Throne of Sand (2020 Reissue)

by Helena Rookwood

  “Your wish is my command, master.”

  I gasped as the purple smoke swirled up from my shoulder, then sucked itself back into the ring, the slightest scent of frankincense still lingering in the air.

  As it had when I’d been in the Order of Scholars, a rush of warmth spread through my body.

  I blinked and squinted.

  Through the burning sands, the dark figures stalked toward me again.

  Instantly, I knew just how to position my feet in the best defensive stance. I knew in what order I ought to take out the figures approaching me. I knew how to position the sword. I felt myself flush with victory.

  I moved to lift the sword…and almost fell over as the weight of it still bested me.

  The blood drained from my face as I realized what Tarak had done.

  “You son of a roc!” I screamed.

  The ring heated for a moment, then Tarak’s sarcastic voice drifted out from it. “Oh, is that not exactly what you wanted, master? You, more than anyone, ought to know what it means to find your way out of a promise. If you want the strength to use the sword, I suppose you’ll have to use another wish.”

  “So you can twist my words around again? I don’t think so.” This was just what he’d done at the library. And I’d almost died then, too.

  “What can I say? I’ve learned from the master of twisting words to suit her own ends…”

  Gritting my teeth, I fastened my raw hands around the sword, letting the point rest on the ground for a moment. It might be heavy, but I was fit enough. And if I correctly understood what Tarak had done, I now knew everything there was to know about swordplay, even if I didn’t have the skill or strength to practice it.

  I looked at the oncoming ghuls, in this state, far slower and clumsier than the swordsmen they had been in life. The new knowledge I had been gifted with told me my best bet was to use the weight of the sword to my advantage. To fight with short, effective swings that would minimize the toll on my arms.

  I just had to hope it worked.

  When the first of the guards was close, I knew the exact moment to swing my sword.

  Pouring every ounce of strength I possessed into the movement, I let out a wild scream as I swung the sword up in a fluid arc.

  The weight of the weapon did the work. It connected with the guard’s neck with a soft, wet sound. I retched as it snagged on bone and cartilage, but I was no longer in control, the sword sweeping itself around to complete its arc.

  The guard fell – and was still.

  It was only then that I realized blood now dripped from my blade and speckled my front.

  I screamed.

  “Zadie!”

  The rhythmic pounding of hooves became audible over the storm, and Kassim erupted from the sand, looking wildly around him. His face set as he spotted me, rooted to the spot, chest heaving, the sword resting where it had stopped after its downswing.

  I shook all over…from shock as much as the physical pain.

  “Zadie,” Kassim slid from his horse, running to my side. “Spirits, Zadie. You’re covered in blood…”

  As the sand blew around us, it stuck to the blood on my clothes, making my skin feel thick and hot. I took a deep breath. There would be time to worry about that later. More shadows stirred within the glowing sand, heading straight for us.

  “You have to decapitate them,” I managed.

  Kassim turned pale. “You’re sure?”

  I looked to where the guard’s body lay near to my feet. The head had rolled out of sight, swallowed by the storm.

  Kassim followed my gaze. “Spirits, Zadie–”

  “It was in my book,” I croaked. “They’re ghuls. They appear in sandstorms and can possess the bodies of fallen men. I swear–”

  “I believe you.” Kassim put a hand to my shoulder. “You’ve fought bravely.”

  I was certain it was no more than a sultan addressing a soldier. Yet it filled me with a strange kind of pride. I straightened my painful back, forcing my sore hands to grasp the slick hilt of my sword more firmly. “There’s more of them.”

  Kassim nodded slowly. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  I nodded back, even if I didn’t feel it in my body. “You might just need to take the lead.”

  A flicker of a smile ran across Kassim’s face. “As you wish, princess.” He swiveled so he stood just in front and to the side of me, ready to move quickly. I gripped the sword more tightly, remembering how I had used it before.

  Then they came for us.

  Side-by-side, we swung at the guards, removing heads from bodies, until I couldn’t remember a time when I wasn’t coated in hot blood, when my arms didn’t burn and tremble with exhaustion.

  We fought until there were no guards left standing. And when the last of them fell, the sand fell away, too.

  Bodies littered the ground between where we stood and the ruined city of Tigrylon, now almost entirely buried under the sand. It couldn’t be more than a mile away from us.

  A faint haze hung in the air, the remaining dust still carried on a weak breeze glittering in the sunlight.

  Kassim shot me a sidelong glance. “When did you learn how to use a sword?”

  “I didn’t.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Honestly,” I said, reaching for the scimitar I’d dropped beside me. “Look.” I tried to pick it up, unsuccessfully. “I can barely lift this thing off the ground.”

  “Zadie, there are headless men before us because of you.”

  I looked back at the broken bodies and shuddered. I did that. I supposed it must seem unlikely that I would be able to fell even one of the ghuls with no training at all.

  “Well… I’ve read a lot of books on sword fighting.”

  Kassim shot me a dark look that told me he absolutely didn’t believe that was all there was to it.

  “And I’ve ridden a lot,” I added, hoping it didn’t sound as implausible to Kassim as it did to me. “So I’m stronger than I look.”

  “If I hadn’t collected you from Satra myself, I would begin to doubt you were a princess at all,” he muttered, the corners of his wide mouth downturned.

  I felt a muscle in my jaw begin to flicker. It seemed silly to have this argument now, considering what we’d just been through, and yet... “I suppose, as far as you’re concerned, all princesses ought to be exactly the same?”

  He shifted from foot to foot. “I have three sisters, and not one of them is remotely like you.”

  “All three are from Astaran,” I countered. “Things are different elsewhere. You must have read Sultanah Bena’s Manifesto on Kingdom Alliances. And Sultanah Farideh rules the Kingdom of Nahraj alone. I bet her daughters are nothing like your sisters, either.”

  His eyes flicked over me, the cool, assessing gaze I had become accustomed to. Only this time, I wasn’t entirely sure he disliked everything he saw. I felt heat rise to my cheeks.

  He smirked. “You look like the desert chewed on you for a while, then spat you out.”

  I glanced down and winced. I was caked in blood and sand, my clothes in tatters, and long, matted strands of hair that had escaped its braid curled over my shoulder. I dreaded to think what my face must look like.

  So much for trying to pass as the greatest beauty in the twelve kingdoms.

  Dragging my gaze back to Kassim, I was at least satisfied that he looked as bad as I did. I raised an eyebrow. “Have you looked in a mirror yourself recently?”

  His lips quirked up and he opened his mouth as if to say more, but we were interrupted.

  “Kassim!”

  Elian raced toward us on one of the horses, skidding to a halt at our side. He was as encrusted with sand as we were, but unwounded. He blanched when he saw blood coating me and the sultan.

  “Kassim,” he said in a low voice. “I should have never let the two of you become separated. I swore I would remain by the princess’ side. If something had happened–”

  “Fortunately, it se
ems the princess can take care of herself.” Kassim hadn’t taken his eyes off me. “And whatever I said about Zadie’s book, I take it back. It saved the both of us.”

  Elian looked between the two of us, the air heavy with a tension I couldn’t quite pinpoint.

  I supposed it was a start that he had admitted my book was useful. And that I could take care of myself.

  “Please, fill me in,” Elian said. His eyes lit on the headless bodies around us, the white-and-gold uniforms still clearly identifying them as Astarian guards. “We saw nothing after the two of you disappeared. Only sand and more sand...”

  To my shock, the sultan gestured to me, his amber eyes still fixed on mine. “Zadie, why don’t you tell the captain what you learned?”

  Slowly, I dragged my gaze from his and turned to Elian. The captain looked almost as shocked as I did.

  “The spirits were ghuls,” I started. “They appear in sandstorms. I think these were a kind of fire-spirit. They can possess the bodies of the dead. The guards they killed before… They used their bodies.” I swallowed. “They can only be stopped by decapitation.”

  “I see.” Elian’s eyes flicked again to the carnage around us.

  “Sultan!” The vizier rode up beside us, the apples of her cheeks tinged pink. “I’m glad to discover you’re well.”

  “Hepzibah.” Kassim shifted – away from me, I noticed. “I apologize for not coming to reassure you immediately. I was…distracted after so much bloodshed.”

  The vizier gave a thin smile. “No matter. Is the talisman safe?”

  Kassim patted his pockets with a panicked expression on his face, then relaxed.

  “It’s here.” He removed the leather pouch, then tipped the talisman out into his palm. He hooked a finger through the long chain and held it up, so the pendant swung gently like a pendulum.

  The talisman was bronze, and smaller than I thought it would be, about the same size and shape as a fig. It was covered in a fine latticework. I peered closer, expecting to find a gem inside, but it looked hollow.

  “Does it open?” I reached for it but the vizier snatched it first, her long, pale fingers searching the metalwork for a catch.

  “Nothing,” she concluded, letting it go.

  “There’s no map inside?” I leaned forward, peering at the latticework. “Do you think someone’s already taken it?”

  Kassim frowned. “The page in the Book of Talismans suggested the talisman was the map. I’d hoped there’d be directions etched straight onto it.”

  “So the necklace is useless?” Elian eyed the talisman warily.

  The vizier glared at him, crossing her arms. “It’s not useless. This is the result of months of searching.”

  “What will you do?” I lifted my gaze to meet the sultan’s.

  “We can’t do anything until we find out how it works.” After a moment, he hung the talisman around his neck and lifted a hand to where it lay, over his heart.

  I pressed my lips together. Perhaps there would be a letter from Ambar waiting for me when we returned to Kisrabah. My heart lifted at the thought. It might include some information about how to use the talisman.

  “We’ll take it to the Magic Quarter as soon as we return to Kisrabah.” Hepzibah addressed Kassim. “I have several contacts there, all experts on magical items. One of them must be able to tell us how the talisman functions as a map, once they’ve seen it.”

  There was a Magic Quarter in Kisrabah? I clenched my fists. Iago the bird merchant had neglected to share that information with me when I’d asked him about magical merchants in the city, no doubt to try and pedal his own questionable merchandise.

  I exhaled slowly. Even if there was a Magic Quarter in the city, I doubted anyone there knew as much about talismans as Ambar did. He’d been sourcing rare magical artifacts for my mother for years. And none of Hepzibah’s contacts had known how to find the talisman, had they?

  I ran a hand through my hair, wincing as I felt the sand lodged in my curls. My fingers caught in the tangles, and I sighed again, wiggling them out and showering sand over my shoulders as I did so.

  Dusting the sand from my palms, I glanced down at the ring on my finger. Tarak had been worse than useless when I’d needed him. Again.

  I slowed the rubbing of my hands, thinking again on what Hepzibah had just said. I might not need the merchants in the Magic Quarter to help me with the Night Diamond talisman...but perhaps they could help me with something else...

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I lay flat on my back on the vast balcony, allowing the cold marble to seep into my body as I stared up at the stars. The coolness soothed the wound, which had been patched up again by the palace healers. We’d only been back for a day, but already it felt better. As Elian had assessed at the time, the wound wasn’t deep.

  I glanced back toward my dimly lit chambers beyond the curtains. Mehri and Jevera had retired to their rooms for the night, so I shouldn’t be disturbed. I rolled onto my stomach and rubbed the ring.

  Purple smoke spread slowly over the balcony, revealing Tarak in his preferred human form, flat on his stomach opposite me, his chin propped in his hands. “You called, warrior princess?”

  I sighed, not rising to his mocking tone. “I did call. I want to propose a truce.”

  “Oh, a truce?” The djinni arched an eyebrow. “A truce suggests that we’re fighting as equals, which we’re not. You’re my master, I’m your slave, remember? You say jump, I–”

  “Find a way to misinterpret a simple instruction and almost kill me?” I cut in, glaring at him as I swiveled around to sit cross-legged.

  Tarak smirked, then leapt up and stalked to the balcony edge. He reclined against the marble, adjusting his waistcoat so his bare chest gleamed in the dim light. “Maybe you should think more carefully before you make a wish in future, princess. Before you speak in general, actually. I’ve never met anyone who blurts out what they’re thinking with more regularity than you do. You’re a liability.”

  “I do not blurt!”

  “You do. You’re a blurter.”

  I took a deep breath through my nose, trying to press down the irritation simmering at my core. When I’d summoned Tarak, I’d had good intentions, but the djinni was doing his best to wind me up.

  “Look, I know I haven’t honored our deal, yet. But I intend to fix that.”

  Ignoring me, he picked at his beaded waistcoat, then spread it open, apparently absorbed in admiring his own torso.

  “Tarak? Listen, I’m saying I’m going to help you.”

  He didn’t look up, waving the waistcoat so that the buttons flashed in the moonlight. “Oh yeah, how’s that?”

  “I have an idea. But it means I’ll need to use a wish… and it’s just so risky when I never know how they’ll turn out.” My voice became firm. “Twice, you’ve swindled me out of a proper wish when I needed it the most. First the riddle, then the swordfighting. Both times I could have died. If I’m going to keep my end of our bargain, I need reassurance that you’ll stop deliberately misinterpreting my wishes.”

  Tarak looked up from toying with his waistcoat, his purple eyes sharp. “So what’s this big idea?”

  “The script engraved on the ring.” I thrust my fist out in front of me. “I’m going to find out what language it’s written in from one of the merchants in the Magic Quarter, and then I’m going to wish to be able to read it.”

  The djinni disappeared and reappeared in a flash of smoke, sitting cross-legged opposite me, mirroring my pose. His violet eyes met mine. “You don’t have to do that.”

  I frowned, taken aback. “I want to. I want to help.”

  “No, I mean, you don’t need to ask a merchant. I know what the language is.”

  I straightened my spine.

  Tarak took my hand in both of his, his skin smooth and hot, like sun-warmed marble. “It’s called An Nimivah.” He said the word softly, and it sent a pleasant shiver running down my arms.

  “An Nimivah?”
I repeated the foreign words, sounding them out slowly.

  Tarak nodded. “It’s the language of my people. The spirits.”

  “So you can read this? You already know what it says?” I snatched my hand back from him.

  He quickly held up his own hands in a gesture of innocence. “No, you don’t understand. In my realm, An Nimivah isn’t a written language. It’s only spoken. In your world, here, it’s used by sorcerers. They write it down. They use our own language to bind us and control us.”

  I let this new information wash over me. I couldn’t believe I’d never heard of An Nimivah, in all my years of studying languages. Then again, the sorcerers no doubt guarded their knowledge of it jealously.

  I lifted my head and my gaze met the djinni’s.

  “So I could wish to read it?”

  “Sure, you could wish to read it. To speak it, too.” He settled his hands in his lap, his shoulders lowering. “I could make you perfectly fluent in reading, writing, and speaking An Nimivah, in just one wish.”

  Something about his tone put me on edge. I pursed my lips. “And you swear you won’t mess it up?”

  Tarak snorted. “You got it, princess.” His voice was heavy with sarcasm. “You use one of your precious few wishes to help a spirit, and I’ll stop with all the tricks.”

  I glared at him. “You don’t believe I’ll do it?”

  The djinni gave an exaggerated shrug. “Forgive me for being skeptical, princess, but your kind don’t exactly have a long history of helping–”

  “Tarak,” I said firmly, “I wish to be fluent in An Nimivah.”

  The djinni’s eyes widened, glowing like purple embers.

  He opened and closed his mouth, then finally spoke in a rushed whisper. “Granted…”

  The familiar warm feeling flooded through me, making my skin tingle as the magic rushed over me, then faded. I looked up at Tarak. “Did it work?”

  Still looking stunned, the djinni pointed at the ring on my finger. “There’s an easy way to find out…”

  I lifted my hand and looked at the ring.

  I can read it.

  My stomach twisted, the same feeling of dread I’d felt in Tigrylon shuddering down my spine.