UW02. Plains of Sand and Steel

by Alisha Klapheke

  “But they haven’t,” Seren said. “So we have to move forward.”

  “I’ll move forward when every last one of them is bleeding at our feet.”

  “Even their children?” Seren’s pretty, green-dusted eyes grew sad.

  “They didn’t spare me any horror and I was still hanging on to childhood when they came.”

  “And they didn’t spare my two sisters.”

  “Is that why you keep that piece of wool? To remember them?”

  Seren’s eyes filled, but she fought off the tears. “This is from the skirt I wore when the…attack happened. It’s the last thing my little sisters touched.”

  Ona let her feet lead her toward the guest tent. She felt detached. “I’m sorry for what you lost, Seren.” But she wasn’t sorry about young Invaders. They’d only grow up to be the same kind who’d killed Ona’s aunt.

  Maybe Seren needed to hear another story about the Invaders. Taking a breath, she began.

  “My parents died when I was a baby. I lived with my aunt. She was a fresco artist.” Ona’s gaze softened. “Her fingers were always so cold…but her heart… Her villa was filled with the goats no one wanted. And the runts from every dog’s litter in town. The place reeked of piss, but it was home.”

  Seren grew very quiet. Ona’s cheeks burned and her words came fast and quiet.

  “I was working with her when they came,” Ona said, almost whispering. “The warning—the town bell—it wasn’t nearly early enough to do anything. I still had my palette knife in my hand when they burst through the door. They bashed the animals’ heads. They cut my aunt down like a beast at market.”

  Seren glanced at her, face quiet. Ona searched for pity. There was only a shared sadness and anger. Ona swallowed and continued.

  “My cousin had taught me about knife-fighting. The back streets of our town were not as nice as yours here. Without a thought, without even knowing what I was doing, I rammed my painting knife up and under one of the Invader’s ribs when his back was turned.”

  Her weapon hand coiled up, ready to strike.

  “Before the other man could kill me, their leader called them back. I watched the man I’d stabbed bleed to death from his mouth. His foul blood mixed with my aunt’s on the stone floor. I swore that day I’d see them all dead. All of them.”

  Seren stopped. She touched Ona’s elbow. “We will end this. Together.”

  “You have to tell everyone about the Fire. About how you saw them coming. Adem needs to do what you say.” It was amazing what she could do. She needed to be in charge here. Not Sweet Bean and his moods and dangerous traditions.

  Hossam and Erol didn’t say a word, but they had to have heard Ona. If Seren wouldn’t accept her role, her very obvious calling to rise up and use the special talents she had to fight the Invaders, maybe their gossip could force her into it. It couldn’t hurt. It could only help. If she was considered blessed or whatever, Adem wouldn’t be able to get mad at her for hiding Meric’s death either, would he? Ona doubted it.

  They walked in silence, the city’s colors blending into the blue and red of early evening. Men in blue-striped kaftans led a line of camels. Three boys pulled a cartload of newly forged swords, their iron black and silver and promising. This city controlled the best iron ore in the world. Under the sands and arid plains, the makings of so many weapons waited to be molded. Ona took a deep, cleansing breath. It was good to stand atop such a place of power with the woman who would soon be in control of it all.

  Seren wasn’t really going to give the king back. She wouldn’t. Not after the talk they’d just had. That was key. She was only faking to get the silver to build up the city for all the refugees. That was fine. It was smart.

  The main tent, where every noble and their brother seemed to be laughing away, rose up in front of Ona and Seren, blacking most of the sunset sky.

  Ona smiled as Seren took a breath.

  It was time for her to claim her place. Only hope Sweet Bean won’t get in the way, Ona thought as they pushed into the tent to join the celebration.

  10

  SEREN

  Seren’s breath stuck in her throat. A double line of nobles, ore masters, advisors, and fighters created a corridor inside the main tent, under the flickering oil lamps and moonlit star shapes fitted into the ceiling. Seeing her, they stomped their feet on the thick rugs and shouted for her.

  Her heart stood still.

  “Blessed!"

  “Pearl of the Desert has saved us!”

  “Chosen! The Fire has chosen you!”

  “Kyros Seren!”

  The tent glowed all the more. The woven walls Seren knew so well were both brighter and darker—the black, white, red, and blue contrasting brilliantly. The patchouli and ginger Meekra had added to Seren’s hair wash rose into the air. She smelled like a kyros. Her kaftan was the darkest black and embroidered with silver phoenixes, a kyros’s kaftan. But though the cheers and beauty of it all warmed Seren, she still didn’t feel like a kyros. She was an imposter, like a girl wearing her mother’s shoes and trying not to trip.

  “I'm not k—” she started, but Ona grabbed her arm gently.

  “Take the title, my lady.” Ona’s grin sharpened. “You can do so much more with it and Sweet Bean won’t be able to touch you. No matter what he finds out.”

  Seren’s face grew too hot then. “He could still do much,” she whispered before raising her hands to the gathering. Barir was there, next to Meekra. His face was bright as a star as he nodded.

  “Thank you,” Seren said, trying to sound calm and sure.

  She did want to be who she was supposed to be. But this wasn’t going to be simple. It was dangerous. She was breaking all sorts of traditions. According to her sources, Adem was finishing up injured warrior counts with the kaptan charged with overseeing the medical procedures. He would be here soon if he wasn’t already. She craned her neck, trying to see further into the crowd.

  “Thank you all,” she said, pushing her worry away for the moment. At the Holy Fire bowl, she said a quick, but fervent prayer, then turned to face her people. “You saved us. All of Akhayma joined together to save ourselves. I’m just blessed to be a part of it.”

  Like her thoughts had called him up, Adem stepped out of gathering, face grim. Seren swallowed.

  “So. You saw a vision in the Fire.”

  It didn’t sound like a question. It was an accusation. He thought she was lying. No surprise there.

  “I-I did.”

  “Even though you have no royal blood. You are the first to see a vision in centuries.”

  Seren swallowed.

  “And you believe you should hold the title of kyros in Kyros Meric’s absence?”

  “I think I have to.” She clasped her shaking hands. “The Fire showed me taking up his royal kaftan.”

  Qadira and a few other nobles murmured things like “See?” and “It’s a miracle.”

  Adem’s left eyebrow twitched. His lips parted, but he didn’t say a word. With a bow, he disappeared into the crowd.

  Seren stared at the spot where he’d been as the tent filled with conversation.

  Lucca appeared, smiling at Ona and Seren. His face still glowed from battle. He seemed more alive. “May I escort you to your table, Kyros Seren?”

  “I will never get used to that title.”

  She looked into Lucca’s face, glad that the person who had her arm was someone who knew all her secrets and still respected her. His hair was wild and his eyes, too. It was like she was really seeing him for the first time. He was different from other men. Rough-edged but lovely. Strong, patient, humble—thrown together in a wonderful mix. All his movements spoke of strength and grace and a restrained wildness. There was a flutter in her stomach and it was a wonderful departure from what she’d been feeling lately.

  “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me so far and I truly hope this horrible set of events have ended and we will be at peace and you and Ona can finish train
ing with our fighters because the way you moved today in battle was breath-taking and you practically glowed. Did you know you lit up like that? Can you feel that?” She sucked a breath, face flaming. She was a babbling idiot.

  But Lucca simply smiled. A dimple appeared in his cheek. “You impressed me today too, Kyros Seren. Congratulations on the triumph.” He kissed her hand and his hair brushed her wrist.

  Her skin tingled. Heat spread down her arm and into her body.

  Adem walked up to the high table and took his seat like he hadn’t challenged her in front of everyone.

  Seren gave him a tight smile as the musicians took up their instruments.

  Lucca gave Seren a look that said Do you want me to stay? and Seren shook her head.

  “Go enjoy some time with Ona and the other kaptans,” she said.

  With a low bow, Lucca walked away. At the other table, he said something to Ona and she threw her head back to laugh, the oil lamps lighting her cheeks.

  They’d made this horror less of one. Seren didn’t know what she would’ve done without Meekra, her guards, and them. She was grateful for their courage, loyalty, their ability to shift and move with what had to be done. She could never be Chosen without them, she thought, smiling sadly to herself.

  Barir waved to Meekra and slipped away, probably going back to his patients. He was a good, good man.

  Seren relaxed into her chair, determined to ignore Adem—Sweet Bean, she thought, grinning—and his scowling. This was where she belonged, in the middle of her friends and those she considered family. At last, Seren felt…complete.

  The white-haired riqq player stood and held the goat-skin drum with both hands, his fingers starting a rolling rhythm like a fast heartbeat. The metal discs along the riqq’s sides clinked together like dropped coins. A man with a large nose lifted a polished oud to his chest and plucked the strings as only an expert could. All around, feet tapped under kaftans and tunics.

  Soon as the music lessened, Seren would thank everyone for their courage today, and she’d make the announcement about the slaves and the caste bells.

  A raucous group of warriors beside Lucca burst into a traditional song, drumming their fists against the wood in a double and triple sort of beat.

  “The water rose and called them,

  To the plains they came,

  For yellow fruits and sun-warmed skin

  Days without war and wanting.”

  Their voices, male and female, twisted together in a clashing set of notes that painted the scene inside Seren’s mind. A mountain accent and several Akhayma natives’ lilts blended beautifully.

  “So spin your wife and daughter,

  Twirl your husband and your son,

  Bring your spark and feel your heart

  Beat and sing for the promise of the plains!”

  Loving the chaos of the instruments and the professional musicians mixed with the impromptu singing, Seren closed her eyes. The happy sounds spilled over her and cleaned out the thoughts of battle, of blood, and the horrible things she’d done, at least for a moment.

  A soft voice startled her. “Sorry,” Lucca said. “If you want me to leave you alone, I will.” She opened her eyes to see him bent at the waist, mouth quirked into a smile that made her heart tumble.

  She straightened, hands suddenly sweaty on the chair’s arms. “Of course not. What is it?”

  “I know it’s risky. I know we’re in the middle of a war. But I wondered if you’d like to participate in the musical mess happening there?” He shrugged toward the tent’s center where nobles and merchants, advisors and kaptans, lifted hands and feet to the beat of the music.

  On the outskirts of the jumble, Ona twisted like a column of smoke, her hips drawing a good bit of attention from the fighters nearby.

  “I can’t dance with you.” Everyone would see and as far as they knew, she was still married.

  “No, I’m a terrible dancer. I do however play the ocarina.” He produced an odd, almost oval-shaped…thing with holes. A green glaze shone along its sloped edges. “It’s a folk flute from Silvania. And I could teach you how to play.”

  Dancing wouldn’t work, but learning an instrument? Surely none would take offense to that. Not in the middle of this wild feast.

  Smiling, she moved away from the table, checking quickly to see that Adem was busy talking to an ore master. The master’s black hood was pulled away from his face. Both men wore serious faces, but they weren’t looking at her.

  She trailed Lucca to his table, stopping here and there to greet people.

  Izzet came up to her, big eyes glistening. “I want to thank you again, Kyros Seren.” She grinned wide at the new title. “For everything.”

  “Did you finish weaving that green fertility ring for the blanket?” Seren asked.

  Meekra’s sister was about to come of age and Seren had pulled together a group of girls—all around the same age as Seren—to weave the ritual blanket. It’d been difficult to say the least, convincing the high and middle castes to work with the low. The low-castes, like Izzet, had been scared as kittens at first, jumping at every one of Qadira’s snooty commands. But with a little coaxing from Seren, a few jokes from Meekra, and some well-placed comments from high-caste Najwa, the group had settled into a rhythm.

  “We did!” Izzet’s smile was contagious. “It looks beautiful. I hope she likes it, my kyros.”

  “She will. You’re truly skilled at weaving. If I can talk the Azjorr’s weaver into taking you on as an apprentice, would you like that?”

  Izzet clapped her hands, then looked nervously at Erol, who’d come closer to make sure all was well with Seren. “That would be perfect,” Izzet said, reining her excitement in.

  Lucca turned to see what had kept Seren. She waved to Izzet, then hurried to catch up with him.

  Greeting Ona with a nod, Lucca sat on a high stool and cupped the ocarina between his large hands. The instrument was a bright green, a lot like the weaving Izzet had worked on. It caught the light and shone like Lucca held an emerald. He blew softly. Mellow, low notes floated from the instrument and turned a few heads nearby. Lucca’s eyes shuttered as his song spun toward the draped ceiling, high and straining and lovely. The notes plunged into something deep and dangerous and quite fast. Seren’s heart matched the rhythm and she allowed herself to imagine dancing with Lucca.

  He’d give the ocarina to Ona and begin circling Seren with slow steps like a hunter. Seren would lift her hands and bend them at the wrists, back and forth and back again, sharp and quick, as she looked Lucca in the eye. She would be the symbol of Fire. As the music grew more complicated, he would move his arms down and out in smooth motions, simulating the rhythm of a hunter’s horse galloping. Normally, one would need to be solemn, but Lucca would definitely grin slyly as his circle around her tightened. Soon, he’d be so close that she’d have to raise her arms over her head to keep her movements correct. His hand would brush her side and she’d shiver. Her arm would graze his shoulder and they’d bump together a little, laughing.

  Seren put a hand to her cheek, feeling warm.

  Ona leaned in, whispering. “Seren, Seren, Seren. If you ogle him like that, don’t expect him not to come after you when everyone’s gone to bed.”

  Heart pounding, Seren’s mouth popped open. Lucca lingered on a discordant sound that was oddly pleasant and goosebumps flickered over Seren’s arms.

  Lowering the ocarina, Lucca looked up, eyes warm. “Want to give it a try, Kyros Seren?”

  “She definitely does,” Ona said quietly, smirking.

  Seren reached out a hand. She copied the way he’d held it, positioning the first four fingers of each hand over the larger holes on the top.

  He hissed a little and grimaced. “Not so rough, my lady. It’s an instrument, not a weapon.”

  Ona laughed and elbowed Seren. “That’s my girl.” She laughed again.

  Seren grinned, not entirely sure what Ona meant but glad to make her smile.

&n
bsp; “Like this.” Lucca was suddenly very close, his mouth mere inches from Seren’s and his breath sweet from the mint he’d chewed. Black stubble lined his strong chin and darkened the dip below his nose. His lips looked soft and she wondered how they would—

  He took her fingers in his and goosebumps rose, tingling and warm, along her arms again. His gaze wandered from their hands to her arms, then back again, some emotion she couldn’t name moving his mouth into a half-grin. Gently, he posed her fingertips on the ocarina.

  “Keep your fingers curled,” he said, his dark amber eyes glowing, “sitting just heavy enough to close the opening.” Seren couldn’t stop looking at Lucca’s mouth. Her whole face went hot. He smelled so good. “Keep them ready to leap away to form new notes.” Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice how bizarre she felt around him.

  Seren nodded at his directions, not trusting herself to talk. She felt like a young girl around a first crush instead of a widow and a kyros. Another miracle.

  When her hands were in place, Lucca continued. “Now blow out with a sound like too. And lift a finger one by one, starting from here, on your right.”

  Her notes were nothing like his, but they were simple and pretty and she found herself pulling the instrument away and smiling like a fool.

  “You did well!” Lucca nudged Ona with his foot and set her to stomping in praise, an indulgent look on Ona’s heart-shaped face. “You can be more gentle with the mouthpiece too. You don’t need to bite it.”

  Ona erupted into laughter, and Seren had the distinct feeling she was missing something. Lucca glared, and Ona threw an arm over her mouth. Once again, Seren was a little lost, but it wasn’t so bad. Being lost with Lucca was actually very pleasant.

  Meekra appeared at Seren’s shoulder.

  “Kyros Seren,” Meekra whispered, her pensive gaze on Ona. “General Adem left the tent.”

  “Did he tell anyone where he was going?”

  “He headed toward his tent. With those two ore masters that hang on his every word.”