Kismet's Kiss: A Fantasy Romance (Alaia Chronicles)

by Cate Rowan

  A shocked breath whooshed from Varene’s lungs.

  Flushing hot, she drew two steps back, and the horrors of her past—of shattered bones and charred flesh—gashed her mind anew.

  Too late, she forced her traitorous feet to halt and slammed her mental gates against the memories, damning herself for her loss of control. I will NOT relive it.

  Nor will I leave Teganne!

  Sweat dampened the pillow beneath Tahir’s head, and Sulya knew all the cool compresses in Kad wouldn’t quench her son’s fever—no matter what the physician’s whelp said. Jaws clenched in resentment, she wrung a square of linen from the bowl of citrus water and laid it over his forehead, another on his bare chest.

  Fidgety sleep had tugged him from his pain at last. He needed that rest, as much as he’d needed the fortifying broths she’d spooned into him, and her silent, bitter prayers.

  None of the city’s physicians had given her much hope. Even Bairam didn’t know what to make of the illness or how to combat it—her own brother, who had always soothed her hurts as a girl, who had always been so brilliant, so learned! The brother she’d contrived to promote to a royal post, just as her birth family had long planned. Had he finally lost his brains to the bottle? She’d smelled liquor on his breath again, though he’d seemed lucid enough at Tahir’s bedside.

  Physicians had failed her. Faith must be her son’s savior. And she knew what that would take, even if none of the pedantic doctors did, or the cowering servants she’d dismissed. Weren’t her own pale hands there to soothe her boy, to give him the honor and comfort of her love? Her royal love—the love of a sultana of Kad?

  She savored her elevated position anew, for she had studied all the arts of seduction and schemed for long years to reach it. And now, surely her son was destined for glory. For the throne of Kad itself!

  Her son. Her only child, beloved by his royal father and all who knew him. The sultan’s throne was Tahir’s destiny, just as hers was to guide his hand and be forever known as the mother of Tahir the Valiant. Tahir the Lion. Tahir the Magnificent, Emperor of all the world.

  He would surpass his father one day. Surely Naaz would grant her pleas, the prayers of a dutiful, devout, and ambitious mother… After all, Naaz had been an ambitious mother, too. And Tahir was Naaz’s very descendent, from an unbroken line through countless generations of sultans. The divine Kismet Himself was Tahir’s forefather! It followed that destiny would be kind. Must be kind.

  Her son would survive, take the throne, wield the Scimitar of Kad. His older siblings were of inferior wives, of lesser birthrights than her own. They weren’t suited to rule. Tahir would ascend the Leonine Throne.

  He must.

  A familiar tall shadow crossed her son’s flushed body. Sulya pasted a warm smile on her lips and looked up into the sea-green eyes of her husband.

  Kuramos didn’t acknowledge her. Instead, he gazed down at his son, worry etching his face. Still, her pulse leapt to see his love for the boy she had gifted him. It would all work. It had to.

  At last Kuramos glanced at her, but as he did, his gaze cooled. Oh Naaz, Naaz… She should be used to that change by now, but it still stabbed, still sent pride dripping from her wounded heart.

  She lowered her eyes and let her long waterfall of hair hide her face, curb the acid of her lips.

  Kuramos knelt on the marble floor beside her and laid his large hands lightly over Tahir’s, dwarfing them.

  Even without looking, Sulya smelled her husband’s skin, the musk of his cologne, and felt the warmth of his muscled body through her sheer arm-wrap.

  Five years had passed since they’d said their vows. When had she lost the favor of her husband, the esteem of the most powerful and sought-after man in Kad? When had she failed her noble family and the thirty years of preparation, with her every stratagem and skill honed to attract and keep the sultan’s influential regard?

  “There’s been no change in him?” Kuramos’s baritone, usually full and penetrating, was hushed in deference to Tahir’s sleep.

  She couldn’t staunch the venom in her alto. “He still walks at Death’s side, if that’s what you’re asking.” She swiveled to face him, her head held high and proud, but once again, he ignored her.

  At least his eyes were on their son, and not on another woman. Perhaps she still had a chance to woo him back, to regain his love and especially his ear. After all, she’d quickly wrested his favor from his fifth wife—not that there’d been much challenge in that. Some of the other wives, though, had proven more formidable competitors for his time and attention. Had any of them usurped his affections? Perhaps his smug second wife, out of long familiarity, or his haughty third…

  Sulya’s fingers clenched into small, ghost-white fists. No rival would stand in her way. In her son’s way. She would do anything for Tahir. He deserved no less.

  He was her chance at greatness.

  Kuramos exhaled a deep, slow breath, and rose to leave.

  She extended a pleading hand. “Stay, please, O Lord, my husband.” If he stayed a while, spent time with her…

  “I must go, Wife. My court will soon convene.” He stepped toward the door.

  “But Tahir needs you.” She stood to add weight to her words. “Our son needs you.” And I need you. My family’s plans hinge on it! I’m your newest wife, you should still love me…

  He paused, with his back still turned. “I cannot, Sulya.”

  Her own indrawn breath nearly snapped her in two. He couldn’t have heard her unvoiced pleas—but that hardly mattered. Hurt and jealousy and frustrated ambition surged through her like wild beasts, snapping and clawing at her soul. “Lion of Kad, you son of gods—don’t you even care about your son?”

  He swiveled back and his eyes flicked to the boy. Her outburst had woken Tahir, now watching their exchange through feeble, half-mast lids.

  The sultan’s gaze chilled as it turned to her. “Nothing is more important to me than the lives and health of my children, Wife.” His voice was low and blistering, his nostrils flared. “And yes, I am the Lion of Kad.”

  He lifted his left hand, and his sapphire ring flashed in the window’s light. The ring was the symbol of his realm, of the sultan’s purpose and responsibility—and his marriage promises to her and all his wives had been sanctified with it. The Great Sultan of Kad was forbidden to wear any other.

  “Look closely at this, Sulya, for it is larger than you or me. Tahir is my son. Yes, the descendent of gods. And he must learn that the rule of Kad and its people weighs heavier than the sultan’s yearnings, if he is ever to become what you desire for him.”

  For an instant, a fleeting heartbeat, she saw something deep in his eyes—a compassion, a regret she knew he’d never voice. For that brief moment, she understood the burden of his power, and his pain.

  She recoiled.

  Seeing that, his gaze shuttered again. In the space of her next rigid breath, he stalked out.

  Varene stared at the Kaddite bird. Did he even realize what this sultan of his was demanding? How could she possibly leave Teganne?

  She turned away and expelled a short breath. No, neither he nor the sultan knew the cost. Few could even guess. The escape from her destroyed homeland of Fallorm all those years ago had been no mean feat. Teganne was her home and her haven—her reward.

  “Healer!” Gunjan raised one taloned foot. “Why are you silent? Surely you see how crucial—”

  Her voice was as flat as she could make it. “I can’t go.”

  “But why? The royal family of Kad, the sultan’s very children…”

  To explain would be to relive it all.

  Varene took a deep breath and sought for a logical excuse. “Jencel, you flew here in a day, but it would take me ten times that to ride to Kad. If the illness spreads so quickly, the journey would prevent me from being of any use.”

  “That won’t be an issue.” He gripped his pouch with his talons, dipped his beak in and pulled out a small ring with a bright in
ner glow.

  Puzzled, she held out her hand for the silvery thing.

  Although she had only a little kyrra, the soul power used by mages, her years of healing had strengthened and honed what she had. The moment the ring dropped into her palm, she knew what it was.

  She darted to the hall door and swung it open.

  “Where are you going?” squawked the bird.

  “Ardan!” she shouted down the corridor. “Bring Their Highnesses here at once!”

  “Aye, m’lady,” came the page’s distant reply.

  “Healer!” The bird’s wings were raised in alarm. “This was to be private, no one else is supposed to know—”

  She glanced at Gunjan. “I can’t take the journey—but even if I could, I would have asked leave of my sovereigns. You thought I’d depart in stealth?”

  The bird tucked his head under a wing with a dramatic moan. “The Great Sultan will be so angry with me.”

  Varene snorted. Still, perhaps the rumors about Kuramos held truth. He was called a tyrant—merciless, even brutal, to anyone in his way. Certainly Teganne and Kad were mutually hostile…though Alvarr had never yielded to Kuramos, she noted with pride.

  Everyone knew the culture of Kad oppressed its women. Kuramos himself had a harem of wives, and had even schemed to capture Qiara, the princess of Teganne. Moreover, Kad scorned Varene’s kind of healing, and magic of any kind—which said much about the man who’d led Kad for nearly two centuries.

  And then there was the bird’s wording: the Great Sultan summons you to Kad. Was the sultan of an enemy realm daring to command her? If so, that was the height of arrogance—though not unexpected, given the rest.

  The bird was still wailing under his wing, and her patience waned. “Stop, Gunjan.” As she crossed to him, he paused and peeked out between his feathers. “Much better. Listen, I couldn’t have gone to Kad the way you think. I can’t make a Crossing without a mage to send me.”

  The bird untucked his head, sputtering. “But…you’re a Tegannese Healer! A sorceress!”

  Varene laughed out loud, but the sound of running footsteps interrupted her. Prince Alvarr appeared at the door, followed a moment later by Princess Jilian, both dressed for riding. From the saddle marks on their breeches and their outdoorsy scent, they’d only just returned. Knowing them as she did, Varene bet the grass in their tousled hair meant they’d done some mutual disrobing, too.

  She stifled a smile. “Your Highnesses, this is Gunjan—a messenger from Kad.”

  Alvarr’s flaxen head swung around and he gave the bird a hard stare. “Kad? Kuramos sent you?”

  As Varene and Gunjan explained the bird’s presence, the prince’s scowl deepened. When they finished, his face was turning a fetching shade of red. Ah, here we go. Having known him for decades, Varene took a tranquil breath and prepared to wait out the storm.

  But just as he opened his mouth, Jilian touched her husband’s elbow. When he turned, she gave him a mild look. He held still for a moment, gazing at her, and then took three slow, deep breaths before facing the bird with passable calmness.

  Gunjan, apparently oblivious to the prince’s ire, balanced on one leg. “Your Highness, much animosity has occurred between our two lands. There is, as you know, a…history.”

  The bird’s pretentious tone implied Teganne was to blame for that history. Alvarr crossed bulging arms as the three humans shared a cynical quirk of the brow.

  Gunjan drew himself up, much like a pompous man, to speak again. Varene bet that his mien reflected his master, the sultan.

  “Despite that history,” the jencel continued, “my Sacred Lord Kuramos has need of your aid. Prince of Teganne, will you allow your Royal Healer to journey to Kad?”

  Varene narrowed her eyes. So she’d been told to come, while Alvarr was given the courtesy of a request? Such meager regard these Kaddites had for her own rank and sex.

  Alvarr, still appearing serene, waved one finger at the bird and muttered a spell. “Priyar fok.”

  The bird blinked and cocked his head. “Hello? Hello? Why has everything gone silent?” He turned toward Varene. “Where’s all the noise? I can’t even hear myself! Wh—”

  Alvarr growled and snapped his fingers. The hubbub halted mid-word as the bird froze in place, beak half-open.

  “Thank Fate! That tongue needed a rest,” the prince said with a satisfied nod. But the levity evaporated as Alvarr stepped toward her, shaking his head. “‘Rene, you can’t mean to do this.”

  She blinked. “Of course not. Though I’d like to hear why you think I shouldn’t.”

  “The Sultan of Kad cannot be trusted! The dealings I’ve had with him…” Alvarr cupped a weary hand behind his neck. “He is ruthless. Think of it—he tried to steal you away without even telling us! And Qiara…” His gray eyes hardened. “My daughter and best friend held hostage! That he freed them in the end can’t compensate for the offense.”

  Her lips thinned. “No. Of course not.”

  Jilian spoke then, worriedly. “And what if this is all a plot to make you another hostage?”

  Varene snorted again. “I know you both love me, but I’m not a princess with a realm for my dowry. Anyway, the bird expected a male Healer, not me. My gut says he tells the truth. And…there is this.” She extended her fingers, displaying the ring.

  Alvarr emitted a sharp laugh. “Is that what Kuramos did with it!”

  She passed the object to the prince, who inspected it with a low, foreboding whistle. “A shadow of the FireRing in Kad. He claimed it had been demolished… Sly of him. Certainly no one could get through it at this size. He gave no hint that his ‘demolition’ was reversible.”

  He tossed the ring onto the floor, where it clung as if magnetized. Under his whispered spell, the ring pulsed and expanded, finally reaching three feet in diameter. It shimmered for a moment, then disappeared.

  Sobered, Alvarr looked over at Varene. “That was one of the last pieces of magic left in Kad, I’ll wager. As I enlarged the shadow here, the true Ring in Kad was resized to allow Crossings. I can send you there instantly.” His voice softened. “You may be right. Kuramos wouldn’t offer the Ring—wouldn’t risk a breach in his defenses and permit magic back into his realm—unless his need were great.”

  Varene nodded and pursed her lips. Despite her initial resolve, her thoughts were now ricocheting. She tugged on her habitual ponytail. Leaving Teganne was an appalling thought, one she’d never expected to consider. Her breath hitched as she fought the sparks of memory that threatened to yank her under, drown her in guilt and terror.

  And yet…

  By training and by calling, she was a Healer. She restored health and life to all those she could, and did her best to comfort and soothe when she couldn’t. This Kaddite illness was a deadly puzzle that needed an answer. Her kind of healing might find a solution where Kad’s physicians had not.

  Jilian reached for Alvarr’s hand and they faced her silently. Their expressions spoke of misgivings, but also compassion—for her, and perhaps, even if grudgingly, for the sultan whose family was suffering.

  Varene looked back at the frozen bird. He’d flown a very long way to reach her. Tegannese healing was the best in all the realms. Everyone knew it. She was proud of that.

  But Death had still come for those she’d loved. And it had bested her. Again and again.

  She would have given anything for Findar to be alive, or…

  No. Don’t even think it.

  But here was a chance to save others. No guarantees—there never were—but a possibility. And some of the ill were children. She had no right to ignore them.

  Alvarr and Jilian shared another glance. When the princess gave an almost imperceptible nod, the prince’s gaze returned to Varene. “Varene na Seryn, you’re a free woman, and shall make your own choices. You alone can choose your path, or decide where your skills might best be needed.”

  “Thank you.” She gave them a wan smile and her pulse accelerated. Her choice, he
r decision.

  “With the Ring, you can reach Kad in seconds,” Alvarr murmured. “But since Kad has no mages to send you home to us, your return would have to be the slow method, on fyddback. You’d be gone for many days.”

  “I understand.”

  “Then,” Jilian asked, “dear one, what do you wish to do?”

  Varene looked around the Healing Rooms, both her refuge and domain for so many years; a place as familiar and precious to her as her own hands. She looked out the window, past the grey walls of the castle and the lush fields along the river to the soaring, white-tipped mountains beyond. Toward Fallorm and all her reasons for staying here.

  But her gaze rebounded, and there in the prince and princess’s eyes were love and acceptance. And a reflection of the strength she would soon need.

  There had never really been a choice. No options.

  Varene na Seryn, the Royal Healer of Teganne, fixed the bird with an intense stare of her own and nodded for Alvarr to unfreeze him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Kaddite nobles who pleaded their petty disputes before the sultan’s court received only half of Kuramos’s attention that day. It was fortunate for them that half his attention was still worth a great deal.

  He sat tall on the Leonine Throne, listening to a long line of opponents argue like jealous monkeys. He passed judgment and sentences, upheld honor and approved justified revenge. But the image of his son, lying so still and pale in the bed, never left his mind.

  And neither did his awareness of the empty chair of ibis skins and feathers on his right. The chair that had been Dabir’s.

  Outside, golden sun baked the white domes and spires of his city. Even in the shelter of the marble palace, thick air weighed upon the jewelry-laden brows and necks of those present. Male servants in loincloths waved giant palm fronds, circulating the air as best they could, but sweat beaded the skin of the litigants and the other nobles watching from the tasseled carpets.

  Attending the sultan’s judgments of the nobility was a privilege reserved for men of high rank, an ancient tradition Kuramos privately thought bizarre. Who under Naaz’s sun would willingly waste time on the bickering that pervaded such afternoons? But that was the irony. Kuramos wanted to escape but could not, while those without responsibilities here attended of their own accord. Even his foes.