Daughter of the Salt King

by A. S. Thornton

  Daughter of the Salt King

  A. S. Thornton

  Contents

  Creation

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Sacrifice

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Power

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Sacrificed

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Also by A. S. Thornton

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  More from CamCat Books

  The Lady or the Lion

  CamCat Books

  CamCat Publishing, LLC

  Brentwood, Tennessee 37027

  camcatpublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  © 2021 by A. S. Thornton

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information, address 101 Creekside Crossing, Suite 280, Brentwood, TN 37027.

  Hardcover ISBN 9780744303919

  Paperback ISBN 9780744300499

  Large-print Paperback ISBN 9780744303537

  Ebook ISBN 9780744300505

  Audiobook ISBN 9780744300512

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020949407

  Cover and book design by Maryann Appel

  Map illustration by Rebecca Farrin

  Audiobook narrated by Vaneh Assadourian

  5 3 1 2 4

  For C,

  * * *

  Whether my first or my last,

  * * *

  it will always be for you.

  There was an immense tree that gave strong wood and sweet fruit. The goddess Masira thought, This tree makes life too easy. Man grows weak. She tore it from the ground and shook out its roots, spilling grains of sand and drops of water. From the sand, Eiqab was born. From the water, Wahir.

  She was fascinated by her Sons and grew so possessive over them, she desired that none else should have Sons of their own.

  From this point forward, Masira said, there shall be no more trees that give life. And so, the desert was born.

  The Sons were exhausted by the world’s bleakness and angered by the weak people who caused it.

  Mother is right, Eiqab said, People must be made hard from a hard life. So Eiqab crafted a great light above his head, so hot the ground desiccated beneath his feet. Now, Eiqab said, the people will suffer as they deserve.

  Seeing his brother’s searing light and dried earth, Wahir was repulsed. He said, Mother, Brother, man cannot live in the world you have made, and cruelty will not lead to strength. He stepped through the sand, and in his footsteps, people found cool water and a respite from the sun under the small trees that grew there. Seeing how man swaddled his body in cloth to protect himself from Eiqab’s light, Wahir fashioned a dark sky and pale light that split the world so that they would have cool nights to break from the day.

  Masira watched her Sons and saw that they were both right. She was satisfied, for her Sons were of her spirit, and she proclaimed all living things, but man most of all, shall likewise be of both light and dark.

  —Excerpt from the Litab Almuq

  Chapter One

  These cards were worn to fatigue like everything we had, and I cradled them with my fingers, the better to keep them secret from my sisters. Three cards lay on the ground between us, awaiting mine—the last. The images had long ago begun to fade, so I surveyed them carefully before making my next move: a spider in a glistening web, a buzzard above its carrion, a vessel of fire.

  I looked back to the cards in my hand, and a greedy smile spread across my face. Next to the others, I placed a golden eagle soaring beside a blue moon. My sisters groaned.

  I had won, again.

  “Praise Eiqab for this embarrassment of riches!” I held out my hand, and they dropped their chipped glass beads and cowries into my palm. The cards were collected and shuffled while I added the tokens to my pile, now the largest. My smile widened as I picked up my new hand.

  There was a rush of air and shock of sunlight as the tent’s entrance was pulled open. Our attendant, arriving just as I won, of course. I huffed and turned to her, waiting to see whom she would call so we could return to our game.

  “Emel, come.” She did not look at me. She tossed my name at the twenty-six of us who sat inside—daughters of the Salt King, my full and half-sisters—and disappeared behind the fabric that sealed the entrance.

  Sons, I was not prepared to hear my name. My heart quickened, and like the sand of an hourglass, dread filled me. I had hoped the suitor would choose one of my sisters so I would not have to endure another failed courting—to face lengthy preparation before an evening of pretense, only to conclude in a morning soaked with failure. Then again, a suitor was the only answer to my wish for escape. Sighing, I set down the limp cards.

  “Open that tent back up, eh?” Pinar called to the guards outside. “We could provide drink for the gods if you collected our sweat!” She wiped at her hair, a wet lattice on her forehead.

  “Store it in silver bottles and perhaps Father could sell that for dha, too,” Tavi muttered under her breath.

  The request would go unanswered. We were not allowed to draw open the tent, lest palace visitors glimpse us in our home. We were the Salt King’s most protected jewels. The mythical ahiran, whom powerful men from across the desert came to bed and, if satisfied, carry home astride their camels. Each daughter married was another jackal leashed. Father’s reign strengthened every time he transformed a would-be contender into a son.

  I pushed my winnings to the center of our circle with shaking hands, the pile spilling.

  “Better to end when the sun is high. Let’s all remember that I was the winner, eh?” I stood slowly.

  “Good luck tonight,” Raheemah said as she divided my prize among the remaining players. My sisters watched me go. Some mumbled under their breath, wishing they had been chosen in my stead.

  “If you aren’t choking on his dagger, you aren’t doing it right,” Pinar said. The girls giggled from their sand-strewn mats. My lips twitched.

  “If he talks too much, just shove those udders in his face,” Kadri added, “Or your kuz.”

  Riotous laughter now. Even I succumbed. “Quiet!” I hissed. “You’ll get us all in trouble.” My sisters fanned themselves with the corners of thin blankets as they bantered about the best bedding techniques, ignoring me.

  I lifted a dark wool abaya from the basket and patted sweat from my brow with its embroidered edge. The intricate designs marked us as belonging to the King, but the tattered and fraying hems revealed, to the keen observer, our worth.

  I shook my head at my sisters’ ribaldry, but I was grateful for their distractions.

  “Maybe this time you can get him to request you for a second night?”

  My smile disappeared at Sabra’s bitter words. Sh
e always found a place to sink her stinger. I did not acknowledge her and pulled the cloth quickly over my head so that my amber-dyed fustan was completely covered. I tied a threadbare black veil over my hair. The setting sun sizzled outside of the tents. Though our walk would be short, the sun punished those who did not protect themselves from its glare.

  My attendant waited for me outside. The veil covering her face did not conceal her disapproval as she listened to the advice my sisters were still hollering through the fabric walls.

  An adolescent boy, as swathed as the attendant beside him, was more discomfited by the obscenities. He shifted his weight from side to side, absently brushing his fingers against the hilt of his rusted scimitar. He was one of my many half-brothers. He was also my guard. Our eyes met. His shoulders tensed, and I quickly looked away. Make no mistake, he was not there to protect me from others.

  I nodded to the pair. “Hadiyah. Bahir. Shall we?”

  Hadiyah strode away with a huff, her robes billowing like clouds behind her. Indecent shrieks and groans emerged from behind me now. I looked back to my tent. Beside the entrance, two guards’ eyes watered and shoulders shook with mirth.

  We walked briskly through the narrow path between rows of palace tents. Bahir trailed close behind me, his chest puffed and chin raised high.

  The servants’ homes were held open with thick camel’s hair rope, in hopes that the wind would find ingress to carry away the heat. Goats were spun over fires, milk poured into big vats for cheese, and pots set out to harden in the sun. Servants called to one another, shoving reels of fabric into each other’s arms or dousing the flames of the smelting fires with sand. The flurry and sounds of the palace collided around us. All for the Salt King.

  My stomach turned on itself as we walked, my nerves a pestle to my insides as I prepared for my role in the King’s court. I envied the servants in that moment—how simple their lives must be, to roast or weave or hew, then be done for the day. Sure, there was no great glory, but too, there was no great risk. And security, a clear future, was favorable to my unknown.

  The servants looked up from their work as I passed, carefully positioned between my attendant and guard. This procession, the embroidered clothes on my back, revealed what I was, and they knew what awaited me. Did they watch me, thinking of my past failures? I’m sure they laughed behind my back—a waste of time for the King. I was to be a “forever ahira,” until I was twenty-three and thrown into the streets as used and useless as the playing cards.

  A little girl ran from her home into the path, shrieking with laughter, chased by two boys not much older. A red birthmark trailed from her eyebrow to the edge of her lip. I remembered when she was born, how I had thanked Eiqab I was not cursed with the same mark upon my skin. But now, I saw that it was she who was lucky. The trio whipped past Hadiyah, who grunted in disapproval, before they flew past me and further down the lane. A laughing woman emerged from the tent behind them, and upon seeing us, fell to her knees.

  “Forgive me, forgive them,” she mumbled over and over, brow pressed to her clasped hands.

  Bahir barked at her, his boy’s voice suddenly harsh like a man’s. A bird cried out as it soared above us in the purpling sky. Oh to be that bird.

  Finally, we arrived at a large tent the color of sunrise—the zafif—where I was to be prepared. I followed Hadiyah in, leaving Bahir to stand guard outside. It was time.

  Scents of crushed roses and warm honey met my nose. Attendants in flowing, colorful fustan stood from cushions and thick mattresses at my arrival. They rushed to greet us as Hadiyah whisked off her coverings, revealing braided graying hair and a camel-colored dress, which I eyed enviously. Because she was a servant, her clothes were simpler than mine—no bright patterns nor embellishments that signified she belonged only in the palace. She could go anywhere in those.

  Hadiyah’s eyes softened when she smiled—the stern charade had been cast off with her abaya and veil.

  “Beauty.” She smoothed the hair from my face. “It’s been too long.” Her hand moved down my back. She tapped my bottom and winked. “You should listen to your sisters; they give good advice.” She walked off and began fussing with the various jars and vessels they would need to ready me that evening, calling over her shoulder. “This will be your husband, I just know it. Eiqab has given many signs today.”

  “Did you see the clouds on the horizon this morning? They were so dark, perhaps promising rain,” Adilah said.

  “And the vultures that circled the bazaar,” another attendant added. “There were three. One who searched for his mate.” The women trailed off, discussing the good omens bestowed on us that day. Of course, I had seen none—ahiran were forbidden from leaving the palace.

  Their hope smoothed my unease, but still, the pressure of the evening was too great to smile, the knot in my chest too tight to speak. I had met the suitor that afternoon at the courting where he surveyed my sisters and me like a meal to be savored. He was stiff and proud, and when he finally spoke to me, even his curious accent was not intriguing enough for me to take interest. Evidently, I had played my role well. He’d chosen me tonight.

  Hadiyah saw my face and banged her open hand against the copper basin, a loud ringing startling us all.

  “Well, come on then! The prince needs more than a hand to keep him company.”

  I slipped off my sandals and flexed my toes into the soft, woven rug before I went to the jasmine-scented water.

  The water’s surface rose to my neck as I lowered myself into the bath. The pain in my chest eased as I relaxed against the basin wall, my shoulders falling back. I listened to the attendants’ gossip, their words a calming cadence as I closed my eyes.

  Then, “A runner arrived today.”

  My eyes flew open.

  “The caravan arrives tomorrow,” the attendant continued excitedly.

  “From where?” I asked.

  “Emel,” Hadiyah warned as she scrubbed my skin.

  The woman pursed her lips. “North, I think.”

  North! Hoping she was right, I mused about what and who the caravan might be bringing. Hadiyah dunked a bowl full of water over my head. I sat forward, sucking in a startled breath.

  “Look at you. A woman of the court.” She emphasized the last words. “I remember when you were just a girl.” She took my hand to clean under my nails. “You were so excited when you were requested the first time.”

  “Must you remind me?” My free hand covered my eyes.

  “You talked and talked about what kind of wife you would be for him and how you would please him. Where has that girl gone? Now you want to talk of salt trade and politics.” She tutted disapprovingly and pulled my hand from my face to clean that one, too.

  “I was naive. Not such a fool now.”

  “You weren’t a fool,” Hadiyah said. “You were smart, focusing only on that which affected you.” She narrowed her eyes at me. I bit my tongue as she continued. “And you were hopeful, too. As you should be still.”

  It was true. I was not yet finished as an ahira, with over a year left before my father would cast me out. There was still a chance a man would choose me for a wife, still a chance I would finally leave the palace. But finding hope was difficult when it was buried beneath the rejections of dozens of suitors who had come before. Perhaps I’d have better luck if I doused flame with salt.

  What was it they saw to make them turn from me every time? I looked at my knuckles. Too boney? My palms. Too many lines? Or did they see that I did not want them? That I only wanted what they could offer me, that I only wanted to be free from the palace?

  When my bath finished, my skin dry, Hadiyah brought me a large goblet of wine. I consumed it dutifully, barely tasting it.

  An attendant waved a fan of palm fronds toward me as I lay back onto the feather-stuffed mattress. I shivered beneath the breeze.

  “Thank you,” I sighed. I wanted to stay there forever, never feeling heat again.

  The wine hit me swiftl
y, and the world began to shimmer and spin. I closed my eyes and smiled lazily as my worries began to recede. A sharp burn splashed against my thigh and my eyes flew open. Hot honey wax. With a terrible rip, it was removed. I clenched my teeth and my eyes watered. It was repeated again and again and again.

  “You need a stronger drink,” Hadiyah grunted when the women finished. She mixed two liquids in a curving vessel and decanted it into a small goblet. Arak. It smelled of anise and looked like camel’s milk. My father’s favorite spirit could unsteady even the strongest carouser. I sipped it slowly, disliking its bitter taste but needing it to soothe me. I knew with it, I would perform better. The world twisted and tilted.

  “Stay still,” Hadiyah put her hands on my shoulders to stop my swaying. Hadn’t the world been moving under my feet? My hair was braided as she held me, kohl was lined around my eyes.

  “He will want to devour you whole,” Adilah said as rose-scented oil was smoothed into my skin.

  “And I will let him,” I purred, touching a droplet of the oil and pressing it to the bow of my upper lip.

  I stumbled when I stood, Hadiyah’s quick hands holding me up. “Careful.”

  An unblemished, diamond-studded garment of shining green silk was taken from a copper box. Besides the jewels that decorated our necks and wrists, it was the nicest thing an ahira would wear. All loans from our father for courtings only. Strings pulled at my back, tightening the clothes onto my breasts and hips until I could take deep breaths no longer. Soft slippers cocooned my feet. Hadiyah placed my headpiece, from which hung delicate chains that veiled my mouth and jawline and tickled my skin.