UW02. Plains of Sand and Steel

by Alisha Klapheke

  “The problem is how to keep the fire from sparking the powder too soon,” she said, trying not to think how many like him were out there, simply doing what they had to do to survive. “Also how to stop the fire at the right moment so the balloon will float down or at least explode in the air. Could we simply shoot them down with arrows?”

  “Might disturb the contents before the proper moment,” he said.

  They both made a thinking, humming noise.

  “What if we made small, clay firepots with only enough oil to take them so far. We could try different amounts and see how far they go,” she said.

  He hummed again. “And how high. I’ve never worked with the powders and explosive ingredients so there will be…tries.”

  The interpreter frowned, knowing the word was off.

  Seren smiled. “Experiment. He means experiments.”

  “Yes. Experiment,” the interpreter agreed.

  “You might end up dead,” Seren said, watching for his fear. It was there, but his eyes also showed the will to do this horrible thing and live to see another day.

  “I escaped death twice this day. Why not try for three?” he said, his tone dry as the Emptiness.

  “Silvanians claim third times the charm.” Seren smoothed the sand in the tray to hide the weapon from anyone who might tell Adem what she was up to. She needed the first time to be the charm, so to speak. This one and only try was stolen, snatched between the threat of damning secrets and wavering loyalties. If this went badly, not only would she be killed, but she might end up killing her own army inside their own walls.

  It simply had to work.

  21

  ONA

  Ona threw the tent flap out of her face, the pinch of Hossam’s strong fingers lingering on her arms and shoulders as she wove through the moon-bleached city. The striped tents were skeletal beasts that murmured in jumbled languages.

  Seren was a fool. Well, maybe not a fool. But too soft. Much too soft. Gah! The look on her face when that pig mentioned some special day for children. As if they truly celebrated anything but killing. No way. Ona couldn’t imagine that in one million years.

  And the Invaders would use Seren’s weakness to find another, larger crack in the Empire’s defenses. Offering the king for a ransom had been the first break. This engineer was the second. If he didn’t slit her throat while they worked side-by-side, he’d find a way to get the gates open at the training field, the mines, or the main entrance to the city. Maybe he’d smuggle counts of weapons and fighters out by way of another traitor in their midst. Thousands of possibilities spread through the situation, spidering like mold from a leak in plaster.

  The scent of hot iron, fire, and a banging that just about fit the force of Ona’s anger poured from one of the many blacksmith forges. They were running non-stop now that war had arrived on their pretty doorstep. One of those spooky ore masters in their too-long black cloaks accepted a new yatagan from a smith in a soot-smudged apron.

  The ore master turned the blade and moon and fire light washed over the man’s face. He’d been beside Sweet Bean at the feast. They’d whispered like old pals.

  “That’s a beauty,” Ona said in the trade tongue.

  “It is, friend of our Pearl.”

  Not using her title, hm? “I need to speak with General Adem. In private. Do you know where I can find him?”

  The man’s gaze was as sharp as the yatagan.

  Ona stared back. “Are you going to help me or stand there with your sword in your hand all night?”

  He sniffed a laugh, paid the smith with a suede pouch of noisy coins, and led Ona away from the city center and to a towering blue tent where the general himself stood outside, pulling at his beard and chewing his cheek. Seemed Ona wasn’t the only one plotting.

  She reminded herself to be careful with this. She cared for Seren. She didn’t want her punished or shamed overmuch. Just because Seren was wrong in this, didn’t mean Ona wanted her dead.

  Adem stopped, frowned. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  “We need to talk.” Ona nodded toward the tent.

  His eyebrows lifted, but he pushed the flap aside and stopped to pass his hand respectfully over the bowl of Holy Fire. The inside of this tent was very different from the sunset purple light of the guest one. The deep blue gave the illusion of being underwater. Slits, cut around the tent’s peaks let in moonlight and made Ona think of the sun on the tips of the ocean waves near home. She put a hand to her head, suddenly in pain about what she was doing.

  But she’d be careful. Seren didn’t have to suffer in this. Not if Ona handled it like Lucca would. Smooth. Calm. Level-headed.

  For a second, Ona wished he was here to smooth the situation and pet Sweet Bean’s ego properly. Too bad he wouldn’t have helped her with this. He was all for Seren, no matter what she did. She’d claimed his heart. He’d never judge her actions objectively. No, Ona was all on her own.

  She thought of her aunt. The way the side of her mouth used to tuck up when Ona spilled the vase of priceless brushes or decided she had to paint a goat’s horns in green and yellow stripes. It was a smile that said No and Yes. Ona had to go behind Seren and Lucca’s back this time for her aunt. The Invaders had to be stopped. Seren and Lucca would understand once this was over and they were safe.

  She squeezed her hands into fists, feeling every knuckle and nail. For you, Aunt. I won’t let them live. I will see every last of them dead.

  Adem gestured to a three-legged stool near a low table that held scrolls of parchment, ink, quills, and groups of dark stones positioned in what Ona had to guess was where he believed the Invaders had retreated to beyond the hammadas.

  “I’m not sure how to start.” Ona ignored the stool and kept a hand on her sword. She chanted Wake iron! Wake. to herself silently in case he decided what she said called for a quick death.

  “With the most immediate need.” His voice had fangs.

  “Kyros Seren—”

  “You mean Pearl of the Desert. High General Varol is kyros now.”

  “Whatever.”

  Adem’s mouth twisted.

  “She spared the life of an Invader prisoner and is working with him to develop a weapon she wants to use against the Invaders.”

  His mouth turned down, moving his trim beard. “And?”

  “And? And he is with her, by her side, capable of killing her, spying on us—any number of crimes.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “How can you say that? You hate them as much as I do. Am I the only person who hasn’t been hit on the head too hard? He is the enemy. They all must die for what they’ve done over and over again to your people, to mine, to the Empire. The kyros offered peace and they tried to slay us all again. Doesn’t that prove the color of their souls?”

  He held a hand out like Ona was a snorting horse that needed to be gentled. “You’d already know everything if you’d cease your rambling.” He pointed to the stool.

  Ona still didn’t sit. “Fine. Spill it then. What are you up to, Sweet Bean?”

  The look in his eye could’ve split her head in two. “First, you must swear by the Holy Fire and reaffirm your role as a warrior for the Empire. For the true heir to our lands, Kyros Varol.”

  She looked to the ceiling. “Oh, please. Like an unannounced meeting or chatting about politics with a Silvanian mercenary keeps with tradition. You break what traditions you choose to break. Haven’t you noticed this about yourself? When are you going to ease up?”

  He spun, took up his Holy Fire bowl, and held it out to her. Blue flames licked deep green leaves. “Swear. Or this meeting is adjourned.”

  “In the name of all the…”

  “Mercenary!”

  “Fine. Fine! I swear by the Holy Fire to fight on the side of the Empire, for the true heir of the power of the Empire, now and forevermore, may my soul be wiped from time if I break this hollowed oath. Will that do it for you?” It didn’t mean anything so who cared who sh
e promised to support. These were just words Adem needed to hear.

  With one more steely look, he turned, set the fire on a long desk beside a chest of drawers, and said quietly, “I am going to take Pearl of the Desert…away.”

  Ona suddenly wished for the fire’s heat. Her insides had gone cold. “Away?”

  “You don’t need to know the details. She will not be harmed, but she will be removed from the situation here so her ridiculous tactics and lies about being Blessed don’t get in the way of Kyros Varol’s strategy to win against the Invaders. Will you help me smooth the transition to a leader who won’t spare a single Invader, no matter what they offer?”

  Ona’s heart pounded in her ears. If she said the wrong thing now, Seren could be sentenced to death. Maybe Lucca too. This felt surprisingly similar to the day she’d walked onto the iced up lake near Aunt’s villa. The glassy surface knocked and echoed under her boots. A crack cut across the blue-black and she raced to the shore before she could lose her life to the cold, winter water.

  Now, Ona’s sweaty fingers flexed on her hilt. “I could talk to the fighters who might lean toward supporting him.”

  “Good.”

  Ona’s heart gave a kick as she pictured Seren’s trusting grin. “The Pearl of the Desert should be protected. In every way. No matter what Varol thinks she has done, or is doing.” She sounded like a simple child. But she didn’t want to say anything that could be directly related to the crimes Seren had already committed. Vague seemed the way to go.

  “Of course,” Adem replied, his voice slicker than Ona liked.

  She could talk to Haris, maybe, then let him nurture the others’ desire for a ruler of the royal blood and someone with a stronger policy against the Invaders.

  Ona’s first two fingers popped as she flexed her sword hand. An errant question flittered through her mind: would my hand look different if I’d been able to wield paint brushes and charcoal instead of steel?

  She met Adem’s cold gaze. “Lucca and I are with the Empire. No matter who reigns as its head.”

  A muscle at Adem’s jaw twitched. “Lucca.” He was no Lucca supporter. That was pretty obvious. “Very well,” he said. “But don’t think you’re not being watched. I have eyes. Everywhere.”

  Ona shooed his warning away. “Varol has experience in battle?”

  “More than the Pearl of the Desert.”

  “He should listen to her though. To her ideas. Well, some of them. She is a smart one.”

  He looked away, shifting his weight.

  Ona didn’t like where this was going. She could already see Seren beaten and bloodied at Adem’s feet. “We also nabbed the king, don’t forget.”

  He wouldn’t look at her. “You must keep this from the other mercenary.”

  Could he tell that Lucca had feelings for Seren?

  “You will not tell him anything or I’ll have your head. I’ll know who told and I’ll have you surrounded and beaten before you can utter a word.”

  “I get it. I get it. I won’t tell him.” It was as if someone else had said the words. How could she so easily throw off Lucca? But Adem was right. He wouldn’t see the situation clearly.

  Ona offered her forearm in agreement. Adem wrapped his wiry fingers around her sleeve and squeezed, a copy of her own movement.

  “It is agreed.” He cast a glance over his shoulder at the door.

  Ona studied his face. Was he hiding the fact that he’d go right now to Seren and order her death? It wouldn’t be impossible. Ona swallowed, her head pounding suddenly. Ona cared about Seren, even if she didn’t agree with her. She didn’t want the woman killed.

  “I love her too, mercenary,” he said softly and Ona moved away, shocked that he’d been able to tell what she was thinking, that her own emotions were so plainly written on her face. “I didn’t care for her family, but…Varol is simply the proper ruler. He has the royal blood. And I truly hope she stops lying about the Holy Fire and these…” His gaze sharpened. “Are you certain you know nothing about the kyros’s death?”

  Ona’s skin prickled like lightning was about to strike. “He was sick. Now he’s dead. Not much to that story.” She cleared her face of the lie. Wiped her fear and deceit away like she had so many times while training under Dom. One couldn’t survive that man without some well-told lies. When Lucca wasn’t watching, he stripped weaklings clean of silver and dignity both.

  Adem stared, weighing her words.

  “Listen, this isn’t my world here,” Ona said. “It’s yours. Don’t ask me to untangle the mess you and yours have made. I’ll play my part.”

  With one last look, Sweet Bean turned. “Fine. Just so you know, you’re a gifted liar. And Kyros Meric’s brother is a gifted leader. You’ll see.” He began pacing. “As for your part, talk to those with only desert blood and feed their fear that Pearl and those with her blood might wrest the Empire from the royal family. As for the rest, with mixed blood like mine and hers, we’ll rely on their training. High General Varol outranks Pearl.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Kyros Varol will make all of this worth the trouble. You’ll see. He is a force unto himself. A born ruler.”

  A quiet shiver spread under Ona’s skin.

  Adem raised an eyebrow. “That smile alone tells me you’re equal to this delicate mission.”

  “I live to destroy the Invader pigs and do whatever I must to make that happen. Never doubt that fact.”

  22

  SEREN

  That night, Seren slept—and the city with her—everyone lost in sheer exhaustion. Lying on the bed in Meekra’s section of the chamber, Seren pushed the thought of Meric and Adem and blood and lies out of her mind and savored the memory of Lucca smelling like pine and leather, his large hands on her waist. She forced herself to dream about what she’d accomplished. She’d driven off the Invaders—they even held their king—and she’d done it without Meric, and without Adem finding out about Meric. She had success, but it didn’t…it didn’t feel like she’d thought it would.

  She woke before dawn, thinking about the engineer, a man who’d been her enemy, but who was currently working toward bringing her idea to life. A square of the rubberized silk he’d given her before she met with the scouts sat on the side table.

  “Meekra, I’m alert enough for a report on anything else you’ve heard.”

  Meekra stretched and yawned, her eyes tired. “I haven’t gathered any information that will really help I don’t think. I walked past them in a crowd of merchants and heard something about the rumors of catapults in the siege.”

  It was nothing Seren didn’t already know.

  “There was one thing that seemed odd. My father said Adem and an ore master were talking as he walked through the injured troops. It doesn’t make sense. The ore master said something about putting the jewel in its box.”

  Jewel? The city? It was the jewel of the Empire. Or maybe something about the ransom chests they still held? Seren’s mind churned with images, snippets of conversation, voices. But nothing materialized into an explanation.

  Meekra shrugged and brushed out Seren’s hair. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more help to you, my kyros.”

  “Just having you at my side is a great help.” Seren touched Meekra’s hand. “Sometimes I feel like all I have around me are vultures waiting to pick my bones clean.”

  “But everything is going well. Considering.”

  Seren rubbed her head, feeling less like she’d slept and more like she’d gone into battle again. “Considering, yes.”

  “What is that, Kyros Seren?” The one lamp they’d kept lit danced in what was left of the night’s darkness and made the square of rubberized silk glow.

  “It’s a treated fabric we’re going to try to use in a special weapon.”

  Meekra smiled, her white teeth bright in the dim tent. “The Holy Fire gave you this idea.”

  “Yes. Please keep it to yourself though. I don’t want General Adem to know what I’m up to. Not yet.”


  Meekra nodded and scooped a cup of water from an enameled bowl. She handed it to Seren. “I worry about him, my lady.”

  Seren sipped the cool water, then handed the cup back to Meekra before removing the shift she’d slept in. “I do too, Meekra. I do too.”

  Meekra handed Seren a fresh mourning kaftan, pants, and sash, and after they’d dressed, they walked into the main part of the bed chamber.

  Seren stared at the bed, where Meric’s body had once been.

  “Lucca Hand of Ruination to see you, my kyros,” Erol said from the door into the main tent.

  Blinking, Seren looked away. “Please let him pass, Erol.”

  Lucca appeared, holding a thick door flap up, and she waved him in.

  He smiled sadly and leaned toward her ear. “Your engineer nearly blew his hands off near the mine wall.”

  Meekra had told Seren as much when she’d sent her for an update last night. “He’ll figure it out. Don’t look at me like that, Lucca Hand of Ruination. He will figure it out. He is quick as lightning.”

  “I’d say I’m jealous of the admiration you bestow on this pale hero,” Lucca whispered as they walked into the main tent. “But quickness isn’t always enviable.”

  The mischievous tilt to his eyebrow explained the innuendo. Heat seared Seren from chest to forehead. The bell hanging on her forehead was a coal against her skin.

  Meekra smiled shyly behind them and pretended to be busy with her sash.

  Seren looked back at the mercenary. “Lucca.”

  He shrugged and walked with her, Erol, Cansu, and Hossam into the purple light. No one but them was awake yet, it seemed.

  “You did get some sleep before coming back to my door?” Seren eyed her guards one at a time.

  “We did. For four good hours. We are fine, my lady.” Hossam grinned.

  They headed out of the Kyros Walls and into the sleeping city.

  A hand flashed from the dark and grabbed Seren’s neck.

  Not even thinking, she drove a palm upward to break the hold as Lucca shouted for help. Steel blinked from Cansu’s hand as he spun. Meekra put herself between Seren and the attacker—attackers. There were six now. All cloaked in thick headscarves that hid everything but their shining eyes. Hossam engaged two with his yatagan, shifting left so Erol and Lucca could fight the others swarming in the fading night.