by Trudie Skies
A thrill pulsed through her blood. She'd always assumed Jonan merely tolerated her as Talin's daughter, but she could feel his pride swell in the bond.
The guard’s eyes went wide with comprehension and he fumbled a bow, almost dropping his lantern. “Yes, yes, of course. Right this way, High Priestess.”
She clicked her tongue at the man and lifted her chin. She wasn’t used to her new title yet—and to her, it wasn’t as glamorous as being known as the Sand Dancer. The guard hurried ahead down a dark hall, and she followed.
“What do I call you now?” Jonan murmured. “’Malik’ is not befitting of a priestess.”
“You never asked what to call me before.”
“You chose Malik back in the Duslands.”
“Mina is fine.”
“Mina it is.” He smiled, a rare warm one from him.
Cells stretched on either side of the dungeon. Each had been cut from the stone, like the rooms in the temple, but these were blocked with heavy steel doors. Torches burned outside the occupied cells, but their flames seemed to cast more shadow than light.
A horrid smell replaced the dank moss, worse than the rotting streets of the lower city.
The guard gestured to a door. “This one, High Priestess.”
The cell didn’t look particularly secure for a Fire Walker. “You’re not worried she’d break out?”
“We keep them subdued.”
His leering expression sent a jolt in her stomach. She reached for the door, but Jonan grabbed her wrist and bent his head close. “You should wait outside. You don’t want to see this.”
“Which is exactly why I need to.” She shrugged from Jonan’s grip and entered the cell.
The stench hit her first—rot and piss and something much worse she couldn’t place and held no desire to. Jonan stepped in behind her and snapped his fingers. Light burned away the darkness, and a figure on the floor skittered into the corner. Samira’s Solander skin was smeared with dirt. She still wore nothing but strips of cloth across her chest and waist, though those too were smeared brown. Thick chains were wrapped around her wrists, ankles, and neck, and her Fire Walker tattoos shone red. Not with ink but… blood.
They’d carved her tattoos. Mina covered her mouth and swayed on her feet. They’d sliced Samira like fruit.
Samira raised her head slowly. “Are you here to kill me?” she croaked.
“Water,” Mina said. “Get her water.”
Jonan pulled a canteen from his belt and crouched down.
Samira jerked her head away. As she moved, black lines glistened on her arms, like swollen fat worms. Jonan recoiled, aghast.
“What are they?” Mina gasped.
“Leeches. They’re not only used to drain a body of blood, this kind also has a numbing effect which can block blood fire. But… they haven’t been used in years.”
Bile rose to her mouth. Mina had felt the same leeches on her own neck from the Shadow’s memory beneath the temple. She’d felt them suck the life from her.
She stormed out of the room, drawing her sword on the guard and raising it to his throat before he knew what was happening. “You tortured her.”
The guard squealed and raised his arms in protest. “We were told to question her!”
She pushed Hawk closer until the sharp edge caressed his skin. “You tortured her!”
“It were orders!”
Jonan stepped behind her. “Mina. Stop.”
She glared over her shoulder. “They sliced her up like a—like a—”
She lowered her sword.
This was her fault.
She’d told the guards to arrest Samira, to question her, but she’d never imagined they’d chain her so she could barely move, let her wallow in her own filth, carve the tattoos from her flesh, and drain her blood.
Tears burned in Mina’s eyes. “Release her,” she ordered the guard. “Take her to the Temple of Gai and place her in Rajesh Enaibond’s care. Now.”
The guard bobbed his head in a series of frantic motions and then shuffled away.
She sagged against the wall. “Tell me this isn’t normal. Tell me the King doesn’t sanction the torture of Fire Walkers. Tell me Leila didn’t turn a blind eye to this.”
Jonan placed a hand on her shoulder, the same comforting way Talin would. “I won’t lie to you. But I will tell you a truth. You are High Priestess now. You have the power to stop this. And to make sure it never happens again.”
17
THE LURRITE
The Bright Solara decided on a small private lurrite for the Queen, thank the gods. Lune had cursed Mina with a thick, heavy flow, as though the gods themselves were displeased with her. The sight of Samira’s hunched and bleeding form would haunt her for the next season. She’d not been the one who wielded the knife, but she’d damned Samira regardless. How could Mina have been so naïve to believe a Fire Walker wouldn’t be questioned with such brutality?
Mina kept her anger in check. It wouldn’t help the grieving King or his family. And it certainly didn’t help channel her blood fire.
She rushed a bath and changed into her black bondrite silks. She tried snapping her fingers to summon her flame, but as Iman predicted, no fire passed from her flesh. How in Lune’s name was she supposed to perform this gods-damn lurrite?
This was her first test to prove herself as the newly appointed High Priestess of Rahn and it was already going wrong.
Iman had gone to the Temple of Gai to check on Samira at Mina’s suggestion. No doubt Mina would be the last person Samira wanted to face, but someone needed to reassure her and explain everything that had happened.
A knock tapped at the door. Jonan’s presence bloomed from the other side.
She finished adjusting her sahn and opened the door to him. He too dressed in his best Houseman wear and held a small vial in his hand.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Rahn’s Breath.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“For generations, House Rhaesbond ingested small quantities every dawn until they could withstand its heat and use it to boost their powers. It will force your fire out.”
“Until I burn to ash and the King needs another High Priestess.”
“We’ll stop before that happens. I’ll be nearby.”
Of all their ideas, this was by far the worst, though she had little choice and they’d run out of time. The Queen’s lurrite couldn’t wait. Bodies seldom smelled pleasant in Rahn’s heat, and the longer Mina dallied, the more agitated the Queen’s Shadow would become. In her mother’s dreams, Shadows who’d suffered trauma were more likely to form wraiths and attack. She couldn’t discount the possibility that her presence as a Lunei could disturb the Queen’s Shadow even further. Lunei were known to have that effect on the dead.
Gods, she hoped not.
She snatched the vial and shoved it into her sahn next to Prince Rais’s necklace—it would be poor form to wear it today.
Jonan led the way through the palace gardens to a private courtyard where the Bright Solara and a few choice Housemen would be present. A march would be held in the streets of Solus later for the people to mourn their queen. Mina had never gotten the chance to mourn her Uncle Dustan when he’d died. He’d never been granted a proper lurrite. The thought boiled in her blood. The Prince had cut down the man who had raised Mina as his daughter, unashamedly murdered him in the street, and now she would lead the ceremony to help him grieve the death of his mother.
I am the master of my own self.
She took a deep breath. This day wasn’t about her.
A shallow fountain served as a centerpiece for the courtyard, its waters replaced with Dusland sand. In the middle of the sand lay the Queen on a pyre. A red shroud covered her body and face, and red tulips had been carefully placed around her. It wasn’t the extravagant and gaudy decoration she would have expected. But from what she’d observed of the Queen, she
’d never flaunted her wealth or power. It was a shame Mina never got a chance to know her.
Ceramic pots of all shapes and sizes filled the garden, some decorated in gemstones—rubies, emeralds, and sapphires—and multi-colored tulips filled the pots. It turned the yard into a dazzling rainbow of color to match the Housemen and their sahns, though the Housemen all wore brooches of one color only—mourning blue.
Rahn burned overhead, but Lune was with them in spirit.
This deep into Rahn’s Dawn and with so many mourners crowding the courtyard, the air tasted as thick as rosewater syrup. The noble women fanned their faces, and the men’s foreheads flushed with sweat. Alistar’s father also stood in attendance, though Alistar wasn’t with him.
Mina passed through the crowd and caught fragments of conversation.
Vida sent my wife flowers from this very garden when she was ill with my little one.
If it wasn’t for Vida, the Temple of Gai would have struggled for funding last year.
I remember when Vida came to Enais and asked us to plant green grapes for the King as a surprise. She didn’t like our white wines much, but the King did, and she suffered its taste for him.
That tale was shared by Raj’s mother, who stood in the corner by a purple trellis. The head of House Enaibond was a short, fierce-looking woman. The complete opposite to shy Raj. He stood there too, looking slightly out of place. She wanted to ask him about Samira, but now wasn’t the time.
“She was a good woman,” Salasar said, coming up next to her. He was dressed in the same smart clothes as during her bondrite. The High Priestess of Lune—his wife—sat on a nearby bench, dressed in her thick blue robes, the bulge at her stomach straining through the fabric. “She didn’t take rule seriously. Don’t get me wrong, she had her duties, but she didn’t dance to politics like the rest of them. She understood struggle, not like these lot.” Salasar drew in a breath. “Walk with me.”
Salasar began to stroll through the garden and Mina stepped in line by his side. He wasn’t usually this somber. “You liked her,” she said.
“You’ll be hard pressed to find a man who didn’t, and mark my words, those Hartnords will pay.” Hardness settled across his face. “She wasn’t meant to be queen, you know. It was my House who originally provided a bride for the Bright Solara. One of my cousins. Not that we needed more power and riches, but my House is full of greedy bastards and pushed. Ah, I remember the marriage ceremony well. What a disaster.” Salasar shook his head. “The bond didn’t take. The marriage bond. Our bloodlines were too close. And so, Khaled was forced to marry another. We scrambled for another suitable bride, but House Xanbond got there first and offered Vida. She was young, then. Younger than you are now. She was a frightened little thing, frightened of leaving her home forever, frightened of the weight and responsibilities of queendom. But she shouldered it well. She blossomed into one of the strongest women I’ve ever met, and I’ve dealt with some tough wenches.” He turned his sharp eye to her. “There’s more strength in women who don’t wield swords.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because Vida didn’t think she could shoulder being a queen, but she was strong and she made a real difference. Thanks to her, the Temple of Gai can afford to provide care for the common man without demanding his gold. She elevated them and became their biggest champion, just as Princess Aniya elevated the Temple of Lune. We need another Vida, another Aniya, to champion the Temple of Rahn.”
Mina didn’t like the comparison to a dead princess and now a dead queen. “What do you think I’m doing?”
Salasar guided her into a shaded section of the garden. “Playing priestess will only get you so far. There is greater power and it’s yours for the taking. Think about it, child.”
He bowed and stepped aside, revealing a man dressed in blue silks. She bit back a curse. Salasar had led her straight to Prince Rais.
She bowed. “My Prince.”
“Lady Arlbond.” The Prince smiled, but there was no warmth there. “I hear you are High Priestess now. You don’t look like a priestess.”
Her cheeks flushed. She knew there were certain rules and rites involved in being a priestess, but she didn’t know everything she was supposed to do. The priestesses of Lune and Gai wore appropriate robes, but Mina had no intention of dropping her leather armor, sahn, or sword. They’d take her as she was or get no high priestess at all. “I’m still new to this, my Prince. But I’m dedicated to serving Rahn.”
“Are you.” The statement came out flat. “I thought you were dedicated to serving me. You swore a promise to me before the tournament. Do you remember?”
“I remember, my Prince.”
“But you are now serving as a priestess of Rahn. Do your words and loyalties mean so little?”
How could Prince Rais act like such a fool? He needed to be bigger than his brother. He needed to be seen as king. “The Fire Walkers need me, my Prince, especially now.”
Prince Rais grabbed her upper arm and pinched tight. “I need you,” he whispered. “Why are you choosing the Fire Walkers over me?”
If she’d chosen to marry him… it would have been for the Fire Walkers.
His grip tightened. “Didn’t I say I’d support you? Didn’t I give you my favor? You’re not even wearing it.”
“This is a lurrite, my Prince. It would be poor form—”
A door on the opposite end of the courtyard opened and the Prince stepped back, releasing her arm. Princess Aniya entered the yard, also in blue, and Mina’s heart skipped a beat—her arm curled around Alistar’s. He steered the Princess to a shaded part of the courtyard as she dabbed her eyes with a silk cloth. He looked somber, like the dignitary he pretended to be.
Gasps and mummers drew Mina’s attention. The King walked slowly and leaned on a cane. His legs shook and his spare arm was wrapped around Talin, who guided him to a bench under the shade of a canopy. His Solander skin was pale, his ringlet beard flat, his expression lifeless. He stared at the pyre as though he was also a Shadow ready to pass onto the next life.
Prince Ravel stood at the King’s other side, not stooping to help his father but radiating throughout the courtyard with his presence. He wore a mismatch of Solaran red with mourning blue and held his chin high. Compared to the deathly pale king and the slouching Prince Rais, Prince Ravel looked vibrant. Commanding. Manly.
Her stomach lurched. He looked like a king.
Jonan found her. “It’s time. Do you remember what to do?”
“Say the words. Burn the queen. Vomit after.”
“You can skip the final part.”
She doubted it. Even with such a small group, the courtyard was packed full of Housemen, strangers she barely knew and strangers she did know, albeit from a distance, who were eager to watch her make a fool of herself. Disbelief shone in their faces as she strode between them, her hands tucked neatly behind her back to hide their tremble. A gentle tug in the bond brought her gaze to Talin’s kind smile. She’d been able to ignore the faces watching her in the tournament. This was a different sort of battle. Her first duty as High Priestess.
Gods, what was she even doing? Say the words. Burn the queen. A Shadow rippled across the red shroud as she approached the pyre. The Queen’s spirit was there. Did she understand what was going on? That she’d died, that these people were here to watch her return to Rahn? Mina hadn’t given it much thought, but how terrifying must it be to view the world as a Shadow? To know your fate? If Fire Walkers weren’t here to burn their bones, what would become of them?
The Queen hadn’t deserved this fate. Talking to Shadows wasn’t pleasant, but if Mina spoke to the Queen, maybe her Shadow would remember something important about how she died—what wine she drank, who brought it to her, if anyone was acting strangely…
This was her one chance before the Queen’s Shadow was lost forever.
Mina reached her hand over the pyre. “My Queen, I know this must b
e hard for you, but I can see you,” she whispered. “I can hear you. If you talk to me, I’ll find who did this to you. I’ll get justice.”
The Shadow grasped her hand.
My baby, where’s my baby? My child, where is he?
Wind burst around them and the courtyard fell into sudden darkness.
18
THE QUEEN’S LAMENT
“It’s a boy!”
Tears ran down my face with blessed relief. A Green Hand took the babe as another wiped my sweat-soaked brow. A boy. A baby boy.
Khaled’s joy burst through the bond. “A son. Vida, we have a son.”
“Are there no others?” Solaran children were supposed to come in threes. When the Green Hands had told us I carried just one child, I’d hoped they were mistaken. I’d hoped for more. But I felt empty. I’d failed in my duties as queen and wife.
A Green Hand examined me. “No others, my Queen.”
Khaled took my hand and kissed it. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I failed you.”
“This is a blessing, don’t you see? Our son will grow to take the crown without bloodshed, without needing to kill his brothers to lay claim. We’ll have peace for once.” He kissed my hand again. “Rahn has blessed us.”
The Green Hand brought the babe to my arms. He squirmed and cried but settled as I cradled him, and he looked at me for the first time. Khaled’s amber, golden and pure. He was beautiful. “He has your eyes.”
“He’ll have your heart.”
“What will you call him?”
We’d discussed names: Aniya for a girl, named for his sister, and perhaps Rais, a warrior’s name, for a boy. But this little one didn’t look like a Rais to me.
“I want him to grow wise. Too many kings rule by the sword, but I want more for him. More for Sandair. We’ll name him for the wisest king I know, the founder of our Academy.”
My son. A future king.
King Ravel.
