Seas of Crimson Silk (Burning Empire Book 1)

by Emma Hamm

  She stared at the strange man in front of her and saw him through new eyes. Raheem was not just a personal guard. He wasn’t a man who had spent his entire life fighting and doing nothing else.

  Small scars spider-webbed away from his eyes, she realized. Not the natural wrinkles brought about by laughter and happiness. Those were scars etched into his skin from some kind of wound, explosion, or simple accident. And beneath those scars was a man who knew how the world worked and who tried to help other people understand it as well.

  “Are you a politician?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Were you an advisor?”

  “No.”

  “Have you any ties to Bymere other than being born here?”

  “Not a single one.” A shadow passed through his gaze. Sadness, the kind she recognized from a bone-deep ache that festered in her own soul.

  “Then why are you helping me? Why do you care what I do?”

  Raheem straightened, releasing his hold on her reins. Perhaps he understood she wasn’t going to race off to scream at her fool of a husband. Or perhaps he was letting her make the choice to be a fool, or not.

  She stayed where she was.

  His dark eyes searched hers for some explanation as to why she remained at his side. Then, he cleared his throat.

  “Did you know Bymerians do believe in Beastkin? It’s not that we haven’t seen your kind; it’s that we choose to ignore the obvious. There used to be shifters like you in these deserts. We hunted them down until they disappeared forever.”

  She’d heard rumors before, but never anything so certain. Her heart ached for those souls wandering the deserts, lost from their brethren, never able to join their families in the halls of the dead.

  “It’s a sad fate for one of our kind.”

  “I know more than most.” He folded his hands in his laps, reins dangling loose and hanging in loops down the dun horse’s neck. “My wife was one of the last Beastkin surviving in Bymere.”

  Sigrid’s stomach flipped over, and she tasted bitter bile on her tongue. “What happened to her?”

  “She died.”

  “How?”

  “The sultan’s father hunted her down and murdered her as she ran. The soldier threw a spear from a great distance, a nearly impossible throw, that somehow caught her between the shoulder blades. She was pinned to the ground for days before I returned with a hunting party. No one dared touch her body for fear the sultan’s troops would return and kill them too.”

  “That’s terrible.” Anger burned so hot in her blood the stallion sidestepped. She needed to control her anger. The waves of heat rolling off her were dangerous to everyone. “Why are you telling me this? I already dislike your sultan.”

  “For that reason precisely.” Raheem squared his shoulders. “All that changed when the sultan’s older brother began to make decisions for Bymere. And it’s changed even more with the current sultan. This land is changing for the good, but you cannot fix it in a day. He’s doing his best, little sultana. He’s changing the old ways inch by inch.”

  “He’s changing them? Or his advisors are?” She lifted a brow.

  “His advisors may seem as though they play him like a puppet, but make no mistake. The sultan has a mind of his own and a plan for this country that will make it great once more. You are in a unique position to help him do exactly that.”

  “How?” The storm grew ever closer. “He barely speaks to me.”

  “He’s shy.” Raheem tilted his head back and let out a booming laugh. “A strange consideration perhaps for a sultan, but he is just a boy. You are just a girl. You may need to make the first step. He’s never had to be nice to a woman before.”

  “Perhaps he should learn.”

  “Perhaps you should teach him.” A bright smile split Raheem’s face. “I found the best advice I’ve ever received was from my wife. You women are far more capable than we give you credit for.”

  Her mask lifted slightly as she smiled beneath it. The man was quickly becoming one of her favorites, and that was an honor very few laid claim to.

  Camilla brushed her wings upon Sigrid’s shoulders, a sign that her faithful friend agreed. Raheem was astute in a way very few men were. He understood their people, their sex, and gave them the respect they deserved. She hadn’t thought to see such treatment here.

  Every precious thought was dashed to the ground as the white-haired advisor rode up on his stallion.

  “Sultana.” The sardonic grin on his face made the words seem like a mockery. “We cannot allow you to see the way to the Red Palace, I’m sure you understand.”

  She stared at the red cloth he held in his hands and forced her tongue to still. She didn’t understand, but for reasons he couldn’t comprehend. She could turn into a dragon and lift herself into the skies. All of Bymere would be laid out like a map at her feet. If she wanted to know where the Red Palace was, then she would find it easily enough.

  But they still didn’t believe she was a dragon. They thought she was little more than a pretty bauble the king kept around who knew how to lie through her teeth. No matter what tricks she showed them, they wouldn’t believe a single word she said until she transformed in front of them.

  A part of her wanted to. She wanted to feel her skin stretch and her claws grow. But she hadn’t transformed since she was a little girl. Sigrid was a veritable security blanket for Wildewyn, when she didn’t even know if she could become that dragon again.

  Or what she would look like.

  Abdul nudged his horse closer and gave her mask a severe glance. “I must ask you to remove the mask, Sultana.”

  “Why?”

  “It will make it too easy for the blindfold to slip.”

  “Will you personally kill every man who looks upon my face other than my husband?” She narrowed her gaze on him. “I will know if you do not. It’s worse to leave them alive.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You Earthen folk are so dramatic. Fine, we’ll tie it around the mask. But if it slips, you must put it back in place. As I am respecting your ways, you shall respect ours.”

  Sigrid gave a nod and allowed him to tie the blindfold around her head, noting he was careful not to graze her with his fingertips. The black stallion huffed an angry breath, side-stepping to get away from the dun which attempted to nip his hind-quarters. Did they think to kill her? A horse accident would certainly suffice to snap her neck.

  “Watch her, Raheem,” Abdul said with stern tones. “The sultan himself has ordered she not be able to trace her steps back to the Red Palace.”

  When the sound of hooves disappeared, Sigrid shifted her hold on the reins. “Wake me when we arrive, guard.”

  Raheem chuckled. “Guard, is it? And I thought we were on a first name basis, Sultana.”

  “Not quite. If you allow a man to blindfold me and place me in danger of falling off my horse, then you are certainly not a very good personal guard.”

  “Would you like me to tie you to the horse?”

  “There’s no need.”

  Sigrid had ridden as a child, even slept on horseback when she was a wild little thing in the forests of Wildewyn. Of course, the horse had always been one of her kind, but horses were remarkably intelligent creatures.

  She already felt a strange connection to the beast she rode. The stallion didn’t want to be here either. She felt the twitching hide and understood the depth of his anger. He wanted to run free, to ride to the horizon and leave behind this life of servitude.

  “Ride free,” she murmured, letting the wind take her words to the horse’s ears. “Ride true.”

  She let her eyes fall shut and drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  -------

  “Sultana.”

  The voice drifted through her conscious. It took very little to snap her awake, although she kept her body in the same position as before. Her posture did not change; her head did not lift. She listened for the sounds around her.

  Armor crea
ked against the sides of horses. Hooves pawed at the ground, not moving, but standing still. A single rider approached, his horse oddly smooth in its gait. She heard fabric rustling as the man on the horse shifted his weight upon approach.

  He was close enough that she could feel the heat of his leg against hers, and then he brushed against her, thigh to thigh.

  Sigrid lifted her head, reached up, and whipped off the blindfold. It floated through the air like a banner of war as she glared at the man who dared touch her.

  Nadir sat next to her, his burnished skin glistening with sweat in the sunlight. “So,” he said, “you were serious that no man other than me may touch you.”

  “I don’t lie.”

  “Just testing you. I think you might have killed me if I were anyone else.”

  “I wouldn’t have done them the honor. I’d have cut off the part that touched me, and told the man to consider himself lucky.”

  “Losing a leg might be worth touching you.” He grinned so brilliantly that it rivaled the sun. “Oh, don’t narrow those eyes at me. I can imagine what kind of expression you’re making. You should learn to take compliments better.”

  “It’s not a compliment when you’re being sarcastic.”

  “Who’s to say I am?”

  She rolled her eyes and gritted her teeth. There were more important things to do than indulge a spoiled king who had little to do other than bother her. Where was Camilla?

  Shifting her weight, Sigrid noted the owl woman had burrowed herself underneath her skirts. It was likely cooler there than sitting in the sun.

  Sweat made the back of Sigrid’s dress cling to her skin. Her hands were shaking with the need to submerge herself in water, something to cleanse and cool her body. She’d even jump into a muddy pit if it relieved the unbearable heat for a few moments.

  When Nadir didn’t move away, she turned a cool gaze toward him. “Why are you here?”

  “I want to witness your reaction firsthand when you see my palace for the first time.”

  A child wanted to see someone find pleasure in what he had recently received. She touched a tongue to the hot metal and reminded herself that ladies did not roll their eyes. “Then show me, Sultan. Where exactly is this palace?”

  He pointed directly ahead of them. “Watch the sand dunes. All will be revealed in but a moment.”

  She kept her eyes on the horizon and did not have to wait long until they crested the nearest peak. The Red Palace sat on the horizon.

  White sandstone jutted out of the dunes, pristine and so clean it was almost impossible to tell where shadows lay. The palace nestled between the jutting monoliths. Red stone carefully placed to create an entire city hovering above the sands.

  High towers lifted into the sky, bulbous tips strange and unusual to her gaze. The sun reflected on the glass domes sprinkled throughout the city. Palm trees could barely be seen this far away, but her sharp drakon eyes caught on the only green she’d seen in weeks.

  It was beautiful, in a way she’d never imagined. Stairs led from the desert up into the palace. Tiny figures made their way to the top, baskets on their head likely laden with food.

  She couldn’t understand the reason for living so high above the desert. Everything was infinitely more difficult to obtain that far away from their resources. It was too small to have enough crops or cattle to sustain. What if a war was fought at their doorstep? They would be dead in weeks.

  Nadir’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Is it not the most glorious building you’ve seen before?”

  “It’s not functional.”

  His mouth gaped open. He turned to stare at her for a moment before his brows drew down in anger. “It’s a modern marvel. Such a palace has never been built before, and never will be built again.”

  “Because it is impossible to defend.”

  “There is no war in Bymere.”

  “There may be someday,” she accused. “Placing yourself and your people in such a dangerous position is foolish and irresponsible.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “No Bymerian would ever start a war on our sacred grounds.”

  “What makes it sacred? Because it is your home? Or because it houses the king?” Sigrid let loose a bitter laugh. “Kings are dispensable. Their people love to see them fall, because it reminds them that even royalty can bleed.”

  She turned her masked face towards him, hoping her eyes were devoid of all emotion. What she saw in his gaze chilled her.

  It wasn’t anger or disgust at her words that clouded his gaze. The bone deep sadness that filled his eyes nearly overwhelmed her. She’d never seen people who wore their emotions so close to the surface as the Bymerians.

  Nadir inclined his head. “You forget, Sultana, that I’m closely acquainted with the darkness in people’s hearts. They love to see a king die, and they rejoice when a new king takes the throne. No one mourns royalty for more than a few days. We are figureheads for an entire country, not a person. You should remember that you are now one of us. A sultana is just as easily forgotten as a king.”

  He jerked the reins in his hand hard and charged away from her. He lifted a hand into the air, letting out a whooping cry that sounded like the shriek of an eagle.

  The entire army which had escorted them echoed his call. The soldiers around her kicked their horses into motion. Wind buffeted her back as they raced from her. Sand kicked up into her eyes, but she kept her gaze solidly on their spines.

  Her horse shifted beneath her, but she held him firmly in place and allowed the army to sift away from her like sand from an hourglass.

  “Sultana?” Raheem’s ever-present voice questioned. “We must join them.”

  “Just one more moment,” she whispered. Sigrid wanted to watch as every single soldier raced home, so she could see all the holes in their safety. It made her stomach sick to see how many there were.

  “What are you waiting for?” he asked.

  “I wanted to see how safe we truly are.”

  “And what do your Beastkin eyes see?”

  “Everything,” she whispered. “And none of it good.”

  “The people will look at you as a trophy he has won.” Raheem reached for her reins and nudged them both into motion, careful not to touch her. “They will not see you as a person. I will keep them from touching you, but it would have been easier with the army around us.”

  Camilla noisily made her way out of Sigrid’s skirts. Sigrid reached back and helped her owl sister onto her shoulder.

  Raheem’s expression at the owl’s aggressive frown made Sigrid chuckle. “It will not only be you helping to keep me clear of all those who may be too friendly. Let them look. And if they dare touch, it will surprise me.”

  They reached the stairs, and she felt the heavy sigh of her horse. It was a long way up, though not nearly as far as the Edge of the World. She reached down and laid a comforting hand on her mount’s neck.

  “Nearly there,” she whispered for his ears only. “And then we shall see what these Bymerians are capable of.”

  Sigrid listened to hoof beats striking the hard, white sandstone steps and stilled her mind. She had no idea what these people would do when they saw her. So far, the Bymerians she knew were volatile people who remained skeptical and at least marginally respectful. But these were peasants, those who had no say in the government, those who still believed in the old ways.

  Someone was bound to recognize her. The Beastkin were a legend that few still believed in, but that everyone knew. Even if she was emulating her own kind, they would still find her terrifying.

  It felt like only a few heartbeats before they were at the top of the stairs. The stallion’s sides heaved and its coat glistened with sweat. He seemed to recognize where they were. His complaints eased, even though he was clearly exhausted.

  The army charged through the streets, knocking people out of the way and racing towards the Red Palace which towered over the city. The banner of soldiers continued up the small hills,
led by their sultan who was little more than a small figure in the distance.

  She shook her head disdainfully. He didn’t even pause to speak to his people after being gone for such a long time. Instead, he ran from them.

  “I’ll warn you again, Sultana,” Raheem said, clearing his throat. “These people do not know you.”

  “Let them come.”

  Crowds lined each side of the street. Red brick buildings listed to the sides, warped awkwardly as if the ground had moved underneath them after being built. Rough, hemp cords stretched high overhead, clothing hung from its length. The wind billowed through silk and fine chiffon, and she wondered if there were any peasants in Bymere. Hundreds of colors dotted the air along with the people who now stood staring at her.

  These were sturdy folk. Sigrid had seen such lined faces before. A man stood holding onto a fork she knew stirred laundry. Another man in brilliant aquamarine carried a basket of eggs. His wife reached for his arm, adorned in similar colors, with a woven basket of fruit balanced atop her head.

  All were silent as they stared at the newcomer who had invaded their lands. Sigrid nudged her horse forward. She kept her posture stiff and her head held high. They would not think for a second that this mysterious woman from Wildewyn was uncomfortable in their midst.

  A woman dressed in crimson fabric whispered, “Who is that?”

  The woman next to her, a mirrored image of the first, covered her hand with a giggle. “Did the sultan bring back a prize?”

  “Why does it wear a mask?” An unseen voice shouted from within the crowd.

  Sigrid flinched as someone finally recognized her. “Beastkin!”

  The gasping crowd shrank away from her. Suddenly, voices lifted in the hundreds, too many to understand, but she picked out a few of the complaints.

  “Beastkin are not allowed in the city!”

  “Kill her now. Before she kills us!”

  “We don’t want your kind here, witch!”

  Such calls would never have been uttered in Wildewyn. They still valued the magic that brewed inside the breasts of the Beastkin women. Her soul ached at how far these people had been led astray.