Seas of Crimson Silk (Burning Empire Book 1)

by Emma Hamm

  “Endure. As we always have.”

  Sigrid let Camilla take her arm and pull her away from the pages of heartbreak and pain. But she couldn’t shake the images from her mind, no matter how hard she tried.

  Nadir

  Nadir smoothed a hand down his gold sherwani. The formal outfit was perhaps a little more than necessary, but he wanted to make a good impression. His people needed to see that he was serious about this new wife. If that required formal attire, then so be it.

  The sherwani fit snug across his chest, ruby-encrusted buttons glimmering in rows down to his knees where it ended. The silk fabric was carefully embroidered with gold swirls, made by only the most talented of artisans. He stuck a finger down the high collar. It made it hard to breathe sometimes, or perhaps that was his own nerves.

  Underneath the sherwani he wore traditional churidars. The trousers were loose around the hips and thighs, but tight on his ankles where they met his bare feet. Shoes were the last thing he worried about right now.

  He reached out and grabbed a dupatta. The crimson scarf would look appropriate wrapped over his shoulder. Nadir fussed with it until an amused voice interrupted him.

  “You’re all dressed up for the occasion,” Raheem said with a chuckle.

  “Should a sultan not dress up for the Osaos festival?”

  “You never have before.”

  Nadir turned to see his guard leaning against the door jam, ankles crossed and arms firmly across his chest. “I have.”

  “When was the last time you took part in any festival? And you can’t claim that waving from the balcony is taking part. It’s not.”

  He sighed. “I’ve been busy these past few years.”

  “Doing what exactly? I thought your advisors did all the menial work so that you could focus on more important things.”

  “Such as preparing myself for festivals.”

  Raheem tossed his head back and laughed. “Have they just begun working? Or are you trying to make yourself a little more presentable for your new bride?”

  “Hush.”

  Nadir turned around so that Raheem wouldn’t see the smile on his face. Of course he was trying to impress his new bride. What else was there in his life other than this mysterious woman who made him feel like a man for the first time? Not a monster, not a secret wrapped in flesh, but a man who wanted desperately to be liked.

  Or loved?

  He banished the thought immediately. Though he hadn’t enjoyed his new wife’s treasures, there was no reason to be thinking like that. He wasn’t the animal inside. She would come to him on her own terms, or not at all.

  “Is she preparing herself?” he asked.

  “It was a fight. She didn’t want to wear the traditional gown, and isn’t happy that the concubines have attacked her with henna. She said there was too much of a chance for them to touch her.”

  “Did any?” Nadir felt a spear of worry slice through his chest.

  “No, of course not. They were carefully instructed to take care. Though they weren’t pleased with the notion.”

  He didn’t doubt that. The concubines loved festivals. They helped each other get ready, hennaed their skin, wove flowers through their hair, and draped the finest fabric over their shoulders. Everyone in Bymere would celebrate the festival on this day, and he suddenly felt all the more connected with the kingdom.

  The joy of this holiday beat through his soul as if the entirety of Bymere lived inside him. Perhaps this was what being sultan meant. Perhaps this was how he was supposed to feel every day.

  “When will she be ready?” he asked.

  “She’s ready now, and will leave with the rest of the concubines.”

  “She should come out with me.” Nadir knew it wasn’t tradition, but some part of him wanted her to walk at his side. Let his people see that she was his new wife. That he was proud of his Beastkin wife, regardless of their history.

  They could work towards a better tomorrow if they simply exposed his people to her more and more. Already, stories of her kindness flew through the city. The more stories like that, the better. And he would have them be true stories above fable.

  “Sultan,” Raheem scolded. “You can only change so much. Let her walk with the other women, mask and all.”

  “She won’t take the damned thing off?”

  “Not unless you want her to murder people along the way.” Raheem grinned. “She’s a feral little thing, but I quite like her.”

  That made two of them.

  Nadir smoothed a hand over the dupatta once more, making sure the pleats laid flat against his chest. “I’m glad you like her. At least one person in the palace does. Are we ready?”

  “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’ll turn on you like a dog and nip at your fingers.” Raheem clacked his teeth, but straightened. “They’re waiting on your command.”

  A thought formed in his head. A dangerous thought, one that would likely get him scolded for hours by his advisors, but one that would make him happy. He cleared his throat. “What do you think of Sigrid performing the ceremony with me?”

  “That might cause the women to faint. She also doesn’t know how.”

  “I can walk her through it.”

  Raheem shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me. She’s the new sultana, if it were anyone else then your people wouldn’t blink. Let her try it and see how they react.”

  “They won’t like a Beastkin at my side.”

  “They already don’t like that.” Raheem gestured for Nadir to follow him into the hall, likely rushing them. Nadir was usually late; his people were used to that. But some festivals required a little more respect.

  He followed his guard from his personal quarters and made his way through the halls to the entrance of the castle. The sun shone down on them as it traversed the sky. They were only a few hours from sundown when all the bonfires would light to celebrate another year passed.

  The concubines waited for him in the gardens. The land there overflowed with greenery that spilled over the ledge and reached for the crowds that stared up in anticipation. Vines flowed like waves, and poppies bloomed in abundance here. Red flowers of every species, some even he couldn’t name, scattered on either side of a path that led to a circular clearing in the center. Two pillars stood side by side. On each sat a matching golden bowl.

  He joined the women at the front where Saafiya and Sigrid stood. Nadir paused between them, casting his gaze to Sigrid who held her arms at her side with fists clenched.

  “Comfortable?” he asked.

  “You know I’m not.”

  Nadir bit his lower lip to control his grin. The dress she wore was certainly very different than the concealing gowns she usually wore. At the very least, the concubines had allowed her to wear blue.

  Her lehenga, a long pleated skirt, was the color of midnight. So dark it was nearly black, the bottom hem had been embroidered with tiny silver stars. A matching choli covered her top, the low-cut neckline revealing she was much curvier than he had thought. An odhani scarf draped over her shoulder, covering most of her body in a way he’d thought would have made her comfortable.

  They’d braided silver strands into her hair until she looked like she was the walking embodiment of the night sky. She was a pretty, wild thing standing amid roses.

  All his concubines were beautiful flowers, while she was a thunderstorm.

  “Husband,” Saafiya greeted him, her voice radiating warmth. “All of Bymere is ready to greet you.”

  “Have they been waiting long?”

  “It no longer matters. You’re here now, and look how proud they are to see you.” She waved her hand, and he saw what she saw.

  Thousands of people, all who lived in the Red Palace and more from the villages beyond, all standing to see the ceremony of Osaos performed by the sultan and sultana. He saw smiling faces, women with their hands pressed to their chests, men with their arms around their children’s shoulders. So many people, reminding him why he was here
.

  Nadir was the Sultan of Bymere, and these people needed him. They might have had his brother—a sultan worthy of them—but they had still accepted the younger brother with open arms. It was an honor he wore with pride.

  “They seem ready,” he replied. “Shall we begin the celebration?”

  Saafiya smiled and held out her hand for him to take. The ceremony was always performed with the sultan and his first wife, unless he chose another. The entirety of Bymere would ring with rumors, how their sultan favored another. And perhaps they would say he was spoiling Sigrid, but he didn’t care what anyone else thought.

  Nadir bowed low to his first wife, showing her the respect she deserved, but he held out his hand for Sigrid to take.

  Her eyes widened beneath the mask. “Sultan?”

  “Husband,” he corrected. Still low in a bow, he glanced up. “Take my hand, Sigrid.”

  Saafiya hissed out a long breath. “Nadir, they are all looking. I am the first wife. It is my duty to walk with you and bring about the new year.”

  “It is the sultan and the sultan’s wife’s duty,” he replied. “This year, Sigrid shall walk with me. Perhaps next year, I will choose you.”

  Saafiya bit her tongue, but he knew there was a viper resting beneath her sullen gaze. They would have words later. She wouldn’t want to shame their family in front of the crowds, but already a few of the concubines whispered about the injustice.

  All the while, he kept his gaze locked on Sigrid’s.

  He barely heard her whisper, “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Let me guide you. I’ll hold your hand, and tell you what to do at every moment. You won’t shame us, Sigrid. I won’t let you.”

  She hesitated for the briefest moment before reaching out and taking his hand.

  Her fingers sliding into his brought about a surge of. The dragon inside him stretched its wings wide and roared.

  Nadir guided her down the path. “Slow,” he murmured. “We walk slowly to let them gaze upon us.”

  “I don’t like people staring at me.”

  “They already do, my wife. Let them do so without hiding their eyes.”

  Lush, emerald leaves framed their bodies, touching their hips with cool fronds. The path was littered with white lily petals. It softened their steps, cold between his toes.

  He let out a quiet chuckle.

  “Are you laughing at me?” Sigrid asked. “Have I already done something I’m not supposed to?”

  “Look down.”

  He waited for her to see his bare feet and listened carefully for the quiet huff of laughter beneath her mask. “You seem to be lacking shoes, Sultan.”

  “I was apparently in a rush to get here.”

  “How fortuitous,” she replied.

  His brows drew down, and he glanced over at her. “Strange words coming from you, wife. Why would you say that?”

  Her gaze flicked down.

  Nadir turned his attention back to their feet, and on their next step she revealed her own bare toes. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who rushed out of his room to get to the ceremony.

  He grinned. “I do believe you’re lacking shoes as well.”

  “At least we match.”

  And gods if that didn’t make him happy. The grin remained on his face as they reached the twin pedestals. He stopped her before their people and lifted their hands.

  There was a stillness in the air as the Bymerian people stared up, unsure how to respond. They were meant to cheer. The sultan was showing them his bride, the woman he was proudest of, the most beautiful in the kingdom. A slow clap started before the rest of the crowd joined in.

  Though the cheers weren’t as loud as they might have been, they were there.

  He glanced down at her. “See? I told you they would accept you.”

  “I don’t think it’s acceptance if you force them.” But her mask raised at the edge, and he knew she was smiling.

  Nadir kept their hands lifted and guided her to the first bowl. Clear water filled it to the brim, and a long white cloth was laid underneath it on the pedestal. He pointed toward the bowl of water.

  “Dip your hands in.”

  She followed his orders without question, and he reveled in the moment. It was likely the only time she would actually listen to him. Nadir knew when to savor something rare.

  The water reflected light around her fingers. She held them still until the ripples disappeared, then quietly asked, “Now what do I do?”

  “Wash my face clean.”

  “From what?” Her eyes narrowed. “And why?”

  “It’s a ritual Sigrid. It’s not something I’m making up. Just follow our ways, please.”

  “You didn’t have to choose me, you know.” She pulled her hands from the water. “Your first wife was horribly insulted by your choice.”

  “Yet, it was mine to make. And I chose you.”

  Nadir didn’t miss the way her eyes widened, or the appreciative look she gave him. Good. She should feel proud that he had chosen her. That meant she was settling into his home better than he had originally thought, and he wanted her to be happy here.

  It was a strange feeling, caring about another person. Nadir had spent his entire life being waited upon, hand and foot. He expected others to bow when he walked into the room, and that they treat him with the level of respect that no other would receive. He didn’t care when his concubines were insulted or when his wife was angry. They would eventually come around, because they had to.

  But with this moonlight creature, he found himself wanting to make her happy. He wanted to see those rare smiles and know that she fit into his home. He didn’t know how to interpret the thoughts, but found they were easier to bear than he had ever imagined.

  Sigrid reached forward and touched his face. Her fingertips glided across his cheekbones, and he let his eyes slowly close. The mask hid her expression, as much as he wanted to see her face in this moment. He would simply enjoy feeling her touch him like this for the first time.

  She cupped his cheeks in both her hands, gently moving her palms down over his jaw. Her hands were strong. He felt callouses scrape over the scruff of his beard, hard-earned roughness that spoke volumes about who she was. A warrior, not simply a bride.

  His heart began to pound. The rhythmic thumping rang in his ears until he could hardly focus on anything other than her warm touch that heated him to the core.

  Her hands left his face and the musical sound of dripping water reached his ears. Then she returned, cold water slick on her palms. She smoothed her hands across his forehead. Two fingers danced down his nose, and he forgot how to breathe.

  “Done,” she whispered, her fingers sliding off his jaw.

  Did he know how to speak? Were there words in his head other than ones that would stop the ceremony and rush her back to his private quarters?

  Nadir cleared his throat but did not open his eyes. “The white cloth. Pick it up.”

  “It’s underneath the basin?”

  He hummed deep in his throat, a sound of agreement.

  The sound of shifting fabric reached his ears then stilled. “What do I do with it now?”

  “Pat my face dry, wife,” he said with a chuckle.

  Silk touched his jaw, smoothing across his face. He thought she would continue to pliantly play her role until she pinched his nose with sharp fingernails beneath the cloth. Flinching back, he opened his eyes wide to see the mischief dancing in hers.

  Laughter rose up from the crowd, and he realized that he had moved enough for them to see. He flicked his gaze to them. A woman pressed a hand to her mouth, hiding a grin. A man looked down at his wife and murmured a joke that made her jab him between the ribs. They didn’t mind that she had blatantly assaulted their sultan. Perhaps, they could accept her after all.

  “Is this really a ritual or you making me pamper you?” she asked.

  He growled at her, baring his teeth in a mocking grin. “Behave.”

  “N
o promises.”

  Nadir reached for her hands and just barely stilled his rolling eyes. She was going to be the death of him, but she was exactly what the palace had needed. In her own quiet way, she brought happiness and laughter to a usually still ceremony.

  When had he heard the Bymerians laugh like that? Nadir could count the times on one hand. They were a solemn folk who followed rituals when necessary, and reserved their laughter for celebrations. Rituals were respected and honored in silence.

  Yet, she had managed to make them laugh. And not just find mirth in her teasing, but remember other times they had laughed. He had to take that as a good sign. That perhaps they could accept a Beastkin as their own. If they could do that, then they would certainly be able to accept him.

  Nadir knew he was being a coward. By forcing her to reveal herself first, he was only prolonging the inevitable, while throwing her to the wolves. But his fear was stitched into the fabric of his being.

  Sigrid slipped her hand into his, lifting it up. “Is there more?”

  “Yes.” He lifted their hands higher, then gently led her to the other pedestal. “Just a bit more.”

  The bowl on the second pedestal held a very small amount of red powder. They only used the powder in ceremonies and on days like today, the beginning of a new year. He stood on side of the pedestal and moved Sigrid until she stood on the other.

  She investigated the bowl, and he swore he saw her frown. “What is this?”

  “We call it crimson.”

  “That’s a color.”

  “And a name.” He nodded to the white fabric in her hand. “Put that down for now.”

  She set it gently next to the bowl on the pedestal. Pride bloomed in his chest when he saw her smooth her fingertips down the hand-stitched edge. She took care of the cloth as a Bymerian woman would have. Though she didn’t know their customs, she was a natural at honoring their traditions.

  “Carefully dip your hands into the bowl, just so your palms and fingers are covered,” he advised.

  There was no hesitance to her movements. If he were a betting man, Nadir would have said it seemed as though she trusted him.