Conqueror's Blood (Gunmetal Gods Book 2)

by Zamil Akhtar

  Rafa moved his lips again. This time, he let out a heavy breath.

  Alir grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t do it, Rafa. The sheikh will surely cane you for breaking yet another fast.”

  Rafa’s nose twitched as he held in his breath.

  “Perhaps when you’re not fasting,” I said, “we could chat. For now, have a bright morning.”

  As I turned to leave, Rafa exhaled a gust. “Are you all right? Are you feeling better? You look better. Where are you living? Do you have money? I get off duty in one hour, by the way.”

  Alir grunted in frustration. “You fool! What have you done? You know I have to tell the sheikh!”

  “Tell him!” Rafa pushed his friend away. “I can take a caning from that old bag of sand.”

  “He might be old, but he’s stronger than he looks.”

  “So…” I said. They both turned toward me. “I’m living at Saint Chisti’s. They’re taking good care of me. Come visit anytime.”

  “You’re living there!” Rafa’s jaw dropped. “With the Disciples?”

  I’d seen the Disciples around with their black turbans or black headscarves. Each was a sheikh or sheikha, despite several being rather young. But aside from a few polite greetings and smiles, they’d said little to me.

  I nodded. “I’m really there to be close to Kevah.”

  Rafa clenched his jaw and grabbed his chest, as if his heart burned. “Kevah? I saw him with a girl, last year. Karmazi with red hair. What makes him so special that he has girls visiting him all the time?”

  I shook my head. “No, I mean, I’m not visiting him. Not like that. Just, he’s helping me with…a problem.”

  “Problem? You mean that Himyarite they threw off the mountain? Is he the one who hurt you?”

  “Himyarite…oh, you mean Eshe? No, he saved my life. And…why did they throw him off a mountain?”

  Alir pulled Rafa back and said, “Fasting and being in the sun all day has made you insufferable. Go inside before you embarrass yourself further.”

  But Rafa pushed him away again. “He was guilty of—”

  Alir interrupted, “It’s unmentionable, what that Himyarite did. Anyway, in Zelthuriya, we don’t recount the sins of others.”

  Rafa bit his lip. “Uh, he’s right, actually. Best not repeat such things.”

  I’d have to ask Eshe myself…if ever I saw him again.

  Back at Saint Chisti’s, Kevah was standing in front of the sepulcher, which was just a cage within which lay a green shroud. Surreal to think the body of the holiest man ever was wrapped inside. A man so great, he now resided beneath the throne of Lat and would daily take our prayers to her.

  After emptying the cavern for twice-daily cleaning, custodians wearing tribal garb broomed the floor and gathered melted candles.

  Kevah greeted me with his beautiful smile. “Apologies for my disheveled appearance.” What? He looked absolutely radiant, as usual. “Didn’t get much sleep. Had quite the nightmare last night.”

  Well, in that he wasn’t alone. “My mother told me that when we dream, it’s because a jinn is giving us his memories, which then mix with our own. That’s why they’re often so strange, terrifying, yet familiar.” Mother liked those Sylgiz wisdoms. I said a quick prayer to Saint Chisti under my breath that Lat keep her in this world, though perhaps that was selfish. What if she were in pain, the deaths of her husband and sons too much to bear?

  Was she thinking about me when I thought about her?

  “The sheikhs do say the jinn bring us our dreams,” Kevah said, “but I’ve never heard the part about them being the jinn’s memories.”

  “Us Sylgiz like to innovate. So…what did you dream?”

  He sighed and yawned at the same time. “Well, I was rowing a boat beneath the night sky. I don’t know to where, but it was so dark I couldn’t see the water, though it was slick and didn’t ripple. In the distant horizon, these…faces…were watching me. Let’s just say they didn’t look human.” He gulped and scratched his beard. “I suppose it could be the memory of a jinn.”

  I shuddered. I couldn’t remember my own nightmare from last night, but his was terrifying enough.

  A cleaner dusted his broom in our direction, then gestured for us to step aside, so we moved closer to the sepulcher. I could scarcely believe Saint Chisti lay in that shroud. I wondered where they’d plant my brother’s shrine; there was this one hill he loved climbing, where tall, silver grasses grew in the late summer.

  “What’re you thinking?” Kevah asked.

  “About my family. Were you close with your mother?”

  He shook his head. “Janissaries don’t have mothers, and our fathers turn us into the Sirmian shah’s expert killers…who can also run the kingdom, if needed.”

  So they were, more or less, like the gholam, then. “You have…had a daughter. Do you have a wife, then?”

  “I had a wife.” His eyebrows sagged. “I’ll tell you all about it, another time. We’re not so different, you and I. Everything lost, but still fighting. That’s why I want to help you. That’s why I spoke with the Disciples. The sheikhs and sheikhas want to hear what you have to say.”

  Thorn pricks spread across my shoulders. “Have you told them everything I told you?”

  “I’ve told them you have a different version of how the Shah died. One that involves sorcery.”

  “Do you think they’ll believe me?”

  He sighed. “The Disciples are a cautious bunch. They’ve protected this city for a thousand years and prefer not to meddle in outside matters unless there’s a threat to the Faith. Bloodwriter, soulshifter — these are dark words that bring to mind the starborn sorceries I witnessed in Sirm. But, unlike me, the Disciples are thorough. Exacting. Prepare to be asked anything and everything. Don’t lie, don’t hide things — they’ll know. All right?”

  Honestly, Kevah was even handsomer when serious. A guilty pleasure to stare into his eyes whenever he spoke.

  I nodded. He escorted me to a small, carpeted room with a wooden divider down the middle. The simplicity reminded me of how Tamaz liked to style his living spaces, and like elsewhere in this massive cave, it remained cool and humid despite the dry swelter outside.

  Men in black turbans and black caftans entered, sitting to one side of the divider. Women wearing black headscarves and black caftans — though some sported colorful beads — entered and sat on the other side. The elders gathered at the front while the youths took to the back. I sat against the wall with Kevah and faced everyone.

  While waiting for the room to fill, these Disciples kept busy with recitals — none used prayer beads, as was the fashion, but rather counted Lat’s praises on their fingers. We did the same in the Sylgiz lands — counting sixty praises on our fingers, using the finger creases on our right hand to count the ones, and the whole fingers on our left the tens.

  Finally, a man entered and shut the door behind him. But he was not wearing black, nor a turban, just a rough, oak-colored cloak. His white beard seemed to glow. As I stared at him, my breathing quickened, and I almost sprung up and darted away. The last time I’d seen this man was when he’d married me to Kyars.

  Grand Mufti Khizr Khaz sat at the front, his eyes on me. He nodded. Though my throat went dry, I managed to nod back.

  I whispered to Kevah, “Is…is that man a Disciple?”

  Kevah shook his head. “No. That’s Khizr Khaz. Some consider him a living saint.”

  “He’s the Grand Mufti of Alanya,” I whispered, “and the Grand Sheikh of the Order of Saint Jamshid — in Qandbajar!”

  Kevah raised his hands, palms up. “He’s so many things, I can scarcely keep track. But he comes here often. The Disciples don’t like the Saint Jamshid Order — or any other order, really — but everyone looks up to Khizr Khaz.”

  I could only think: what if he were here to arrest and take me back? What if he was going to tell everyone that I killed the Shah? And why was he acting so calm in my presence?

  “Ahe
m.” I cleared my throat. “Is that everyone?” I couldn’t believe I spoke up, but it was entirely from nerves.

  Kevah whispered, “Tell them everything. You’ll do great, I’m certain.”

  So I did. From the moment Hadrith apprised me of the conspiracy to when Eshe brought me to Holy Zelthuriya. I emphasized how I saw my body being used by the soulshifter, as if my soul were a bird overhead. I teared up when mentioning how Tamaz ran to help me after the soulshifter stabbed my eye. All the while, the Disciples kept silent and listened amid the somber candlelight.

  Once I finished, Kevah whispered, “Well said. The way you told it, none can doubt your sincerity.”

  Such hopeful words. The Disciples of Chisti were a powerful group, and so was the Order of Saint Jamshid. What did the sorcerer have aside from Kato and his gholam? With the Disciples and the Order backing me, Kyars might believe my story. Perhaps he wouldn’t divorce me…despite my hideousness…and cherish the bond his father forged. Tasting hopeful thoughts, for the first time in days, brought me to life.

  “Liar.” The call came from the back of the women’s section — a dagger thrown to shatter my hopes. “Your story has more holes than Yadawiya.”

  Kevah whispered, “That’s where they dig the wells. Clever.”

  The woman who’d said it veiled not just her hair, but her face, too — the only one in the room who did. How strange. I couldn’t see a single feature; the black cloth covered even her eyes. Considering she sat at the back, she must’ve been young, and the light pitch of her voice affirmed that.

  “Ruhi,” said an older sheikh, who had a fat lip and red-dyed beard. “I found her testimony rather sincere.”

  “Perhaps you see a sorry little girl worth coddling,” the sheikha named Ruhi said. “Or perhaps her soothing voice has disguised the truth from your ears.”

  “Disrespectful, Ruhi,” the older sheikh said. “If you’ve an argument, make it without questioning the character of an elder, lest you find yourself beneath the whip. And don’t think we won’t because of the hardships you’ve endured.”

  “I didn’t mean to disrespect you, sheikh,” she said, “but rather to say that the girl knows how to mine men for sympathy, among other things.”

  I clenched my fists. I wanted to rip off her veil and bash her eye out so she’d feel what I felt. How dare she?

  Kevah grabbed my wrist, whispered, “Don’t fall for it. They’re testing your character.”

  I swallowed my rage and pointed to my eye. “Would you like to see it?” I asked the group. “The abyss that stares back when you gaze upon my face? Would you believe me, then? There’s nothing soothing about it, I assure you.”

  Ruhi said, “You claim the gholam commander Kato was part of a conspiracy to overthrow the Shah — but then why, in your story, did he try to save the Shah?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t all make sense to me, either. But I’ve told you everything I know.”

  “No, you’re hiding something.” Ruhi shook her veiled head. “Perhaps even from yourself. That’s what happens with those of base character. They break into pieces, one part hiding things from the other, so they can live with themselves. You’re nothing but a shattered vase.”

  Base character? Such arrogance to assume she knew me! “I might not be perfect, but I loved Shah Tamaz like a father. I care deeply for his son, Kyars, and for their entire family. I’ve been nothing but loyal to the Seluqals, from the first. I’d never, ever hurt them.”

  “That’s what you want to believe,” Ruhi sneered, “but you’d betray them if it meant your survival. The part of you that you hide, that you’re so ashamed of, knows that well enough.”

  Now my fist shook. Her words went beyond assumptions — they were lies!

  Kevah stilled my hand with his touch. “Don’t let her get to you. Just remain calm and answer their questions.”

  I glanced at Khizr Khaz, who was staring at the floor as if lost in thought. What did he think of this?

  “Ruhi may be brash, but she is right about one thing,” said an elder Disciple, who had dark gray eyebrows. “Your character must be established, because we don’t know you. We’ve never even heard of you. And here you’ve come, the sole witness of a charge the gravity of which we’ve not heard in some time.”

  I shut my eyes and reminded myself that I was speaking true, no matter what they said. Kevah believed me. Surely others would, too. “Ask, then, whatever you wish. I’ve not a hair to hide.”

  An elder woman, who wore a colorful bead necklace, cleared her throat. “You’re twenty-three years old, and yet you only just married. My daughters all wed before eighteen. Tell me, dear, why were you so unbelievably late?”

  “I was the Shah’s hostage. He controlled my fate. If it were up to me, I would have married years ago.”

  Ruhi chuckled. “Twenty-three — impressive to have waited so long. Tell me, when did you bleed for the first time?”

  What did that have to do with anything? “I don’t remember,” I said, hoping to dismiss the topic.

  “Liar.” More than one Disciple said it: Ruhi and a man at the back. True, it was a lie, but formed from embarrassment rather than malice.

  “I think I was thirteen,” I said. “That’s right — it was the night before my fourteenth birthday. My mother had taken me hunting that morning, and at first, I thought the horse’s hard saddle the cause. True enough for you?”

  “So, ten years ago…a long time,” Ruhi said. “And yet, I’m certain Crown Prince Kyars expects his wife to be pure. Are you pure for him, Cyra?”

  I nodded. “I’ve never lain with a man.” I clenched my fist again. “What does that have to do with anything I’m saying?” My voice cracked.

  “Everything,” Ruhi said. “The way you told your story made plain your desire for the Grand Vizier’s son, Hadrith.” What? How could she have gleaned that? “Perhaps you wanted to marry him, instead. Perhaps that’s why you killed the Shah. Perhaps he’s the one desiring power, not some made-up sorcerer or a petty gholam commander.”

  No. No. No. Such twisted accusations. Such lies. How could she?

  Perhaps this was a test, as Kevah had mentioned. Best to answer calmly, then. “Yes, I did have feelings for Hadrith — it’s true. But I married Kyars with full hope and every intention to love him. I swear upon Lat.”

  “You never sinned with Hadrith?” the elder woman wearing beads asked, “or with any other?”

  I shook my head.

  “Liar!” seven or eight Disciples said. How could they know?

  Kevah leaned into my ear. “I told you not to lie, Cyra. They know. I went through this exact thing, and they knew everything. It’s written on your face, in a language only they can read. Don’t be afraid of the truth, whatever it is. Whatever you’ve done.”

  I swallowed a bitter lump. “I thought you didn’t recount sins in Zelthuriya?”

  The fat-lipped sheikh said, “Normally, we don’t. But this is not normal. The fates of the Latian kingdoms may rest on the decisions we make today, based on your words.”

  “So — what — you want to know every sin I’ve ever done? Is that how you’ll decide if I’m worth helping? Are you all so sinless as to judge me this way?”

  “Don’t deflect.” Ruhi moved closer, mere arm spans away. “None of us are sinless, but there are degrees. And we must determine—”

  “Fine!” I stared at the spot in the black cloth where her eyes must’ve been. “I get pleasure where and when I can get away with it. I slept with a woman, my handmaiden, more than once. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  Ruhi laughed and shook her head. “That isn’t it. This city is rife with such behavior. We’ve learned to look away.” She tilted her covered head toward me. “You’re hiding something far worse. And it appears you yourself don’t even know what it is.”

  Kevah’s face was in his palm. Had he lost hope in me? Was this whole thing crashing down because I couldn’t remember some terrible sin I’d committed?


  “Enough,” Khizr Khaz said. He stood and turned to address the room. “You need not rely on her character. Everyone here knows mine, and I can tell you what happened.”

  All chatter ceased. The sheikhs and sheikhas stared up in respect. I didn’t know whether this was good or bad, whether to be relieved or afraid, but I felt a bit of both.

  “I’ll explain what I know,” Khizr Khaz said. “But first, Cyra and the magus must leave the room.”

  Kevah and I shared a bewildered glance. He stood and asked, “Sheikh Khizr…why?”

  Khizr Khaz said nothing and gestured to the door.

  Kevah and I returned to his room. I sat in the corner and broke. Was I such a thing to be despised? Hideous, impure, untrustworthy? How foolish to hope the Disciples would help me. That anyone would. I didn’t want to cry, but hopelessness forced out the tears.

  Kevah put his hand on my shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, my jinn wants to steal their shoes and toss them over the mountain peaks.”

  Even with the tears streaming, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you think my husband will believe me?”

  “Kyars…well…wish I knew him better.”

  Kevah had mentioned they’d met in Sirm, during their war with Crucis. They were enemies, at first, because Kevah had aligned against the Sirmian grand vizier, whom Kyars supported. But then, during the final battle of the war, Kyars arrived just in time to smash the forces of the Crucian imperator and save their shah — if only he could’ve done so for his own shah and father.

  “Would you believe me?” I asked. “If you were him?”

  Kevah hunched his shoulders. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to be him. A prince…heir to a powerful throne. So many pressures…I really don’t know. All I can say is, by your sincerity, I think you’re telling the truth.” He gazed at the floor. “But…without the allegiance of a jinn tribe, I’m not much.”

  “That’s not true. Everyone looks up to you. They see you as a great hope. Your support means everything.”

  “Shut up,” he whispered to the side, as if speaking to his jinn. “That’s just depraved.” He looked at me. “If only you knew what it’s like…to have Ahriyya whispering in your ear, all the time.”