by Rena Barron
“How dare you!” Prince Derane says, pressing a hand over his heart to show offense.
The crowd throws around so many accusations that I can’t keep track of them.
The gong rings atop the coliseum and a contingent of gendars marches into the courtyard. I go still as the first brush of anti-magic pricks against my skin. But the feeling pales in comparison to the wild hope that flares inside me at the sight of Rudjek.
He makes his way through the crowd on horseback with Kira and Majka riding on his heels. All three wear fancy elaras of fitted tunics and matching pants. Majka in royal blue, Kira in black, and Rudjek in white and gold silks, the Vizier’s colors. His elara is even more beautiful than the one he wore at his Coming of Age Ceremony. A flush of warmth creeps into my cheeks. It’s only been a few weeks since we last saw each other, but, oh, how I’ve missed him.
Rudjek’s obsidian eyes find me and seem to say that things will be okay—that I only have to trust him. His horse stops abruptly, and he frowns, looking decidedly annoyed. I bite back a smile at seeing him so out of his element. Kira leans close to him and mumbles something. Rudjek nods as he tightens his grip on the reins and nudges the horse. This time the horse walks forward until the three of them reach the center of the crowd. I notice, then, that Rudjek’s horse is bedecked in a white garment with his family’s crest, a lion’s head, stitched in gold thread.
“I am Majka of House Kelu,” Majka addresses the crowd first. He wears the crest of a leopard pinned to his collar. “I am here to attest that Arrah N’yar saved our country from a great evil.”
Kira’s gilded plume crest glimmers in the sunlight. “I am Kira Ny—daughter of Guildmaster Ny of House Ny.” She adds her voice. “I second that Arrah is the only reason any of you are alive.”
“And I am Rudjek Omari, of House Omari,” Rudjek says, his deep timbre projecting over the crowd with ease. “Your Crown Prince.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Crown Prince? I feel like I’ve fallen out of one nightmare into another one.
“I am a descendant of the sun god like my Sukkara cousins,” Rudjek continues. His horse takes an impromptu side step and almost butts into Kira. Rudjek clears his throat. “Magic and charms cannot influence my mind or my words.” He holds on to the horse’s reins tightly—his other hand squeezing his shotel so hard that his knuckles are pale. “So hear my words now. I, too, attest that Arrah put an end to Efiya’s tyranny and the demon threat. She saved us all.”
The crowd deflates upon hearing Rudjek’s decree, but I am breathless. I can’t stop staring at him, realizing what this must mean. His father, Vizier Suran Omari, has seized control of the Kingdom.
Three
Rudjek
Let it be known that I, Rudjek Omari, survived the cravens, a demon army, and meddling gods only to be bested by a horse. But how could I deprive the people of seeing their Crown Prince? Now that I’ve made a show of proclaiming Arrah’s innocence, I can’t dismount without making a fool of myself.
It’s hard to keep my composure when my thighs are burning like a blazing inferno, but the mob has stopped advancing. Arrah stands between Sukar and Essnai. I ignore the sting of her magic, which feels like needles poking into my spine. She’s dusty from the road, but she still looks like she could snap her fingers and bring this pathetic mob to its knees. I have half a mind to encourage her. She quirks an eyebrow like she knows that I’m thinking of something wicked, but I keep my expression neutral. I need these people to accept my authority without question.
“No harm shall come to Arrah N’yar,” I declare. “Be thankful that she saved our Kingdom and go back to your lives.”
I’m prepared for the crowd to reject me and call me a fraud. I am a fraud—I have no illusion about that, though I’ll be the best fraud they’ve ever seen. By no stroke of luck, they do heed me—their acting Crown Prince. I’d be lying if I said that I couldn’t believe my father arrested Tyrek Sukkara and seized the Kingdom. I’m only surprised that he didn’t do it sooner. I want no part in his political posturing, but I have no choice but to play his game for now.
“Well, if it isn’t the wayward son,” sneers a voice from the thinning mob. The gendars part to reveal Prince Derane looking like a complete ass in his opulent jewels. “Returned from the dead twice now.”
I flourish a half bow. “It is good to see you, too, cousin.”
Behind him, Jahla slips from her place disguised among the Temple loyalists. A lock of her silver hair falls from beneath her gray hood as she leans close to Arrah to deliver a message for me. I squeeze the pommel on the saddle, annoyed to no end that I can’t go to her myself, but this is not the place nor the time. Not with Prince Derane riling people up.
“Talk some sense into Suran before this goes too far,” Prince Derane says, like I have a shred of influence over my father.
The Temple loyalists fuss over Sukar and pull him into their ranks. I’m surprised to see him alive, considering his poor state in the tribal lands. Arrah had vowed to heal him—and she’d finally done it. I bite back my contempt in knowing the same magic that saved Sukar could kill me.
Arrah and Essnai head in the opposite direction with the cravens—Jahla and Raëke. Fadyi remains hidden in the crowd, watching out for me. Now that Arrah’s safe, I turn my attention back to Derane, who’s in the middle of a tirade. “Perhaps we should speak in private, cousin.”
Derane Sukkara throws back his head and laughs. “I’m done with talking in private. Your father would have me cower at his feet and beg for my throne, but I will not stand for it.”
I ward off a yawn, bored. If Derane had any power, he would’ve already raised an army to take back the Kingdom. The news of his little outburst will get back to my father and only make things worse, and I haven’t more time to waste here. I nudge my horse to leave. “I am sure things will work out for the best.”
Prince Derane grimaces as another Sukkara whispers something in his ear. At that, he storms off with his family and attendants trailing behind him.
“We should’ve taken litters.” Majka sits astride his horse, writhing like a worm on a hook. “It would’ve made for a more striking entrance.” He brushes a hand across his messy curls and a few girls near the edge of the crowd giggle. It’s not my imagination that they’re greedily eyeing all three of us—Kira, Majka, and me. Majka waves at them, and one actually squeals.
I clear my throat and glance away from our admirers. “It’s important for people to see me as one of them. Not some pretend royal hiding behind a curtain.”
“I suppose,” Majka grumbles, “but I could do without the flies.”
Kira blows out an exaggerated sigh, making it a point to show her distaste. She is the picture of respectability in the saddle, her back arched, her shoulders squared, though her light skin is flushed in the heat. “Well, we know one thing for sure,” she says, her tone cutting. “Neither of you will be winning a prize for horsemanship. That’s what you get for skipping lessons with your riding scribes.”
A gendar pushes through the ranks and interrupts our bickering. “Crown Prince,” the soldier addresses me in a brisk voice, “your father summons you to the palace at once.”
With the fourth afternoon bells striking on top of the coliseum, I shove down my frustration. I’d planned to see Arrah after this debacle, but I can’t ignore my father. “That didn’t take long.”
“Good.” Majka shoos away a fly buzzing in his face. “We can finally take a litter.”
I don’t answer the soldier as we set off for the Almighty Palace. With a few hours in the saddle under my belt, my legs finally adjust to the horse. It’s a subtle shift, nothing visible to the naked eye—but I can feel my body changing to relieve my discomfort. After a moment or two, the soreness in my thighs and backside dissipates. I cannot shift my appearance like the cravens, but this new part of me—this anti-magic—does have a way of making itself known. It’s been like that since my awakening in the Dark Forest—the night Jahla killed me, and
I became something else.
We dismount at the bottom of the mountain, underneath where the Almighty Palace looms above the city, and gendars take our horses. The only way up is by litter and a sophisticated pulley system. I was still a little runt, no more than seven or eight, the first time I visited the palace. An attendant had hauled me into a litter next to my older brother. Jemi spent the entire time pointing out buildings in Tamar as we soared over the city.
That was years before he and our brother Uran volunteered for the Rite of Passage—before they returned home broken men. I still resent Father for sending Jemi away after the altercation in the market that left a merchant dead. He needed his family, and Father abandoned him.
I shake off thoughts of the past as two gendars lead us to a golden litter with edges that curve into ram’s horns. “Sorry for getting you both into this mess,” I tell my friends.
“No, you’re not.” Kira slips onto the red velvet seat and slides to the far side. “You have a talent for trouble.”
Majka leans back against the plush cushion next to her. “That mob was lucky they didn’t piss Arrah off, or we’d have a bloodbath on our hands.”
“That’s not funny,” Kira scolds him.
“It wasn’t meant to be,” says Majka.
I shut my eyes as the litter lifts from the ground and ascends the mountain. I had felt a spike in Arrah’s magic when the crowd closed around her. She would’ve been well within her rights to defend herself.
I’d seen the devastation of her wielding magic firsthand at the sacred Gaer tree when those spineless thugs had thought us an easy mark. She picked up a handful of dirt and tossed it in one of their faces. It had melted the flesh from the man’s bones. Gods. Again, when she’d struck the shotani down with lightning on the way to the tribal lands. And I could never forget the demon at the Almighty Temple. By the time I found the two of them, there was nothing left of his body, only ashes.
“Your father is not going to be happy when he hears of your stunt today,” Majka says as our litter pitches to a stop on top of the mountain. “I wonder how you’ll weasel your way out of trouble this time.”
“When is he ever happy about anything?”
The captain of the guards opens our litter door. Two dozen gendars stand at attention, forming a path to the palace’s steps behind him. They are in red elaras and silver armor, a shotel on each of their hips—two per soldier. “I’m here to escort you to the Almighty One, Crown Prince—” Captain Dakte curses when he sees Kira and Majka. “Why are you out of uniform?”
“I requested a favor of them that required it,” I answer on their behalf.
Captain Dakte is up in years, silver haired, brown skinned, and broad shouldered, an officer who’d climbed the ranks. “That’s quite unfortunate,” he says disapprovingly.
I have no patience for his incessant nagging today as Kira, Majka, and I climb from the litter. The Almighty Palace sits at the center of the mountain, crowned by a gold dome and surrounded by four towers, with ivory walls trimmed in vibrant blue stone. The Sukkaras still live at the palace alongside our Omari cousins who’ve taken up residence. Contrary to what Prince Derane thinks, my father has no intention of ever giving up the throne.
The palace grounds are elaborate, with endless gardens and ponds. A lion roars from one of the stables. Tyrek’s father, Jerek Sukkara, had liked parading them around in the city on occasion. A dog bounds across my path. It’s Fadyi—he insists that at least one of my craven guardians is close by at all times. He must have turned himself into a bird and flown from the coliseum here before taking the dog’s form.
As we cross the gardens and enter the grand tower, attendants stop and bow. They’re worse than the attendants at our old villa who averted their eyes when my parents were around. I don’t like this place—or how everyone treats me like I’m a goose egg balanced on a stick. Majka and Kira leave me to change back into their uniforms.
Captain Dakte leads the way to a private chamber, and two gendars push open the doors. I walk in with my hands on my hips. I will not cower in front of my father. My parents sit at a low table, having afternoon tea. Father studies a scroll splayed out next to a platter of sweets while my mother stares contemplatively through the windows into the gardens.
Neither acknowledges me in front of the guards, but my mother climbs to her feet once they leave. She clasps my hands and offers me a warm smile. “Join us for tea, son.” As always, her quiet voice disarms me, and I almost forget that I am here for a scolding.
“Of course, Adé,” I say, using the Delenian term of endearment. Then I turn to my father. “You summoned me?”
The acting Almighty One looks up from his scroll and lets out a frustrated sigh. It would be an understatement to say that I resemble my father—his impressive height, eyes the color of a moonless night, the Omari high cheeks and prominent jaw. The only notable difference is that his skin is darker, while mine is a shade between his and Adé’s light brown, and I inherited my mother’s distinct northern traits. “I’ve gotten word that the Ka-Priestess’s daughter has arrived in the city via the western checkpoint.”
Straight to business, then. Right. I remove my shotels and take a seat on a cushion at the table. Adé pours me a cup of tea, and I nod to show her my thanks. An attendant rushes into the salon with a bowl of warm water for me to wash my hands. I wait until she leaves before speaking. “I trust that our agreement still stands. Arrah is free to move about the Kingdom.”
“I said that I would lift her banishment if she caused no trouble.” Father clutches the scroll in his fist. “According to this report, she nearly started a riot in the West Market. It was no happenstance that you were there, gallivanting around like a fool, to come to her rescue.”
“Only the second part of that statement is true.” I add a pinch of cinnamon to my tea. “I was indeed gallivanting around the city, making a fool of myself for her.”
Father grits his teeth, but Adé speaks up in her gentle, quiet way, her words placating. “Stop antagonizing each other, lest you leave a door open for the Sukkaras to win back the throne. We can all agree that no one wants that. Derane Sukkara cares more about his indulgences than he does the Kingdom.”
Ah, my mother’s Delenian princess side rears its head. Her tactics aren’t as obvious as Father’s, but she wants the throne as much as he does.
“Speaking of Derane Sukkara.” I clear my throat. “He was the one who nearly started the riot in the West Market, rallying his supporters to win back the throne. You should worry about him before he does something drastic.”
Ignoring me, Father remarks, “The girl should be easier to handle than her mother.”
“She doesn’t need handling,” I say, my voice low.
When I brought him the news of the Ka-Priestess’s death, my father showed contempt for a brief moment, then pretended not to care. It had infuriated me how he turned to the next order of business in the same breath. He was more interested to learn the fate of the tribes, since it meant no more trade with the Kingdom. That’s why I’ve kept the news about our craven lineage a secret. He’d just find a way to exploit it to his advantage. Best he not know.
Father glances at the dregs at the bottom of his teacup, his brows furrowed together. “I did not summon you without reason. We have bigger problems to discuss. The Guard patrolling the East Market reported four people murdered this morning. A witness saw the culprits—two demons.”
My hand slips, and hot tea spills on my fingers before I regain control. I squeeze my eyes shut, and Efiya’s there, lurking in my mind. She’s wearing Arrah’s face as she climbs into the furs. My belly burns like someone’s twisting a knife inside me. I hear the echo of her words when she stopped time on the battlefield. Words that I have never repeated to anyone.
“Are you okay, son?” My mother’s soothing voice brings me back to the here and now.
“Yes, of course.” I put down the tea. “The news caught me off guard.”
“W
e need to take care of the problem before word spreads across the city,” Father says, getting straight to the point. “Derane will try to use it to strengthen his position.”
Some of the demons had escaped after the battle, but I never thought them brave enough to come back to the Kingdom. It worries me that they’ve appeared upon Arrah’s return. That can’t be a coincidence. She killed their mistress—could they be out for revenge? “I have the most experience with the demons. Let me hunt them down.”
Adé pauses, cradling her teacup. “There’s no need to put yourself at undue risk, son.”
“For once, I agree with Rudjek.” Father picks up a new scroll and a quill from his pile beside the table. “It will serve our cause to have the Crown Prince about the city to win the people’s hearts. I will send some gendars to assist you. You’re not to go anywhere outside the palace grounds at any time without them—do you understand?”
“I prefer to pick my own guards,” I say, keeping my tone even for the sake of peace.
“It’s not up for discussion,” Father snaps, but Adé catches his eye. My mother’s expression is neutral, some might even call it benign, but I know better. A faint tapestry of veins presses against her skin along her forehead. They stand out more when she is of ill-temper—like right now.
Father turns his attention back to me. If his looks could cut, I’d already have a dozen slashes across my chest. “We’ll choose your guards together,” he concedes, his voice bristling with resignation. I give him a winning smile. “Take care of the demon problem and keep that tribal witch under control while she’s in my city.”
Four
Arrah
My father’s shop is on a quiet street in the West Market. I smooth my hand across the door, my fingers catching on the chipped yellow paint and splintered wood. It looks like someone’s taken an ax to it, but my father’s magic kept them out. It lingers even now, a faint rustling in the wind, a hum, an unfinished song. The whole building pulses with it.
