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!
The sun cast short shadows over the palace garden. A large platter of decadent food lay on the table within the vine-covered pavilion. It was supposed to be a quiet lunch for the royal family; the khanum often insisted on these lunches whenever she felt the need to compensate for a lapse in maternal skills. At least, that was how Mansur viewed it. But he humored her desire for it—there was always a rather full decanter of chilled wine to compensate for the inanity of the lunch. Today, Mansur would have preferred a dull lunch over the one forced upon him.
“Now what’s wrong with him?” Mansur gestured towards the shahzade. The boy had wandered off towards the flower beds and was looking at, presumably, nothing. He was certainly speaking quietly and animatedly to himself. “He looks like any child, yammering to himself. He’s what, three? Four? Doesn’t matter, they do that, don’t they? Talk to themselves?” Mansur looked from his son back to the Grand Vizier. Nikias stood barely within the garden pavilion, near to the khanum who looked equally troubled. It was an unattractive look on a usually beautiful face.
“Yes, Shahanshah, children do talk to themselves—” Nikias started.
“They don’t all scream because of imaginary friends!” Aliyah interrupted. “He’ll be walking beside me telling me about whatever his tutors have been teaching him, then stop and bury himself in my sari, crying!”
“Stop coddling him. Merikh is more than old enough not to cry over nothing.” Mansur rolled his eyes and looked back to Merikh. He stretched out his hand, the rings catching the sunlight, and snapped his fingers. “Shahzade, here.” He pointed at the ground in front of him and raised a brow when Merikh looked over. The boy’s gold eyes widened and he froze in place—almost literally; Mansur felt a chill in the pavilion as ice began to form over the wine glasses.
“Merikh, stop it,” Mansur growled. The brat’s magic had awakened a year ago and this nonsense was growing old quite quickly. Aliyah stood up and crossed to her son, giving him a small shake before she touched his cheek. The boy collapsed into her arms and the ice disappeared. Nikias frowned.
“Shahanshah, may I look into another tutor for the shahzade?” Nikias asked.
“What for?”
“I don’t believe the shahzade sees imaginary creatures.”
“You think there’s something wrong with him?” Mansur straightened ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Nikias. “There is nothing wrong with my son.”
“He’s perfectly healthy, I’m sure, Shahanshah,” Nikias said quickly. To Mansur’s satisfaction, he saw Nikias’ throat bob nervously. “I am guessing there is something else entirely special about him. After your last…interrogation in the desmoterion, the shahzade spoke to me of a nightmarish man cut apart, just like peasant was. I think the shahzade sees ghosts.”
Mansur couldn’t help but laugh, a booming sound that carried through the garden and—had he been looking—earned him a glare from his wife.
“What good is a tutor going to do about ghosts?”
“I would like to reach out to a necromancer. Test the shahzade.”
“No. I will not have an apostate teach my son blasphemy. You’re dismissed,” Mansur said, his tone final. He reached for his glass of wine, deliberately not looking at the grand vizier. The man hadn’t moved, and if he didn’t by the time Mansur finished his wine, they’d certainly be able to test Nikias’ ghost claim. It would be the only way Merikh would be able to see him.
The grand vizier bowed, stepped down from the pavilion, and headed down the garden path towards the khanum and shahzade. Aliyah reached out her hand and blocked Nikias’ path. Mansur watched as the two spoke. The conversation was short. Nikias nodded quickly, repeatedly, and the color began to slowly drain from Aliyah’s face.
“I summoned the shahzade, and I do not appreciate being kept waiting,” Mansur said loudly. Aliyah stood and gently prodded Merikh towards the pavilion despite the young boy’s hesitation. She sat down on the opposite side of the low coffee table, reclining on the divan and was about to pull her son onto it with her when Mansur raised his hand.
“Merikh, come to me.”
The boy curled in on himself and shook his head.
“If you make me stand…” The unspoken threat didn’t need to hang in the air for long. Merikh glanced back towards his mother, then cautiously walked around the table to his father. Mansur grabbed Merikh’s arm and felt the lanky boy flinch at the touch. The gold eyes didn’t meet Mansur’s inspecting gaze.
“What’s wrong with you?” Mansur demanded.
“Mansur!” Aliyah cried, sitting up. “How dare you—”
“How dare I? Look at him! Sniveling brat because you keep him tied to your skirt.”
“He’s a child! I treat him as such!”
“Get out of my sight,” Mansur snapped. Aliyah didn’t move and Mansur twisted Merikh’s arm. The boy whimpered and his mother stood. If looks could kill, Mansur knew he’d be dead several times over from Aliyah’s glare. Such audacity from an Afolayan whore, he thought. Mansur let go of Merikh as soon as he could no longer see the crimson and gold sari down the garden path.
“What did Nikias and your mother say, before the grand vizier left?”
“Maman asked—”
“The khanum, or mother,” Mansur corrected. Merikh bit his lip.
“Mother asked what he said to you.”
“And?”
Merikh fidgeted, looking away from his father before mumbling, “She told him to do whatever he needed to to…make me better.”
“So there is something wrong with you,” Mansur stated, leaning back into the divan. “What is it?”
“I…see monsters.”
“Are there any here?” Mansur asked. Merikh nodded and Mansur glanced about the pavilion. “Where?”
Merikh looked at the floor then pointed over Mansur’s shoulder. Mansur glanced and saw nothing. Of course there’s nothing, he thought, chiding himself for even looking in the first place.
“Let’s make a deal. You stop this talk of monsters. You’re worrying your mother, and you don’t want to do that do you? So you stop talking about monsters. You don’t see them. Understand? And if you agree, we can go to the barn. We can go for a ride.” Mansur smiled as Merikh immediately perked up, his gold eyes now wide with excitement as he nodded furiously. “You have to promise me, Merikh. No more talk of monsters.”
“I promise!”
“Good. No more nonsense, you’re too big for all that now.” Nikias and Aliyah, naturally, disagreed with Mansur on that note, but Merikh was weaned and walking. His language skills were good, his tutors were happy with him, that was plenty enough to stop this imaginary horse shit. Mansur stood, finished his wine, and strode from the pavilion. It was a bit hot in the day for riding, but a deal was a deal. Besides, the ride would give Mansur plenty of time to think. Merikh half ran to keep up with Mansur, though about halfway to the barn Mansur felt a small tug on his salwar.
“Father, slow down.”
“Maybe you should speed up,” Mansur said with a smile as he scooped up his son. Merikh was a slim boy, smaller than Mansur would have preferred, but surely that would change given enough time, food, and training. His son’s fearful mood disappeared as Mansur tossed Merikh over one shoulder, the boy squirming with halfhearted protests and laughter. “That’s better, hmm?” Mansur shifted Merikh over so the blood would stop rushing to the boy’s head as they walked.
“Can we see Zahra?” Merikh asked.
“Zahira. ZA-hee-ra,” Mansur corrected.
“Can we see Zahira?”
Mansur took a deep, thoughtful breath to prolong Merikh’s anticipation. The filly had been born a few days ago and Merikh had immediately taken to her.
“We’ll have to as Sumiya. If she says yes, then we can. If not, you can give Midha a mint.”
Mansur left the shahzade in the care of his Ajir bodyguard after their ride on Mansur’s war mare. Upon re-entering the palace, he signaled for one of the servants. The young man bowed.
“Tell the khanum I expect to see her in the royal suite,” Mansur ordered. The servant hurried away. Mansur walked towards the royal suite, stopping occasionally to speak with a vizier or noble milling about the halls. In the mid-afternoon heat, most people were hiding inside or catching a quick nap before court this evening.
Servants opened the door to the royal suite and the scent of musky perfume welcomed Mansur inside. Aliyah was draped over the divan, fanning herself with a paper Tsukarai fan. She had undressed since the garden, her sari tossed aside. Her choli blouse was tight across her chest, her skirt hiked up over her knees.
“Shahanshah,” she greeted, her tone far more pleasant than the shrill pitch of the garden.
“Khanum.” Mansur closed the door behind him. He stepped towards her, running a hand along his jaw and through his short beard. “Your mood is improved.”
Her eyes fluttered and she smiled. “I had no reason to be so sour earlier.”
“Hmm. Good. Mine, unfortunately, has soured. What did you say to Nikias?”
Aliyah let out an exasperated breath and closed the fan.
“Nikias is the oldest man I’ve ever met who has yet to hit his fortieth natal anniversary. You know how much he worries about our boy. I told him to get his necromancer, so long as he did so without anyone outside of the royal family and this necromancer knowing about it.”
“I told him no,” Mansur said coldly, clasping his hands behind his back. Aliyah lifted her legs off the back of the divan and swung them around to the front. She stood with seemingly effortless grace and crossed the room to him and touched the fan to his chest.
“I know. But he’s my son, and I get to be protective of him. Besides, what’s worse? Finding out the monsters he sees are real, or that they aren’t? Because if they aren’t, and he keeps acting out badly enough to spook the servants, it won’t look good for any of us.”
“They can’t be real because he’s already an ice sorcerer. When was the last time anyone heard of a sorcerer with two affinities? Certainly not in a few hundred years. We’d be better off getting the High Priest here to talk to him.”
“Humor Nikias. Humor me, my love. Besides, I know how much you love to tell me I was wrong,” Aliyah said, her tone light and her smile knowing.
“That I do. And you are wrong.”
“If I’m not, then our son—your son—will be the first dual sorcerer in generations. I rather like the idea.” Aliyah leaned on Mansur’s chest, pressed a kiss to his lips and stepped away. Mansur grabbed her wrist, twisting it enough to make Aliyah flinch as she turned back to him.
“Next time you like an idea, consult me first. Don’t undermine me in front of Nikias ever again.”
“Nikias will hardly have thought less of you—I’m sorry!” she gasped as Mansur twisted her wrist again. He let go at her apology.
“Thank you, my love,” Mansur said. He touched her cheek, then cupped her jaw and pulled her back for a kiss on her forehead. “Go have that looked at before court, no one likes the look of bruises.” Mansur’s hand dropped to his side. He crossed the suite towards the private bathing room. A cool bath to get the barn grime off his skin called his name. He could hear the slam of the royal suite’s door within the bathing room. Aliyah was a temperamental woman, but she wasn’t stupid. As much as Mansur was loathe to admit it, she was right. Merikh acting out from invisible monsters wouldn’t reflect well on him, on his bloodline. If there was something wrong with the shahzade, they needed to find out as early as possible. As fond of Merikh as Mansur was, as much as he loved his son, Shai’Khal came first. Aliyah was plenty young enough to have another child. A healthy child. If not, well…Mansur would still be plenty young enough to find a new khanum.
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