Lady of the Star Wind

by Veronica Scott

  Rothan struggled to his feet, while the crowd stared at him, apparently aghast at the breach of court etiquette. “You’re not my queen. I swore no oaths to you, owe you no allegiance. Where is Hutenen? I demand he be summoned and I’ll explain my actions to him. It’s my right as an officer to report to my superior.”

  Pausing in midstep for one breath, Farahna didn’t turn. With a shrug, she swept up the steps of her dais and seated herself on the throne, resting her elbows on the wide arms of the ceremonial chair. She arranged her skirts in graceful folds and stuck out one sandaled foot, admiring the jeweled straps for a moment. Then she raised her extravagantly outlined eyes to inspect Rothan head to toe, as if he was a horse for her stable. “Poor fool. All your efforts in the Empty Lands have been for naught—your ineffectual prince is dead.”

  Mark, of course, already knew of Hutenen’s death, but he was sure the news rocked Rothan and Tia to the core. He heard the girl’s gasp from across the room and Sandy’s murmured condolence.

  As if he’d been struck by a spear, Rothan retreated a step, shaking his head in denial. Chin raised, eyes narrowed, he said, “You lie.”

  Farahna cackled in amusement, the sound grating and unsympathetic. “He died shortly after you left the capital without permission. Perhaps if you’d been here, you might have changed his fate, Captain.”

  “You murdered him.” Face red and contorted in anger, Rothan struggled against the hands of the Maiskhan guards grabbing at him as he advanced toward the dais. “How could anyone, even I, have prevented such treachery?”

  Farun, the Maiskhan captain, backhanded Rothan across the face, knocking him to the floor before placing a savage kick in the defenseless man’s ribs for good measure. “Speak with respect to your ruler, dog.”

  “Surely you knew Hutenen was unwell.” Farahna sighed, the sound echoing in the chamber. She toyed with the golden tassel attached to a loop at the end of her elaborately enameled scepter. “His bloodline ran weak and thin.”

  She’s reveling in this moment. Mark studied the queen’s face, seeing scant possibility of mercy or any opportunity to bargain.

  Farahna continued her recitation of her supposedly well-intentioned efforts. “I summoned my personal physicians for your prince, time after time, but he only grew worse. And then he died. But it matters not—Hutenen was a grain of sand blown away by the desert winds. Of no consequence.” Leaning forward, she pointed her beringed finger at Rothan. “I’m the ruler of this land, chosen by the gods to occupy this throne. You’ve shown much disrespect to me—a month ago and now tonight—and therefore disrespect also to the Exalted Ones. The gods demand your death, Captain Rothan. There’ll be no easy passage to the next world for one who committed treason against me and insulted the gods.”

  She rose, slinking down the stairs, skirt fanning out behind her. “Give me your whip,” she said to the nearest guard, snapping her fingers. The man unhooked a coiled flail from his belt, and she grabbed it. Running the leather strands through her fingers, Farahna circled Rothan as the Maiskhan soldiers yanked him to his feet, restraining him firmly. The queen stopped a pace or so in front of the defiant prisoner. “You’re no officer of mine, traitor.” She struck him across the face with the flail. Studded leather thongs hidden among the ribbons opened bleeding weals on his left cheek.

  Rothan sagged in the hold of his captors but didn’t utter a sound. He shook his head, trying to throw off the effect of the blow, and spat blood that stained the edge of the queen’s skirt.

  Lips curled in distaste, she twitched the stained fabric aside. “No plea for mercy?”

  “Burn in hell.”

  She touched Rothan’s chin with the flail. “I condemn you to death. You’ll be taken to the courtyard for punishment at the conclusion of this audience and whipped to death for your crimes.”

  Screaming, Tia slipped through the loose circle of guards and ran to her lover, clutching his arm but glaring at Farahna. “You’ve no right to sentence him.”

  Unflustered, the queen stepped away, swinging the whip in a lazy circle. “Ah yes, Hutenen’s bereaved sister. You’ve been foolish and disobedient, girl. And after all my efforts to make a home for you at my court. I took you into my own household, made you a lady-in-waiting. Gracious, I was. But I’ll forgive you in my great compassion for your loss of a dear brother, for I can be kind and merciful.”

  There was a ripple of murmuring amongst the ladies-in-waiting and the nobles, who echoed, “Great and merciful is our queen.”

  Farahna acknowledged the fawning with a tilt of her head and a perfunctory wave but kept her focus on Tia. “You’ll be wed to my son as we originally planned. Such an honor, such happiness will console you for the loss of both the brother and the unworthy lover. Let there be no further delay in accomplishing this felicitous union! I want to see you wreathed in flowers and smiling as a bride, for I love you as a daughter, despite your wayward behavior. Seroj, where are you?”

  The chubby little man edged a step or two away from the nobles, fidgeting with his collar. Cringing as if he feared she’d attack him with the whip, he made an awkward bow. “Here, Your Majesty. What is thy will?”

  “Send couriers to the royal hunting preserves where my son is entertaining his friends. Tell him and his companions he must make his way home immediately. I wish him to marry this girl before the sun sets tomorrow.”

  Rothan and Tia exchanged despairing glances. She wrapped her arms around his neck more tightly.

  Grinning as if enjoying their task, the Maiskhan soldiers pulled the couple apart.

  “I’ll never marry your son. I’m wed to Rothan in the sight of the gods.” Tia wept copiously, striking the Maiskhan soldiers with ineffectual blows of her small fists. Her tear-choked voice stayed firm and loud. “The Exalted Ones approve of our union.”

  Making her way to the throne again, Farahna paused for a moment. Her frown left no doubt about her displeasure, but her voice remained calm. “Unfortunate. You’ll be a widow by the dawn of this new day, and I’m sure my gods will smile even more joyously on your next marriage.”

  “I’m pregnant with Rothan’s child.” Tia made the announcement through tears, her voice proud.

  “Now you have made me unhappy,” Farahna hissed. She made a beeline for Tia, who stood straighter, putting her hands over her abdomen as the queen approached. Pausing a few feet away, the ruler tilted her head, assessing the younger woman. “Yes, I see the signs now that I know to look more closely. You fool, you could have claimed your place at my son’s side, helped him rule your country when I’m gone, but he won’t be eager to bed you now. Nor am I inclined to continue offering clemency.” Farahna rubbed her forehead. “Let me think.” Turning on her heel, she walked in silence to the dais, pausing to gaze at Mark as if seeing him for the first time.

  “Who or what are you? How came you to be in company with this wretched traitor? Speak up!”

  “A warrior for hire.” Mark wasn’t giving away any intel to this woman. The less she knew about Sandy and him, the better.

  “And this woman?” Farahna eyed Sandy.

  “She’s the Lady of the Star Wind, come to fulfill the ancient prophecies,” Tia said, going to link her arm with Sandy’s. “She stands with us.”

  “Silence!” Farahna made a chopping motion with her hand, pointing the whip handle at Tia. “The Lady of the Star Wind is a story for children, a fable. Don’t try my patience.”

  “We’ve seen pale women with hair such as hers before on our travels in the far north. The seas run colder than hell, the sun rarely shines, and men must dress themselves in the fur of animals to survive,” the Maiskhan commander told Farahna. “She’s obviously lied to these gullible traitors, as Your Majesty surmises.”

  Farahna sighed gustily, like a woman pushed to the edge of her endurance. “I’m not amused by fanciful recitations at this late hour.” Allowing a sly grin to show, she said, “Well, it matters not. You’ve both chosen the wrong side of the gaming table, sol
dier for hire and alleged Lady, whoever you are and whatever your true motives might be.” Dropping the whip, she pointed the scepter in her other hand at Mark. “You stand allied with a traitor. Therefore, I must count you as the same. Condemned by your own words.” She waved the symbol of her rank at Seroj. “Execute this man tonight along with Rothan, his companion in treachery.”

  “And the fair-haired woman?” asked the Maiskhan commander.

  Farahna considered Sandy, who met her gaze ice for ice. Looking over her shoulder, the queen frowned at her military ally. “You’ve some use for this person, Gaddaf?”

  “Myself? No, Your Majesty. I’d give her as a reward to the men who captured her.”

  His answer was prompt and smooth and well calculated to please Farahna.

  “And the pregnant princess?” asked one of the Maiskhan priests, speaking for the first time. Black robes rustling, he walked over to Tia, who shrank away from him. Sandy positioned herself in an effort to protect the princess from whatever the priest might have in mind. The man reached past Sandy, extending a hand to rub Tia’s slightly rounded stomach. “This child would be the perfect sacrifice for the dedication of the new temple to our gods after the construction is complete. What more glorious gift for the gods than the blood of a royal Nakhtiaar babe? Will it be a boy?” he demanded eagerly. “The gods prefer firstborn boys.”

  “Get away from us!” Sandy stared at him in horror and revulsion, cradling a shaking Tia in her arms.

  All the Nakhtiaar in the room were watching the priest in varying degrees of visible distaste, even Farahna, Mark observed. The Maiskhan commander apparently realized the point at about the same moment. He rushed to head off potential disaster.

  “Peace, Nebuc.” He came to take the priest by the arm and walk him away from Tia and Sandy. “We needn’t worry about the sacrifices for the temple now. Completion of construction is many months away. I don’t think it pleases Her Majesty to make such a gift to our gods.”

  “Indeed, it does not,” she said, ascending the stairs to sink onto her throne. Running the straps of the flail through her stubby fingers, she pondered for a moment. Then she waved the whip in Tia’s general direction. “On further contemplation, I’ve decided since she’s not fit to wed my son, she and her unborn child will accompany Hutenen into the afterlife.”

  “You can’t kill Tia!” Given strength by his desperation, Rothan took one step forward, nearly breaking free of the guards. “She’s of royal blood and must be treated with the respect due to one of her rank. I don’t care what you do to me, but let my wife and child live. Send them into exile if you must, but grant them mercy, I beg you.”

  Farahna was scathing and scornful. “Hutenen is being interred tomorrow in a royal tomb. It will be Tia’s honor and duty to accompany her beloved brother into the afterlife.” She contemplated the assembled Maiskhan and her own courtiers, frowning as her gaze drifted over Gaddaf, still standing close to Sandy. The Maiskhan commander caught her glare and moved away. Mark wondered if the man had the dubious privilege of sharing the queen’s bed. Farahna certainly acted like a jealous woman where he was concerned.

  Narrowing her eyes, smiling as if struck by an amusing thought, the queen said, “I’ll send this so-called Lady of the Star Wind on the tomb journey with Tia and her brother to watch over and care for them in the next life. Does such a high honor please you, oh Lady?” Her voice dripped scorn. “I think nothing of disappointing my allies’ lustful impulses, if it will honor one of such storied rank.”

  Mark’s gut twisted. He’d never imagined a set of circumstances where he’d be glad to hear Sandy sentenced to death by being entombed alive. But at least she’d be safe from the Maiskhan soldiers in the room, who made what kind of fate they preferred for their beautiful captive all too clear with their lascivious glances and muttered remarks.

  “What of the items brought from the Empty Lands, Your Majesty?” The speaker was Seroj, who apparently loathed loose ends. “What are we to do with those?”

  Eyebrows raised to her hairline, Farahna looked at Rothan in a sort of amazed respect. “You actually retrieved the crown and scepter? Bring the sacred objects to me at once. I must see them!”

  The Maiskhan soldiers carried the whole pile of belongings forward and placed them in some rough order at the foot of the throne. Seroj came to fumble through the pile for a few moments before extracting the wooden box. He ascended the first step of the throne to offer it to Farahna, who’d settled onto her throne while waiting.

  “You open it—there may be a spell or a curse.” She poked the scepter at him, as if to herd him farther away.

  Seroj had the hang-dog air of a man going to his death, but he did as ordered, struggling with the golden hawk clasp and finally getting the box to open. Mark couldn’t see the contents from his angle so he settled for watching Farahna’s face as the lid rose. At first she was taken aback, and then she laughed. Unable to stop laughing, she took a sip of wine from a cup offered by a lady-in-waiting and finally caught her breath. “Oh, you pitiful fools. You ruined your lives for this piece of trash? Display the thing!”

  Turning in place, Seroj tilted the box. Mark leaned forward, appalled to see the rich fabric lining of the box gone, shredded by time, discolored, rotted. The crown itself lay pitted, speckled with green verdigris, gaping holes where the fabulous jewels had been.

  “This cannot be!” Rothan said, voice horrified. He stared at the wreckage in the box. “When we found the crown in the city, it was perfect!”

  “Well, it’s nothing but old junk now. Perhaps you were ensorcelled there.” Farahna shrieked with renewed mirth. “I’ll bury this relic with your beloved Hutenen. It’s too late to crown him with these tomb robbers’ loot, but he can carry it to the afterlife to console himself for his failures here. Perfect, the spice on the dessert.” She collected her robes. “Enough amusement. We must rise with the dawn sun to prepare for the funerary procession through the city.” She waved one hand at Gaddaf. “Take these traitors to the courtyard now. Carry out the sentence I decreed earlier. No further delays.” Her gaze fell on Sandy and Tia, standing together at the foot of the throne. She pointed her scepter at Seroj. “Their women will bear witness to the queen’s justice. How appropriate. They’ll testify to the gods of my wisdom and even-handed judgment.”

  Seroj bowed, fist over his heart. “It shall be done at once, all as you order. I’ll see to the details personally.”

  “You can’t do this, you must not do this.” Tia lunged forward and grabbed Farahna’s sleeve as the queen walked by. “Rothan also carries the blood of kings in his veins. The gods will be offended if he’s whipped to death like some common criminal! The Exalted Ones avert their faces from you, Farahna, and bring doom to Nakhtiaar.”

  “Enough talk, enough empty threats. He’s a traitor and deserves whatever death I choose for him.” Farahna ripped her sleeve away from Tia’s clawed fingers so violently the fabric tore. “I tire of all of this drama. I’ll watch this sentence carried out to ensure no more time is wasted.”

  The Maiskhan guards dragged Mark through an antechamber and outside into the crisp night air. Their destination was an enclosed courtyard. Rusty bloodstains from previous executions marred the walls and floor. Farahna and the courtiers followed, silent for the most part. A few of the Maiskhan guards made taunting comments to the prisoners. Sandy clung to Mark until the jeering soldiers dragged her and Tia away, positioning them against the far wall inside a ring of spears.

  Soldiers slashed the ropes at Mark’s wrists, carelessly cutting him in the process. Two Maiskhan guards fastened stout leather restraints at his wrists and ankles until he was stretched between two thick pillars. Blood trickled down his arms. His shoulders ached from the exaggerated stance they’d forced him into. Agony rippled down his arm in waves from the spot where the healing snakebite was now constricted by the tight bindings, making it difficult to stand still and appear stoic. He wasn’t giving his captors the satisfaction of se
eing how much pain he was in. Rothan was strung up between the next two columns. The executioners demonstrated a few practice cracks of their iron-tipped whips, striking fat sparks off the courtyard stones, while waiting for Farahna’s signal to begin the execution.

  Swallowing hard, Mark prayed to the Lords of Space for a swift, merciful death once the executioners were ordered to inflict the punishment.

  Sandy witnessing his death was beyond his worst nightmare.

  “I was proud to serve with you, my brother,” Rothan said quietly.

  “An honor for me as well.” Mark took a deep breath, intending to die with as much dignity as he could muster.

  An odd quiver vibrated through the stone columns, jerking his restraints, threatening to dislocate his shoulders.

  A low rumbling burst from the ground below the bloodstained stones. A crack of thunder boomed, and lightning flashed through the night sky above. Next moment, the courtyard rocked in the grip of a moderate earthquake. Held upright by the implacable bonds at his wrists, Mark felt blood flowing freely as the restraints cut into him. From what little he could see, people were staggering in the small courtyard, most falling where they stood. Terrified courtiers and soldiers crawled in a vain search for safe shelter. Screams could be heard above the thunderous sound of the earthquake.

  A large portion of the Palace façade crumbled and toppled onto the courtyard with a crash like an explosion, followed by more masonry. The two executioners and a number of the Maiskhan soldiers were caught in the avalanche of stones, screaming as they fell under tons of rubble. Gaddaf pulled Farahna to the dubious safety of the palace entrance. Sandy and Tia scrabbled on hands and knees away from the crumbling wall at their backs, taking shelter under the other doorway’s arch.

  The shaking lasted for a good thirty seconds, stopped for a heartbeat, and then an aftershock rumbled through the ground with a single sharp jolt. Crashing sounds could be heard as more walls collapsed and columns fell in other areas of the palace.