by Sarah Dalton
I lean forward and whisper into the mare’s ear. “Now listen up, you don’t like me and I want to like you, but you keep nearly killing me. If we’re going to get on, you need to stop that.”
The horse shakes her head and puts her ears back. I sigh and give up. We’ll be in the city soon anyway. I hope those camels are an easier steed.
“There’s someone approaching,” Cas says. I notice how he tenses, and his hand goes to his sword. Cas is so changed since the death of his mother. In some ways it pains me to see him grow up, to become a man, but in other ways I’m drawn to him more than ever.
“Relax, it is our guide,” Allerton says as he wafts a handkerchief in front of his face.
“It’s one of those things,” I say with disgust. “A camel.”
The strange, long-necked creature makes its way up our hill at a leisurely pace. Its rider is tall with weathered skin. He wears bright yellow loose robes all the way down to his knees. Underneath the loose robes he wears strange, baggy trousers. There is a red scarf wrapped around his head, covering his head and neck. He smiles at us as we approach. His teeth are almost the same colour as the buildings down the hill. When he sees Allerton he nods and says something in his language, the language of my father’s family. My skin prickles with excitement to hear it spoken. Allerton repeats the greeting that I think is a simple “hello” or “good morning”.
The guide turns to me. I notice the jewels on his fingers and the gold hoop in his nose. He is bearded, but his beard is neatly trimmed to just below his chin. His eyes are a deep brown, and his skin is weathered and wrinkled, as though it has been formed by the sandstorms of the desert.
“Hada-Ya,” he says to me. “Craft-born. It is an honour to meet you.”
“Mushtan is a follower of the craft,” Alleron says. “He has been waiting his entire life to meet a craft-born.”
“The honour is mine,” I say, my cheeks hot from the attention. “Thank you for the kind words.”
“And Prince Casimir,” he says to Cas. “I know much about you. The sultan went to your wedding. And there he saw our Hada-Ya in her glory.”
“Yes, the sultan was kind enough to come to my… wedding.”
Mushtan laughs. “You must see the sultan on your travels. He has much to discuss with you regarding your father.”
Cas raises his eyebrows. “I have much to discuss with him, too. And with Mae, of course.”
“Of course,” Mushtan agrees. “The Hada-Ya must be part of our plans for the future of the continent.” He turns to me. “You have Jakani blood in you, no?”
I nod, suddenly embarrassed and not really knowing why.
“But of course, I know a Jakani woman when I see one. Welcome home!” He lifts his arms out wide as though embracing me from afar. His camel nods its head up and down.
Cas turns to me and breaks into a grin.
I think I’m going to like it here.
*
Mushtan takes us to his house, leading us through the bustling streets of Jakani. It’s so much louder than Cyne, and as a girl from a quiet village, it has my nerves on edge. But there is a friendliness—a warmth—about the faces and the voices. My head constantly turns from one sight to the next, watching market traders go about their business, children laugh and run, shop owners lean against doorways nodding to passers-by.
When we reach Mushtan’s house, I realise he is a rich man. His house is three times as large as the majority of the buildings we pass. He has a large shelter for the horses, and servants come to give them water and grain. I’m glad I did not bring Anta. He would not like this heat. My heart pulls as I think of him with his new family. I long to gaze upon the locket of my mother and father, but now is not the place. I must be ready for questions. I must be attentive and alert.
Mushtan takes us through an archway into his house, closing off the rest of Jakani with a large gate. Here it seems peaceful and quiet. The city seems far away, despite it being only on the other side of the gate. We are asked to remove our shoes, and I try to hide my dirty feet under my trousers, but I am relieved to feel the cool marble against my sore, hot soles.
“I will have clean clothes arranged for you. Such a long journey. You must feel uncomfortable, yes?” Mushtan says.
I nod in agreement.
“Let us take care of you, Hada-Ya. It is our honour to have such distinguished guests. It is not every day that the prince and the Hada-Ya come to one’s home.”
As I am ushered away by young girls about my age wearing cream coloured silken robes, I can’t help but think that there is something comforting about Mushtan. Perhaps it is the smile, or his dark complexion, but I am reminded of Father. And this time, the reminder is not painful, it is welcoming.
They lead me into a chamber with high, arching ceilings, carved marble pillars, and the largest bath I’ve ever seen set into the floor. I hadn’t realised that Ellen and Sasha are not far behind me. Sasha swears as she walks into the room.
“Gods have mercy, does Mushtan crap gold or something?” she says.
“It’s the mines,” Ellen says. “There are many rich Jakanis who are even wealthier than the king.” When she sees me staring at her, she smiles shyly and looks away. Ellen has avoided talking to me since everything that happened in the Red Palace. I know she blames herself
“Your clothes.” One of the girls nods to my dirty tunic and britches.
Sasha is already peeling hers away. Ellen’s face pales as she begins to slowly unlace her dress. I’m glad I’m not the only one who is terrified of being naked in front of others. When I needed to wash and change back in Halts-Walden, Father would leave the hut and feed Anta. It was our little routine. In the Waerg Woods I would disappear down river to wash and change, not that I did it very often. I shake my head and begin to peel away my clothes, annoyed at my nervousness. After all, I am practically a woman. I shouldn’t be ashamed of how I look.
There’s a gasp from one of the servants and Sasha and I turn to Ellen. I wish I hadn’t. I can never unsee the scars on Ellen’s body. Her cheeks turn bright red as she hurries into the bath. Sasha exchanges a glance with me but says nothing. What can we say? I’ve known about Ellen’s mistreatment at the hands of her father since the Nix showed me her fears, but I have not known how to tell Ellen what I saw. We’ve been distant for a while now. We are somehow pushed apart by our unique history. I have known Ellen longer than anyone here, and yet she is like a stranger to me. Once, she was a bully. Now she is a person: a whole, flawed and vulnerable person. It was easier for us both when she was the bully.
“You ready, Mae?” Sasha asks as she steps towards the bath. Her long red hair flows down her back in waves. She has creamy skin and a body that curves beautifully in the places men admire. I have to quell the rising jealousy. What’s the point in envying what can never be mine? No, my energy is best spent trying to like what I am instead.
I nod and remove my underwear, rushing for the baths. In my haste I almost trip, and I remind myself that I am not a scruffy little urchin girl anymore. I am a woman, a leader, and the craft-born. I should do this with dignity, naked or not.
When I eventually climb in, Sasha laughs at me. “What’s with the haughty chin? Got the Red Palace in your sights already?”
I splash her with water. “I’m trying to act like a lady, if you must know. I suppose one day I will be… some sort of…”
“Queen. You can say the word, you know,” Sasha says.
I glance at Ellen, filled with sudden guilt.
“It’s all right,” she reassures me. “I never really wanted to be queen. That was my father.”
“I know,” I reply. “But things have changed so rapidly. I’m sorry for how different everything turned out.”
“You shouldn’t be. A wrong has been righted. You were always meant to be right where you are now,” she says.
One of the servant girls sits on the edge of the bath and tuts at my metal hand. “No, you must take it off.”
&n
bsp; Reluctantly, I remove the contraption that Treowe made for me and pass it to her. It feels good to rub the place where my hand should be, but I find myself plunging it below the water and out of sight.
“Does it hurt?” Ellen asks in a low voice.
“Yes,” I reply. “Sometimes my body thinks that my hand is still there, and when it realises it isn’t, it throbs for dear life. But the craft helps. I can soothe myself through healing.”
“I’m sorry,” Ellen says. “If I hadn’t pretended to be—”
“And if I hadn’t hid it…” I respond. “Don’t blame yourself. You’ll drive yourself mad with it. I would have had to defeat the Nix at some point anyway. It was my own stupid fault for giving it the opportunity to take my hand.”
“What are those marks on your arms?” Sasha asks, her eyes narrowing at the scars on my forearm.
As the servant girls scrub our backs, I hide my arms away from sight.
“I… uh… it doesn’t matter.” The truth is, I haven’t practised healing on myself since Cas and I kissed. I realised that it was wrong, that I had begun to enjoy the pain. It had been a brief substitute for something I don’t need anymore.
“I like Jakani,” Sasha says. “The women are beautiful. The streets are full of noise and colour. I think I belong here.” The servant girl is busy showing all of the other servants Sasha’s hair. I smile to myself. There can’t be many fiery redheads in this city.
As we relax into our bath, we begin to chatter, and I feel my muscles unclench. The hot water works its way into the knots under my skin, and the sweet oils of patchouli and magnolia drift into the steamy air. We ask the servants about life with Mushtan, about the boys they like in the city, and the food they eat. It’s my first real experience of femininity. It’s my first experience of what it’s like to be in a tribe, to be wanted and accepted. A girl called Aliyah washes my hair. I repeat the name over and over in my mind, wondering if I might have been named something like Aliyah had my father’s family stayed in the Haedalands.
But my new experience is soon cut short by Cas storming into the room.
“Mae, you have to come now!”
The servants are on their feet shooing him away from the bath. Cas puts his hand over his eyes so that he shields himself from our naked bodies. I almost laugh, except the stern set of his jaw stops me.
“What is it?” I ask. Before I know it, the girls are helping me out of the bath and patting me down with linens. A colourful azure blue robe is tied around my body and slippers placed on my feet. My hand is strapped back in place. I reach down and replace my dagger.
“The sultan is here.”
Chapter Fourteen – The Sultan of Jakani
The Jakani girls shoo Cas out of the bathing room before working on drying and fixing my hair. I protest at first, but they are insistent that I should look my best. Sasha and Ellen offer encouraging opinions as they dress me.
“This is ridiculous. The sultan wants to talk about politics and war, not look at my pretty robes.”
“You will appear powerful,” says Aliyah. “Women live differently here. They don’t behave like men as you do, they take on womanly duties.” I detect a hint of frustration in Aliyah’s voice, and can’t help but wonder if she disapproves of this fact.
“I’m not exactly a traditional woman back home, either,” I reply, struggling to keep my own frustrations from my voice.
Aliyah raises an eyebrow at me and I mumble an apology. She shrugs in reply. “Meeting the sultan is a great privilege. It is normal to be nervous. But I am your friend, Mae. I want to help you.”
My cheeks warm with embarrassment. I need to keep a cool head if I am to talk to the sultan about my plans. If we are to find the Sihran temple, we will need as many of his resources as we can get. “I’m sorry.”
Sasha exhales noisily. “I would treasure that apology if I were you. Mae doesn’t give them out like dumplings. You’re the privileged one now.”
“I would regard anything the craft-born says to me in the highest of regards,” Aliyah responds, but her eyes sparkle with humour.
We enter a long room framed by thick, marble pillars. There is a large, ornate table in the centre of the room. The carved white stone of the table blends into the walls, as though the entire room grew into existence in one seamless entity. Only long silk drapes, and bright purple desert flowers in mosaic pots, bring a splash of colour to the room. There are four people waiting at the table: Allerton, Cas, Mushtan, and a final man I have never seen before—the sultan. Behind him stand two large men in black robes with scimitars tucked into their belts. I take a mental note not to anger them. But the sultan himself is just as imposing without the guards. He stands when we enter, so that I see his full height. He’s younger than I had imagined, no older than thirty, with a plaited beard and long, loose curls that fall onto his shoulders. His bushy eyebrows draw your attention to narrow, stern eyes that are as dark as the black diamond I seek. His shoulders are broad and held back, so that his chest appears even wider. He crosses his arms and smiles at me.
“Ah, the craft-born, it is an honour,” he says, and I detect a hint of something mocking in his voice. It’s then that I realise he doesn’t trust that I am who I say I am. I could be in for a difficult conversation.
My gaze redirects to Cas, who appears to be battling something of his own. He is fixed on my gown, his eyes open wide and intense. His jaw sets, and he blinks as though in shock. It makes me aware of the figure hugging blue robes Aliyah dressed me in.
I nod to the sultan. “Nice to meet you.”
Sasha glares at me and mouths the word “more”.
“Uh… I mean, the honour is mine. Meeting you, I mean.”
Sasha rolls her eyes and the corner of Cas’s mouth turns up in a smile. My back starts to sweat. I have to hold this together if I am going to convince the sultan to help us. I have to play the part, no matter how stupid it might feel. I clear my throat and sit down.
The sultan and the others sit at the table and he turns to Sasha. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I have the privilege of knowing you?”
“Sasha is my protector. She is my guide in the ways of the craft.”
“Ah,” the sultan replies. “Then it is an honour to meet you as well, Sasha. I must say, the Borgans have such interesting names. And you, Mae, are half Jakani, is that right?”
“My father was from the Haedalands,” I say. “His family settled in Halts-Walden following the great war.”
“Ah, Halts-Walden,” the sultan almost spits the words. “A place of peace for those who wanted to escape the war.”
“You say that as though it is a bad thing.” I utter the words almost instinctually, and feel Sasha grow rigid beside me.
“Forgive me,” the sultan replies. “For a long time we thought of such emigrants as deserters. They left us with a country to rebuild.”
“Halts-Walden is only a small community,” I say. “They are people who wanted peace, who were tired of bloodshed.”
“Of course.” The sultan smiles and I catch the first sight of his straight, white teeth. It seems to me that every movement, every facial expression and hand gesture, has been carefully calculated. He has been expertly trained to appear both friendly and threatening at the same time. I need to remind myself that I have faced the Nix. I killed the king in his worst fear. I am the craft-born, and I must act like it.
“Thank you for your hospitality in these lands,” I say. “It means a lot to me to see where my ancestors lived. It’s a shame I’m here for such a specific, and important, purpose. I would like to see more of the city.”
Cas turns to me and nods, as though to say, “well done”.
“Yes, Mae is right, dear sultan.” Allerton almost purrs his words. “There is an important mission at hand here. We should get straight to it, although I do appreciate hearing you tell us about the history of this great nation.” I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. Allerton is being deliberately fawning. “Th
e king must be stopped in his mission for eternal life. With the prince and the craft-born on our side, it is the perfect time to remove him from the throne once and for all.”
The sultan turns his attention to Cas. His voice tightens, and it makes me nervous. “Prince Casimir. It was a pleasure to attend your wedding. It was highly entertaining.” His eyes flash towards me.
My skin prickles with rage. Anta was almost killed, and he dares to treat the affair as though he was watching bards in a tavern.
Cas’s back straightens. “Entertaining is not the word I would use. The whole thing brought great distress to Mae, and to myself.”
I could kiss him for standing up for me, but at the same time I notice the slight smile on the sultan’s lips as he regards me, and then Cas, in turn. He has already guessed the nature of our relationship. But then the smile fades, and his eyes narrow as though experiencing a revelation. Perhaps he realised how powerful the craft-born and the Prince of Aegunlund could prove against his own army.
“You should know that the wedding is off,” Cas continues. “I won’t be marrying Ellen. She’s not the craft-born, as you know by now. And my marital status is not the issue here, if you will forgive me for speaking boldly, sultan. Since my mother’s death, there has been upheaval in Cyne. Allerton’s spies have kept communication open with my mother’s allies: the Duke of Benoth and General Alden. My uncle Wybert controls an army training camp north of Cyne, and the General has commanded legions of men for the king in the past. Both men are highly regarded amongst Aegunlund’s fighters, with many loyal soldiers prepared to turn against the king in rebellion. We have a thousand men ready to fight against the king. If you joined forces with us, those men, your fighters, and the power of the craft-born would overthrow my father and brother.”
“But there is something we have to do first,” I add. “The king chases a black diamond called the Ember Stone—”
“Bah!” the sultan interjects. I watch in disdain as a huge belly laugh erupts from his body. He almost doubles over in mirth. “The Ember Stone. You cannot be serious, Hada-Ya. The Ember Stone does not exist. Everyone from the Benothan mountains to the Archipelagos knows that.”
