by Rena Barron
Essnai leans close to Kira and whispers, “They’re yours to ruin.”
“Can we ruin lips another day?” Majka clears his throat. “We’re on a tight schedule.”
Once we’re at the bottom of the mountain beneath the palace, we climb into a litter. The rope creaks as we ascend, and the Almighty Palace comes into view. It looms over Tamar—white walls trimmed in mother-of-pearl and lapis lazuli, four towers and a gilded dome roof.
Rudjek stands in the courtyard between two lines of attendants. He’s wearing a blue elara with gold accents. “You look lovely,” he tells me as Majka, Kira, and Essnai slip around us and head for the palace.
“As do you,” I reply, my cheeks warm.
Rudjek smiles. “I’ll show you the gardens after this business with Tyrek.”
I glance to the ground, my mind wandering back to the memory of the Demon King. His words ring in my ears like a lullaby. I am Daho. This is our place. I push aside my treacherous thoughts. “I’d like that.”
“Rudjek, son,” his mother, Serre, says from the palace steps. She wears a white kaba with long sleeves and a skirt that spreads around her feet like a blooming flower. “Bring Arrah to the throne room.”
Rudjek’s father has always been clear about his feelings toward me, but his mother is harder to read. Her white veil is sheer enough that I can see her dark eyes, yet they reveal nothing beyond her aloof expression.
“Are there any protocols I should be aware of?” I ask as we enter the cool palace with too wide halls and too high ceilings. It doesn’t feel like a place that anyone would live in. Attendants flutter about their business, lowering their heads as we pass them. “I’m sure your father would be glad for me to make a fool of myself.”
Rudjek winces by my side. “This is an informal inquiry, so consider it a casual affair—no need for pretenses and court pleasantries.”
“Oh good,” I say. “I had no intention of bowing before your father.”
Rudjek gives me a conspiratorial smile. “Nor should you.”
We exit one wing of the palace and cross a courtyard. Soon we arrive at a grand hall with towering stained glass windows. Inside, the Sukkara family surrounds Prince Derane. The Galke delegation—Prefect Clopa, Princess Veeka, and their male companion—are here, too, but they keep to themselves. Both women have their veils peeled back, and Princess Veeka is much younger than I expected. Much prettier, too. Her skin is amber, a shade akin to Rudjek’s, though she has straight black hair and eyes the color of lavender. On one wall stands a line of Kingdom soldiers in red and, across from them, soldiers from Galke in black. They are so still that they almost blend into the decor.
“That’s Princess Veeka,” Rudjek says, his voice low. “From Galke.”
I resist the urge to say “I know” as my attention shifts to Tyrek’s mother, Queen Estelle. Former queen. She stands in a semicircle with her family, the Ohakims, one of the most powerful families in the Kingdom. I haven’t seen the queen in years, and she’s even more beautiful than I remember. Her dark skin shimmers with flecks of gold across her high cheekbones and broad nose. Her shoulders are straight and strong, her chin tilted up in a way that makes her look ethereal.
I nudge my tongue against my gums, finding the empty spot, and again regret not using magic to grow a new tooth. I am so out of place among these people, but this is Rudjek’s future. Unless something changes, he will be their—our—king one day. Where do I fit in his new life? His advisers will say that a king cannot be with someone he can’t touch, who can’t bear him heirs. Rudjek believes that we will find a way to overcome the aversion between his anti-magic and my magic, but I’m less sure.
“As the, um . . . Crown Prince, I must join my family for the proceedings.” Rudjek rubs the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. “It’s a silly palace tradition.”
I inhale a shaky breath. “I hope this is over soon.”
“Me, too,” he says before he moves to stand to the right of the empty throne while his mother sits to the left.
Suran Omari enters the room from the balcony with his guildmasters on his heels. It’s hard to think of him as the Almighty One. It’s even harder to be this close to him and not wring his neck. “I see the voice of the Temple has arrived.” Suran settles on the throne between his wife and son. “How fortunate.”
The guildmasters stand in a small group to the left of the throne. The Master of Arms, Rudjek’s aunt. The Master of Scribes, Kira’s father. The Master of Scholars; and the Master of Laborers, Tyrek’s uncle.
Two gendars push Tyrek Sukkara into the chamber, and he stumbles over his shackled feet. His eyes are those of a desperate boy who knows that no matter what, his life as he knew it is over. Queen Estelle’s face breaks when she sees her son, but she doesn’t utter a single word. Guildmaster Ohakim appears indifferent. Could he truly not care about his nephew’s fate, or is he pretending to appease Suran Omari? He doesn’t make eye contact with Queen Estelle, who gives him a scathing look.
“We are here to examine Second Son Tyrek’s claims of innocence,” Suran says. “We will hear his side of the story, and the voice of the Temple will give her opinion on the matter.” Suran flourishes his hand lazily at Tyrek like the whole affair is no more than a petty dispute. “Go on, then. Tell us.”
“I already told you.” Tyrek’s voice is icy, and Prefect Clopa and Princess Veeka cast glances at each other. “I was on a hunting expedition with my brother in the desert.” He licks his cracked lips and digs his nails into his arm. “I was taking a respite on a ridge high above a plateau of jagged rocks when . . . when she came. I tried to call the guards, but before I could, she was in my thoughts. She made me kill my brother.”
I swallow hard as sweat prickles against my forehead. The throne room feels too small, the air too thin. I resist the urge to clutch my protective charm again. I should’ve prepared something to help with Tyrek, but I’d been too focused on myself.
“Young Priestess,” Queen Estelle addresses me. “Does my son tell the truth?” There is so much desperation and hope muddled in her voice that it breaks my heart.
“I would need to see into his mind to answer that,” I say.
“Do it.” Tyrek holds his arms wide in an offering. “I have nothing to hide.”
I step forward to where he is kneeling. The Galke and Kingdom guards standing along the walls ease their hands close to their swords. I don’t doubt that Suran Omari has ordered them to be on alert in my presence. The throne room falls silent as everyone waits. They all stare at me—the Galke delegates, the Sukkaras, the Omaris, the guildmasters, my friends, Rudjek.
I call upon Grandmother’s knowledge. Each time she read minds had been like peeling back the curtains into a new, strange world. Every mind had its particular temperament. I cast my consciousness out to Tyrek and sense his eagerness to let me explore his thoughts. Before I lose my nerve, I plunge into his mind. A scream burns in my chest, and the roots of my teeth ache as his memories unfurl and threaten to split open my skull.
I am sitting on the edge of the cliff with Darnek. He’s complaining that I’ve dragged him away from his charming companions in his tent. I hate that we hardly ever spend any time together, just the two of us, not the Crown Prince and his shadow.
I’m sorry, I say, but the words are only in my mind. The witch won’t give me the smallest semblance of control. I am wearing my family crest, the ram’s head made of craven bone, and a wristlet for good measure. They’re supposed to protect me from magic, but she’s too strong.
“Why so somber, brother?” Darnek slaps me on the back. “Loosen up and live a little!”
“Kill him,” Efiya whispers in my ear.
I scream inside my head, but I do her bidding without hesitation. I’m glad to do it—I want to please her. I shove my brother hard in the chest, and his eyes go wide.
“Ty-rek,” Darnek stutters. “What—”
Tears blur my vision as I shove him again, and he tumbles over the edge, his b
ody breaking on the rocks below. When it’s done, I try to throw myself over the cliff, too, but Efiya doesn’t allow that.
I move the memory forward like paging through an ancient tome. I’m in my father’s bathhouse. He’s in the pool with one of his playthings. Flickers of firelight dance across the mosaic stone floors. The room is rich in golds and reds and browns. Rubies and black opals and emeralds embellish the walls. My father spends most of his free time here.
“You’re so pretty,” he says, nibbling on his companion’s earlobe.
She’s another Mulani girl—maybe Darnek’s age—nineteen or so. She bears a resemblance to the Ka-Priestess. His concubines always do. The golden eyes, the wild curls, the curves. An infectious laugh bubbles up from her throat and it’s obviously fake, yet he doesn’t seem to notice or care.
The bathhouse is empty save for my father’s two most trusted attendants, whom I’ve already killed. I stare down at the knife in my hand. Efiya is in my mind even now. She’s controlling my thoughts—making me believe these are my actions, when they’re hers. My father and the Mulani girl are too busy to pay me any mind. I walk to the edge of the pool and kneel next to them.
“Twenty-gods, boy,” Father curses when he catches sight of me. “Go away! Can’t you see I’m busy?”
The Mulani girl giggles with her hands clasped over her mouth. She climbs out of the water and lies down on the mosaic tiles, and then her body falls still. Efiya stops the girl’s heart without me lifting a finger. She dies peacefully.
“What did she ever see in you?” I climb into the water fully clothed. It’s my voice, but Efiya’s words. “She despises you now, but she loved you once.”
“Did your mother put you up to this . . . ? Are you conspiring to take my throne?” he snaps.
When he says your mother, he’s thinking of his wife, but I’m thinking of the Ka-Priestess. Efiya’s mother. I wade in the water, drawing closer to him as he backs away.
“Guards!” he calls. When they don’t answer, he looks over his shoulder and sees them dead on the floor. “Tyrek, what are you doing, son?” His voice is quiet, gentle even, and something stirs within me.
“Killing you,” I say.
“Guards!” he screams again.
I raise the knife from underneath the water and slit his throat. Father chokes as blood gushes between his fingers. He claws at his wound until it vanishes. I make him whole again. I won’t let him die that easily. I will take all night to kill him.
I pull myself from Tyrek’s memories. My head is throbbing again, and I clench my teeth. I wish that I could erase the new images from my mind—that I could forget them. But I know that they will be with me until the day I die. “He’s . . . he’s telling the truth.”
There is a collective gasp in the room. I sway on shaky legs as the onlookers break into arguments. The magic has spent my energy, and Rudjek helps me to a chaise near one of the balconies. “What can I do?” he asks.
“Space,” I breathe as his anti-magic burns against my skin.
Rudjek’s face falls as he moves away. By the time he does, Essnai slips into the throne room amidst a flurry of attendants rushing to serve refreshments to the flustered dignitaries. She kneels at my side and presses a wet cloth against my forehead. I’m tired, but more than anything else, I am relieved that the Demon King didn’t break into my mind again. It could be that I didn’t draw as much magic as I’d done to heal Mami, or that my charms are working against him.
“The boy is clearly unstable.” Suran looks down his nose at Tyrek. “Spoiled by the filth of magic.”
“Unstable?” Tyrek laughs, his eyes wild. “I’ll show you unstable.” He grabs a dagger sheathed at one of his guards’ waists and leaps for Suran. Soldiers rush at Tyrek, and I jump to my feet. Magic uncurls beneath my skin as I draw on the Mulani chieftain’s strength. The magic twines around the soldiers’ throats, and they fall to their knees, choking. Tyrek laughs again as the dagger slips from his hand and clanks against the floor. The room falls into chaos with people shouting and fleeing.
I see the horror of what I’ve done. The soldiers, from both the Kingdom and Galke, claw at their throats, gasping for air. How easy it would be to let them die. To take them over the edge like the Litho chieftain used to do to those who opposed him.
“Arrah!” Rudjek shouts as he steps into my path. His anti-magic mutes my magic, and the soldiers fall to the ground, sucking in ragged breaths.
“He wants you to kill him,” I whisper. “Don’t you see that?” Don’t you see that he’s suffering under the guilt of what my sister made him do?
Suran looks at me with a cutting smile, and I realize I’ve only given him one more reason to ban magic in the Kingdom. He’s always two steps ahead of me. I wonder if he gets any sleep at night for all the scheming he must do in his spare time.
Prince Derane takes a glass of wine from a servant’s tray. “By the Almighty One’s own admission, my nephew is unstable, but the blame lies with the tribal witch who ruined him.” He swirls his wine, and it sloshes around in the glass. A hint of a smile crosses his lips. “Surely you don’t mean to execute him now, with this new information to consider.”
For Suran’s part, he only sits back on his throne, his face smug. “Of course not,” he says. “I hereby drop all charges against Tyrek Sukkara, on the honor of the voice of the Temple.” Queen Estelle gasps, and several people express their surprise. I wait, seeing the gleam in Suran’s eyes. “However, for the crime of attempting to murder your king only a moment ago, Second Son Tyrek, you are hereby banished from the Kingdom. May your path never cross mine again, or your life with be forfeit.”
Another murmur of hushed conversation blankets the room. Most people seem to agree with the banishment.
“Now that’s settled,” Rudjek’s mother announces. “We have much to celebrate. Arrah, please join us tonight along with our honored guests from Galke for the evening meal. You have done the Kingdom a great service today. Sukkaras and Omaris owe you our gratitude.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll take my leave,” I say.
“Nonsense, young Priestess,” Prince Derane insists. “You saved my nephew. At the very least, we must break bread together.”
I nod my agreement, knowing that they won’t relent. I can make it through one meal. “Is there a place I can rest?”
When Rudjek steps toward me, his father takes a sudden interest in my well-being. “An attendant can take her to a salon. We have business with the Galke delegation to see to before the evening meal.”
“I’ll take you,” Kira says, with Essnai at her side.
I stumble out of the room, too many voices buzzing in my ears, too many sounds, too much pain. But one voice rises above the rest and stops me cold in my tracks.
Dimma, the Demon King pleads. Please don’t shut me out.
Fourteen
Arrah
The bone charm vibrates against my neck, and the teeth knock into each other. I keep it together until Kira and Essnai lead me into a private salon. Then I fumble to get the sachet of herbs from a hidden pocket in my sheath. As soon as I squeeze it in my hand, it crumbles to ashes. It shouldn’t be possible, but the Demon King has obliterated the protection charm. I reach for the bone charm, my mind racing through the chieftains’ memories again. There has to be another way to keep him out.
“Twenty-gods,” Kira swears, her hand easing to one of her blades. “What was that?”
“It’s nothing,” Essnai answers quckly.
“That doesn’t look like nothing,” Kira observes, relaxing her hand.
Essnai grabs my shoulders. “Breathe.”
I stare into my friend’s calm face, drawing strength from her. Essnai’s right—she’s always right. Breathe. I close my eyes and think of Rudjek and me lying beside the river. Rudjek kissing me in the tomb. Rudjek’s hands toying with my hair. I don’t know when it happens exactly, but eventually, at some point, as I take shelter in these memories, the bone char
m falls still and the Demon King is no longer with me. I exhale, feeling tired and hollowed out. “I’m okay,” I say to convince myself.
Kira looks between Essnai and me as if she knows that we have a secret, but she doesn’t ask. I rest in the salon with them, regaining some semblance of composure. Essnai and Kira sit on a chaise across from me. They make small talk for a while, but I’m too distracted to add to the conversation.
“Some of my cousins are visiting from Estheria,” Kira tells Essnai excitedly. “They’re dying to meet you. One is a dressmaker, too, and he almost fainted when my sisters showed off some of your beautiful designs. Do you think you can come to an evening meal soon? My mother has been quite put out that you haven’t visited since you got back.”
Essnai smile as she plays with her ama’s long braid. I don’t think she’s told her of our plans to return to the tribal lands yet, and I doubt that Kira will be happy about it. “Every time I visit, one of your sisters sweet-talks me into making her a new sheath.”
“I promise I’ll keep you safe from their greedy little paws,” Kira says with a laugh.
“Speaking of greedy.” Essnai whispers something that makes Kira’s cheeks flush.
“That’s quite scandalous,” Kira replies with a conspiratorial raise of her eyebrow. “I do most certainly approve.”
Soon I’m beckoned for the evening meal while Essnai and Kira stay behind. I miss the comfort of their presence as an attendant walks me down the palace corridor and into the dining hall. I’m shown my place at the opposite end of the table from Rudjek. Princess Veeka leans close to him as he recounts the story of how he won a three-way fight in his father’s arena.
Suran Omari is at the head of the table with his wife, his left hand intertwined with hers, a glass of wine in the other. Serre chats with the Master of Scholars, while the guildmasters to her left talk among themselves. To Suran’s right, Rudjek sits next to Princess Veeka and the Galke delegation.
