A quick note: shorts like these will be posted periodically, with greater frequency when I’m between books. These backstories are set before the start of The Dying Sun, with minimal spoilers. Thank you for reading!
A ringing bell dragged the Grand Vizier reluctantly from his sleep. It’s frantic trilling bespoke urgency not reflected by the listener. Nikias rubbed his eyes and groaned loudly. Whatever it was, surely it could have waited until morning? Mansur had kept Nikias working late, it felt as if he’d only just fallen asleep and now this? The only person he should be calling on at this hour is a courtesan, Nikias thought.
The bell still rang, no less frantic than before. Nikias tossed aside the covers and grabbed his nearby kaftan. The black, heavy fabric was a comfortable embrace from the cold air within the palace. Nikias picked up a nearby enchanted stone. It glowed faint orange under his touch, allowing him to leave his bedroom for the rest of his small suite without stubbing his toes on the nearby dresser. The wall near the door had a collection of bells in a neat, organized row. Each bell had a location name beneath it. ‘Council Room’, ‘Throne Room,’ ‘Royal Suite’, to name a few. At the end of the row, the bell installed only a few years ago was ringing loudly. The Shahzade’s Suite. Nikias bit his lip, crestfallen. He would have almost preferred Mansur calling on him. He’d been waiting for this moment for days. In truth, it was impressive that it had taken this long for Merikh to need him. He’d had to argue to have the direct bells installed, the Shah hadn’t agreed. Hadn’t deemed it right for his heir to be able to call on the Grand Vizier. The former Khanum had believed it prudent. That Merikh would need to be able to freely speak with the Grand Vizier one day, the sooner the better. It was one of the few times the woman had ever looked out for her little boy and Nikias was glad for it even as this walk filled him with dread. Merikh was an incredibly independent young boy who disliked being reminded that he was indeed only six years old. The bell was supposed to only be used if Merikh had a matter of ‘national importance’ – according to Mansur at least. Usually, the bell rang at night. Nightmares were hardly a terror Nikias thought the Shahzade should have to endure alone. Technically, it fell under the Ajir Steward’s role to care for Merikh in such situations. But Imtiyaz was a direct conduit to the Shah. Everything Merikh did around him, Mansur heard. No doubt it played a role in why Merikh called on Nikias and not the one who would feed his nightmares to the one who fueled them.
Pale light from the enchanted stone sent shadows dancing about the tall palace corridors. The halls felt longer and longer the closer Nikias came to the young Shahzade’s room. The white marble of the palace echoed his footsteps, announcing his presence. The Ajir Guards at the end of the Shahzade’s wing stopped their quiet conversation as Nikias approached.
“Quiet night?” Nikias asked.
The one guard nodded, “Yes Bayim. Save for the Summoning Bell.”
If Nikias craned to hear, he could barely make out the sound of the bell within the Shahzade’s room ringing. It went silent after a moment. Nikias nodded once.
“I would prefer it if you didn’t volunteer information about my visit to the Shah.”
The guards both bowed their heads in silent acquiescence as the Grand Vizier passed.
Nikias knocked on the unassuming door once. The knob yielded under his hand, unlocked undoubtedly by a thought from Merikh. The glow from the enchanted stone was the only light in the room. With it, Nikias could make out the bookcases that lined the walls, the desk tucked near the window, and the large bed that took up a significant portion of the room. At first glance, Nikias couldn’t see the boy.
“Shahzade?” Nikias asked gently as he crossed the room towards Merikh’s desk. He lit the oil lamp and the room brightened a little. Nikias put the enchanted glow stone down as a shiver shuddered down his spine. There was something very wrong with the room, an unnatural chill that left Nikias disquieted to his soul.
“What took you so long?” A small voice came from the bed and now Nikias could see the young boy curled up under the covers.
“Apologies, Shahzade. I came as quickly as I could. What’s wrong?” Nikias asked. He crossed the room and sat on the foot of the bed.
“She’s dead,” Merikh shrank back a little, “And she’s so angry. I…I don’t know if my runes will hold. She wants me with her.”
Nikias frowned. Merikh’s magic had awoken a few years ago. Ice at first, then a year later necromancy. No one had expected it. Neither Mansur nor Aliyah were sorcerers, but there was magic in both their lines. The Khanum had been overjoyed. After all, her special little boy was the first sorcerer in countless generations to have two magical affinities! She’d paraded him around and gloated about how strong her baby was. The Shah had been barely more practical. Mansur was wary of the two affinities. The repercussions of a necromancer as his heir were not lost to him. Nikias hadn’t worried. Not at first. Not until Merikh began to complain of the voices. The Shahzade would grow even quieter, he’d lose focus and stare off at seemingly nothing. Only then did Nikias worry about the ghosts in the palace. Of the darkness within the desmoterion beneath their feet.
“How can you tell?” Nikias asked. Gold eyes met his with a cold look that mimicked Mansur’s.
“I see her.” Merikh’s hand unburied itself from the covers and pointed towards the window. “And I can hear her screaming.”
As if on cue, when Nikias’ eyes followed where Merikh pointed there was a loud shuddering of the glass. Runes along the windowsill glowed faint green for a moment, then faded.
“Shahzade,” Nikias said, his tone gentle but firm, “you know I can’t see her. I can’t hear her. She’s a ghost.”
“No. Maman’s a churel.”
Nikias swallowed hard. The vengeful soul of an impure woman wasn’t something to trifle with. Why here, Aliyah? Go haunt Mansur.
“Does that matter?” Nikias asked, keeping the worry from his eyes, “You know how to banish wayward souls. Give her peace.”
Merikh was frozen under his covers, staring at the window. Nikias stood, crossed the room, and leaned down in front of the desk.
“Which drawer is it?” Nikias asked.
“Bottom.”
“A green seal, Shahzade?”
Merikh didn’t say anything, Nikias assumed the boy was nodding his head. He dug through the desk drawer until he found a green wax seal bearing a glyph that Nikias was, unfortunately, familiar with. The dead language was used only for magic. The glyph made of curved script meant spirit, or at least that was what Nikias had been told. He straightened up, shut the drawer with the toe of his slipper before he walked back to the foot of Merikh’s bed. Nikias hesitated for a moment, then sat down closer to Merikh than he had before. He offered the scroll with an outstretched arm. Nikias ignored the cold, the shuddering of the window, and the urge to look.
“You know you can do this.”
“It’s Maman. I don’t need her to go, I just…I need her to be quiet,” Merikh confessed, “I can’t sleep.”
Nikias sighed, nodding in understanding, “It’s alright. I’d be afraid too.”
“I’m not afraid!” the Shahzade spat, the room growing even colder. Nikias looked at him knowingly.
“You look scared.”
Merikh grumbled something as he crawled out of his covers. He was a small, gangly child with wild black curls framing his face. He sat beside Nikias and took the scroll, cracking it open carefully. Merikh cleared his throat as he flattened the scroll against the bed. The Shahzade took a deep breath. His hand was raised above the scroll. Faint, pale green fog began to pour from his fingers onto the scroll, setting the glyphs aglow. The matching glyphs by the window began to glow faintly, and Nikias started when suddenly the outline of a woman was visible on the other side of the window. More accurately, the outline of the desiccated corpse of former-Khanum Aliyah Madiaran, wife of the Shah and mother to the Shahzade.
Churel.
Mansur has murdered her in the cruelest way he could conceive. Left in a crow cage above fetid water, she’d been lathered in honey before imprisoned. She’d only been fed honey and milk for the past three days. Naked, she’d tried her best to protect herself from the insects and carrion birds. The sun had drained her quickly of any strength to do so. Now, she’d succumbed to the torture. Of course she was angry. Her ghostly form was naked, half rotten with backward feet. Nikias felt renewed anger boiling in his chest. Directing her anger to Merikh, haunting the boy – wanting to take him with her of all things! – was wrong. Not when Mansur lay in his bed, probably with a new whore. You shouldn’t be here.
The fog moved through the window as if it weren’t even there, enveloping the outlined creature on the other side. She screamed, an unholy sound Nikias could – regrettably – now hear. She thrashed at the fog, slamming into the window with rotting limbs. And then, she was no more. The fog disappeared, and an almost uncomfortable silence fell upon the room. Merikh’s hand fell to the scroll, the paper crinkling under it.
“Maman’s dead.” The Shahzade’s voice was barely a whisper. Nikias frowned and placed a hand on the Shahzade’s shoulder.
“Yes,” Nikias said, almost as quietly.
“It’s my fault she’s dead. I told Father she was pregnant. I didn’t know it was bad.” Merikh’s voice wavered. “What am I going to do without her?” Aliyah had been a staying hand when Mansur decided bruises became Merikh. The young boy’s fear was justified, and again Nikias found himself forcing down rage. He pulled Merikh into a proper hug.
“It’s okay to be afraid – and it’s okay to be sad – when it’s the two of us. You will endure, Shahzade.” He wouldn’t lie to Merikh. He wouldn’t try to balm the boy with falsehoods that his mother’s death had had nothing to do with the pregnancy. Aliyah’s infidelity was punishable by death. It was treason. But historically, Khanums were beheaded. Not…defiled.
Merikh clung to Nikias’ kaftan. He wasn’t crying, Nikias could feel the Shahzade breathing steadily, deliberately. His mother was dead, and he’d just sent her soul on to wherever Akhenios deemed she spend eternity. Nikias wasn’t entirely confident that it would be Aljemel, though he would never say such a thing to Merikh.
“Am I going to Alhanem for this?”
“No!” Nikias blurted out quickly, shaking his head, “No. Someone will pay for the way your mother died, but it certainly isn’t you.” Mansur would go to Alhanem for this and more. Even as much as Merikh was afraid of his father, Nikias wasn’t about to say so in front of him. Children were prone to yelling many a secret detail in fit of peak when arguing with their parents. The last thing Nikias needed was Merikh yelling at Mansur that Nikias said he was damned. Nikias straightened up as the young boy moved and curled up back under his blankets.
“Don’t…tell the Shah I did this,” Merikh ordered quietly, his eyelids heavy. Magic took its toll, sleep overcame the Shahzade quickly. Nikias nodded. Naturally. He stood and crossed the room to collect the glow stone and extinguish the lamp.
Once outside the suite, Nikias approached the guards once more. Both men looked disturbed. They’d heard Aliyah’s screams.
“The Shahzade would like to keep this matter private,” Nikias informed them. “I expect you to keep quiet. Nothing happened here. Understand?”
They nodded quickly, “Yes, Bayim.”
The walk back to his suite was much quicker than the walk from it. Sleep no longer dogged his steps. Nikias lit the candles at his desk, then sat down. There were preparations to be made, now that Aliyah was dead. Not the least of these was informing her brothers. Nikias ran a hand over his face. Amir Navin and Rabb Mahdi weren’t likely to cause much of a fuss over their sister’s death; Nikias didn’t have the impression the Afolayan family was particularly close. But her death would strike a chord throughout Shai’Khal. Even though Aliyah wasn’t a well-loved Khanum, the brutality of her murder would send ripples throughout the rest of the nobility. Mansur’s decision to execute her like this was rash, emotional overkill. Not much different than Kurush, Nikias reminded himself. Not any better. The Grand Vizier took a deep, steady breath, then pulled out several sheets of paper. If he was going to be awake, listening for any more summons from the Shahzade, they’d be productive hours. He had the Madiaran Dynasty to help preserve. The Great Prophet’s bloodline was unbroken. Nikias wanted to make sure it remained that way.
When morning light began to peak through the window, Nikias crossed the room to the bell wall. He tugged on the one labeled “servant”. It wasn’t long before there was a knock on Nikias’ door and a gentleman a few years older than Nikias stepped inside.
“Bayim,” the man said, bowing forward slightly. Nikias inclined his head a little.
“Akhenios sent me a dream in the night. Would you humor me and have someone check on the Khanum?”
“As you ask.” The man straightened up and hurried left. ‘A dream’ would be viewed skeptically, of course, but Nikias doubted Mansur would pursue the lie any further than rolled eyes or a chuckle. The Grand Vizier’s ‘intuition’ helped Mansur often. The Shah rarely asked who his informants were.
Once the servant returned with confirmation of Aliyah’s passing, Nikias set the palace to work. He wanted to ensure that as soon as he had the word from the Shah that preparations could be quickly attended to and letters sent to her family. After all, even if she’d committed treason infidelity was a very different crime than attempted assassination – the crime most other khanums had been executed for in the past. There would be some sort of funeral, surely. Nikias merely needed Mansur to sign off on it.
Nikias walked with the servant delivering breakfast to the royal suite. When they were bid entry, Nikias opened the door for the other man. Once inside, he bowed his head and kept his eyes downcast.
“Straighten up, Nikias,” the Shah ordered cordially. Nikias did so. The Shah was reclined on the divan, still dressed for bed wearing loose crimson salwar with an open robe over his bare chest. His short hair was a little unruly, flattened on one side from sleep. There were jeweled rings on each of his fingers that glinted in the morning light. Mansur began picking at the tray before him, dark eyes studying Nikias with an impossible to read look on his face.
“A thousand apologies, Shahanshah, for intruding upon your morning,” Nikias bowed his head slightly again. Mansur laughed.
“You know what I like most about you, Vizier?”
Nikias shook his head. The answer would only be true for today. Mansur’s moods and opinions often changed like the weather.
“You’re a problem solver. And you’re predictable. First-Thing-In-The-Morning news is always something I don’t want to hear. You want it out of the way as quickly as possible so you can do something about it. I prefer waking to good news but at least whatever this is I can be confident you will have it dealt with before I have to waste another morning on it.”
“You honor me, Shahanshah,” Nikias said, hiding his understanding that Mansur was doing anything but, before clearing his throat, “I was informed that the former-Khanum has passed.”
Mansur scratched an itch under his thick beard as he sat up properly.
“Has she?”
“Yes, Shahanshah.”
“You’ve been checking on her in the mornings to see how she’s doing?” The tone was dangerous. Even in execution, Mansur was possessive of who spent time with his wife.
“No, sire. The Great Prophet saw fit to grant me a dream of her spirit.”
A skeptical brow was raised as Mansur leaned back on the divan, “A dream?”
“Yes, Shahanshah.”
“That ‘dream’ have a name?” The Shah’s eyes narrowed. Nikias felt his chest grow tight and he tried to keep a passive, perhaps embarrassed look on his face.
“No, Shahanshah. I can’t explain it.”
“Don’t worry, she’s haunted plenty of my dreams. Aliyah once drove me wild. I imagine her current state would chill a man’s desire quite thoroughly.”
The memory of the rotted, gnawed-upon churel came to Nikias’ mind unbidden and he frowned grimly.
“I imagine so.”
“Well, thank you for the report, you’re dismissed,” Mansur said as he reached for the cup of coffee on the tray. Nikias cleared his throat.
“If I may, Shahanshah? I took the liberty of writing letters for Amir Navin and Rabb Mahdi,” Nikias pulled the letters out of his kaftan, “They require your signature. I also need direction for her funeral.”
“Your sense of humor is my second favorite thing about you.” Mansur waved him off without looking at him.
“There will be no funeral for the Khanum?”
“Former Khanum!” Mansur snapped, slamming the coffee back down on the table, “Of course not. You really think I want that whore lying at my side in eternity? Great Prophet forfend.”
“Her brothers surely must be informed, Shahanshah. The Amir,” Nikias let the word hang for a fraction of a second, long enough to remind Mansur who exactly he needed to placate. “will surely wish to know of what has happened to his sister.”
“Then take care of it. That filth has taken enough of my time. If Navin becomes offended at the idea of being informed by the Grand Vizier, then I expect your letter to be kind enough to balm him. Unless he demands it, I expect her corpse to remain in that cage. The man who removes it will lose his head.”
Nikias bowed deeply from his waist.
“Of course, Shahanshah. I will take care of everything,” Nikias began towards the door, then stopped. He’d deliberately left this for last. “What of the Shahzade?”
Mansur ran a hand over his face, groaning loudly. “What about ‘take care of it’ don’t you grasp this morning, Grand Vizier?”
“Apologies, Shahanshah, I will do better.”
Nikias left the room and shut the door quietly behind him. He ran a hand over his thinning hair. Callous and angry, Mansur’s reaction wasn’t wholly unexpected. There had been several ways the Shah could have handled the news. Nikias was simply glad Mansur hadn’t decided to celebrate.