The highest plateau of Da'astiku was no more than a sea of liquid gold chain mail, fiery in the brightening light of day. Her father's soldiers were ready to squash the rebellion—no surprise lit their stoic expressions. The king was prepared for this uprising. It came as no shock to him. But as her eyes flicked over the men, Leena found a few faces slightly upturned, gazing at her with what she hoped was a hint of anticipation. Tam had spoken to his friends, and he had many friends within the guard. Hopefully not everything was what it seemed.
The soldiers parted as she crested the ridge, creating an open path down the middle leading directly to the front entrance of the palace.
Leena's brows pressed together.
Confusion stirred in the back of her mind.
Did her father mean to surrender?
Never, Leena thought, shaking her head.
Yet did he really believe he could beat her? Could beat Tempest?
Hesitantly, she drifted through the open columns at the front of the palace, swooping low and spinning sideways so Tempest's broad wings could squeeze through. Unlike the castles of Whylkin, fortresses of stone full of narrow halls and even narrower doors, the golden palace of Ourthuro practically dared enemies with its openness. There were few walls and fewer doors. Sun streaked in from every angle. Rows of towering columns created a maze only the familiar could pass through without getting lost. Luckily, Leena knew these curving pillars like the back of her hand, and even though each one looked nearly the same, the subtle differences stood out.
She led Tempest easily to the throne room.
And then stopped with her heart in her throat.
King Razzaq sat patiently waiting. And by his side, only five years old, was her brother Haydar. He was the reason for the smug smile now gracing her father's lips. He was the reason she was let into the palace without so much as a sword raised against her. He was the reason her pulse suddenly hammered through her limbs, clunky and unsure.
Leena hadn't seen her brother in weeks.
He gazed at her now, eyes wide in excitement as he practically jumped from his miniature throne and raced from their father's side.
"Leena!" he shouted, still a child.
And then he stopped, realizing his loss of decorum, and straightened his spine. Composed, he marched slowly toward her, taking each step with deliberate concentration to keep himself from sprinting.
Princes do not run. Leena could almost hear the demanding command in her brother's ear, the invisible voice of her father whispering to him. Running signals eagerness, fear, weakness. And we must never reveal when we are not in control. Princes are always in control.
But she was not a prince.
She was not even a princess, not anymore.
So Leena jumped from Tempest's back and swept her brother off his feet, hugging him close as he sighed happily in her ear.
"You're alive," he whispered, tiny voice brimming with relief.
A warm fire lit deep within her soul—she wasn't too late to save him. Part of the little boy she loved was still there—the boy who loved everything around him, who was so full of life, who defied everything her father wanted in his son. The king was trying to stamp out every soft part of his personality, but he hadn't succeeded—not yet.
A deep cough broke the moment.
"Do princes hug traitors to their kingdom?" the king asked, leaving no question of the proper response.
Haydar jerked out of Leena's embrace, inhaling deeply, fear evident in his gasp. He spun on his heels, turning his back on her. Sounding so much older than his years, he guiltily replied, "No, Father."
Without further command, he walked calmly back to the king's side. And when he crawled up into his throne and turned on Leena, the love was gone from his dark brown eyes.
Her hands clenched into tight fists.
Her teeth ground together as her nostrils flared.
It took everything in Leena's power not to whisper one word into Tempest's mind—kill. One thought was all it would take to end this fight. One thought and an ice crystal could sail directly into the center of the king's chest. One thought could wipe the smug smile off his face forever.
But could she do it in front of her brother?
Could she give Haydar a reason to hate her? A reason to hold their father as a martyr? A reason to be like their father when he was of age to rule?
Leena took a deep breath. She had to be patient. She had to wait for the perfect moment to strike. And that time was not now.
Holding out her hand, she signaled Tempest to pause, to relax. And then her gaze swept the room, landing on the handful of guards surrounding them and the woman sitting over her father's shoulder, a woman she failed to notice before—the queen, head covered in a golden veil, still as a statue in her flowing golden gown. She was a female on display, same as Leena had once been, not free to have a mind of her own. But the king didn't own Leena anymore. She was free to speak, and she was free to say whatever words came to mind.
"Father," Leena said calmly, but her body was on full alert.
He raised his brows at her endearing term. "Should we call you daughter? The term traitor sounds far more fitting."
Leena shrugged. "Call me what you may, but it will not change the truth. You betrayed our people long before I did. And what I do, I do on their behalf, to save them from you."
"To save them from us?" he asked, voice dripping with faux surprise. He dropped a beefy, tattoo-covered hand onto Haydar's shoulder. "To save them from their king? We have done nothing but keep our country safe from intruders, keep it rich and well protected. You are the one who ran to the enemy, revealing our secrets and putting our people's lives in danger."
Leena's eyes flicked from her brother's nod of approval to her father's sinister stare. "Did you keep the people safe when you hid in the palace while I fought the army of ghosts threatening to destroy our home? Did you keep them safe by starting a pointless war with our neighboring kingdom? Did you keep them safe by forcing them to be slaves at the slightest hint of opposition? Did you keep them safe by continuing customs that have long since grown outdated and cruel? I do not feel safe, Father. And there are many others who agree with me."
He paused, licking his lips. "Are you still bitter over Mikzahooq's death?"
Leena sucked in a breath, refusing to give in to his goading. At the same time, her hand ached to slap across his face at the mere sight of Mikza's name rolling off his unworthy tongue.
"You both knew the rules," he continued. "It is not our fault you chose to defy them, knowing what fate would await."
"This," Leena hissed, "is about so much more than one man." Breathing in shakily, Leena calmed herself. To her, Mikza was so much more than just one man—he had been everything. But their shared dreams had always been about more than their love for one another. "This is about the veils our women wear to keep them from being able to speak. This is about the tattoos that brand our people from birth, never allowing them to change their station in life. This is about the fact that a thing as beautiful as falling in love is cause for a life of slavery in Ourthuro. This is about the mothers of so many princesses who lie in shallow graves because they gave birth to beautiful girls rather than boys. This is about a little prince whose innocence has slowly been chipped away in order to mold him into a cruel leader he's never wanted to become. This is about the hardness that commands our culture, crushing any soft touch that fights to break through."
"And you believe you can change all of that?" her father asked with disbelief.
Leena squared her shoulders, staring up at him boldly with outward defiance. "I already have. The people of Da'astiku are rising up against you. And when word of what happened here spreads to the outer isles, where the threat of your brutality already holds less power, they'll change with us. I have no doubt about the future. The only question that remains is how to deal with you."
He sneered. "You don't have the heart for murder."
"I don't think of it as murd
er," Leena replied smoothly, not even pausing to blink. "I think of it as justice for a man who has committed countless crimes, but has never paid the price for a single one of them."
His nostrils flared.
A thrill shot up Leena's back, making the corners of her lips twitch with a smile she had to fight to contain. Her words were getting to him. She was winning. And she opened her mouth to tell him so, but in that moment, the faint ring of metal striking metal filtered to the throne room, music to her ears. The rebellion had reached the golden palace, and the commoners could have never made it this far on their own. Some of the guards were fighting with them. How many, Leena didn't know. But it was enough to know that victory remained a very real possibility.
"We're curious," her father asked, regaining her attention. He didn't look at all bothered by the sounds of fighting drifting through the open halls. Indeed, he looked energized by it, as though the chaos fueled his strength. "Why did you come here alone rather than fight with the people? We know of the dragon's power and how easy it would have been for this beast to destroy our forces."
Leena sensed Tempest behind her, alert but also unworried. "Because this is my fight, Father, not hers. And I would never even think to use her the way you use your soldiers, to force her to fight a battle I know in her heart she doesn't want to fight. You might not understand this, but she is a force for good. And she will protect me if it comes to that, but it would go against her nature to kill a man whose only fault is being on the wrong side of a human war."
The king leaned back, laughing deeply as he kept his eyes on Leena. "So you mean to kill us yourself?" The clash of swords grew louder, and his mirth disappeared entirely. "Kill her," he ordered.
Everything happened in fast forward.
One minute Leena was standing before her father, and the next, she had been knocked over by the weight of a two-hundred-pound man flying into her. She landed hard against the floor, slamming her head painfully into the tile, blinding her for a moment.
"Save us," the man whispered.
Her vision focused slowly, still blurred by dark spots, but it cleared enough for her to see the life disappear from his eyes while he was still on top of her. Blood seeped into her clothes, and that's when she noticed the arrow protruding from his neck—an arrow that had been meant for her heart. But with the weight of his chain mail and his body holding her down, Leena was an easy target. A spear filled her vision, arching perilously close to her head.
Tempest whipped her tail around and smacked the spear from the air, sending it deep into a stone column. Then she roared, spewing a shower of sharp ice toward the guard who released the weapon. He went down in a matter of moments, immediately dead as the crystal shards landed in his chest, cutting easily through the metal meant to protect his body.
A moment of silence passed in awe of the dragon's fury.
And then the room jumped into motion. Half the guards ran to defend her father, and the other half rose to Leena's aid. The rebellion had made its way to the very core of her father's soldiers—his personal guard. Swords scraped against each other as sharp edges met in equal strength. The best fighters in all of Ourthuro faced one another, former friends who now lay on opposite sides of a civil war.
Tempest lifted the body off of Leena, throwing it easily to the side. But still, Leena didn't mount her. She wouldn't force Tempest to kill her father, to kill the guards, to kill anyone else. This was a fight she had to win on her own.
Separate us, Leena ordered.
Tempest launched into the air, sweeping in a circle around Leena and the royal family sitting uneasily on their thrones. Liquid ice flew from her snout, landing on the tile floor and freezing on the spot. She continued to circle, round and round, and a crystal wall rose around them—translucent enough to see blurred fighting on the other side, but utterly impenetrable.
They were alone.
Leena looked away from her dragon, finding her father.
"No!" she gasped.
King Razzaq held a knife in his hand.
He grabbed Haydar, bringing the toddler before him, placing the blade against the soft skin of his throat. The edge was sharp enough to draw a thin line of blood.
Leena pulled her sword from its sheath, a gift from Rhen. But she still barely knew how to use it. Her plan had always been to distract her father until the rebellion reached them—to give him to the people and let them do to him what they willed. But she could no longer afford to wait. Her grip tightened on the hilt as she tried to gather her confidence.
"Choose wisely, daughter," the king threatened.
Haydar opened his mouth, terrified and confused as he tried to turn to his father. But the king held him steady, eyes focused only on Leena, refusing to look down at his only son. To her father, the boy was nothing more than another pawn in his game.
"Father?" Haydar whimpered. And then he looked at Leena, biting his lip and trying not to cry, because he knew that crying was not something princes were supposed to do.
The sight broke her.
"It's okay," Leena whispered, smiling encouragingly at her little brother, trying to ease his fears while at the same time panic gripped her heart. Slowly, she kneeled, dropping her sword on the floor and holding her hands up in surrender. "Father, don't do this. He is your son."
"I can make more," was his blasé reply. The blade cut deeper. Haydar began to tremble. "Call off the rebellion. Call off your pet. And you might just save his life."
But Leena knew it was too late for that.
The people were uprising, and there was no way to stop them short of killing them. Something she could never do.
"There must be another way," she whispered, holding her father's vacant expression. But he was an evil man boxed into a corner—a terrible combination. And in the back of her mind, she whispered to Tempest, Can you hit him without harming my brother?
The dragon's reply was a resounding yes.
Leena swallowed, preparing to give the order. Preparing to murder her own father in cold blood.
Do it.
Leena felt Tempest breathe in, felt the magic within her stir, felt the icy spear form in the back of her throat. In her mind, it was already sailing toward her father, landing true, destroying him.
But before Tempest could act, the king jerked.
Leena's eyes widened.
Her dragon stopped.
King Razzaq stiffened, dropping the knife as his body straightened in surprise. A wave of pain passed over his face and then it turned blank. The life drained from his eyes. He fell forward, tumbling down the dais leading to his throne, leaving a bloody trail in his wake.
Leena's gaze traveled up.
Standing before the throne was the queen, a vision in gold and precious stones, but Leena's attention went right to the red-stained sword in her hand. The blade fell to the ground, clanking against the floor as the queen's arms enveloped her son. The little boy sank into her touch, melting into his mother's embrace with a wail. Now that he felt safe enough to do so, he released all of the fear in his chest, crying and letting his mother soothe away the pain.
"Shh," she cooed into Haydar's ear as Leena watched. From behind her metal veil, the queen's eyes found Leena's. They were moist and determined, full of no remorse, but glowing with love.
Leena smiled.
She'd been right all along.
Love did bring the king to his knees.
But not the love Leena expected. Not her love for Mikza. Not her love for her people. A different love. A pure one. The strongest one there was.
A mother's love.
Something King Razzaq could never possibly understand.
Something Leena herself was just beginning to comprehend.
SIX
The fighting ended quickly once the people realized the king was dead, but it left chaos in its wake. Most of the rebels had come from common backgrounds and from the guard. A few nobles joined in the fight and a few royals like Leena and the queen. But many had
resisted, and Leena refused to start a new age for her people by killing or exiling anyone who didn't believe in her vision. That was what her father would have done. But this was the chance for a new start, a gentler start. And Leena had to figure out a way to lead her people so that everyone, not just the rebels, would want to follow.
They designated her their new ruler, but she knew it would only last for a time. When the kingdom was more stable, Leena and Tempest would have to leave. She was a rider, not a queen, and she had other duties—bigger ones she owed to the world to fulfill. So Leena was left to make as many decisions as possible in the short time she had, whatever she could do to ensure that Ourthuro would thrive even after she left these shores.
Her first appointment was to make Tam lead advisor to the king. He was a silver noble, a golden guard, and an iron merchant all mixed into one person—someone who had experienced life at all levels of Ourthuri society. And he was someone who carried his heart on his sleeve, someone determined and strong but with a conscience, someone she trusted to lead a good example for her brother as he grew to be the king she always hoped he would become.
Her second appointment was to make a council of elected advisors from all levels of the populace. Nobles and commoners. Guards and merchants. Rebels and traditionalists. Men and women. People from the capital city and people from the outer isles. A voice for the king to listen to for advice, a voice for everyone in her kingdom to speak through, a way to ensure not only one side of a disagreement was heard.
Her third appointment was the most controversial by far—to abolish the practice of making unmarked and to return every unmarked to his former station in life. Her dreams were haunted with visions of Mikza in that dungeon, wrists red and raw, an empty expression in his once vibrant eyes. No more. Leena had made that promise to herself, and she intended to keep it.
Other cultural practices would be fleshed out with time. Leena had never once donned a veil since returning to her home, hoping to lead by example and show how powerful a woman could be when given the chance. Others would eventually follow, she hoped. Marriages for noble families would continue to be arranged with the king's approval, but a king who had a tender heart would make sure the match was a good one, and with time the practice might fade. The tattoos were so inbred in Ourthuri life that all Leena could convince the council to agree with was less distinguishing marks that allowed for alterations if one improved his station in life.
Leena's Story - The Complete Novellas (A Dance of Dragons Book 4) Page 21
