Leena's Story - The Complete Novellas (A Dance of Dragons Book 4)

by Kaitlyn Davis

  Tam pursed his lips, squinting.

  “He killed Mikza,” she whispered. “He murdered him. And even though it is not a princess’s right to question her king, I need to. I want to punish him, Tam, I want to make him hurt.”

  Leena waited, heart pounding deafeningly loud in her ears.

  After a few silent moments, Tam nodded. “Okay.”

  And that was all the encouragement she needed.

  THREE

  Leena hated goodbyes. But unlike her goodbye with Mikza, this one was filled with hope, with excitement, with the promise of things to come.

  Leaning out of her golden carriage, so out of place in these iron districts, Leena met the girl’s eyes—Jinji. By now, her disguise was back on, no longer a woman, but just the image of a young boy. On the carriage ride down, Jinji had tried to explain her motives and Leena understood them in a way—being a boy was much safer than being a girl in this world. Still though, catching her eyes moments after saving the prince, Leena wondered why this foreign girl did not at least admit the truth to the man she was so obviously in love with. But that was not Leena’s concern—her concern was bringing them to safety, which she had done to the best of her abilities.

  Leena held Jinji’s thankful gaze as the prince stepped free of his hiding spot in the trunk attached to the carriage, eyes adjusting to the daylight, stretching his sore muscles. She willed words to come to her lips, a way to show her gratitude, to thank Jinji for the new ray of light and the new plans growing roots in the back of her mind. To tell the foreign girl the truth—that the prince was not the only person saved today.

  Leena was born anew. Finally she had acted. Finally she had disobeyed. Finally she had done something, anything, to bring down her father.

  Finally.

  But the words would not come—the thoughts alone overwhelmed her. So instead, Leena just whispered, “Good luck.”

  A lame farewell, but it was the best she could do as she silently promised they would see each other again. No matter how hard, Leena was going to escape and when she found this girl Jinji again, she would have the right words to say to express her gratitude.

  Taking too long already, Leena reluctantly settled back inside the carriage and knocked twice on the front wall. Within seconds, Tam spurned the horses into motion, pulling Leena back up the city streets—back to her prison.

  She ached to pull the curtain aside, to set eyes on Da’astiku for the first time at eye level—not from above. Leena had never traveled so far below the golden palace. To the silver level and wealthy noble homes, yes, but never here. The iron streets were full of merchants and peasants. Shouts echoed around her, calling to test their goods, to eat their bread, to sample their jewelry. Playful children screeched and laughed. Just below the louder yells was the constant chatter of high-pitched voices, women and girls to be sure. Hooves clattered on metal and stone. Carts and chimes and other noises Leena could not place but wished to uncover.

  So much life.

  So much freedom.

  Nothing like the quiet halls surrounding her rooms in the palace, isolated and confined. Sometimes her world was silent enough for Leena to actually hear her own heart beating—pounding against the walls of her chest, fists against a locked door.

  But far too soon, the sounds in the streets hushed. Only then did Leena break her promise to Tam and peek around the curtain, greeted with golden arches and the front courtyard of the palace plateau.

  A shiver traveled down her spine. Cold.

  The carriage pulled to a stop. Tam swung the door open, offering his hand, but when Leena met his warm chocolate eyes, they both paused, staring. Unable to move. Unable to believe they had returned undiscovered. Unable to comprehend their success. Tam’s gaze twinkled with diamonds. Leena’s lips pulled into a grin.

  And then the bells began to chime.

  Soft and musical, at first Leena didn’t understand. Not until alarm widened Tam’s eyes. Not until his mouth fell open in surprise. Not until his hand lifted, tugging her swiftly from the carriage. And then she realized—these were not normal bells. The sound amplified, echoes traveling farther and fainter until air itself seemed to ring.

  This was an alarm.

  “Are we discovered?” Leena whispered.

  Tam bit his lip. “I don’t know. But guards are likely on their way here.”

  Leena glanced around the open space. Behind her, the golden columns of the palace. Before her, the golden archway of the bridge. The only entrance to the royal levels of Da’astiku, and the only exit too. Already, the space was beginning to fill with guards emerging from the palace, from the slave quarters, from the stables. Eyes landed on her only to slip away, slanting toward the city below.

  “Follow my lead,” Leena whispered, stepping out from behind Tam, leaving him to follow as a guard should. Chin lifted high, the image of confidence, Leena glided forward, cresting the steps, and walking without pause into her home.

  “Princess!”

  Leena stopped, swallowing the lump forming in her throat, and forced a smile to her face. Stilling her trembling hands, she turned. “Yes?”

  A guard Leena did not recognize bowed low before her, eyes flicking to Tam before resting fully on her, slightly suspicious. “The king is looking for you. He requests your presence in the throne room.”

  Leena nodded her head in thanks, not bothering to speak, acting more royal and more rude than usual. But fear held her tongue—fear she did not want this already wary guard to see. So instead, she continued forward as though seeing her father were the easiest and most natural act in the world. Inside though, Leena was falling to pieces, panic closing her throat as she repeated over and over to just breathe.

  The throne room came into view too soon. And her father with it, sitting on his gilded dais, no different from the last time she had seen him earlier this day. The floor though, Leena realized, had already been cleaned. The blood had been washed away, leaving the tiles shiny and glistening once more. But the image of Mikza’s hollow eyes was not so easy to erase.

  Bowing deep, burying her terror and hate under every ounce of strength she possessed, Leena said, “Father, I—”

  “Tamarin, leave us,” he interrupted, voice deep and demanding.

  Beside her, Tam bowed. Leena did not look at him, too afraid her father would read the trust and apology in her eyes as her friend walked away. The sound of his boots on stone made her chest heavy.

  “Remove your veil,” the king ordered, his steely expression returning to her. Leena obeyed, shivering as the full wave of his anger hit her.

  “Fa—”

  “You were seen leaving the palace today. Why?”

  Leena swallowed. “I needed to be alone with my thoughts.”

  King Razzaq shook his head, unsatisfied. “Why?”

  “Because you killed him,” Leena whispered, “and I needed to get away.”

  The king stood, stepping down from the dais, within a foot of her body, looming. “Why?”

  Leena fought the urge to cower, using the bubbling defiance to strengthen her voice, give conviction to the half-truths about to spill from her lips. “Because I wanted to leave.”

  “And go where?” He seethed.

  “Anywhere.”

  The king seized her by the throat, not hard enough to choke, but hard enough to bruise. “Tell me the truth, girl.”

  “I am,” Leena spat, smiling through her teeth, “I hate you. I would risk anything to escape you. And I would have if that guard hadn’t brought me back.”

  Her father stared into her eyes, holding her tighter, so her breath came short. Leena could read the calculations behind his dark gaze, the scenarios spinning, whether he believed her or not. And she felt the shift the second he trusted her words to be true, realized it even before he pushed her away, hard, so she stumbled and fell to the ground.

  Leena remained staring at the floor, breathing heavily behind a curtain of ebony hair, trying to hide the grin pulling at her cheeks
.

  Pride.

  That was what she had seen in her father’s eyes the moment before he let her go—arrogance, vanity, pride. The great King Razzaq could never admit that all of his plans had been thwarted by his own daughter, by a princess, by a girl. Part of him knew there was too much coincidence—his daughter throwing a tantrum and then leaving the palace while at the same time a prisoner escaped. Part of him knew Leena was not innocent, that she had, without a doubt, had a hand in the Whylkin prince’s escape.

  He knew it.

  She knew it.

  But admitting it was something else. And King Razzaq would never publicly confess to being bested, especially not by a woman. Even with no witnesses around, her father could not speak the words—to even voice them would go against every instinct in his body.

  “I have sent a letter to Lord Biitar,” her father spoke, voice utterly calm. Leena looked up, meeting his cold eyes, filled with the flicker of revenge. Before the next words were pronounced, she closed her lids tight, trying to hide from the truth clenching her gut. “Your match with his son Amosaan has been formalized and arrangements are being made for the coming weeks.”

  Leena couldn’t stop her features from falling, reacting to a sentence more terrible than any other her father could pronounce. She was to be matched, married, discarded, and dealt with as someone else’s problem. No more private rooms. No more hours spent deep in the depths of her personal pool. No more time alone without servants or guards to watch her every move. Once she had a husband, the binds around her would be complete.

  She knew it.

  And her father knew it too.

  A sinister grin separated his lips and a terrible glint lit his eyes, letting Leena know that he knew the truth—to her, this was a fate worse than death.

  Hardening her nerves, Leena stood, curtsied, and turned away. Before she could step, her father grabbed her arm, gripping it tight, jerking her around so she met his gaze.

  “You are playing a dangerous game, daughter,” he murmured, dark and foreboding, “one you do not know how to win.”

  Winning is not the point, Father, Leena thought, unable to speak the words aloud. The point is to do everything in my power to make sure you lose.

  On the outside, she smiled, widening her eyes, innocent. “Whatever do you mean?”

  But her father had already shoved her away, turning to the sound of a guard sprinting down the hall. Leena left, walking swiftly to the exit, pausing long enough to listen to the king howl in frustration.

  It could only mean one thing. The search was over and the Whylkin prince had officially escaped. She had won—the battle at least, if not the war.

  Leena let that thought keep her feet light as she raced for her rooms, for the solitude of her private pool, for the security behind those walls, the only place she could catch a glimpse of freedom. But when she got there, all the elation faded away, vanished.

  A vase rested just behind her door.

  Unimposing. Chipped. Muddy clay with no adornments.

  Without even opening the lid, Leena knew exactly what it was.

  “Mikza,” she murmured and collapsed, limbs sinking slowly to the ground. Against her will, Leena found her hand was moving, her fingers were gripping the handle and pulling the top free. Inside, just as she expected, sat a pile of ashes.

  All that was left of her love.

  The unmarked were not allowed a proper burial. They were less than human. They did not deserve to be remembered, honored, memorialized. The unmarked were burned instead.

  Though she wanted to cry, for the first time, Leena realized she had no tears left. For the past month, all she had done was cry. When they had been found out. When Mikza had been brutalized. When he had been sent away. When her days were filled with lonely hours she could not escape. And even today, a day of triumph, was marred with tears over his death.

  There was nothing left in her that could mourn.

  The past month had been one, long, extended goodbye, and for the first time, it was not tears that came to her cheeks, but a smile. Looking down at those dusty ashes, Leena realized something. Finally, Mikza was what he had always wanted to be—he was free.

  Almost.

  Before she could second-guess, Leena lifted the vase and ran onto her balcony. As soon as she stepped outside, a massive gust of wind blew against her cheeks, throwing her hair wildly to the side, making her skirts rise up around her. A sign. A good sign. The air was wild, just like she felt, just like she wanted Mikza to be.

  In one quick motion, she threw the lid to the ground and flipped the urn on its side, shaking. White dust filled the breeze around her, a cloud brought down to earth for a moment before billowing back up into the sky.

  Leena closed her eyes as the wind pressed against her—Mikza’s arms around her waist, his lips lightly kissing her neck, his touch everywhere at once. And in the howl, Leena heard his voice, quiet and soft, whispering, “I love you.”

  And it was not a goodbye, but a promise.

  That he was there.

  That he was with her.

  Always.

  FOUR

  For the third time in a week, Leena sat with her hands crossed, waiting for her future husband to arrive. Though she looked the part of demure princess, patiently resting in a golden silk gown, face downcast and hidden behind her metal veil, Leena’s mind whirled.

  Today was the day she would press her luck.

  Today was the day she would press Amosaan for information.

  Something was happening outside this palace. The air carried a fiery current, lightning about to zap, filled with excitement. The guards spoke in hushed tones. The high-ranking lords flooded in and out, secret meetings with secret agendas about to come to fruition. And her father, a man of complete control, drowned himself in celebratory wine, unable to hide his glee.

  For their first two meetings, Leena had held her tongue, barely speaking, listening to her future husband regale her with meaningless tales of his strength, his prowess, his cruelty. The prideful boastings of an Ourthuri noble, and Leena had done everything she could to play the enthralled princess. Smile at all the right moments. Shyly run a finger over the sharp curves of his dagger-shaped tattoos. Glance flirtingly under hooded brows, mysterious and alluring.

  But today, during this third meeting, Leena was going to test the strength of her powers of manipulation. How much would her future husband, a man bubbling over with vanity, reveal to someone he saw as nothing but a silly girl? A lot, Leena hoped. Because without a doubt, whatever brought such joy to the king’s face was something to be feared, and if possible, stopped.

  Mikza was dead. Tam had been removed from her service, stolen away to another area of the palace. Her guards had been changed, their shifts doubled, her freedom cut far too thin. Amo was her only hope now, her only potential source of information.

  And he was finally here.

  Leena slid gracefully from her seat, dipping into a deep curtsy, waiting with her knees almost to the ground. Amo enjoyed commanding his women—Leena learned that early on, as far back as their first dance at her sister’s wedding only a few weeks ago. Though her thighs trembled with the strain of holding her body so low, Leena refused to move until Amo slid his fingers under her veil, placing three of them below her chin, forcing her gaze and her body up. Leena obeyed.

  “Princess.” He nodded, hazel eyes running over her figure, well displayed in the thin, curve-hugging gown.

  “Amosaan,” Leena purred, adding a slight vibrato to her voice, saying his true name rather than his title. Amo’s gaze deepened. Too easy. Leena fought away her smirk.

  He did not apologize for being late, for keeping her waiting. Amo expected his wife to do as she was told, no questions, for what better thing did a woman have to do than wait on a man?

  Leena took a deep breath, calming her anger as he placed his hand on the small of her back and led her to her chair. Within moments, a servant arrived with a tray of teas and desserts
. Leena shooed the woman away, aware that Amo preferred she serve him, and poured two glasses.

  Then it became a waiting game.

  Leena listened to Amo speak, nodding when appropriate, offering demure gasps of appreciation, making sure her eyes never grew glassy from her boredom. But more stories of Amo in the practice yards fighting opponents with a blade did not require much concentration. And in the back of her mind, an endless line of questions started to form, painting a terrible future.

  What if she never escaped? What if she married Amo? Would this be her life, tea and pretending and boredom? Or would it be worse, would Amo turn the cruelty in his stories on her? What would he force her to do during those long hours of the night? If she couldn’t contain her strong will forever, what then? Would he be able to break her, until even Mikza back from the grave wouldn’t recognize her?

  “Amo,” Leena gasped as he finished his tale, turning an expectant gaze on her. In truth, Leena had stopped listening long ago, but everything he said was nearly the same. And she had reached her limit. Time to take her chances. Leaning in, bringing their faces closer together, Leena whispered, “You are so brave. I wish I could be so brave.”

  Amo shrugged. “Women don’t need to be brave, that is what men are for, to protect them from situations where such bravery is required.”

  Leena closed her eyes to hide her glare, trying to keep her nostrils from flaring, to keep her face from revealing her annoyance. Playing it off as worry and admiration, Leena spoke in a trembling tone, “I only meant that I wish I weren’t so afraid. Did you know that a prisoner escaped my father only a week ago, an enemy prince? I could hardly sleep for days I was so worried about where he might be or what he might do.”

  “Princess…” Amo sighed, shaking his head as though she was a child. “You do not need to worry about such things.”