Ally

by Anna Banks

  Tarik waves Ptolem off, gesturing for him to allow his visitor in.

  He decides he’ll greet him or her, and beg off from there, out of concern for his guest’s long travel, of course. That is, after he ascertains that their queen is well—and gleans as much information about her as he can without looking like the whelp that he is.

  The door opens, and Tarik stands to welcome his visitor.

  When Sepora enters, he feels his mouth fall open.

  “Greetings, Highness,” she says, her long Serubelan gown flowing in a train behind her. “How do you fare?”

  She’s as lovely as he remembers, her cheeks tinged pink, her white hair braided down her back, and her curves barely visible underneath that wretched garment—which was obviously meant to suppress attraction of any sort.

  Unlucky for him, it only makes him long to see the voluptuous figure he adores.

  “I … I was under the impression I was to be meeting with an ambassador,” he says.

  She nods. “I am the ambassador for Theoria, Highness. May I sit?”

  The truth. The ambassador for Theoria? He waits for someone else to come through the door. A member of the Great Council perhaps. Noting that Sepora raises a brow at him, he says, “Of course. But—”

  “I want to offer my congratulations on your forthcoming wedding,” she says. “I’m happy you have found the proper queen.”

  A lie. And she well knows that he knows it, too. But he’ll not get his hopes up. Not just yet. And he must get to the bottom of all this ambassador nonsense.

  “Thank you,” he says, taking his seat across from her. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Queen Sepora?”

  She smiles. “It seems I’ve arrived before my own correspondence. You see, I’m no longer queen of Serubel. I’ve appointed by law for the kingdom to be ruled by the Great Council.”

  Pride of the pyramids, but she’s telling the truth. What sort of upheaval has happened in Serubel? And where is the blasted correspondence telling him of it? “I did not know that was possible.”

  “Neither did I. But the histories prove it to be so. Of course, I still wanted to be of use, so I will now serve as ambassador for Theoria. You and I disagree often, but I’m sure where our kingdoms are concerned, we can come to some sort of resolution.”

  “I see,” he says, but he truly doesn’t. “How often will you be visiting?” He can’t help but ask. In the past, Serubelan ambassadors visited infrequently, but that was under different circumstances. Now that there is true peace between the kingdoms, an ambassador would likely visit three or four times a year. That’s up to four times per year he’ll have to be tortured with her presence for the rest of his life. He scowls at the thought.

  “Visiting? Oh no, you misunderstand me. I’m to live in Theoria. My visits will be to Serubel.”

  “You’re going to live here?”

  “I find the dry Theorian air suits me.”

  It’s a tangle of truth and lie, and he decides it’s unimportant to sort out which is which. In any case, it is not the entire reason she has chosen to reside in his kingdom and she reveals nothing more than that. Speaking riddles to him is a talent of hers, it always has been. And it is more than he can bear at the moment. He removes his headdress and runs a hand through his hair. “You’ll have to excuse the informality,” he says, “but you’ve taken me by surprise.”

  “I imagine I did,” she says. Her face softens. “Speaking of surprises, I actually have one for you. But … we must travel by Serpen to get to it. Are you up for it tonight?”

  No should be his answer and he well knows it. He remembers what it is like to travel by Serpen with Sepora. As she guides the beast, he clutches her waist for dear life—and his body reacts to the feel of her against him. Since he is now engaged, it is not a good idea at all. “Allow me some time to remove my body paint and I’ll join you in the stables.”

  * * *

  I’m a dolt, he decides as he scoots ever closer to her on the Serpen’s back. An absolute dolt. If things do not go as planned, what he is doing is detrimental to his engagement.

  Sepora smells of chamomile and lavender, infused with a scent he thinks must originate in Serubel. Together, they overwhelm his senses, and he finds holding conversation with her distracting. She seems to sense this, for she stops attempting to speak to him after half an hour has passed.

  They glide through the air silently, hovering lower to the ground than she normally does as if searching for something spread among the desert sand. Occasionally they pass boulders that seem to have cropped up from nowhere at all, and curiously, seem to point in the direction in which they fly.

  It is liberating to fly rather than travel by foot or wheel. The ride is smooth and since the Serpen can go much faster than a man and his horse, the wind keeps them comfortably cool in the night air. The stars twinkle above them, a gentle light when the moon hides behind clouds at times. It is intimate, he knows. Much more intimate than he has a right to expect from her.

  After another half hour has passed, he presses his cheek to her ear, knowing full well that the act is inappropriate. She leans into him; he’s not sure if it’s reflex or willful seduction, but secretly hopes it’s the latter.

  “How much farther do we have?” he says. They’ve traveled farther south than he’s ever been, even past the burnt city of Kyra. Yet, even as he questions her, he sees a tiny white speck of light in the distance.

  “We’re almost there,” she whispers, shifting on the Serpen in an obvious bid to speed up.

  As they get closer, as the light materializes into a pyramid, Tarik sucks in a breath. “What is this?”

  “It’s your wedding present,” she says, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of her tone. “Sethos told me about your father’s pyramid. I’ve had a new one constructed for him. He rests there already.”

  “How … how did you keep this from me?” he asks as they land smoothly in front of the great structure. He slides from the Serpen and takes a few cautious steps toward the monument in front of him. It is unlike any pyramid he’s ever seen. It is much larger than his father’s old one, and in the front there stands a statue. A figure of King Knosi himself, and a very true likeness indeed. Tarik laces his hands behind his head and stares in disbelief. Emotion wrestles about his gut. Sadness, awe, gratitude—they all vie for his attention.

  “I told you, secrets can be kept if you don’t ask direct questions. And I had much help from friends.”

  He turns on her. “This is what you were doing in the Baseborn Quarters. This is why you had such an obsession with pyramids. All this time, you were having this built? This is the result of the lies and evasiveness you demonstrated after we took back the palace.”

  “Yes,” she says softly, gesturing for him to walk with her to the entrance. “You mistrusted me already. What else did I have to lose?”

  “You had this made before you knew I was to wed the princess of Clima,” he says, peering down at her in the glowing white light. “You could not possibly have intended for it to be a wedding present.”

  “I had hoped it would be a gift for our wedding.” She takes a step back, as if he’d struck her. “I had hoped we would reconcile things. But I see now that there was nothing to reconcile.” She smiles weakly. “You have your duties. An alliance with Clima will be good.”

  “Sepora—”

  “Forgive me,” she says, nearly choking on her words. “I do not mean to belittle your upcoming marriage. It’s just that … this is not how I intended for the evening to go. Perhaps we should return to the palace.”

  “Sepora, please.”

  She takes yet another step back. He cannot bear it any longer. “Sepora, I won’t marry the princess of Clima. Not if you tell me here and now that you’re mine.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “I’ll call off the engagement.”

  She shakes her head. “You can’t do that! You’ll start another war! You’ve seen what they can do, the wea
ther summoners. We’ll fight for decades! You’ll—”

  “No,” he says, closing the distance between them and taking her hand in his. “You don’t understand. King Hujio made a deal with me. He proposed that I send you an invitation to my wedding to his daughter. If you came for me, he would not force me to honor the engagement. If not, I’m to wed her. The decision is yours, Sepora. It always has been.”

  “Do not toy with me,” she says, her voice shaking.

  “Do not toy with me, Sepora. Are you mine or not? You’re not the queen of Serubel anymore. You can do as you please, marry as you please. Did you think that fact was lost on me when you first told me you were no longer queen? I assure you, it wasn’t. Now I ask you. Will you be my ambassador, Sepora? Or will you be my wife?”

  A tear slips down her cheek, and he wipes it away with the crook of his finger. She laughs softly. “I was prepared to fight for you. Yet I did not even have to seduce you.”

  “Seduce me?”

  “I came here with a purpose. I would seduce you away from the princess. I would make you want me again.”

  “I never stopped wanting you.”

  “You were very convincing that you did.”

  “A Lingot can lie.”

  “What of the other kingdoms? They are preparing for your royal wedding in a mere two weeks.”

  He grins. “You’re the only one who received an invitation, love.” But he feels his face fall. “Yet you still have not given me an answer. Why do you evade me even now?” Pride of the pyramids, but at a moment like this, she still plays a game of wits with him. He’s flustered and delighted all at once.

  She laughs, a sound he’s missed so very much. “I must practice, my king. I’m to spend the rest of my life with you. It will not do to let my guard down.”

  I’m to spend the rest of my life with you.

  The truth. The glorious, magnificent truth.

  EPILOGUE

  SEPORA

  There is a knock at the door to our bedchamber, and I nearly dive beneath the linens of Tarik’s massive bed. Of our massive bed. Tarik grins down at me, planting a kiss on my nose before securing the sheets up to my neck to cover my nakedness. “I am expecting a visitor, love.”

  “At this late hour?” I say, but what I really mean is, On our wedding night?

  Tarik smiles down at me as—to my disappointment—he wraps his shendyt around his waist and heads for the door. “I know it seems odd, but I think you’ll be pleased.”

  Pleased. I can’t think of anything at this moment that would please me more than for him to send whoever it is at the door away, and rejoin me in the bed. Tonight we have loved each other in ways I could never have imagined, in ways that make me blush even as he opens the door and allows entrance for my servant, Cara, carrying a small wooden box. I blush all the more that Cara is our visitor, because she has known me from the beginning of my time here in Theoria—and she knows well what we have been doing on our wedding night.

  Tarik does not miss the warmth to my cheeks, and he grins. Blast him. I’ll punish him for this. How, I’m not sure, because he loves for me to speak to him in riddles, to test his Lingot abilities. Perhaps I’ll not speak to him for the rest of the evening. He will not enjoy that at all.

  Still, he does not allow Cara to linger, taking the box from her gently and giving her shoulder a soft squeeze. “Thank you, Cara. Please leave us, as my bride just might burst into flames at any moment at your presence.”

  To my horror, Cara giggles. Then she turns on her sandaled heel and exits, shutting the door softly behind her. I glare at Tarik as he makes his way back to the bed. “You’ll pay for that,” I tell him sweetly.

  He laughs. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  With great care, he places the beautifully carved case next to me on the bed and slides under the sheets on the other side of it. It stays between us for some time, as we both look at it. Tarik wants me to inquire after it, I know, but I won’t. Not when he needs to be punished.

  Something rustles within the box, and I tighten my hold on the covers. Perhaps the matter should be discussed after all. “Wh-what is that?” I finally ask, giving in to curiosity and a bit of terror. Something live is in that chest, and at any moment I expect it to spring out and … I’m not sure what will come after that.

  Tarik reaches across and captures a tendril of my hair, twirling it between his fingers without looking at me. “Your wedding present for me was … incredible. I could never top it, and I’m sorry if this gift to you pales in comparison. But … I’d like for you to open the box, Sepora. I think that you will come to love what is inside.”

  “This … is a gift?”

  “Your wedding present. I’m sorry that it’s late. It took me a long time to … find it.”

  The box rustles again, and I can’t help but feel alarmed. Tarik is thoughtful and kind, I remind myself. He would not play a cruel prank on me the night of our wedding. Yet, I ask, “Does it bite?”

  “Most assuredly.”

  Well then. Perhaps I’ve misjudged my husband altogether.

  He sighs. “Sepora, open the blasted box before I die of anticipation.”

  I let out an exasperated breath. A restless thing in a box that most assuredly bites. My Falcon King is not a good present giver, I decide. Even Sethos managed to be romantic with Tulle, gifting her a throne made of gold for their wedding instead of one made of ice.

  Still, I can tell Tarik is eager for me to see his gift. And so I reach for the latch and gently unhook it. The lid is heavier than I imagined, and it’s then that I realize the sides of the crate have small holes in them. This present was meant to be alive when I opened it. I should probably get on with it, then.

  I remove the lid and peer inside, clutching the sheet at my throat for safety at first—and then in astonishment. On the silken pillow within the box is a baby Serpen. A Defender Serpen. A Defender Serpen that looks very achingly familiar.

  A sob escapes me. “Tarik. I … What have you done?”

  Needing no further instruction, he grasps the tiny creature with both hands and holds it up for me to see. “She is not Nuna,” he says quietly. “Nuna could never be replaced. But this youngling is a relative of her. Nuna had siblings. Those siblings had offspring. And this, my love, is Nuna’s great-niece.”

  Tears slide down my face as he hands the infant Serpen to me, its long tail entwining about my wrists, clinging to me for dear life. “She looks just like Nuna,” I say, helpless against the small creature’s little whines. “She even has her coloring.”

  Tarik nods. “While you sought to rebuild my father’s pyramid, I sought to soothe your losses. It would seem that even while we were at odds, we were not enemies.” But I have no words for him. I have no words for the man who was once my nemesis, for the man who is now and forever my ally.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Reading the acknowledgments of a book should take as long as sitting through the credits of an epic movie. There are so many people to thank, and so many pages to write of gratitude, that another book should be published for that alone. When you tweet me or email me and say you read my book in a day, know that I love you for it. But also know that there was so much hard work and sweat and coffee and laxatives that went into making it what it was, and so, so many people, that it is amazing you could read that book in a twenty-four-hour period when almost a year of community sacrifice went into the production of it. I’m just the up-front face of it all. The real party is in the back, I promise.

  That said, it all starts with having an agent who believes in your work. Lucy, you took something I thought was good and you pushed me to make it better, and I’ll be eternally grateful to you for that. You made something from nothing of me. Thank you. To my editors, Liz and Anna, what can I say to you that will make what you do easier? That will make what you do any more valuable? What you do is priceless and I can’t express it in any other terms. Tell me what I can say, and I’ll say it. For now, my deepest grat
itude will have to do. To the publicity team at Macmillan, is there any way you can all just move to Florida and live with me and work from my house together? I’d make it worth your time. But don’t tell your other authors. It will be our little secret.

  Also, Kelsey: Stop answering your emails on the weekend!:)

  A big thanks to April Ward for the amazing cover designs of both Nemesis and Ally (insert goose bumps here).

  I wouldn’t be where I am now if it weren’t for my critique partners, Heather R. and Kaylyn W. You two hand me my butt in the form of red ink, and I love it, and I can’t wait to start our Red Ink Tank podcast this year. If it weren’t for your snarky yet on-point critiques, I’d be a babbling mess on the page. And we all freaking know it.

  Before I actually turn into that babbling mess now, I need to thank my fans/readers/book bloggers, and anyone and everyone who has picked up one of my books and kind-of sort-of liked it at least a little bit. You’re the reason I get to write these acknowledgments. You’re the reason I get to write at all. And I know it very, very well. THANK YOU.

  I want to give a huge, bigger-than-my-own-butt thank-you to my friend Sanjana. Our daily chats, our venting, our encouraging, our fighting, our forgiving, our laughing, and our sarcasm have given my life such dimension that I consider you one of the best friends I’ve ever had. I don’t know what I would do without you. I can’t believe we accidentally met all those years ago on our writing journeys and that we’re still sticking with it, through all the ups and downs. Until the next time we meet, which I hope is very soon.

  For my Navy Fed peeps: You complete me. You jerks.:)

  And finally, for my family, I have no words. I love you. For what we were, and for what we are now, and for whatever may come.