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Below are snippets from each of the shorts within the anthology. If you’d like to read them in full, please consider becoming a patron. Tiers start at $5/month. Thank you!
The Shahzade’s Magic
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 them. 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, though, 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. Merikh was speaking quietly and animatedly. “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, his hands clasped behind him and a concerned look on his face. He stood near the khanum, who looked equally troubled. It was an unattractive look on a usually beautiful face. Her features were pronounced, lips pursed and kohl-lined eyes narrowed in worry. Her crimson sari was lined in gold and ivory, and her long fingers were absentmindedly working the luck coins loose from the hem.
“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! It’s not normal!”
“Stop coddling him. Merikh is more than old enough not to cry over nothing.” Mansur rolled his eyes and looked back at Merikh. He stretched out his hand, the gold and garnet 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 as she knelt down beside him. She touched his cheek and the boy collapsed into her arms. The ice disappeared. Nikias frowned, unclasped his hands and ran a hand over his jaw.
“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. He’d cut himself shaving and there was a thin scab near his artery. “I think 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 the 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.”
The Death of the Khanum
The clear, frantic trilling of a bell dragged Grand Vizier Nikias reluctantly from his sleep. He rubbed his eyes and groaned loudly. Whatever it was, surely it could have waited until morning? Shah Mansur had kept Nikias working abominably late, and now this? The only person he should be calling on at this hour is a courtesan, Nikias thought. It felt as if he’d only just fallen asleep!
The bell continued to ring, no less frantically 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 cheek, crestfallen. He would have almost preferred Mansur calling on him. He’d been waiting for this moment for days. Merikh was a painfully independent little boy, but he was still a child. And no child should have to go through the trauma Mansur inflicted upon him.
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. In theory, it should have been the Ajir Steward that Merikh called upon to help him manage his night terrors. But Imtiyaz was a direct conduit to the shah, and the only thing Merikh valued more than his independence was his privacy. The last thing the young shahzade needed was Imtiyaz feeding his nightmares to the man who inspired them.
The white marble of the palace echoed Nikias’ footsteps, announcing his presence to the Ajir Guards at the end of the Shahzade’s wing. They stopped their whispered conversation as Nikias approached.
“Quiet night?” Nikias asked.
The one guard nodded, “Yes, Bayim.”
Nikias nodded once.
“I would prefer it if you didn’t volunteer information about my visit here 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. 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. He wanted to snatch up Merikh and flee, though Nikias kept the fear from his face and his posture. This is no night terror, Nikias thought.
“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, his curly hair and gold eyes all that were visible.
“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 into the headboard, “And Maman’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, as it had been centuries since the last sorcerer was born with two affinities. It had started with Merikh seeing ghosts, hearing their whispers, and thankfully the royal couple had acquiesced to Nikias finding a necromancer to test Merikh’s abilities. Neither Shah Mansur nor Khanum Aliyah were sorcerers, but there was magic in both their bloodlines. When the tutor confirmed Merikh’s dual affinities, 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. The repercussions of a necromancer as his heir were not lost to him. Nikias had tried not to worry, to middling success. There was darkness within the palace, disquieted and unhappy souls beneath their feet within the desmoterion. There were things no child should have to experience, not even a shahzade.
“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. “Can’t you hear her screams?”
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.” Merikh’s voice wavered.
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,” Merikh whispered.
“A green seal, Shahzade?”
Merikh didn’t say anything. Nikias glanced back toward the bed and saw Merikh nodding. 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 black 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. You have to 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.” The boy wanted a different answer than the one given. Aliyah was dead, nothing could be done about that. But the last thing Merikh needed was to be haunted forever by his own mother.
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. It’s okay.”
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 paper. Faint, pale green fog began to pour from his fingers onto the scroll, setting the glyphs aglow. Nikias glanced toward the window as the matching glyphs on the sill began to glow faintly. Pale green fog began to take form on the other side of the glass. Nikias started when it took the ghastly form of a desiccated corpse. Khanum Aliyah’s ghostly form was naked, half rotten with backward, contorted feet. Her eyes were missing, as were her lips, leaving a horrifying snarl upon her face.
The Return
The horns and bells had been playing since sunrise. Overnight the city had transformed from white marble and tan plaster to clad in red and gold banners. Palm leaves covered cobblestones along the Prophet’s Way. From the balcony, Rajiya could see the men and women on the rooftops in the Jibbah District sitting beside barrels of red rose petals and golden paper; they waited to rain confetti down on their returning Shahzade. Mansur knew how to throw a welcome party, no one could deny that. The city would celebrate. The palace would celebrate more. Rajiya swirled the wine in her goblet before taking a sip. She’d drink herself near sick today, she had little doubt of that. It would let her pretend to be celebrating. Rajiya had little cause to do so, unless the Shahzade came home with a humbled heart and an apology. The absurdity brought a bitter smile to her painted lips. When had that sanctimonious, pompous, prude of a shahzade ever apologized about anything?
The horns grew louder, announcing the Shahzade’s arrival in the Mitbah District. It wouldn’t be long before the royal procession would be visible from the balcony. Rajiya debated leaving. She didn’t know why she’d come here. Mansur was busy—for once. He’d begun working with Imtiyaz, the Ajir Steward, to ensure everything would be perfect today. Whether he thought Merikh would care, or whether he simply wanted the rest of the court to know how important and perfect the illusion of today was, Rajiya couldn’t guess. The outcome was the same either way. The year was over, her reprieve at an end.
Footsteps interrupted her thoughts. Rajiya turned from the balcony railing. Adrian, the young servant who used to dog the Shahzade’s steps, stood in the archway.
“Apologies, Sayida, I didn’t mean to intrude. I didn’t expect anyone to be here,” he said quickly with a small bow. He had a mop of curly hair that seemed adamant to fall into his sweet brown eyes. Adrian was one of the few people within the palace who said ‘Sayida’ to her without a trace of condescension. Over the past year, Rajiya had found herself growing closer than she had ever expected with the young man.
“Nonsense, you’re not an intrusion, you’re a pleasant addition,” Rajiya said as she waved him over to the balcony. She turned to look back toward the road, drumming her fingers against the railing. “Are you here to see him arrive?”
Adrian approached and leaned on the railing beside her, surveying the city.
“I’ve been ordered to the kitchens the moment the Shahzade arrives. Chef Faysil told me I could be a little late if I make sure not to be seen by anyone important...apologies, Sayida. I—”
“You didn’t mean any offense, you’re the only one who never does,” Rajiya said. “I’m not going to tell the shah you were here. Besides, I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine. I’m sure I should have left for the throne room already. Although I’m not wanted at the shah’s side today. At least, not yet.” Rajiya had been allowed to sit in the Khanum’s throne for the entire year Merikh had been absent. With his impending arrival, Mansur had told her the privilege would have to stop. Undoubtedly, it was for her own safety. Rajiya could only imagine the look on Merikh’s face if he saw her seated where his dead mother had once graced. It would almost be worth it.
“I’m sure there will be plenty to get used to again, with the Shahzade around. If the Shah puts him back to work handling the same sort of affairs as he did before, it’s going to be… a little more…um…austere than all this,” Adrian gestured to the loud partying that could be heard throughout the city. Rajiya smiled and adjusted her bright golden sari.
“How upset do you think he is about how lavish his welcome home is?” Rajiya asked with a smirk.
“Oh livid at the waste of akhenits,” Adrian said with a small chuckle that quickly faded. “I don’t imagine he’ll approve of this little…friendship.” The servant gestured between himself and Rajiya. She shrugged.
“I’ve kept it from Mansur. Surely you can keep it from Merikh?”
Adrian laughed, “I’m not a good liar.”
“You’re not a creative speaker, you mean.”
“Yes, that,” he said with a smile.
Rajiya nodded sympathetically. No, he was terrible at it. Then again, she was deluding herself to think Mansur didn’t know of her friendship with Adrian. An Ajir tailed her most of the time, Rajiya was certain of it. The only reason these conversations were permitted was because Adrian’s eyes lingered on attractive noblemen and not their wives. Once Merikh returned to the palace, it would be too dangerous for either of them to spend time together. Too easy for one of them to be turned into an accidental weapon against their Madiaran. Besides, Adrian would spend his time dogging Merikh’s steps as he had before, unless the Shahzade came home and no longer had time for his faithful pet. Rajiya let out a small sigh and finished her wine.
“You’re probably right,” she sighed regretfully. They stood silently beside each other as the horns continued to grow louder. As the men and women on the rooftops began to toss their rose petals and gold, Rajiya straightened up. The Shahzade would be at the palace grounds soon. She was required in the throne room. Rajiya turned away from the balcony and placed a manicured hand, her nails darkened with henna, on Adrian’s shoulder.
“Enjoy the view. And thank you. You’ve been a kind friend. I’d forgotten what it’s like to know an earnest man.”
He simply nodded and took her glass.
“Good luck, Sayida.”
I’ll need it. His well wishes made her smile. How anyone as genuine as him had ever become friendly with the shahzade, Rajiya couldn’t understand. Her mind wandered as she walked the halls to the throne room. The white marble was draped in red and gold banners, bright and beautiful with the twin horse sigil stitched elaborately upon them. A constant reminder of whose palace this was. As if anyone could forget after an over eight hundred year dynasty.
Rajiya slipped in through one of the side doors to the throne room. Incense mabkharas perfumed the crowded hall. Craning over the heads of those around her, Rajiya could barely see the Rising Sun Throne. Mansur already sat upon it, the golden crown reflecting the sunlight. As she moved through the throng of people, she could see the rest of his finery. The elaborate brocade achkan coat, the jeweled rings on his hands, the impeccable grooming of his beard and the short crop of his hair—the Shah was unmistakable, although this attire was only a little grander than his usual. The more that grey hairs salted his beard and hair, the more he seemed to feel the need to remind all that he was the Shahanshah. As Rajiya found a spot suitably close to the throne, yet still within the crowd her eyes met with his. Rajiya bowed her head slightly and smiled warmly. In return, she received an approving once over. She’d worn her best finery today after all, painted her lips and put thick kohl around her eyes. The jewels he’d gifted her adorned her hands, her neck, and hair. She may not be sitting at the Khanum’s throne, but Rajiya wanted to remind each member of the court that she had. She hadn’t birthed the Shahzade, but she had the same influence as any Khanum. Pillow talk had led to many lives spared or lost. For one full year, Mansur had cared for no one more than he had cared for her. Now, that position was in jeopardy. How, after all, did she compete against his only, and therefore his favorite, son?
The grand doors opened. Rajiya felt her chest tighten and her jaw clench. Here we go again, she thought as applause roared over the music and the herald announcing the Shahzade. A lump formed in her throat as she politely clapped alongside those around her, a smile forced on her lips. Her hatred hadn’t waned. Her heart hadn’t healed. And there he was.
He was dressed plainly compared to his father. Merikh’s crimson, black, and gold dress uniform only bore barely enough elaborate stitching to make him stand apart from his Royal Guard counterparts flanking him. His hair was still as much of a wavy mess as Rajiya remembered it, his jaw perfectly shaved. Merikh was still thin and lanky but…he’d changed. A year in the provinces had done him good. He’d filled out more, grown into himself. He had left as a boy struggling to shoulder the pressures put on him from the Shah. Now, he walked the long path to the twin thrones not as a boy. Not as a mere Shahzade. There was strength Rajiya didn’t remember. Self-assuredness that she knew hadn’t been there before. He had left merely as Mansur’s boy son, a cocky teenager. Merikh had returned a man.
He’d returned as a competent rival.
Rajiya looked away and grabbed a goblet of wine from a passing topless serving girl. If she were merely a member of the court, if she were free of complications, she would have been planning her next move. Rajiya could see similar thoughts in the eyes of courtesans around her. It would be dangerous to pursue Merikh, but there would be plenty of women here who deemed it worth the risk. Mansur’s days were numbered. My days, Rajiya thought as she sipped her wine. She’d never outlive Mansur’s ‘abdication’.
Adrian’s Errand
“What’s happening?” Adrian asked meekly, tapping the elbow of a nearby groom. A crowd had gathered around one of the arenas typically used for Royal Guard and Ajir training. It sounded like someone was being whipped from the wet slap and the exhausted, pained groans. But disciplinary whippings rarely drew a crowd.
“The Shah, he’s…beating the shahzade.”
Adrian’s eyes went wide and he shoved passed the groom, glad for once at his scrawny size as he slipped between onlookers until he reached the front. The sand around the whipping post was slick and dark with crimson blood. Adrian could feel the pit in his stomach caused by powerful magic, his eyes briefly finding the source as ice wrapped the manacles that bound the limp shahzade to the post. Merikh, Adrian stepped forward—
—into the firm hand of an Ajir.
“Don’t,” Farhana hissed, her tone strained. “The shah ordered against intervention. He’ll kill you.”
“He’s killing the shahzade!” Adrian snapped, his voice low to match Farhana’s. They both shuddered as the whip connected with Merikh’s shredded back. Adrian couldn’t look, afraid he’d be sick.
“Nikias doesn’t know what’s happening,” Farhana breathed. “Go find him.”
That was over a month ago now. Adrian had found Nikias, who had convinced Rajiya to stop Mansur’s drunken beating. Ajir Farhana and Ajir Captain Bashir had helped Nikias bring Merikh to the infirmary, where healers desperately worked to save Merikh’s life. And they had, barely. The shahzade was out of the infirmary, but confined to his suite for the sake of his health—and for the sake of Mansur’s pride. Merikh was, after all, not presently presentable. He walked with a cane and rarely strayed from the opium hookah. Adrian looked down at the porcelain container in his hand. Fresh poppy, straight from Thraxis, for the shahzade from his uncles. It was worth more than a few akhenits and a different servant might have lifted some to sell. That was the reason Adrian was trusted by the infirmary to transport it to the shahzade’s suite whenever Merikh needed more. Adrian frowned. Merikh shouldn’t have needed more. Not yet.
The door opened ahead of Adrian and shut firmly behind him. Adrian bowed his head, then rose. Merikh never required him to wait until spoken to to raise from a bow. Adrian’s throat bobbed as he saw they weren’t alone. Merikh leaned back against the divan, the hookah hose across his arm. Nikias sat on a seat beside him, and Ajir Bashir and Farhana sat across the low coffee table.
“Shahzade, Grand Vizier, Ajir,” Adrian said. “The healers sent me with more poppy for the Shahzade.”
“Really?” Merikh said. “I thought they would see through that. Nikias, remind me to remind them not to send me extra just because I ask.”
“Where would you like it?” Adrian said, uncertain of himself. Merikh gestured vaguely and Nikias stood, his hand extended.
“Thank you. You may leave,” Nikias said.
“No, he can stay. That’s the whole point of asking for him.” Merikh gestured less vaguely now toward Adrian. Nikias frowned, and Adrian saw both Ajir shift uncomfortably.
“Shahzade, that may not be the best idea—” Nikias started.
“—I’m going to murder Mansur and we’re figuring out how to do it,” Merikh interrupted, “I assumed you’d be fine helping.”
Adrian blinked in surprise. He stammered for a moment, then finally managed a few words.
“My help?”
“See? He’s fine,” Merikh said. He pulled himself forward toward the coffee table and picked up a letter on it. It was sealed, with glyphs around the edges. Adrian felt his stomach tighten.
“Shahzade?” Adrian said tentatively.
“This is not a good idea,” Nikias snapped. “You should be resting, you’re—”
“Nikias, you’re giving me a headache. I think. Maybe it’s the opium. No, I think it’s you,” Merikh shrugged. “Don’t care. Adrian? Deliver this to my father, then come back. Quickly, if you please.”
And just like that, Adrian found himself back on the other side of the door with an enchanted note in his hand. Adrian looked down at the paper. It wasn’t the yellowed, old-looking paper that happened when a regular piece was enchanted with necromancy magic. It felt cold. Maybe this is something harmless? Something Mansur asked for? Adrian thought. Or it’s going to blow up into a million shards of ice and that’s why he wants me to leave quickly. His counter proposal made Adrian feel nauseous. Adrian swallowed, then began the all too short walk from the Shahzade’s suite to the Shah’s. Ajir guards stood at attention at the end of the hall approaching the suite. Out of habit, Adrian averted his eyes. He wiped sweat off the palm of his right hand, then his left, carefully holding the letter in the opposite hand as he did so. It was as if he were holding a spider upon the paper, if he wasn’t careful it would bite him. Even if I am, this could get me killed, Adrian thought.
The Death of the Shah
The Herald’s bell cut through the courtroom conversations. Judging from the openly surprised expression on the Duq’s previously impassive face, no one new was expected. The setting sun poured through the curtained windows, painting the room in red and orange. There was a heavy haze from where servants had put out hookahs. The evening had been ending, wine and araq had been swapped for chai. Loralee placed her chai on a nearby windowsill. She smoothed her blue and silver sari, careful not to catch the bangles on her wrists upon the delicate fabric, then maneuvered her way through the nobles to stand near the main aisle. Others seemed to have had similar thoughts. Loralee craned her neck ever so slightly to see around the crowd. After sixteen natal anniversaries, Loralee was still hoping for another growth spurt. Despite being the Duq’s daughter, eager nobles hardly worried about blocking her view. Loralee realized why once the Herald spoke.
“Murkesh Kader, Ajir Messenger,” the Herald announced. Loralee’s dark brown eyes widened. Ajir? Loralee glanced towards the Duq’s throne. It was a simple wooden throne, and when her father wasn’t sitting upon it, the Neredi Antelope crest could be seen carved into the backrest. Duq Alaziz frowned beneath his greying beard. The Duqa, Loralee’s maman, stood beside him. When Loralee met her gaze, the Duqa raised a single well-sculpted eyebrow. Loralee bowed her head, then slipped back into the crowd. She emerged at her mother’s side as the newcomer reached the middle of the room. The Ajir Messenger was dressed in crimson red, a silver scorpion embroidered upon his breast. There was a cockiness to his posture that worried Loralee. She had never met an Ajir before. To her understanding, they rarely left Madiar. The Ajir Guards were the elite fighting force charged with protecting the Shah and his family. The Ajir Steward ran the household, and Ajir Messengers hand delivered letters of only the utmost importance.
What could possibly have happened that an Ajir needs to speak with my father? The question made Loralee’s blood run cold. A summons to Madiar could have been sent by a bird. Intentions to visit could have been sent the same way. Had Baba done something to anger Shah Mansur? Were there Royal Guards waiting in the wings? What could this messenger possibly want to announce to the whole court?
“Welcome, Ajir,” Duq Alaziz said, his tone flat. Murkesh bowed deeply from the waist, then rose with a flourish. The man had a bright smile, but it lacked a nobleman’s practiced charm. His eyes were calculating, reading the room. It reminded Loralee of the way a hyena came to a kill, all laughter and cruelty.
“I bear great tidings for Abadan, for all of Shai’Khal! Mansur is dead. High Priest Alcaeus has named his son the rightful heir to the throne. Long live Merikh Madiaran, Shahanshah of Shai’Khal!” Murkesh’s voice boomed through the hall, silencing any whispers.
Dead? Loralee looked to her mother. Duqa Jazira smiled, though Loralee could see that her eyes didn’t. Jazira always came across as a contrasting presence to Duq Alaziz. She was quick to smile, welcoming and talkative. She was the bejeweled wife, fashionable and modestly dressed. The Duqa came off, perhaps, as shallow and vapid, but Loralee knew better. She saw the games her mother played. Jazira was the one to smooth feathers her husband ruffled. And given this news, Loralee knew her maman had a great deal of work cut out for her.
“He’s not the shah yet,” Alaziz said, leaning forward. “Not until the Quorum says it’s so. Tell me, Murkesh Kader, how did Mansur die?”
The messenger’s smile never faltered, despite by Alaziz’s correction.
“How do most Shah’s die, Duq? Mansur was a tyrant, and Shah Merikh put an end to it.”
“Is that really all you’re going to tell us, Bayim?” Duqa Jazira asked, her tone far sweeter and friendlier than her husband’s. “Surely you can give us a few juicy details. Was there a duel? An abdication demand? What part did Grand Vizier Nikias play, or the Ajir?”
“I’m sure you’ll hear many wild rumours, Duqa, but none from my lips. Shah Merikh liberated Mansur of the crown with Amir Olumide’s support. But you’re quite right, Duq Alaziz, the Quorum has final say over who sits on the throne.” With a grandiose wave of his hand, the messenger pulled a letter from his achkan coat. Duq Alaziz extended his hand, and Murkesh approached. The letter was sealed with crimson and gold. In the center was a crown inside the Akhenic Sun. Twin rearing horses were on either side of it. The royal seal of Madiaran Shahs—not the Shahzade’s. Humility doesn’t seem to be one of our new Shah’s virtues, Loralee thought. There were many rumors about the kind of man Merikh was. Most were polarizing; he was either loved or hated.
Alaziz placed the letter on his lap, then looked up at his wife. The look exchanged Loralee couldn’t read. Duqa Jazira stepped forward, smiling brightly.
“Long live Shah Merikh!” Jazira exclaimed, raising her wine goblet. The salute was mirrored through the hall. Loralee forced a smile.
“Long live Shah Merikh,” Loralee repeated quietly. Murkesh Kader bowed his head. At first it seemed as if his message was complete, but he didn’t move and the hall fell to silence once more.
“The Quorum will meet in one month to give time for the Ydeban and Kuzen nobles to arrive. If you wish to confer with Amir Olumide beforehand, his son remains in Rajibad for the time being. The Amir has already arrived in Madiar. If you wish to return to Madiar with me, you are welcome to do so, Duq.”
“A generous invitation, Bayim, but I have affairs to see to here in Abadan before I can leave for Madiar. They will take me longer than you will wish to stay, I’m sure,” Alaziz said. Murkesh bowed his head in understanding. Only now did he turn away from the throne and make for the doors. Loralee felt as if she could breathe again as the doors shut behind him.
After court was dismissed, Loralee found herself sitting in a council room waiting for her father. Duqa Jazira sat across from her, practically bouncing in her seat. The gold and silver bangles on her wrists jingled lightly as the Duqa fidgeted with her rings.
“Is it good news, Maman?” Loralee asked, “I would have thought there would be a little more reverence regarding the death of a Shah, even one like Mansur.”
“Well, I think it is. Your father, perhaps not so much. It means we have a great deal of work to do, and I don’t know how much time left to do it. I had hoped you’d be a little older…” Jasira said. She stopped fidgeting with her rings, the Duqa becoming wistful.
Loralee scoffed. “I’m old enough.” At sixteen, Loralee believed herself ready for anything the world could throw at her.
Whatever Jazira’s reply might have been was interrupted when the door opened. Alaziz walked in, the opened letter in his weathered hand. He crossed the room to Jazira and kissed her forehead just below the sky blue niqaab, then sat down at her side. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, looking first down at the letter and then up to Loralee.
“I am going to send word to the Nakanos. Your mother and I will ride with their retinue to Madiar, while you will remain here to steward Abadan in my stead,” Alaziz said.
Loralee beamed, sitting up taller in her seat.
“Will Jin come?”
“I will ask,” Alaziz said with a small chuckle. “But they may leave her in charge of Inaza.”
“Don’t you have something more to add, Sayida?” Jazira chided gently, an amused look on her face.
“Thank you for the opportunity, Duq.” It would be the first time Loralee was left alone and in charge of Abadan, the city she would one day rule on behalf of the Amir and the Shah. But she hadn’t seen Jin in what felt like years. They had so much to do, to talk about! There were new foals to show Jin—not to mention the leopard that cousin Khaliq had given to her. Her parents had been furious that Khaliq had given her such a dangerous gift, but her cousin had assured them that he’d had the leopard since it was a cub. Even so, Loralee was unsure whether her baba was planning on letting her keep the massive cat or not.
“That’s not all,” Jazira said with a pointed look at Alaziz. Alaziz drummed his fingers along the letter. When he seemed to struggle to find his words, Jazira rolled her eyes. She took his hand, smiled reassuringly, and then looked back to Loralee.
“Your father and Mansur came to an agreement. One that this new Shah has made clear he is at least aware of—if not considering following through with. It’s the reason I had hoped you’d be a little older when Merikh ascended to the throne.”
Loralee felt her stomach begin to turn in knots, both from excitement and dread. There were only a handful of agreements that would have concerned herself, her father, the last Shah, and their new one. Merikh was only a few years older than she was—a cause for relief. Every girl Loralee knew was petrified of being married off to a man old enough to be their grand-baba. But this was a man who killed his own father! Doing so was unthinkable in Loralee’s mind. She knew she wouldn’t become Duqa of Abadan until her father died, preferably of natural causes and preferably at a ripe old age.
“Am I…” Loralee trailed off, unable to continue for fear of being wrong. She hardly wanted to come across as arrogant or egomaniacal enough to believe herself in line to become the next Khanum of Shai’Khal.
“Betrothed,” Alaziz said. “Unfortunately, yes.”
