by Diana Green
“This will only last a few hours, once it’s consumed by your agent,” Sallizahn explained, handing a bottle of murky liquid to Asab. “Potent magic is required to copy a person precisely.”
“Everything hinges on Zula Kianga being convicted of the heir’s murder,” Asab stated, squinting at the potion. “Are you certain it will work?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Now you can focus on this bird problem of ours.”
Sallizahn approached Saba’s cage, reaching a finger through, as if to touch her. She backed away, resisting the urge to peck him. The less attention drawn to her the better.
“I may need to research transformation magic at the Conclave library,” he said, turning to Asab. “The resources here could prove insufficient.”
“Do whatever you think best.” Asab set the potion on his desk and fiddled with one of the wide drawers, popping open a secret compartment in the back. “I must attend to other concerns. Now that Sahsur can eliminate the Nissian threat for me, I’ll be calling in favors with my allies.” He pulled a handful of papers from the hidden partition. “Things are finally falling into place.”
Saba listened with growing horror as her father discussed plans with Sallizahn. Larger matters were unfolding here, affecting the fate of Altera as a whole. The progress achieved by the current Padishah—and the hopes for his son—might all come to nothing if Asab succeeded. More was at stake than simply Saba’s life or Jehan’s. She had to do something!
Chapter Eighteen
That evening, Saba waited impatiently for Asab to retire to his bed chamber. As often happened, he sent for a concubine to attend him. Ghada was the chosen companion this time, and she arrived by a private passage leading from the pasha’s chambers to the seraglio.
The two shared a carafe of wine, entertained by musicians. Ghada sang a little and danced. The musicians departed, leaving Asab to enjoy his night. He and Ghada kissed, discarding a trail of clothing on their way to his bed chamber.
Once Saba was finally alone, she began working to reverse the transformation spell. It had seemed too daunting a task before, but now she felt a pressing sense of urgency. The Padishah must be warned of her father’s plans. If Asab’s agent, Sahsur, wasn’t stopped, lives would be lost—the heir’s and possibly the Nissian princess’ as well.
Breathing slow and deep, Saba centered, allowing her inner sight to sharpen. With closed eyes, she focused on the arcane threads holding her present form as a bird. She saw them clearly and tried reaching with her will to reshape the pattern, but nothing changed.
Shaking off her doubts, she made another attempt, this time speaking the jinni words she remembered from Mari’s spell casting. For a moment her form seemed to blur and shift but settled firmly back to a pigeon.
Oh, Mari, she thought, I wish you were here! I don’t know what to do. Saba felt the loss of her friend like a blow to the chest.
My sweet girl, I’m not gone…simply free from my mortal vessel.
As Mari’s voice spoke in Saba’s mind, her familiar calming energy filled the surrounding space. It felt as if she was right there, fully present—a true healing balm for Saba’s heart.
I miss you so much, Mari.
I am always with you, as is the Viper Queen. She dwells in your very blood. Remember.
With those words, Saba flashed back to her vision at the hidden temple. She found herself once more in that luminous realm where her magic had fully awakened. As billows of dawn-colored mist swirled around her, she felt again the certainty and knowledge opening within. She was ancient and new, tiny and vast, simple and unimaginably complex.
The transformation spell’s arcane pattern sang to her. Saba felt just where each note must fall and rise, where the threads intertwined and where they needed separation. Returning to human form seemed as natural as breathing. Why had it baffled her only moments ago?
As her body morphed, rapidly expanding in size, a charge of energy burst outward. The flimsy golden cage split apart—falling in pieces on the thick rug—while Saba stretched up to her full human height.
For a moment she merely stood and breathed, feeling her body and grounding into it. Then she searched her father’s desk, finding everything required for writing a message to her uncle. Aware of the need to hurry, she penned a concise warning, thankful for the moon’s light shining through the window.
Saba dressed in Ghada’s discarded clothing, covering her head with the concubine’s embroidered scarf. She put the message in one pocket and coins from her father’s desk in a second pocket then tiptoed past his sleeping chamber.
As expected, a eunuch stood guarding Asab’s private passage to the seraglio. Saba forced herself to walk past the armed man, slow and sedate, as if she was Ghada returning to her quarters after the pasha finished with her. The guard made no comment, not even turning his head to look.
Beyond escaping her father’s chambers, Saba hadn’t formed much of a plan. Ideally, she would find a person to trust with the message for Hassan. Someone below the pasha’s notice was more likely to succeed in reaching her uncle swiftly. Saba couldn’t risk being caught on the roads, and she needed to help the imprisoned outlaws escape.
She assumed they still remained in pigeon form, as the spell only seemed to reverse her own condition. There had been no sense of reaching out and connecting with the outlaws and their families. Hopefully, when the time came, she could manage that task without too much difficulty.
Moving stealthily, Saba searched the seraglio first. Moonlight sparkled on the fountains and tiled pools, cutting swaths of silver across the carefully maintained gardens. The tinkling of wind chimes carried through the silent marble colonnades and deserted courtyards.
It felt strange to be back in this setting, which seemed much the same, while she had changed so drastically. How small the circumference of her life had been, only a few short weeks ago. She could not imagine returning to such an existence.
When Saba failed to find anyone useful in the seraglio, she moved on to other areas. In past years, before her father assigned a eunuch guard to ‘protect’ her, she’d sometimes ventured out at night to explore the sleeping palace. Those youthful excursions served her well now, as she hunted for a dependable messenger.
Luck proved to be with Saba, and she encountered her maid, Batul, carrying a bundle of bedding to the laundry. The girl had been her first choice for the mission, as she was both discreet and sensible. Over their time together something resembling friendship had developed, including a genuine mutual respect.
“Amira!” Batul’s eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t know you were back in the palace. Why haven’t they sent me to tend you?”
“My presence has been kept secret, and I haven’t much time. Would you be willing to do me a favor? It may cost your position, but you’ll be richly rewarded.”
“What do you need?”
“My father is planning a coup to take the crown. I’ve written a message to my uncle, Lord Hassan, telling him what I know. He’s a trusted adviser to the Padishah, and the sooner this message reaches him in Arahjhan, the greater the chances of avoiding civil war. It might also save the life of the heir and his wife. My father intends to have Marwahn Kah Muktar murdered and frame Zula Kianga for the crime.”
Batul looked stunned. “Are you certain, Amira? Those are serious charges.”
“I overheard my father discussing plans with Lord Sallizahn. There can be no doubt of his intentions. Please, Batul. I know this is a great deal to ask, but I have no one else to turn to. The Padishah will be immensely grateful for the part you play in this.”
The maid chewed her lower lip, obviously torn by her choices. At last she nodded. “I’ll do it. But you must tell me exactly where to find Lord Hassan and what I should say so he’ll believe you sent me.”
“Of course,” Saba assured. “Here’s money to purchase a horse and whatever else you need for travel.” She pulled the coins from her pocket and gave them to Batul, along wit
h the message. “Thank you so much! This is a great service you do, for all of us. I’m sure my uncle will pay you handsomely.”
They conferred on the final details then parted, each to their own tasks. Saba hurried to the aviary, hugely relieved to have her message on its way. She prayed her good fortune would hold a little longer.
~*~
Jehan paced the confines of her wire prison in the pasha’s aviary, checking yet again for a means of escape. She had circled this damnable bird cage countless times in the past days, desperate for an opportunity to take action. So far nothing presented itself.
Moonlight speckled the enclosure floor, where the last bits of grain lay scattered from their evening feeding. The other two surviving captives perched in the back of the enclosure, seemingly asleep.
Jehan studied them, trying to read something distinctive in the shape of each round head, tucked down into gray breast feathers. Which companions hid within these birds, and which two had died of their injuries on the torturous journey here? She didn’t even know who to grieve for!
If only she could speak or at least gesture with her hands. Instead, she had a pair of useless wings—one of them broken. The whole situation felt excruciating—trapped as a pigeon, with no way to help her comrades, and no idea what had befallen Saba.
Self-recrimination weighed heavy on her mind. Could she have done something different that might have saved them all from this disaster? Surely if she’d planned better or fought harder none of this would have happened. And now she was powerless to change anyone’s fate, including her own.
If ever they got out of this mess, Jehan swore to give up banditry. She’d had enough danger and death to last a lifetime. Whatever it took, she’d find a way to settle down and lead a peaceful existence, hopefully with Saba by her side.
How she longed to hold the princess in her arms, to tell her I love you. Why hadn’t she spoken those words when she had the chance? Perhaps it had seemed too much too soon for their budding relationship, but now she might never be able to share her true feelings.
As if Jehan’s thoughts conjured her, Saba appeared—alive and fully human—furtively making her way toward the aviary. She kept to the deepest shadows under the border of cypress trees, frequently pausing to check for patrolling guards. Thankfully, the square was empty.
Elated, Jehan hopped and fluttered her one good wing, attempting to catch Saba’s notice. A parrot in the neighboring cage gave an irritated squawk, turning a beady eye her way. The sound carried, grabbing Saba’s attention. Jehan let loose an awkward cry racing back and forth along the front of the enclosure.
Saba seemed to get the message, hurrying across the moonlit square toward her. At the same moment two guards and Lord Sallizahn appeared through an archway from the next courtyard. The sorcerer carried a faintly luminescent lodestone, hanging on a cord.
“There she is!” yelled one of the guards, breaking into a run.
Jehan watched in agony as Saba tried to flee. The sorcerer raised his hands, speaking a series of arcane words as he sent a spell racing toward the princess. Pale green sparks skittered over her skin, and she stopped, rooted to the ground. She half turned, watching Sallizahn approach, but clearly could not move her feet.
“I do hope you’re worth all this trouble,” he complained. “The pasha was not well pleased to find you missing.”
With a guard on each side, Saba had little choice but to be led away. Jehan pressed herself against the wire of the cage, pecking and scrabbling frantically for a way through. Her efforts did nothing but reopen her partially healed wounds. A drop of fresh blood slid from her injured wing, falling to the dusty ground.
Chapter Nineteen
Asab fumed, kicking the shattered remnants of his daughter’s bird cage. How in blazes had she done it? At what point did meek little Saba become a witch powerful enough to work transformation magic? The idea proved as shocking as it was repugnant.
When she was brought before him, he let loose his anger, striking her hard across the face. She stumbled backwards, hands flying to her cheek.
“Stop!” Sallizahn stepped between Saba and Asab. “I won’t have her damaged.”
“She’s my daughter. I’ll punish her how I like.”
“She’ll be my wife, and I’ve fulfilled the marriage contract,” Sallizahn countered. “That means she belongs to me more than to you. I’ll deal with her in my own manner.”
“But she’s tainted with women’s magic!” Asab spit the words out.
How had this abomination appeared in his family? Saba’s mother never showed any tendencies in that direction—at least as far as he knew. Uncertainty curled his mouth into a scowl. What secrets might have been kept from him all these years?
“I admit, the magic is a surprise,” Sallizahn said, annoyingly calm. “I wouldn’t have guessed she had innate abilities, but they can be cleansed from her. In the meantime, it’s no great matter to cast a suppression spell. That will keep her magic in check until the purification is complete.”
“She’s an ungrateful defiant little wretch, and I won’t have her stirring up trouble in my palace.”
Saba looked ready to say something, but the sorcerer held up a warning finger. “Silence, Amira, or you’ll make the situation worse.” He turned his attention back to Asab. “Sire, there is no cause for concern. I’ll give her a daily obedience potion. There will be no more attempts at escape or any other mischief. You have my word.”
Asab looked his daughter over, still baffled by her rebellion. He waved his hand in dismissal. “Take her away. I wash my hands of the entire business.”
~*~
Saba lay half asleep on a brocade divan in her new chambers, located adjacent to Sallizahn’s. Afternoon light sifted through gauzy curtains, while two flutists sat nearby playing intricate harmonies. Large ceramic pots of flowering vines stood in every corner, growing up filigreed screens, their heavy perfume filling the room.
It might seem like a pretty scene, but this was just another cage—a perilous one at that. There were no protections here, should the sorcerer choose to take advantage of Saba. An unguarded door connected their quarters, and she was in no fit condition to resist him.
Thankfully, he wanted her a virgin at their wedding and made no advances. This time was for purification, he had explained, so they could join properly in the sight of the gods as husband and wife.
Saba accepted this, hoping the delay might give Hassan time to bring royal troops to Tarjene. She tried calculating how long it would take Batul to reach Arahjhan and soldiers to travel from there. But her mind couldn’t stay fixed on the problem. In the next moment she’d forgotten all about the message to her uncle.
Not only did Sallizahn’s suppression spell keep Saba’s magic bound, but his obedience potion robbed her of mental focus. Her days passed in a confused fog. Thoughts passed briefly through her awareness, but she couldn’t grasp or hold them. A vague uneasiness haunted her, a sense she ought to be doing something, but it never clarified into action.
The only time she truly understood her situation was when the potion began to wear off each day, just before Sallizahn brought her next dose. One morning he was five minutes late, and she found herself remembering all that had happened, in stark detail. Horror gripped her, as she realized just how ensnared she had become. Would this be the way of things the rest of her life?
She tried to refuse, when the sorcerer arrived and handed her the vile brew, but it was no use. His commands cut through every other impulse like a hot blade through butter. The potion proved hideously effective. She could not defy him to save her life or her sanity.
“Would my Amira like something to eat?”
Saba opened her eyes to see a serving woman standing by the divan holding a platter of fruit, cheese, and pastries.
“I’m not hungry,” she murmured, blinking at the servant.
“Lord Sallizahn wishes you to eat, Amira. You must maintain your health.”
Saba sighed
and sat up, momentarily dizzy. “Have you been here before?” she asked. “I feel like I should know your name.”
“I am Hadil. Lord Sallizahn chose me to care for you.” The woman spoke as if she’d answered this question dozens of times. Quite possibly she had. Saba couldn’t remember.
She ate only a little. The food tasted like dust and ash, her stomach constantly unsettled. Nothing felt right, but she couldn’t think why this should be.
Sallizahn strode into the room, immediately questioning the serving woman. “Has Amira Saba eaten?”
“Yes, my lord.” The woman took the platter of remaining food and departed.
“It’s time to visit the priest for another cleansing.” The sorcerer offered Saba his hand to help her up.
She wanted so badly to refuse, but his words were chains that could not be broken. With an involuntary shudder she took his hand and rose from the divan. Her head spun and she stumbled against him.
“This too shall pass,” Sallizahn said, tucking her arm through his. “Only a few more days and the purification will be complete. Once we’re wed and return to my home, things will settle down. I’ll wean you off the potion eventually. I promise.”
After a long and tedious ritual with the priest, Saba was brought back to her chambers, where more food awaited her dismal appetite. Hadil bathed and readied her for bed. So that day passed like the others, in a miasma of despair and lethargy—her night filled with disturbing dreams and half remembered terrors.
She lost track of the passage of time. Had this situation lasted days, weeks, or longer? It was difficult to remember what came before. Had she ever been happy and free?
Finally one morning Saba woke to distant shouts and hurrying footsteps in the corridor outside her rooms. She got up, unusually clear-headed and noticed the angle of sunlight through the windows. The morning was half gone, and Sallizahn hadn’t arrived with her obedience potion.
