scrambled to fight back, but it was feeble. Ria was too strong now that she was imbued with the demon’s power, and she brought Jaya to her knees with a forceful shove. Jaya stared up at her, fearful for the first time. Shocked.

  “But you—” she started to say, but Ria would not make Jaya’s mistakes. She would not talk, would not give her enemy an opportunity to escape.

  She drove her sword through Jaya’s neck.

  Blood bubbled out of Jaya’s mouth as she gaped like a fish. She gasped for air for a few fleeting seconds before the light faded from her eyes. She toppled to the ground, a lifeless ragdoll. Ria pulled her sword from her sister’s body, closed her eyes for a moment, and said a prayer. A prayer of thanks for her own life, and for Jaya. No matter how much she hated her sister, neither of them should have been forced to die like that. Like it was sport.

  The entire arena was silent as Ria came to stand before the Council, bloody sword dragging in the sand behind her. The power was slowly seeping from her body, but she had enough energy to stand straight and look the Council in the eyes. They stared at her, wide eyed and open mouthed. And afraid.

  Good, she thought viciously. Let them fear me.

  For so long, they had looked down on her. They had treated her like a child. They had acted as if she was clueless, ignorant, incapable of making decisions for herself. They would have been glad to be rid of her. Ria would not forget that. She would not forgive them, either.

  Finally, after a long, awful silence, Vili stood up, shaky. “Honoria is the victor. Long live the queen.”

  The crowd clapped and cheered around her, feet stamping loudly in the stands. How fickle they are. How quickly they change their favor. She turned in a slow circle, eyes scanning the whole crowd. Commoners were paying up, exchanging money in a quick flurry of flashing gold and silver coins. Standing on the outskirts of the crowd, a tall figure in black stared back at her, a smirk playing at his lips. He gave her a shallow, mocking bow, never once breaking eye contact.

  Ria blinked, and the demon was gone.

  She turned back to face the Council once more and caught the Elder Scholar’s gaze. His eyebrows raised to the top of his forehead and he gave her a look that said, “We’ll be talking about this later.”

  She looked away. Whatever reprimand the Elder Scholar had for her, she could take it. She was alive. She had managed to defeat Jaya. The worst of it was over.

  Chapter Seven

  What now? Ria thought as she looked in the mirror. Blood was speckled across her face like freckles. She dipped a washrag in the water basin on her table and dragged it across her skin. The red smeared but did not come off completely. She tried again.

  For all the thought that she’d put in to preparing for her fight with Jaya, Ria had never really considered what she would do if she won. She was queen now, or at least, she would be after the coronation that afternoon. It was strange to think about. She was the last of the Ramadani line, a bloodline of royals that went back for centuries. She was going to be queen of Helhath, something she’d never considered possible in all nineteen years of her life.

  The bath that Sofi had drawn for her was finally ready. Ria peeled her battle clothes from her body and left them in a heap on the floor. They were ruined: bloodstained and sweat-soaked and torn beyond repair. She sunk into the warm bathwater, wincing as it stung against her cuts. Master Ameer had stopped her on her way out of the arena to look at her shoulder, and after a quick, burning cleanse—purportedly to fight infection—he’d stitched it up and told her that it would be fine if she didn’t move it too much and tear out the stitching. The other shallower cuts hadn’t needed to be sewn up, though the Elder Scholar had given her a tube of paste that would keep them from getting infected.

  Ria was careful as she dabbed the wounds clean and wiped the blood from her body, slowly turning the water in the bathtub light red. She watched the dried blood slide off her skin with a detached fascination. She watched her skin become clean again, but even as she stood from the tub and dried herself, she felt stained.

  I killed someone, she tried telling herself, but it didn’t fully register. She was numb to it, almost like it was something she’d read about in a book. Something that somebody else had done. Except, of course, she had the memory of her sword going through Jaya’s throat.

  “My Queen?” Sofi’s voice, soft and full of concern, cut through Ria’s thoughts. The servant girl had entered the room and was frowning at Ria. “Is something the matter?”

  Ria was about to say no, everything was absolutely fine, when she felt a sharp sting from the cut on her cheek. She lifted her hand to her face and it came away wet. She was crying. Why hadn’t she noticed she was crying? She wiped the tears from her eyes, sniffled once, and straightened.

  “I’m fine,” she said, though her voice was shaky. “It’s just my shoulder. It’s quite sore.”

  That was not a lie, per se. It ached horribly, and any movement sent a fresh throb of pain through her arm and neck. Getting dressed for the coronation is going to be a nightmare. But it had been hurting since the fight, and Ria knew that the pain wasn’t the reason she was crying. Sofi seemed to buy it, however, if her sympathetic grimace was anything to go by.

  “Should I fetch the Elder Scholar?” she asked, wringing her hands. “I don’t know much about wounds. Perhaps there is something he could give you to alleviate the pain?”

  Ria waved Sofi off. “No, no. I’ll be fine. Let’s just get this coronation over with so I can rest.”

  At this Sofi’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t know what they were thinking,” she said. Her usually soft, brown eyes were alight with fury. “Having you go through a long ceremony right after that ordeal. You must be exhausted.”

  They expected Jaya to win within the first minute, Ria wanted to say. They never thought the fight would take as long as it did, and they never thought I’d come out of it alive.

  Instead Ria nodded in agreement. “I suppose they just wanted it done with as quickly as possible. It’s not good for Helhath to be without an official monarch for so long.”

  The door to Ria’s room banged open again, and a petite, middle-aged woman scurried into the room, dwarfed entirely by the huge gold monstrosity draped over her arms. Ria recognized the woman as Jaya’s handmaid. The older woman set the golden fabric on Ria’s bed, and then looked up at the new queen, hands clenching and unclenching.

  “Ah…there’s, well, it’s a bit of an issue,” the woman said, speaking quickly and nearly stumbling over her words. “But I’m sure it can be fixed. Yes. I’m sure it can.”

  Sofi went over to the woman and ran her hands over the woman’s arms in a soothing gesture. “Iman, calm yourself. What is the problem?”

  The older woman looked between Sofi and Ria fearfully. She’s used to dealing with my sister. Anger burned through her. She wondered if Jaya had ever hurt this poor woman. Probably.

  “There is a problem with the gown,” Ria guessed, intentionally keeping her voice soft. The woman, Iman, widened her eyes, lip trembling. She clutched her hands together at her chest. Ria tried to give her a kind smile. “It’s alright. Just tell me what’s wrong with it.”

  The older woman looked no less panicked. “It’s just…well, the dress…it might not fit you, your majesty.”

  So, it was made for Jaya, Ria thought bitterly. She was not surprised. If she’d thoug
ht about it, she knew she would have expected it, but as it was, she’d had very little time to think about gowns and ceremonies lately. Jaya had been taller than Ria and proportioned differently enough that Iman was probably right; the gold dress would not fit properly.

  Ria nodded, trying to keep her face impassive despite the anger she felt towards the Council. They were so presumptuous. Their faith in Jaya was coming back to bite them in the ass. They’d attempted, however poorly, to convince Ria that they were impartial. Now she had proof that they were not.

  “It is no problem,” Ria said, and she watched as Iman breathed a sigh of relief. She would have to find a way to convince this woman no harm would come to her now that Jaya was dead, or else the poor woman’s nerves were going to combust. “The gown is lovely, but it is more to my sister’s tastes than mine.”

  The gown was opulent: made of golden sea-silk and shimmery in the candlelight, embroidered with threads of what looked like real gold, and studded with an array of gemstones. It probably weighed almost as much as Ria herself, which would have hurt even without all her injuries. The whole gown seemed to scream, I am the queen. And that was precisely why Ria would not wear it.

  “Sofi, I will wear the red gown,” she said. “You know the one.”

  The girl frowned for a moment. “It will show your shoulder, though.”

  “That is part of the point.” Ria was not going to hide her battle wounds. She would remind them all how she had gotten to the throne. Perhaps it would remind them not to underestimate her again. She turned to Iman. “I have no use for that gown. Do what you will with it. Keep it, even. I am sure some of those gemstones could fetch a good price.”

  Iman gaped at her. “Your majesty?”

  “It’s yours, Iman,” Ria repeated. She gave the older woman a short nod to dismiss her.