by Zamil Akhtar
Later, I returned to the Order’s gathering room, where a meeting was taking place to determine our next steps. Sitting scattered across the grass-colored carpets were the obvious men: Khizr Khaz, Kato, Hadrith, and various viziers. As soon as I entered, Khizr Khaz rose and stepped to me.
“You need rest, sultana.”
“I’ll rest with Mansur buried and my son in my arms.”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid, for your own well-being, I must order you back to your lodging.”
“Go ahead and order it,” I said. “But keep in mind, I’ll never forget. I’ll tell Kyars, the next time he’s undressing me, that I’m not in the mood because I can’t forget the day Khizr Khaz ordered me to go away. I’ll tell my son, too, when he’s grown enough. We’ll see how long you remain Grand Mufti or grand anything.”
Kato, who was sitting within earshot, glanced at me, his ring-laden hand barely covering his grin. Let him hear. Let them all hear.
Khizr said, “We’re all upset by what happened last night. As a mother, it’s broken you. Running into the street, screaming…because of a dream…the Jotrids could have captured you, killed you. For your own well-being, you’ll be escorted to your lodging, where you’ll remain for the next few days. Besides, this meeting is rather sensitive — we could have defections if we don’t play it right — and I’ll not have you disrupting it with your outbursts.”
Outbursts? He had no idea what I was capable of. I could draw a rune that would send his mind to a place of utter torment. But no…he was right…it had broken me.
“You’re right.” I swallowed every bitter feeling, as I’d been doing. “I will take to my bed, then.”
But as soon as I returned to the women’s lodging, I pulled Celene out of sleep and dragged her to the robe’s chest.
“Again?” she said, picking up the robes I’d thrown on the floor. “Shouldn’t you rest?”
“My son is out there, and I’m going to find him. No matter what.”
“All right.” She yawned. “Marot forgive me.”
The drongo was swallowing a locust, whole, atop Qandbajar’s wall when my soul entered it. The bug chittered as my throat forced it down, crying with flapping wings. I pushed it through, and it died from the bath in my stomach. Then I jumped into the air and soared toward the shrine.
I landed on the windowsill of the room where the meeting was taking place. Dark drapes covered it, so I aimed my ear and listened.
“My contact assures me that it’s true,” Hadrith said. “They’ve been looking for Mansur and the child through the night.”
So Hadrith had a contact in the palace. Who else could it be but Ozar? The two played both sides; if Mansur won, Ozar could vouch that Hadrith had spied for him. If Kyars won, then Hadrith could vouch that Ozar had spied for him. Both would be spared, no matter what happened. Clever.
Kato cleared his throat. “Why, though? Could it be that Mansur feared the Jotrids?”
“No-no,” Hadrith said. “Mansur was overjoyed. He even led a prayer in thanks after the Jotrids entered the city. Then he suddenly stopped in the middle of the prayer, took the baby, and walked out of the palace.”
“The old man’s mind snapped like a rusted sword.” Kato snickered. “That’s why I always bet on fresher steel.”
So Mansur and my son hadn’t been returned to the palace; a relief. They were somewhere in the city, then. Maybe even in this shrine — what if Khizr Khaz was hiding them? But why would he?
The old sheikh spoke up. “Strange that you mention this. The boy’s mother told me she had a dream that Saint Chisti was walking down the street, bringing her baby to her. Turns out it was actually Mansur.” From his tone, he seemed genuinely confused.
Those Order men I handed baby Seluq to must’ve been corrupt, must’ve brought Mansur and my son to whoever would pay them the highest sum. But Ozar didn’t have them, as Hadrith made clear. Who, then?
Kato said, “We find Mansur and the heir, we win. It’s that simple. We could scour the city, but the Jotrids will be doing like, and they’ve ten for our one.”
Hadrith let out a weary sigh. “I have a theory. Most of you doubted me, doubted that a soulshifter killed Tamaz. I believe that the soulshifter possessed Mansur’s body, seized the heir, and brought them to him.”
Grumbles and shifting. Somehow Hadrith had become the bearer of truth. And because of my failure, it was starting to unravel me.
“I, for one, believe it to be possible,” Khizr Khaz said. “Why else would Mansur just disappear on the night of his apparent victory? But if it’s true, it introduces a troubling possibility. That the soulshifter isn’t fighting for Mansur and the Jotrids, nor for anyone here, but for another faction.”
The grumbling heightened. The viziers didn’t like these complications. Nor did I. I was supposed to be in that room, leading them toward my truth, not the actual truth!
“Another faction?” Kato released a long, stinging sigh. “By Lat, aren’t there enough?”
Khizr Khaz said, “Who benefits most from a prolonged conflict in Alanya? Who benefited, in the first place, by Shah Tamaz dying?”
“You sound like a sitar with snapped strings,” Kato said. “I’ve no inkling where you’re leading with this.” Nor did I.
“Think about it,” Khizr said. “Who is an enemy to us, to Mansur, to everyone? Path of the Children.”
The scoffs and grumbles vibrated beneath my talons. They were putting the pieces together, but could they see my image on the cracks?
Hadrith grumbled loudest. “The Path of the Children have no face. No leader. Their followers are scattered, hiding. I very much doubt this.”
What had led Khizr Khaz to such a perceptive conclusion? I hoped it wasn’t our earlier conversation. Did he know it was me? Was that why he wouldn’t let me attend the meeting?
“I have another theory.” The light and airy voice of a girl. Twisty Abyadi accent. But when I’d been there earlier, I didn’t see any girl.
“Yes, Ruhi,” Khizr said. “I, for one, am relieved the Disciples are taking an interest in this affair. Tell us what you think.”
She was a Disciple of Chisti? I assumed they’d stay away from a succession conflict.
“Most of you don’t know me,” she said, “but I’m well-acquainted with sorcerers of various varieties.” The sound of cloth being pulled off. Gasps filled the room. What had just happened?
“A bloodwriter covered me in these runes,” she said. “There isn’t a part of my body left unscarred by them. These runes…if you sipped the agony they daily put me through, you’d beg for ten deaths. This one right here, on my forehead, they call it Thousandth Hell.” Thousandth Hell was a bloodrune meant for torture and punishment. It made manifest one’s deepest fears — though I’d never written nor experienced it. “Let’s just say, it’s as bad as it sounds. If not for fanaa, I’d be writhing in agony, even now.” The room was silent aside from her voice. She had them enraptured. “Other than the bloodwriter who tortured me, I was once friends with another variety of sorcerer. Her name was Aschere, and she was a starwriter.”
More gasps.
“The magus who brought calamity to Sirm?” some vizier said.
“Yes, her,” Ruhi continued. “But before that, she used to visit my tea stall. She seemed…decent, though melancholic. Anyway, one day, I saw her standing atop a hill. I saw her…drawing shapes in the air…with her hands. At the time, I thought nothing of it. Only later did I realize she was writing on the stars. And by doing so, invoking one star, in particular — the Blood Star.”
All sorceries were conjured from one of two stars: the Morning Star — which birthed all life — and the Blood Star — from which all life would be rebirthed in the Great Terror. Of course Aschere had invoked it for her evil.
“I tell you this,” Ruhi gulped, “I tell you this because last night, I was hiding in the scrub, and I saw someone make those shapes in the air. And afterward, I saw the very air turn into a swarm of locus
ts, and I saw those locusts fly toward the wall, clustered so thick that the gholam standing guard couldn’t see the Jotrid’s rush.”
“Told you it was the locusts,” Kato said. “My gholam are no cowards. Go on, girl, tell us who it was. It was that bastard Pashang, wasn’t it?”
“No, not Pashang. He was holding her hand, but it wasn’t him. It was the one you all know as Shah Tamaz’s killer. It was Cyra.”
21
Cyra
Ozar and Vera were sitting on cushions around a wooden tea table in the dimly lit meeting room. At first, neither recognized me in my eyepatch and orange turban amid the weak candlelight. But once Eshe and I plopped down on sequin-covered pillows across from them, Vera grabbed her chest and said, “Cyra!”
Pashang, who sat to my left, shhd her with a raised finger. Ozar stuck his elbows on the table and leaned close.
“Sultana,” he whispered. “It really is you. Thank Lat!”
Looking at them was like peeking into the past, into a life I’d lived long ago. And yet, it’d only been days since I’d seen them. Some days can be longer than years, I suppose.
I undid my orange turban, letting my curled locks fall on my shoulders. What could I say to them? Was I happy to see Ozar and Vera? Not truly — as much as I’d appreciated Ozar’s respect and Vera’s affection, they weren’t the ones I missed. If it were my brother and Tamaz sitting at this table, perhaps I wouldn’t have to force a smile.
I said, “It sweetens the soul to see you both healthy.”
Ozar gestured to Eshe, who was at my right and still smelled of lye and bathwater. “Himyarite, I so wanted to hear more of your poetry. What a relief that there’s still time.”
“Is there?” Eshe folded his arms. “Given what’s happening?”
“Oh, of course,” Ozar said. “The warrior-poets would conjure verse whilst bolting up fortress walls, wading through rivers with warhorses snarling at their backs, even amid a melee, sword gripped in one hand and pen in the other. ‘Quavering hearts birth beauties.’ Verse by Taqi himself.”
Pashang chuckled. “I must be the midwife of beauty, then.” He gestured his chin at Vera. “Tell us, girl. Tell everyone what you told me.”
Vera’s cheeks pinkened as she shriveled from the attention on her. Insufferably adorable. “I don’t know where to begin. I suppose I’ll start with Mansur. You see, Mansur — I’d seen him hold the baby a few times. Baby Seluq. He would always hold him out in front, as if he were a big stone — not even flesh. But then, a few hours ago, he took the baby. But this time — the way he held him — I’ll never forget it…”
Pashang explained on the way that Mansur had left the palace with the baby and was now missing. But by Lat, what did exposing the sorceress have to do with how he held him?
Vera continued, “Before he disappeared into the night, Mansur kissed the baby’s head then tucked him between his shoulder and neck. Very motherly, don’t you think? And you know who used to hold baby Seluq in that way?” She sucked in a long, tense breath. “Zedra, his mother!”
I laughed. Ridiculous! “Is that all the evidence you have? Mansur has children. I’m sure he knows how to comfort a baby. And Zedra…she spent her time watching dances and swooning over verse in Laughter Square.” As soon as the words left my tongue, I realized: wouldn’t apparent vanity be a great cover for a sorceress?
Vera said, “You two were such good friends. I know it’s hard to hear. But Ozar told me how you all suspected there was…someone possessing other people’s bodies. Well, in Ruthenia, my mother told me stories about such possessors. A god named Nyarlot descended and taught men how to do that, and other magic too. Once, there were entire tribes of men and women who could steal bodies, but only for minutes at a time.”
I grumbled. Ozar was nodding. Pashang stroked his trim, brown beard, gaze on the ceiling as if deep in thought. Eshe stroked his beard too, eyes squinted.
Vera gulped hard. “Cyra…I’m so sorry…please forgive me.” She looked away and sniffled.
“Forgive you for what?”
“Zedra asked me to bring her your blood. So, whenever you’d…have an accident…I’d wipe it up and bring it to her. She said it would cause your friendship to bloom. But now I realize…she was doing magic with it.”
Eshe slammed his fist on the table. “That’s proof enough. The bloodrunes I saw were made with conqueror’s blood! You have that blood, Cyra.”
So…not only did Zedra betray me, but Vera did, too. The two whom I was closest to in the harem. My throat tightened with sadness. How alone I’d always been; even when I thought others were being affectionate, it was all a sick jape.
Vera sobbed as tears flowed. I took her hand and caressed it. “Vera…you couldn’t have known…no one did. Thank you for telling us.” I withdrew my hands and clenched my trembling fists beneath the table. Rage simmered in my core, but I didn’t want to show it.
If what Vera said was true — and she didn’t seem to be lying — then it was almost certain proof that Zedra was the soulshifter. But almost wasn’t enough.
Ozar cleared his throat. “I’ve a man in Jamshid’s shrine, where Zedra is staying along with Kato and others. I can ask him to confirm this, if more proof is needed. Khagan, what say you?”
Everyone looked to Pashang, who still seemed lost in reflection, his gaze on his own lap. “Hmm,” he said as he scratched his cheek. “Has your man said anything about where Mansur took the baby?”
“I’ve already sent word — we’ll get his answer shortly, I hope.”
I thought about Zedra. Her friendship…it always seemed so genuine. We’d fought once or twice but always due to my pettiness. She seemed so mature, and that drew me in. Whereas I was like a raging sea, she was an island, placid and unmoved. I wanted to be like her, but my childishness never let me.
“You said she was an old woman,” I whispered to Pashang. “But Zedra is years younger than me.”
“You’re right,” Pashang replied, loud enough for all to hear. “But magi are known to appear young, despite being old. Could be the same magic changed her appearance.” He sighed — heavy. “The worst of it all — if we don’t get Mansur back, this was all for naught. Without a Seluqal on our side, we have no side. Every vizier worth a copper will turn against us.”
Kyars was obsessed with Zedra. He groveled at her feet. If she were against me, no way he’d ever accept our marriage. Perhaps I’d done right by opening the city to the Jotrids. Perhaps Mansur’s side was the only one where I had a future.
Ozar nodded. “Mansur and the baby must be at the shrine with Zedra. Where else would she bring them? Once we have confirmation, we’ll have to get them back.”
“It’s not foolproof,” Eshe said, “soulshifting. There’s a chance her soul was forced out of Mansur’s body somewhere in the city, before they reached the shrine.”
“Until we know for certain,” Pashang said, “it’s all worth considering. For now, everyone go rest. It’s been a night for the ages.”
Rest? Not with what stirred within: a storm of rage, confusion, sadness, and frustration. Why did Zedra use me to kill Tamaz? Had she planned it from the first? Or was it in response to my marriage to Kyars? I’d been slapped in the face with a hammer, by my best friend, and the bruise would never heal. What evil was she serving? And most importantly, how could I get justice?
After the meeting, I asked Vera to show me where the so-called soulshifting of Mansur took place. She guided me to Tamaz’s chamber, though he only slept here when his wife or a concubine was staying the night. Half the room was a bed, surrounded by a golden trellis. A chest of overflowing jewels sat in the corner, next to an empty crib. Vera relit the candles.
“It was here he kissed the baby, just like Zedra would.” She rocked the crib, longing in her eyes. “Oh — how rude of me — may I get you something, sultana?”
“Wine would do.”
Vera reached atop a shelf for a ruby-encrusted cup and a flagon of wine.
&nb
sp; “For yourself, as well.” I gestured to the second cup she’d left on the shelf.
“I better not…it doesn’t agree with me.”
“I don’t care. Pour yourself a cup.”
She did as ordered, then stood across the room, as if I were a tiger about to pounce.
“Sultana, please understand — I only did what she ordered me to.”
I opened the gate of the trellis and pointed to the bed. Once Vera and I were inside, I shut it. We sat on our knees, across from each other. Vera covered her mouth with her emerald-studded cup.
“You’re not telling me everything,” I said. “You’re no fool. You knew she was up to no good. She sent you into my service for a reason, and you merrily played the part.”
“I-I didn’t know why.” She slurped the wine. “I swear!”
“That’s why you…did those things to me. It was all in service to her.” I was as sad as I was angry. “Did you know I’d lived here eight years and couldn’t count anyone as a friend until she came along, only a year ago? My only friend…someone I could just be with, laugh with, without thinking about why…but turns out she was the worst kind of enemy…and so were you.”
She sniffled. “I’ll do anything. Please — please forgive me.”
I gulped the wine. The intoxicant overwhelmed the rose flavor, and it burned down my throat with a peach aftertaste. “How many others would you do anything for? Kyars? Zedra? Mansur? Whoever else holds your leash for a day? You’re worse than a worm-rotted date. How can I trust you?”
What if she told Zedra I was here in the palace? And what if Zedra came for me? She had bloodrunes everywhere, which put us all in danger, though I recalled Eshe telling Shah Tamaz he had a solution for that. Still, the last thing we needed was Zedra’s spy worming among us.
“I…I could have kept it all to myself,” Vera said as tears flowed. “But I chose to tell you.”
“So you chose to betray Zedra, your sultana. How does that make you trustworthy?”
