Seas of Crimson Silk (Burning Empire Book 1)

by Emma Hamm

  Raheem reached for her arm before he remembered himself. His hand froze in the air, and he asked, “Would you like to make your way to the mountain?”

  “At my husband’s request,” she replied.

  Camilla’s claws dug into her shoulders as they made their way through the ranks of Bymerians. What had seemed like a small task turned daunting. The platform was little more than boards attached with ropes. They would bounce against the stone with every yanking pull.

  Her stomach turned.

  The sultan sat arrogantly on his horse, one knee hooked over the pommel, elbow resting on his thigh.

  He stared at her until she snapped, “What is it you want?”

  “I can’t look at you? I think I won the right to do that, wife.”

  “You may call me by my name.”

  “I like wife better.” He swung down from his steed and strode towards her. He reached forward, played with the clasp of her mask for a moment, then flicked a finger against the gold. “What do you look like underneath this, I wonder? I’ve been patient, but as soon as we are in Bymere, I intend to find out what your face looks like.”

  Yet another thing to make her stomach roll. She swallowed the vomit in her throat and nodded. “It’s your right as my husband.”

  “Does the mask hide something ugly?” he mused. “Or something more precious?”

  “That is up to you.”

  He huffed. “We’ll find out soon enough then. Get up on the platform, wife. We go first.”

  She made her way to the rickety platform, wincing as it creaked under her feet, and stepped close to the wall. A few others joined her, the white-haired man who had been so argumentative and the beautiful woman with painted hands. Neither glanced her way although a few others that arrived with them did.

  Their eyes lingered on her clothing, the iron in her spine, and the ash-white hair spilling over her shoulders. Sigrid knew how strange she must look to them. They were equally foreign to her.

  She took a deep breath and stepped closer to the edge of the platform as they were slowly lifted into the air.

  “Careful,” the sultan said. “We wouldn’t want you to tumble to your death.”

  His advisors chuckled, but she didn’t understand what was so funny.

  Bymerians confused her. Their reactions weren’t normal, at least not to her. Camilla seemed to agree, because she shook her head and took flight. Downy wings sliced through the air. She plummeted towards the earth before soaring out of sight, up to the top of the mountain.

  What Sigrid would give to do the same.

  The Bymerians chattered around her. The sound of their voices assaulted her ears until she wanted to throw herself from the platform. She stepped closer to the edge, staring down at the ground which quickly dropped away beneath them. She waited for someone to notice her, then realized no one was watching. Even Raheem was staring at the other nobles, amused at their antics.

  The woman flicked her wrist, imitating something Sigrid couldn’t guess at. Laughter burst forth again, and she finally turned her back on them.

  They weren’t her people. She didn’t have to acknowledge their existence if she didn’t want to.

  Sigrid stepped forward and grasped the rope in her hand. Coarse hemp bit into her fingers and splinters dug into her bare feet. But the wind rustled her hair, tugged her braid and whipped her skirts. It reminded her that she was alive, and though they didn’t know it, she was more connected to the earth than they could ever imagine.

  Holding on tight, she dangled one foot over the edge and leaned just enough so that her sight wasn’t filled with platforms or Bymerians. All she could see was Wildewyn falling away.

  Forests and swamps filled her eyes. So impossibly green she knew even the purest of emeralds couldn’t compete. She would not cry. It was not becoming of a dragon, but her breath caught at the beauty of her home. Lost forever now, but the memory branded into her soul.

  Someone stepped toward her, perhaps things she planned to leap off the platform, but a sword unsheathed behind her. The ringing sound echoed with a single threatening note dancing in the air.

  “Raheem,” her husband’s voice cracked.

  “You asked me to protect her, Majesty. That is what I’m doing.”

  Another voice, slick and oily responded, “She might throw herself from the platform. I'm only trying to preserve this tentative peace.”

  She heard the unmistakable sigh from between her husband’s lips. “Raheem—”

  “If I may be so bold, Sultan, she has said that none may touch her but family or husband. And I don’t believe she’s trying to kill herself.” There was a tense pause, and then Raheem sheathed his blade. “I think she’s saying goodbye.”

  Throughout the entire ordeal, Sigrid remained silent, staring out at her homeland. She couldn’t turn, because they might see the red rims of her eyes, or the fat droplets of tears she refused to let fall.

  It wasn’t just the home. It wasn’t just the land. It was the memories that came with it and the pain of leaving it all behind.

  A flash of silver caught her eye, then another of gold. And Sigrid held her breath as twin falcons dipped in the air. Sunlight danced upon the embellished tips of their feathers, and she knew her sisters had come.

  An owl circled them. Camilla’s haunting cry served as their last goodbye.

  Nadir

  They arrived in the trader’s camp late that night. Exhaustion wore at Nadir, but he had learned from his brother long ago that an army marched until their king showed weakness. He held his spine straight, stared forward as if he had no care in the world. He’d fall into bed soon.

  The strange woman he’d acquired didn’t seem to be fatigued at all. She hardly reacted to anything although it was difficult to tell with that strange mask on her face. It never changed expression and made her seem more animal than human.

  Perhaps, that was the point.

  By the time they stumbled into camp, their tents were already erected. Brightly colored, they stood out from the desert and heralded his first sign of home. If he had been able to, Nadir would have cracked a smile.

  Instead, he remained as stoic as his advisors. He made certain they sent each man to their tents, waved Abdul away and promised to speak with him in the morning, and then made his way towards his own large, red tent.

  Crimson fabric always marked where the king was. He brushed aside the tent flap, bare feet sinking into the thick carpet. Sighing, he cracked his neck.

  “Husband,” a quiet voice whispered, curling out of the depths of rugs and fur. “I've been waiting for you.”

  He wished that his wife’s voice calmed him. Instead, the hairs on his arms raised. “Saafiya.”

  “You might sound more excited to see me.”

  She rose from the corner, all lithe limbs and smooth skin. She walked around the center brazier, firelight playing over her body. Though she had removed her traveling attire, she was still dressed as a queen.

  A skirt of orange silk spilled from her hips, golden suns stitched in lines to the ground. The top bared her midriff, just as lovely as the rest of her. A matching top accentuated her curves and the heavy necklace covering her chest.

  She’d taken her hair down, as she knew he preferred. The dark weight swung at her hips as she sensually strode towards him.

  “I have missed you, husband.”

  “We both know that’s a lie.”

  “You’ve been making decisions without me,” she said with a pout. “I thought we were a wonderful team, you and I.”

  “You’ve always been an advisor before you were my wife.”

  “And I’ve been a good advisor.” She stepped behind him, nudging him further into the tent. “Come. Let me wash the travel stains from your body. You will feel like a new man after a bath.”

  Nadir let her push him. He’d always been terrible at denying her. She was so lovely, and he admired her so, that it was difficult to think when she was in the room.

 
The fire crackled and warm hands smoothed across his shoulders. She pressed against his aching muscles as she pulled his shirt over his head. His back spasmed under her caresses and she let out a disappointed tut.

  “You know better than to push yourself. You are sultan now, not some soldier on the field.”

  “I am sultan; therefore, I must push myself.”

  “That’s your brother talking.” She leaned down and pressed her lips against his ear. “Not you.”

  Nadir knew what she was doing, and he didn’t like it. The warm glow of firelight bouncing off crimson walls lulled him into a state of relaxation. She would use it to get what she wanted.

  “What do you want, Saafiya?” he asked.

  “I want to take care of my husband.”

  “Stop lying. I’m too tired to argue with you tonight.”

  Her hands clenched on his shoulders. “Why must it always be an argument? I don’t complain when you bring your concubines to bed. Neither do I care when you make a scene with women at our dinner table or any gathering. I've been a good wife.”

  “The best wife,” he agreed. “And yet, you always want something when you are kind. What is it this time?”

  “I've been your only wife.”

  And there it was. He knew it had something to do with the golden trinket he’d brought back from Wildewyn, but Nadir thought she would wait to attack him about a second marriage.

  He brought a hand to his face and scrubbed the day-old scruff growing there. “It’s done.”

  “You should have spoken with me first.”

  “I didn’t realize I needed your permission to marry again.”

  Her voice turned to a hiss. “You can marry any Bymerian woman you want. I will parade them in front of you if it's a second wife you desire. But I will not suffer the insult of living with a second wife from Wildewyn who claims to be an animal.”

  “Enough.”

  Claws dug into his shoulders. “She is beneath you, beneath Bymere. You know better than to welcome a snake into the castle. Look at what happened to your brother.”

  “Enough!” He lurched to his feet, chest heaving in anger. “Get out.”

  “Husband—”

  “Out, Saafiya. Before I do something I regret.”

  Her padding footsteps were his only warning she had left. The fire burned on, crackling and reminding him that there were other things in this world than a meddling wife old enough to be his mother.

  What had he become?

  In the flames, he saw his brother’s face. Hakim had always been the handsome sibling. Better suited to be king, to the kingdom, to everything that Nadir now held in his careless hands. What would Hakim have done?

  The tent flap shifted again, a shadow slipping into his temporary home.

  “What is it?” he growled.

  “I thought to check on you. Saafiya didn’t appear happy when she left.”

  “She tried to meddle.”

  “Did you expect anything less?” Raheem chuckled, but sat on the other side of the flame. It took a considerable amount of effort to fold himself onto the floor. “She’s always meddled.”

  “I have no patience for her.”

  “You don’t? That’s a surprise. You usually do.”

  He supposed his friend was right, although he didn’t know what had changed. Perhaps the travel had worn on him more than he thought. Nadir shook his head again, rubbing his face hard to try to dispel the exhaustion.

  “What news of the girl?” he asked.

  “The little sultana? Not much.”

  “You spoke with her on the journey.”

  “Not as often as you’d think.” Raheem reached forward and plucked a stick out of the fire. He poked at the embers before clearing his throat. “She doesn’t like to be touched.”

  “History?”

  “Tradition, it seems. Says only her family may lay a hand on her, and that whomever touched her without permission would be put to death.”

  Nadir nodded. “I’ll let the men know, just in case. Anything else?”

  “She’s got a spine of steel on her. I’d expect most women to be nervous or afraid in a situation like this. She’s taken out of her home, everything she knows is gone, and she’s only got an owl as a friend. But she doesn’t seem affected by it at all.”

  Nadir grunted. “That’s what makes me nervous.”

  “How so?”

  Because she was impossible that’s why. Every inch of her was like a marble statue come to life. She was too cold, strange, exquisite in a way that seemed foreign and haunting. He shook his head to clear the odd thoughts.

  “She doesn’t seem real.”

  “No, she doesn’t at all.” Raheem leaned back on an elbow, the burning stick clutched in one hand. Smoke curled from the tip. “I wonder what she looks like underneath that mask.”

  “I hope she’s beautiful.”

  “I couldn’t imagine anything else, although I bet it’s a strange kind of beauty. Like looking at a reflection in moonlight.”

  “When did you become a poet?” Nadir asked, but he knew what his friend meant by those words. She was unpredictable, and it made him uncomfortable.

  “The moment I saw her.”

  Nadir threw a cushion at him. “That’s my wife.”

  “On paper. Besides, you didn’t want her. A poor guard can dream, can’t he?”

  “I ought to cut out your tongue for that.”

  “You’d be doing the world a favor.”

  Nadir grinned for the first time in what felt like ages. This was what he missed from visiting the war camps before his brother died and the world went to shit. The comradery, the feeling of belonging no matter who was talking, the way each man ribbed each other even though he hadn’t been able to understand it at such a young age. It was a rare gift in a world full of politicians and scheming wives.

  His childhood dreams were always of a life simpler than this. A single wife who waited for him at home, a small house on the edge of an oasis. A life with no one to tell him what to do or who to be.

  Nadir flopped down onto the rugs and stared up at the patterned ceiling. “I should know what she looks like.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He waved a hand in the air. “Her face. What kind of man marries a woman without knowing what her face looks like?”

  “First impressions are everything, I suppose. What do you think of her now?”

  “She’s stubborn.”

  Raheem chuckled. “And?”

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “I see I'm the only poet in the room. Is beauty and stubbornness the only thing you can recognize in another person?”

  It was certainly the first thing he recognized. Nadir tried to remember the first moment he saw her. Pawing through memories of beautiful masked women, he realized he couldn’t remember the exact moment.

  “What did she look like to you when she walked into the room?”

  “Like a winter storm,” Raheem replied. “All those women were snowflakes, parading into the king’s white hall. But there’s more to her than snow or sleet. That woman is the entire storm, and the devastation left behind. She’s got ice in her veins, that one.”

  He remembered now. They had parted like a wave, and she had advanced towards him as if she would pull a blade and slide it between his ribs.

  “There’s more to her than ice,” Nadir replied. “When she looked me in the eyes, I felt hatred. The depth of which I’ve never seen in another person.”

  “I don’t know if she’s capable of hatred.”

  “She defies me at every turn,” Nadir spat. “No matter what I tell her to do, the answer is always no.”

  Raheem paused for a second, and the fire filled the silence until his friend took a deep breath. “She walked the entire journey barefoot.”

  “What?” Nadir sat up, stunned. “She what?”

  “Barefoot as the day she was born. I’ve seen nothing like it. I asked her multiple times to put her
shoes back on, but she never did. I snuck up behind her as she was preparing for bed and watched her put her feet in a cold stream. They were bleeding and raw, but she never complained once. I don’t think she even noticed the pain.”

  “Why would she do such a foolish thing?” Something in his chest ached at the thought of her suffering.

  “I asked halfway through the trip when I thought I saw her stumble. She refused any help, told me she wouldn’t put her shoes back on, and then mentioned something that still troubles me.” Raheem sat up as well, his gaze finding Nadir’s. “She said if this was her last goodbye, then feeling the earth under her feet was worth a little pain.”

  He shook his head. “That makes little sense.”

  “That’s what I said. And yet, she remained barefoot.”

  “She will put those shoes on the moment we begin our journey again.” His voice snapped in the air, anger surging in his veins again. He didn’t care if he had to pin her to the ground and tie the shoes onto her feet himself. She would wear them.

  “I don’t think that'll be a problem.” Raheem rolled to his feet. “She put them back on the moment we touched Bymerian soil.”

  Nadir didn’t know how to respond. He clenched his jaw as his friend made his way out of the tent.

  He slumped back into the rugs, staring up at the ceiling of his tent. She put the shoes back on? What insult was this to his people? To his homeland?

  One side of him stung that she had endured such pain, and he hadn’t noticed. But he hadn’t really given her a single thought on their journey. He had been too busy with the success of what felt like a raid.

  Yet, it wasn’t. She hadn’t let it become that. Instead, she had turned it around. Every step of the way felt like it was her choice. To lower herself. To agree to this marriage. It wasn’t a trade for peace; it was simply her plan all along.

  His mind warred between anger and disgust at himself for what he had done. Nadir rarely felt guilt, especially for something such as this. It was for his kingdom. Every choice he made was for his people, and yet…

  This somehow felt selfish.

  An image flashed before his eyes. Bloodied feet and a cold woman standing up to her ankles in frigid water. She hadn’t reacted at all to the cold. He only remembered because he had glanced back to see both her and Raheem standing at odds.