Seas of Crimson Silk (Burning Empire Book 1)

by Emma Hamm

  He furrowed his brow. “How old are you?”

  “Nineteen summers.”

  So he was older than her. Only by one summer, but enough. Perhaps, that was the reason for the size difference.

  He sighed. “Where do you want to take me, wife? We'll need a guard if we’re exploring the city. The people still don’t know what to think of the masked woman married to their sultan. You know they are calling you the Undying?”

  “Are they?” She shrugged. “They aren’t wrong.”

  “I think it’s meant to be an insult.”

  “Or a warning.” Her skirts swished as she made her way to him. “I’ve been advised to spend more time with you. That perhaps we will find common ground together.”

  “Ah.” Nadir nodded. “You’ve been talking to Raheem.”

  “How did you know?”

  “He’s said the same thing to me.” He gave her a sardonic grin. “I just didn’t act on it.”

  She tilted her masked face to the side. “Why's that?”

  “I didn’t want to put you in a difficult situation. After all, I stole you from your home, forced you to marry me, and then kept a secret from you.” Nadir lifted a hand and pinched his fingers together. “A small secret.”

  “Ah, of course. Just that tiny little secret.” She nodded. “Well, that’s all behind us now. And I would very much like to know you, husband.”

  “Because of the secret?”

  “The tiny secret,” she agreed.

  When was the last time he’d bantered with someone like this? His soul felt light, knowing she was teasing him with her words. She swayed side to side, as she had done when calming his dragon, and he realized she was playing him.

  He let her continue pulling his strings, knowing he was falling into a dangerous web. What could it hurt?

  She was, after all, his wife.

  “What do you have in mind, wife?”

  Her mask lifted when she grinned. “Camilla has been exploring your great sands, and she found a place where no man has been. It’s near here, easily reached by horse, and we would be safe to spend an evening together as we truly are.”

  “No,” he replied. “We’re not doing that again.”

  “Why not? One time wasn’t enough, husband. Not for me.”

  “It has to be. We will not do that again, ever.”

  She stepped closer, took a deep breath, and nodded. “All right. Then please enjoy your dinner and don’t mind when I'm not there.”

  “Why?” He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from her lips. “Why won’t you be at dinner?”

  “I’m going to this place with or without you. I thought perhaps you would like to watch over me.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face and let out a frustrated growl. This damned woman would be the death of him. “I forbid it.”

  “You cannot forbid a drakon from anything.”

  “I’ll put guards at your door.”

  “If you want them to see a drakon tonight, then by all means, please do so.” She lifted a shoulder. “It matters little to me.”

  And once again, she’d tricked him.

  He couldn’t afford his people seeing her. They couldn’t know the rumors were true. Let them think up whatever myths they wished about the Beastkin. Stories were innocent; facts were dangerous.

  Nadir curled his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms to remind himself that controlling his dragon had always been easy. He knew how to control his baser urges. And yet, she antagonized his inner beast as never before.

  “Fine,” he growled. “We’ll visit this place your maidservant has found. But we will not change.”

  “If we’re there already, we might as well enjoy it.”

  “Someone might see us, Sigrid.”

  “And would that really be the end of the world?” She tapped a finger to her mask. “If I remove this, then I know we will not be disturbed. I’d rather a man see my dragon than my face. He’ll survive the dragon far easier.”

  Nadir took a step closer to her. “Why is that? No one has yet explained what strange ritual your Beastkin women follow that if someone sees their face, they must die.”

  “Only family may behold what our human bodies look like.”

  “But why?”

  Her eyes narrowed, and he was certain the mask tilted slightly to the left as if she were lifting a brow. “I don’t know.”

  “How can you not know? It’s a harsh punishment.” He stepped closer again.

  “It’s how it’s always been.”

  Nadir was close enough now he could feel the heat emanating from her body. Leaning down, he pressed his lips against her ear and whispered, “Do you always follow ancient rules?”

  Her shoulders shivered. “They were created for a reason.”

  “Sure.” He leaned back and held his arms out at his sides. “To be broken.”

  The mask lifted. Nadir was certain that meant she was giving him a disapproving look, but it mattered little. She’d learn his ways soon enough. She was a Sultana of Bymere. Rules had no merit to her anymore.

  He strode from the great hall with a lightness in his steps he hadn’t felt in a while.

  “Nadir?” She called out. “Sultan? Where are you going?”

  “You said you wished to travel, wife. I find I don't hunger for the dinner our cooks will prepare tonight. Let us see what the desert has to offer us.”

  Her footsteps echoed on the cold sandstone as she raced after him. It felt as though they had done this many times. He ordered his guards to ready their horses, held out an arm for her to take, and they strode through the palace.

  She fit on his arm the way he had always expected a wife would fit. Her hand was cool and relaxed. She held her head high, the way a sultana should, but she was also thoroughly different. An exotic wildflower somehow blooming in the desert.

  Nadir nodded to a few red-clothed advisors who walked past them, ignoring how they ducked their heads to whisper in shock.

  “How are you finding the palace?” he asked.

  “It’s well enough.”

  “Well enough? It’s the gem of Bymere, the most impressive building ever built. And you find it well enough?” He exaggerated his words, hoping to make her laugh, or at least get some kind of reaction.

  She lifted a shoulder, but mirth danced in her eyes. “There are a few things I would change that could improve it.”

  “Like what?” Nadir guided her around a group of concubines who giggled as they saw him. They wore filmy clothes in every shade of red that billowed as they moved. One hid behind her hand the moment her eyes fell on Sigrid, her words lost behind feminine bodies.

  He’d heard they weren’t accepting her well, but hadn’t thought it was quite that bad. Nadir found it strange simply because he’d seen many women added to the harem who’d done well. The women welcomed new additions with open arms. They were kind, considerate, and helped any newcomer ease into the life of a royal concubine.

  Why weren’t they doing it with Sigrid?

  She shook her head, the mask lifting with her smile. “That is not something anyone can change, husband.”

  “And why not? I’m sultan. I can order them to like you if you wish.”

  “Sincerity is something I value above all else, and their friendship must be earned. A new sultana is difficult to accept. Especially one from a country many despise.”

  “Ah.” He squeezed her hand. “They remain loyal to their original mistress, I understand. I’ll have words with Saafiya.”

  “I’ll say it again, Nadir. Don’t get involved. Their lack of regard is partially my fault, and there is nothing you can do.”

  He thought of what Raheem had told him. That there were more to the lives of women than men could understand. In this, he would take Sigrid’s request seriously. There was no need to meddle as long as his second wife remained comfortable here.

  “Then what is it you would change?” he asked. “I’m eager to hear the list
you’ve compiled.”

  They made their way down crimson halls teeming with people, and she advised him on every hole that made this place dangerous to live. He allowed her to speak and tried to stifle any amused expression that might have crossed his face. Passion burned deep in her soul when it came to any potential attack.

  It was strange to see a woman know so much about the subject. They usually disliked any talk that might suggest the kingdom wasn’t doing as well as it could. At least, that had always been his impression. Even his concubines wanted to talk more about pretty things, how he could improve their living quarters, what more baubles they would enjoy.

  But this woman wished to talk of war. Her usually still, flat voice became animated. She gestured to the slatted windows and explained why they were an intelligent choice but lacking in their abilities to protect should the enemy come with arrows.

  He saw his home in a new light. Not unsafe, as she would have liked him to think, but that there were such clear differences between their countries. What she thought was a weakness, he saw as strength.

  The windows weren’t easy for arrows to fly through; they were a safety measure. They could see enemies coming. The Bymerian soldiers would hide inside, wait for shadows to cross over the windows, and then they would attack through the slats.

  But he told her none of this. Let her think them defenseless, that they foolishly didn’t protect their home. She wouldn’t get far if she ever betrayed him.

  They left the safety of the Red Palace and mounted their horses of blood and shadow. He noticed his wife give the black stallion an appreciative glance.

  “You like Zalaam?” he asked.

  “Is that his name?”

  He nodded.

  “What does it mean?”

  “Darkness.” He hadn’t been a particularly original name-giver in his youth. The stallion had served him well for many a year before the retired warhorse was given a chance to sire more foals that would serve the sultan. He rode one of the great, black beast’s children now.

  A smile spread across his face when she leaned down and brushed her hands along the horse’s neck. The wind carried her voice as she repeated the Bymerian word.

  So, the Beastkin could learn after all.

  “Hup,” he cried out, urging his horse into movement. He heard his wife’s answering call and the tell-tale crack of a whip. It didn’t take her long to catch up with him.

  They charged through the city as if a dust devil were on their tail. People fled from the streets, staring in awe as the sultan and his new sultana fled out into the whirling dervish of the sands.

  Hair blasted away from his face, wind whipping the long tail behind him until the tie loosened and fell free. Long locks fell around his shoulders, but he didn’t tie them back again. Nadir was free from the tangled web of the Red Palace. Here in the desert, he was nothing more than a man.

  For once, the beast and him were entirely synced. They both felt the sting of sand striking their face, the wind underneath their arms that could not fly, and the heaving breath of the horse underneath them.

  The black stallion appeared at his side, its head creeping forward and then inching ahead of his chestnut mare. For a moment, Nadir was stunned. He hadn’t seen the stallion ride that well since he was a boy although the beast was nowhere near old.

  Her braid snapped and caught him on the arm like a whip. Shocked, he faltered just enough for her to sneak ahead of him. She rode like she’d been born on a horse. Her body molded to every long stride of the stallion.

  She glanced over her shoulder, and he swore the mask laughed at him.

  Setting his jaw, he lifted onto his feet and spurred his horse to race ever faster. They tore across the desert, neck and neck, and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so alive. Dust billowed from their horse’s footsteps. The snaking trail they left behind looked like the long tail of a dragon.

  Eventually, she pulled back on the reins and slowed their ragged tear. Both horses were breathing hard, but neither appeared worse for wear. In fact, there was a gleam in the black stallion’s eyes he hadn’t seen in a long time. The old boy had enjoyed stretching his legs.

  Sunlight reflected off his new wife’s golden mask. The bright ray nearly blinded him, but he only had eyes for her. She rode atop the horse without a hair out of place, even as the wind blew against her. No ragged breathing made her sit uncomfortably. Her posture was impeccable, and her hair smooth. Even her dress didn’t have a single mark of sweat.

  He’d seen nothing like her in his life. What kind of creature could ride a horse full tilt through the desert and not show a single second of it?

  “This is the place,” she said, interrupting his thoughts.

  Nadir glanced around. The wind had built up sand dunes on either side, creating a bowl in the desert that was large enough for his entire castle to fit in. He hadn’t noticed their steep descent, but then again, he’d been staring at her.

  The sunset streaked the sky with pinks, oranges, and bright fuchsias. Streams of clouds stretched overhead, enough that they could likely hide behind them if they so wished. And all around them, the rolling hills of golden sand billowed in the slight breeze.

  He exhaled. “It is a good enough place. Your maidservant has an eye for hidden places such as this, I take it?”

  “She’s not my maidservant.”

  “Ah, yes. Your sister.”

  Sigrid nodded, passing the reins back and forth between her hands. “Have you ever flown before?”

  “When I was younger.”

  “I’ve never flown anywhere,” she murmured. “I don’t know if it’s even possible for my wings to lift such a massive body.”

  “You can fly.” The passion in his voice startled even him. Nadir cleared his throat and swung down from the back of his horse to hide his discomfort. “I’ll teach you, if you’d like.”

  “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” Her masked face lifted, staring off into the desert. “It seems like something our kind would learn as children.”

  There were no words to explain away her worries. He wasn’t certain he could even do what she wanted, but he also knew how important it was for a dragon to fly. Hadn’t he desired the same thing for his entire life?

  Nadir strode over to the side of her horse and lifted a hand for her to take. “Come along, Sultana. It’s long past time you learned how to fly.”

  She reached up, hooked her fingers beneath the edges of her mask, and lifted the gold free. Waning sunlight played across the high peaks of her cheekbones. Her alabaster skin glowed like some mythical creature who lured him farther and farther into the water.

  The cool slide of her hand in his startled him.

  “Shouldn’t you be warm?” he asked, helping her from the stallion’s back.

  “I am.” But she looked at him with a question in her gaze.

  “You don’t feel it.”

  Her lips parted in a breath. “That’s because you’re far warmer than me, Sultan.”

  And perhaps he was. A dragon burned in his chest, knowing freedom was only a few moments away.

  This was a drug he would have to be careful with. The dragon had always been caged, beaten, abused so badly that it would never consider trying to overwhelm him. It knew there was no chance of it breaking free from the chains with which he’d bound it.

  But now? The dragon’s mate had arrived on wings made of moonlight, and she sang a siren song of freedom, cool air, and starlight. Both he and the dragon desperately wanted to follow her to the edges of the earth and beyond.

  “Nadir?” she asked.

  “What is it, Sigrid?” Something about her hesitation made him stare into her icy eyes. There was something in those depths he recognized, and yet couldn’t name. A heat, a welcoming embrace, an acceptance he’d only seen a few times in his existence.

  “Thank you,” she answered.

  She dropped his hand and stepped away from him. Each movement sent a thousand grains of
sand tumbling toward him.

  Sigrid tilted her face to the sky, and her smile rivaled that of the setting sun. She opened her arms wide, took a deep breath, and changed. Nadir saw the exact moment she released her hold onto the human form when the air shimmered with magic and tightened with the electric power of Beastkin.

  She shifted effortlessly into a creature made of diamond and opal. Stretching her long neck, she let loose a haunting call that sounded like the low strum of a violin.

  He couldn't deny the command in her voice. The dragon inside him heard the cry of its mate and thundered to the forefront of his mind. Nadir shattered, shredded, ripped apart, and then became something new.

  His scaled body was powerful. Muscles flexed, shifting underneath the leathery skin. He too lifted his head and let loose a bellow that shook the ground they stood upon.

  Everything about this body felt good. This was the form he was meant to be in. The horns on his head were perfect for war. His claws dug into the sand, relishing the scrape of earth beneath them. The fire in his belly churned until he could stand it no more.

  He turned from her, opened his mouth, and let loose a roar that rode on an inferno. His breath was fire. His call was magic.

  The dune in front of him crystallized in the heat. Each granule melted into something that glistened like diamonds before them. Glass. He’d created glass with little more than a breath that didn’t even empty the air from his lungs.

  Rearing back, he stared at his creation with heaving lungs. A nudge at his side made him turn, and there she was. This beautiful creature staring at him with pale, blue eyes full of compassion and understanding.

  She brushed against his side and made her way to the molten glass dune. Sigrid hunched over the heat, digging her wings in and dragging her chest through it as she tried to reach the highest peak. He knew what she was feeling, what she was doing. The heat was a balm to their aching soul.

  Glass stuck to her wings, glistening as she lifted them to catch the last bit of the dying light. Her tail lashed back and forth, the triangle at the end creating a pattern in the sand.