My mouth fell open and I nearly dropped the dagger Nikha had gifted me onto my foot. “You think I’d … no! Gods. First you imagine I have a suitor, and now you think I’m going to, what, leap off a bridge or put this dagger through my heart?”
“I wouldn’t be teaching you how to use it if I truly thought that, but nothing else makes sense!” Nikha erupted, waving her sword in a way that made me take a cautionary step back. “You still have no intention of marrying, and yet you’re happy to go through with this gala?”
“Can’t I just enjoy the moment for what it is? A party?” I snapped back at her. But this wasn’t her fault. It was mine, and yet I could either lie to her or stay silent. The latter had seemed like the better choice, since friends shouldn’t lie to friends.
“If you promise me something,” Nikha said, wrestling herself under control with visible effort, “I’ll stop worrying and leave you be in your apparent lapse of sanity.”
“What?” I asked warily.
“When you marry, take me with you, into your household. Promise me, swear to me as a friend, that when you leave your father’s home, you’ll build a life for yourself into which I can follow you. That way I’ll know you’re not planning anything desperate or self-destructive and that I’ll be able to help you.”
I opened my mouth, but for a moment nothing came out. Tears were in my eyes. Nikha would want to leave her respected position in Jidras’s household to join mine? It was never something we’d discussed before, and yet it felt right. The sweetness of it was nearly enough to fill the widening hole in my chest, but not quite. Because I didn’t even know what the Keepers had planned for me, so I had no idea if Nikha could follow me there. And I was almost certain she couldn’t join them. She wasn’t a soulwalker.
“I … I can’t promise you that,” I said, my throat tight.
It was as if I’d stabbed her with the dagger, such was the hurt on her face. The look in her eyes felt like a blade right through my own heart.
“Very well,” she said, her voice stiff, clipped. Nikha wasn’t one to cry over pain, but to grit her teeth and power through it. She nearly powered right through me after she sheathed her sword and marched for the house. “Then this lesson is over. Enjoy your party.”
“Nikha!” But she was already gone, leaving me standing alone, gasping hard for a different reason, in a courtyard that no longer felt so warm or sheltering.
* * *
I was disappointed to find Nikha still dressed in her leathers when Jidras escorted me—neither of us speaking to each other—to my carriage on the night of my gala. All week, she had adamantly resisted my efforts to have a tailor fit her for anything resembling a gown. And now, with a little plummet in my stomach, I realized this was her refusal to attend at all. There would be plenty of the palace guard to protect me and the myriad other guests, and apparently she thought that was enough. She was even playing the footman for the evening. When she held the carriage door open for me, I knew she would be sitting on the bench up top with our driver, forcing me to suffer Jidras’s company on my own.
But then Nikha shut the door before even Jidras could join me.
“I’m taking my horse,” he said at my puzzled look through the carriage window. “I’ll be there to introduce you to society, but I’ll want to retire before you young revelers will, especially once the dancing starts.” I wasn’t shocked; he didn’t strike me as much of a dancer. “Nikha will wait for you with the carriage and escort you home afterward.”
“But won’t I need a chaperone at the gala after you leave?” I asked.
“This is your party, and you’re an eligible adult now.” His tone as good as said You’re not my problem anymore. “It’s up to you to be responsible and decorous.” His eyes drifted down to my gown, disapproval writ all over his face. “And if you’re not, at least be practical and marry the man afterward.”
I very nearly spat at him, but the reins snapped and the carriage lurched away before I could. I heard both the driver’s startled cry and Jidras’s yelp as he jumped back—which meant Nikha must have borrowed the reins.
I wished I could thank her, laugh with her to burn off the rest of my anger. But she was out there, and I was obviously, painfully alone in here. And maybe I always would be. I had no family to speak of. I wouldn’t marry. I couldn’t keep friends.
I blinked rapidly against the nighttime glow of city lights through the window, which wavered like reflections on water due to the tears curtaining my gaze. I couldn’t let myself cry, because then everyone in the palace would see the dark smears of kohl down my cheeks. I doubted that was the impression Lenara had wanted me to make. If I couldn’t actually enjoy my party, I had to at least convincingly pretend.
By the time Nikha opened the carriage door for me, I was composed. I stepped out onto the sweeping stone path that led to the palace ballroom Jidras had reserved for the occasion. White candles lit the way, floating in black blown-glass globes of water, both dark and light at once. Black, blue, and silver confetti, stamped from thin sheets of tin in the shape of tiny stars, sparkled over the stone like a reverse of the night sky. Evidently, Jidras’s decorator had heard the theme was the new moon.
“I’ll be here,” Nikha said, and that was it. I barely got out a word of thanks before she hopped back up next to the driver and they moved the carriage on.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to stand there by myself for long. Unfortunately, the person who arrived to escort me was Jidras. It was only fitting, since he was going to formally introduce me to everyone, but at that moment I would have rather touched a pile of horse dung.
I put my arm in his and forced my face into some semblance of a smile. His effort was no better, but at least there was plenty to distract us from each other. The palace rose up before us, walls and towers in intricately carved, creamy coral, stone latticework and alcove windows aglow, bronze domes glinting darkly against the night. Colorful mosaics lined doors that rose to sharp points at the apex, like the black door, except these were bright with light and gold leaf. The gallery lining the outside of the ballroom looked like a gilded cage, balcony columns tiled in beautiful swirls of metal and glass, all of it hung with overflowing baskets of flowers. A massive statue of Tain overlooked the gardens, his body carved in deep brown marble threaded with gold, as if the light of the sun were trying to break out of his very skin.
Indoors and out of danger from the elements, the opulence was in greater evidence. There were endless hammered bronze ceilings, so much gilt painted in patterns over pale stone walls, so many twining carpets in fiery reds, oranges, and yellows, that I wondered if the king had begun to mistake himself for the sun god, despite not having any commemorative statues of himself. This seemed more like a temple than a palace.
Fortunately, the ballroom was subtler and plainer, allowing for decoration. Here, my theme flourished. Black and white globes hung from the ceiling among swaths of sheer black, blue, and white chiffon, moons numbering like the stars among the night clouds. The pale expanse of floor sparkled with the same confetti as outside, and silver candelabras sporting black and blue candles cast shadowy light in every corner. The bright clothes of some of the guests stood out awkwardly against the subtle colors, but I fit right in.
My dark hair tumbled in loose curls over my bare shoulders, restrained only with delicate silvery chains. My dress was practically nonexistent down my back, my skin nearly as pale as the moon goddess’s with its dusting of powdered silver, until the black velvet folds dropped as dark and thick as a moonless sky from my waist to whisper along the floor. Only gossamer black threads held up the low-cut bodice in front, lacing around my glittering neck like twining shadows. Heads turned as Jidras steered me to the end of the room, where lines soon formed and introductions began.
That part took forever. So many smiling men. There were older and younger couples too, curious to meet Kamai Numa, Jidras’s mysterious daughter, and some flamboyant courtiers and courtesans who clearly had no inter
est in marrying—and no interest even in women, by some displays—including one handsome young man, a pleasure artist by the name of Zeniri Sarvotha, dressed in a plum silk suit with a voluminous white sash that offset both the darkness of the color and his black skin, who pronounced me the most beautiful, least rotund moon he’d ever seen. At least it gave me a laugh. But the sheer number of single, eligible men was alarming. I nearly didn’t have smiles enough for all of them. My cheeks and feet were sore by the end of it, and despite the high, airy ceiling, the press of bodies was making me hot under my folds of black velvet.
Through all of it, I never saw Razim, the one person at the palace I was supposed to find. Eventually, the guests all dispersed to the refreshment tables, where there were burbling fountains of sparkling wine, towering sculptures of shrimp, elaborately carved melons, and all manner of delights, and I was free to excuse myself for a breath of air. I slipped out onto the mosaic-covered gallery outside and leaned against the railing. I’d been lamenting my solitude earlier, and now I was grateful for it.
Until hands caught me from behind, one around my waist, the other over my mouth. I tried to spin around, but the arms were too strong. They dragged me, silently and surely, out of the soft fall of light from inside and pushed me up against a wall between windows. Uneven pieces of the mosaic dug into my bare back.
Razim’s dark eyes met mine. For a split second, I wanted to scream, until I remembered why I was here. But the colors of his suit didn’t put me at ease—a red brocade so dark it was nearly black, like swirls of blood at night, the silk sash at his waist true black.
“Where have you been?” he hissed.
“I’ll be able to answer better if you remove your hand,” I murmured, muffled, from behind his fingers. They smelled like the same woody soap he’d always used.
“Still as sardonic as ever, I see.” He pulled his hand away slowly, as if ready to put it back at a moment’s notice. “Last time I held you, you sicced a demented swordswoman on me, and the time before that, you screamed and bit me.”
“Maybe you should get the hint,” I retorted, lifting my chin. “I seem to recall you tying me up with your belt and gagging me with a handkerchief. I’d say you deserved everything that’s followed.”
“Where have you been?” he repeated.
“I’ve been here, in the capital,” I said, as if it were common knowledge and I wasn’t hiding under Jidras’s family name. “You’re not a good enough spy to find that out? I’m sure your precious Twilighters knew.”
“Kamai, all this time, I would have hidden you, sheltered you,” he whispered, leaning closer, his face and voice open and earnest. “You didn’t have to go it alone.”
I wasn’t alone, I thought. I had Nikha … and Vehyn. And now Lenara and the Keepers. Aloud, I growled through my teeth, “I would rather die than accept shelter from the one responsible for my mother’s death.”
He drew back as if I’d slapped him. I wished I could have, because he was still uncomfortably close, still pinning me to the wall, his hand ready and waiting to cover my mouth, or touch me, or stab me if he felt like it. “How could you think I would do such a thing? After all we’ve been through?”
Without realizing what I was doing, I used one of Nikha’s defense moves. My knee came up, hard, aiming straight between his legs. He twisted just in time and I kneed him in the thigh.
“That was all a lie,” I spat, wrenching against the arm that held me trapped. “You weren’t with me back then. You obviously had your own agenda—you still do. The Twilight Guild’s. And I don’t share it.” My anger was real, but I was trying to get him to admit something, anything …
“I want the same thing you want.”
“Really?” I tossed my head, jerking one of the chains in my hair, but I didn’t care. “What’s that?”
“Revenge.” For a second, Razim’s eyes burned into mine, but then he swallowed, glancing away as if he’d said too much.
“Unless it’s revenge against the Twilighters, I’m not interested.”
“They didn’t do it.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You should. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Then tell me who did.”
Razim met my eyes levelly and didn’t say anything.
I sneered. “See?”
“I don’t trust you not to reveal what I might tell you. Silence isn’t lying.”
Vehyn had practically said the same damned thing to me. And it was how I’d been treating Nikha. Disgust and anger for myself heated what was already simmering heartily, until I felt like a kettle about to scream. I tried kneeing him between the legs again, knowing he would twist away—right into the tight fist I aimed under the apex of his ribs.
Nikha would have been proud. Razim gasped, and this time it was enough to loosen his hold. I spun away before he could stop me, marching back into the ballroom.
I was too shaken and angry to pause when I should have. But when someone’s eyes passed over me and then immediately swung back around, I realized I looked like I’d been doing something else in the shadows out on the gallery. I quickly turned away to straighten my gown, smooth my hair, and wipe the edges of my lips in case the color had smeared, ignoring the titter of laughter.
A quick peek over my shoulder revealed no sign of Jidras. So much the better. I didn’t need his disapproval or snide insinuations. Before anyone else could notice me, I slipped into the middle of the dancing that was now flowing as strongly as the music and the wine.
The dancing was much less tedious than the introductions, and it didn’t take long for my shoulders to relax and for my laughter to return. I still had to fend off about a dozen advances from both men and women, some overtly sexual, since word seemed to have spread like wildfire that I may have been granting favors to lucky suitors out on the gallery. My nerves were still on edge from my encounter with Razim, and I felt ready to break someone’s nose.
I thought I might get the chance when a dancing partner passed me into Razim’s arms.
I tensed, but he swept me through a few steps by practically lifting me off the ground, my heavy velvet skirts swirling around us. He was even taller and more broad shouldered than I remembered. Apparently, men still grew between nineteen and twenty.
“What are you doing here, Kamai?” he murmured when I finally softened enough to move on my own two feet—only because I didn’t want to cause a scene.
“Shouldn’t that be my line?” I asked through the fake smile plastered on my face. “This is my gala, or haven’t you heard?”
“A debut marking your eligibility, yes.” He frowned in distaste, looking over my shoulder. “You can’t marry one of these people, Kamai. This isn’t you.”
“Oh? And what is?”
“Adventure. Danger. The night.” He leaned forward, his lips coming closer and closer to my ear, and panic shot through me. “You belong in my world.”
Based on the stares, we must have looked quite the pair in our midnight blood brocade and black velvet. But I tipped my head back to laugh—away from him. “You don’t know me very well at all.”
His lips pressed together. “Fine. You want to marry? Then marry me. That’s why I’m here. I’m one of your many suitors, after all.”
I stopped and nearly made us both stumble. With a smooth apology to the couple next to us, Razim twirled us back into the dance.
I needed to stab this idea before it stood up, as Nikha would have said. “We grew up as brother and sister,” I growled, my voice soft and low enough that someone could mistake it for a flirtatious purr.
“You know as well as I how much of a lie that was,” Razim said, his dark eyes as hot as coals. He spun me, then pulled me back to him, tighter than before. “And now there’s no one left who even remembers the lie. We have different names. Different lives.”
“Your life doesn’t seem much different to me. You’re still working for them. You’re still living a lie.”
“You have no idea w
hat you’re talking about.”
“Say—or don’t—what you want. Silence or pretty words, it all sounds like lies to me.” I was being hypocritical, but in this moment, I didn’t care.
“You want to know what isn’t a lie?” he hissed, his lips coming dangerously close to mine. He pulled me even closer, his hand hot and hard on my bare lower back. But it was all an amorous act, in case anyone was watching. For once, kissing me was the last thing Razim wanted to do. He bent his lips to my ear again, as if whispering a lover’s secret.
It was a secret, but not from love. Hatred rasped in his voice, though his whisper made barely a breath of noise. “I lost both my parents that night.”
He spun away from me, stalking off the dance floor, leaving my thoughts and my feet in a muddle of confusion. And then the realization hit me, leaving me cold.
Both his parents … He didn’t mean my mother. Marin and Razim had never been close, or even overly warm to each other, and he’d chafed against the thought of her as a mother figure for our entire childhood.
Another woman had died that night. The queen consort. Hallan had carried on a two-decade affair with her, which had ended a little over two months ago with their deaths. Razim was now almost through his nineteenth year.
Razim was the queen consort’s son.
16
IMPOLITE INTRUSIONS
I left the ballroom almost as soon as Razim did, numb with shock. I mumbled excuses that I was feeling ill, ignoring murmurs of sympathy and gallant offers to carry me home on foot. It all rather added to my mysterious air, I realized distantly. Besides, I couldn’t be the last one standing at my own gala, nor did I particularly want to be seen leaving with anyone, lest it stoke the fire of more rumors.
If only illness were a mere excuse. I felt like throwing up in the well-manicured flower beds lining the path back to the road, but I held out until I reached Nikha and the carriage.
“Nikha,” I said, not knowing what else to say. I couldn’t exactly shout, “Razim is the queen consort’s son!”
Beyond the Black Door Page 17