Seas of Crimson Silk (Burning Empire Book 1)

by Emma Hamm

  The tent flap whispered shut behind him as he left, and Nadir felt the sound all the way to his soul.

  Memories haunted the old man’s steps. Before his brother had died, Hakim had kept a wall of butterflies. Each one pinned with its wings outstretched and affixed in place. They were infinitely delicate. Nadir had once touched a wing and watched it crumble beneath his finger.

  Butterfly? He couldn’t see Sigrid as anything like that. She had too much of the earth in her. Where butterflies were made of air, she was made of stone and brick. He couldn’t pin her to a wall as an ornament.

  He worried that was how his people saw her. And he understood why. The golden mask made her less human and more mysterious, like a performer. The billowing fabric she wore hid so much of her body it was easy for rumors to claim she wasn’t human at all. That she was made of air and that there was nothing at all underneath the mask.

  Nadir scrubbed his face. These rumors had to stop.

  He was standing before he knew he moved. His feet sifted through the sands and carried him out of the tent without his awareness.

  Moonlight turned the desert purple and blue. Rolling dunes shifted every day as the winds pushed them back and forth. It was the first thing he’d fallen in love with here. Every inch of the sand was constantly changing. He’d never met the same desert twice.

  Tents dotted the dunes as far as his eyes could see, but he sought only one. A simple, sturdy tent on the edge of the camp where his second wife remained secluded.

  “This will do just fine,” she had called through the tent when he ordered her to step out. “I've no need of fineries. A sturdy tent and a fire will suffice.”

  And then he’d been ordered to leave again. Like a commoner. Like a slave she kept at her beck and call.

  He had to admit it, he felt a little like a slave to her whims. She captivated his attentions, no matter how much he tried to wipe her from his mind.

  Nadir stalked back to her tent, arms swinging at his side. He wore sleep clothes, an embarrassing outfit for a sultan. A tunic knotted at his waist, a simple sash tucked underneath that sufficed as makeshift pants. The gauzy, white fabric left little to the mind’s eye, but he’d never felt self-conscious until he met her. She covered herself so much, it made him feel like a heathen to stand in front of her.

  He cleared his throat when he made it to her temporary home. “Wife? I'd have words with you.”

  No one responded to his call.

  Nadir frowned. “Wife?”

  When no response came, he pushed forward into the tent. No fire crackled to banish the dark shadows. The only light came from the single hole at the top of the tent where the moon’s rays filtered through.

  Silence struck his ears like a hand clapped over them. He’d never experienced such a quiet that terrified him so much.

  Something stirred in the far corner. He might not have noticed it at all if he wasn’t staring straight at it. Something was breathing there. The tiniest movements clearly meant that whoever it was, was trying to hide from him.

  “I know you are not my wife,” he murmured as he stepped forward. “I've no wish to harm you. But if you have taken her, or harmed her in any way, then I will make sure you feel pain unimaginable.”

  “I was unaware you cared for my mistress so much.” The voice was familiar. Sigrid’s little handmaiden turned, her eyes flashing bright in the darkness. “Or perhaps you’re more interested in keeping something you consider your property.”

  “Don't twist my words. Where is she?”

  “Nowhere and everywhere.” The woman shrugged. “She battles the beast tonight, and will not return until she has succeeded.”

  “What does that mean?” he growled. “All you Earthen folk talk in riddles. Be forthcoming with your words.”

  “It is as I said. She must fight this battle alone.”

  “And where did she go?”

  “No one knows.” The woman shook herself and stood, a long cloak settled around her shoulders to keep her warm. “It is different for each Beastkin, but Sigrid has always wandered.”

  “She’ll get lost this far in the desert.”

  “It’s impossible for a dragon to lose her way. They can see the world from the sky if they wish. She will find us. Keeping her family and her country safe is the most important thing to her.”

  He shook his head and sat on a wooden stool. It was a sturdy thing, made of wood and metal. They’d never have a piece of furniture like this in Bymere. Trees were far too precious to cut down.

  The woman met his gaze with wide, owl-like eyes. He could feel her stare like a touch as she looked him up and down. What would she see in him? A boy king as so many others did? Or something more?

  She eased down onto a trunk opposite of him. “I tell you this secret only because I want her to be happy, and you need to understand our ways. You will swear yourself to secrecy. Yes?”

  He hadn’t the faintest idea of what she might be about to tell him. Nadir waved a hand and nodded. “Consider it so sworn.”

  “There are two kinds of Beastkin,” she hesitantly started, as if she didn’t trust him. “One that is melded seamlessly with the beast. They are one and the same. Person and animal, interlocked together as a single person. This is the best option for Beastkin, and most are such as this.

  “But there are also Beastkin who will always fight against their animal. They cannot meld, because a predator always wishes to fight and to kill. These are the Beastkin who must go to battle with themselves, because they will be a danger to us all if they allow themselves to connect too much with their animal side.”

  It explained why she was so reserved, but some pieces weren’t making sense. He shook his head. “Why wouldn’t they want to connect with the animal? It seems far more dangerous for them to renounce their true nature.”

  “Predators want to hunt. They don't think as we do, and that is dangerous for everyone. If they connect entirely with the animal, their fear is that they will no longer have the human’s emotions that allow them to decide not to kill. They don't want to become monsters.”

  He frowned. “Why wouldn’t she be able to control herself? That seems foolish. She’s still a person, and if the non-predatory animals are fine, why shouldn’t the others be as well?”

  The handmaiden shifted, her face twisting in discomfort. “That’s not a question I can answer, Sultan. The last remaining dragon was Sigrid’s mother. She had not finished her training before her mother died. There is no one else alive who can answer that question.”

  A disturbing thought. It also reminded him of how little he knew of this strange creature he married. Nadir frowned and shook his head.

  “What else do I not know?”

  “There are a thousand lifetimes of information the Beastkin know. None of which I can tell you without her permission.”

  “How do I get her permission?”

  The woman lifted a dark brow. “Perhaps you should ask her yourself? You are her husband after all.”

  “In name only.” He shrugged when she flinched back. “Do you think I didn’t notice there was no ceremony when others seemed prepared for one? I know the war band interrupted a wedding. We signed a peace treaty and a single sheet of paper. This isn’t a traditional marriage.”

  “Not by our standards.”

  “Nor by mine.”

  The moonlight filtered over her mask, silver edges meeting textured hair tied back in braids. She must be a pretty little thing. Too secretive for his liking. However, perhaps he would have been too if he were in her situation.

  Everything in this tent was too simple for these Wildewyn women. They both deserved to be surrounded by beautiful things. Gemstones, silk, mosaics that took hundreds of years to put together. None of which he could give them until they made it back to the Red Palace.

  Instead, all he could offer was to sit across from her in the dark. He dug his toes into the sand and watched her do the same.

  “We leave on the morrow.�
�

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “The Red Palace. It’s my home and the capital of Bymere.”

  “She won’t like it.” Her brow furrowed. “I don’t think she’ll want to go at all.”

  “She doesn’t have a choice.” Nadir stood, cracking his neck from side to side. “If she has not returned by morning, we will leave without her.”

  The owl maid shrugged. “A dragon finds its family no matter where they are.”

  Something ached in his chest. He couldn’t decide if it was a twist of pity for a woman who found herself caged within a life she didn’t want, or a twinge of disappointment in remembrance of what he had lost.

  The death of his brother took away the last living person who could call him blood. Nadir longed for someone to feel the same way as his brother had about him. They were more than just siblings. They felt the same emotions. They laughed at the same jokes. Though their lives took different paths, he always knew someone loved him.

  If he were honest with himself, he feared he’d never feel that way again.

  He nodded and stood. “Then I hope to see you both tomorrow. Part of my…personal guard will meet us in the morning with horses. It will make traveling easier.”

  “I suspect it will.”

  The woman settled back in her dark corner, and he wondered what kind of life they were used to. She didn’t complain about the simple tent, nor did she ask for a fire to warm her back. Instead, she curled up in the sand without a word and closed her eyes.

  Nadir left her alone, a single thought burning in his mind as he left. These Beastkin women were strange, and far more dangerous than he gave them credit for.

  Sigrid

  Sigrid listened for the sounds of an attack. Something hadn’t settled in her chest ever since she returned from wandering the sands, the dragon safely tucked back in its cage. She’d felt the angry chuffing of the beast and forced herself to meditate far away from distractions. The dragon could never be free, not when Sigrid didn’t know what it would do.

  When she returned, there was change riding on the wind

  As the sun rose on the horizon, the first wave of men entered their tented camp. They brought with them a handful of horses, each more glorious than the last.

  Most of the advisors were given dun-colored beasts. Their tan bodies twitched as each man jumped into the saddle, their hands gripping long waves of dark mane.

  The sultan reached out for a chestnut beast. It was so tall, even Sigrid would have to tilt her head to look it in the eye. She watched it lash out at every man who tried to touch it, until Nadir pressed a palm to its nose. Immediately, the great beast calmed and stilled under its master’s touch.

  One horse was white as snow, and perfectly clean. Its long mane fluttered in the breeze like a banner crying out for peace, but its hooves struck the ground like hammers. This was given to the first wife. She sat astride—her crimson gown pooling down its sides like blood—and gave Sigrid a look that clearly stated she knew her place.

  The first wife would always remain the most important. Her tent was more lavish. Her horse cried out for attention. Such was the way of the Bymerians.

  Sigrid could care less. She didn’t want attention as she looked for her opportunity to discover their hidden knowledge. The Council wanted her to watch these people, find out their secrets, and return to them with the head of a king.

  She would do that and more with pleasure. They didn’t seem to care at all whether the king survived. He was constantly alone, and his guards were lazy. Even his advisors forgot he existed.

  Nothing was more confusing than the way these people chose to live.

  Camilla had laid out a midnight gown for the journey, deep blue like the deepest pools in the Wildewyn forests. Tiny stars were hand-stitched in silver all over the bodice, falling like shooting stars into the heavy skirts. Her golden mask flared around her face like the sun.

  A young man approached her, reins of a black stallion in his hand. “Sultana, if it pleases you.”

  Horses never pleased her. They didn’t like sensing the predator inside her, and rarely reacted the way they should. But this creature was different than the others. She saw rage in his eyes when he looked at her, not fear.

  Sigrid turned her gaze to the boy who led him. His head was covered by a dark red scarf, revealing nothing other than a sliver of tanned skin and bright blue eyes. Odd for someone from Bymere to have those colors.

  Cocking her head to the side, she narrowed her eyes. There was something familiar about the boy. Something hidden in his gaze that wasn’t Bymerian at all.

  “Are you from here?” she asked.

  “Yes, Sultana.”

  “Where are your parents from?”

  He lifted that cold gaze and met hers head on. “From here, Sultana.”

  Anger shook his voice. He had a right to be. No one wanted to be accused of having mixed blood, and he’d likely heard such accusations his entire life. But she knew eyes like that, and hadn’t thought they could be housed inside a man.

  Sigrid reached out and caught the filmy sleeve of his shirt. She pitched her voice low and asked, “What are you known by?”

  His gaze flicked side to side. “Sparrow, Your Grace.”

  A nickname or some kind, he likely wouldn’t give her an exact answer. And he shouldn’t in this place where they thought all Beastkin had been hunted.

  Sigrid was overwhelmed with a surge of purpose. There were people here who needed her. A kind she recognized and found a part of herself inside. Beastkin. They weren’t entirely gone in Bymere after all.

  “I thought we could only be female,” she whispered.

  “I thought we could only be male,” he echoed. He was so young, his voice cracked on the words.

  “Are there others?”

  “More than the royals know.” His gaze slanted to the side, watching a few guards walk past to reach their horses. “I cannot say more here, Sultana.”

  “You can find me at the palace?”

  “I can.”

  “Then do so.” She released her hold on his sleeve and narrowed her gaze on the mount. “He’ll do. Until we meet again, brother.”

  The boy trembled, bowed, and then left the horse with her as if he didn’t know which one would bite. Perhaps he was the only one in the camp with sense.

  Sigrid flattened her hand and reached out to the horse. “I understand you have no interest in allowing me to ride you. I have no desire, nor need, to tire you with my weight. But we both must endure.”

  The black beast leaned forward, sniffed her palms, then touched a velvet soft nose to her hand. When it lipped at her fingers, clearly trying to bite her, she pulled back with a laugh.

  “I’ve always admired creatures with spirit. You’ll do.”

  She rounded him and placed her hands on the simple saddle. Sigrid was used to leather pieces with designs carved into the edges. Bymerians rode with little more than a blanket on the backs of their horses. Though it was beautifully designed with spirals of red and gold fabric, it would do little to ease her bottom on the long journey.

  No matter, she supposed. What was a little more pain?

  Sigrid swung herself onto the horse’s back and caught the reins when it side-stepped. “Easy,” she muttered. “We’ve got a long way to go just yet.”

  Camilla called out above her, the haunting owl cry her only warning before taloned feet clutched her shoulder.

  “Where have you been? I have news,” she said. A single downy feather landed on her lap.

  Her sister didn’t answer. Instead, she stared off into the distance where a dust storm was forming.

  The last thing they needed was to ride through a storm. Sigrid already had sand in every crevice of her body, and with no bathing room in sight. She didn’t want to think what discomforts a sandstorm would bring.

  But then, she realized the sand cloud wasn’t caused by the wind. She narrowed her eyes and felt anger burn a hole in her che
st.

  “This is not a personal guard,” Sigrid growled. “This is an army.”

  Camilla sat on her shoulder, and then lifted her wings in agreement. They had spoken quickly this morning when Sigrid returned. She had heard of Nadir’s sudden entrance to the tent, and what Camilla had explained to make him leave.

  Trading information was not something unheard of between enemies, but she didn’t like him knowing any more about her kind than he needed to. The Beastkin women were sacred to Wildewyn. Bymerians should remain in the dark about all they were capable of.

  “Cursed man,” she gritted through her teeth, yanking the reins to spin her horse around. “He cannot lie to me for long before he’ll feel the lash of my tongue.”

  Before she could get far, another horse stepped in front of hers. The black stallion gave a cry and reared up slightly before settling beneath her.

  Sigrid glowered at Raheem. “What are you doing?”

  “Stopping you from making a poor decision.”

  “Explain that to me.” She pointed at the angry storm cloud made by hundreds of hooves. “Give me one good reason why that exists, and I won’t ask him.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  She jerked the reins. “Then I will hear those words from his lips as well.”

  “Why are you so angry?” Raheem reached forward and yanked the reins out of her hands. “He’s not going to change that army just because you raise your voice. Excuse me if I overstep my bounds, Sultana, but he’ll answer to kindness far better than anger.”

  She stared at him, trying to figure out why he was helping her. What did he mean that the sultan would respond better to kindness? Everyone did. That didn’t mean he deserved kind words when he was acting the fool.

  “That army is clearly meant for my homeland, for my family,” she growled. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t try to stop it?”

  “There are hundreds of ways to stop a war. The least effective is yelling. The most effective is understanding your enemy.”