Dark Djinn (The Darkness of Djinn Book 1)

by Tia Reed

  And another name, also, drifted to her on an icy breeze. Xander. Xander, came the glacial whisper as their passion peaked. Under the still wind, Kordahla shuddered.

  Basking in the daze of their lovemaking, Matisse did not notice. “Tiarasae,” he murmured as the temperature climbed. He was lying on his back, his hands behind his head. “You truly are Tiarasae.”

  She rolled so she could put her arms around him, lay her head on his chest, hoping he would embrace her and tell her everything would be fine. He did not. But there was comfort in the feel of him against her, and she knew he had meant what he had said about making the djinn pay.

  Happiness eluded her, but secure, at least, she fell asleep.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Levi heaved himself up from the rock.

  “How’s your leg?”

  “Getting better,” Vinsant lied. The swelling was as painful as ever. Levi’s soothing magic had lasted till the next morning but Vinsant’s resentment that the Majoria would leave him crippled had abated when Levi taught him to borrow light from the sun. It was a nifty trick, once he had mastered the knack of it. The interim stolen candles and campfires, while useful, did not fit with the image of a dignified mahktashaan. Thank Mahktos his failures had only coaxed an amused snort from the Majoria. “How about your hand?”

  “Can you go on?” the Majoria asked looking, of all directions, up. Through the gap between the ridges, the sun shone wincing-bright on the patches of snow dotting the scree. To their right, an icy peak jutted into the clear sky.

  Vinsant struggled up from his own rough seat, careful to keep his weight on his good leg. Without further chat, they continued their clamber, their feet sinking into ankle-deep snow. As moisture seeped through his boots, Vinsant began to shiver. The woollen kurta, shalvar and gloves the temple village had given him were inadequate protection against the numbing cold. He spelled warmth into his clothes, the last magic he had learned, earning an approving nod from Levi when he managed to keep the Myklaani sword levitating in the crisp air at the same time. Excused neither swordplay nor magic lessons, he had been relieved at the slackening of their gruelling pace over the days since they had left the shrine. The Majoria was turning out to be all right after all. At least, he was since that one last punishment for just talking to the indigo djinn.

  Too bad he was not learning magic today. Just tedious, repetitive lore.

  “A mahktashaan swears absolute fealty to Mahktos, Terlaan, the majoria and the minoria, and the shah in that order,” Levi continued with the lesson he had begun before their rest.

  “So if the majoria and shah disagree, the mahktashaan must serve their majoria?” Levi had been uncharacteristically chatty since Vinsant had sought Arun’s help, for him anyway. The do-not-speak-unless-spoken-to rule had thankfully fallen by the wayside even if Levi did not deign to answer all his questions.

  “Unless the majoria’s actions threaten to compromise Terlaan.”

  He had to risk it. “But who determines that? I mean if the Majoria disagrees with the Shah, he could claim–”

  Levi actually halted, took Vinsant’s hood and yanked it down. His gloved hand seized Vinsant’s chin and tilted it up, squeezing his jaw so tight it hurt. “Do you think to presume Mahktos would not know? Do you think to presume our god would invest power in a corrupt leader?” he said, bending over Vinsant. Beneath his hood, his eyes glowered that peculiar abysmal black.

  Unable to speak, Vinsant shook his head. Levi let him go and strode on, ignoring the hovering buzzard. Pulling his hood back up, Vinsant scrambled up the ridge after his master. His worn boots dislodged chunks of shale. The clatter was the only sound in the brittle air. At the crest, Vinsant stopped and gaped. The land here formed a natural bowl, rising on the other side to a gaping cave. He would have sworn the mound above it had never been touched by human hands, but it had the features of a primitive face. Mahktos’s face. The eye sockets were filled with red moss, a skinny boulder formed a squat nose-like bump, and pointed rocks rising from the floor looked like fangs.

  Forgetting his pain, Vinsant hobbled after Levi. “Are we going to go in?” he asked, stumbling forward as the Myklaani sword floated into his backside.

  His face masked by his hood, the Majoria remained a silent mystery.

  “I’m sorry I questioned you, Majoria,” Vinsant said. He should have saved himself the effort; his apology failed to draw a response. Taking a deep breath, he shuffled to the mouth. He was about to step inside when a warning prickle ran along his spine. His skin tingled as power vibrated through the air. He looked up and for a brief moment sky, shale and peak spun into a blur.

  “All praise to you, Mahktos,” Vinsant said when the world had steadied.

  Levi knelt. “All praise to you Mahktos,” he said, dislodging a blackened scrap of flesh from his burned hand and holding it for the strengthening wind to gather. Vinsant fought to keep his meagre breakfast down.

  “You must make an offering,” Levi said, rising.

  He had nothing to give. Something of himself, Nocrates had suggested. Although it was not exactly hard to come by, he plucked a hair from beneath his hood and laid it across his open palm. A gust tugged it from his hand.

  “Come,” Levi said. “You will keep your hood up at all times.”

  They entered the mouth. Vinsant breathed a sigh of relief. That test was over. Levi could have warned him! He sure hoped the Majoria’s neglect had nothing to do with his punishment. He had forgotten that small detail about this trip. It was nerve-wracking, considering what it might entail. His stumbled on the uneven ground. Not that Levi showed the slightest bit of concern. Silent, the Majoria led him to a twisting, rough-walled passage at the back of the cave. Vinsant created a ball of light to guide the way. Whichever mahktashaan worked the mines, they would be left in no doubt about his amazing apprentice skills.

  “Majoria, is this cave natural?”

  “It was present when Mahktos led Guntek to it but pictograms show it was inhabited long before then. Whether those inhabitants found or created it, we do not know.”

  They went on and down. The dank air turned stale. At last, the passage opened into wide chamber. Vinsant caught his breath. Stalactites in all the colours of the rainbow formed muqarnas on the ceiling while tall stalagmites ringed the chamber. Lit from within, they glowed and ebbed with a magical rhythm. He couldn’t take his eyes off them as he followed Levi into the chamber. At his chest, his quartz responded by radiating a soft light.

  “It’s awesome.”

  Of course Levi didn’t answer.

  A mahktashaan with a crystal of an intense violet walked between the stalagmites, and knelt before Levi. “All honour to you, Majoria.” Around the wall, several other mahktashaan stamped a foot and spoke in echo.

  “You may rise, Mahktashaan Fenz,” Levi said. “Are the preparations in order?”

  Getting up, Fenz nodded to a mahktashaan waiting at the side of the cave. “As you requested, Majoria.”

  The mahktashaan came forward. He held a crystal-studded chain in his hand. A sudden bad feeling about all this made Vinsant step back.

  “The prisoner will approach,” Fenz said.

  Vinsant stared. So this was to be a formal reprimand after all. His cheeks burned. His heart thudded loudly into the silence. He fought a strong desire to proclaim his identity and announce the sanction he had received from Mahktos. With these dour mahktashaan surrounding him, he didn’t really have that choice. Chin up, just like a man, he stood before Fenz, arms out. Chains and hard labour he could bear for seven days because afterwards was he ever going to get a heap of sympathy from Kordahla! Of course he would neglect to tell her that he could spell light and heat to improve his lot in the most dismal of dungeons. Just to ensure his gaolers knew they were dealing with an extraordinary apprentice, he brightened the ball of light. The murmurs of surprise were gratifying. He could not help sticking out his chest as the mahktashaan clapped the shackles onto his wrists and ankles. With
the final clang of the locking rivet, his light disappeared, and the Myklaani sword clattered to the ground.

  Huh? He struggled to magic the light back into existence. The harder he tried, the stronger the clear crystals in the irons glowed. And the weaker he felt. He looked at Levi in dismay.

  “How long is the prisoner to serve?” Fenz asked.

  “Seven days,” Vinsant said, shoulders drooping because the eight-day was going to be the scums after all.

  Levi shoved him to his knees. “He is detained at my pleasure.”

  Chapter Forty-eight

  An apple fell out of Timak’s pocket and rolled against the wall.

  “So you’re thieving.” The sniggering older page flicked a pebble into the middle of his back.

  Timak kept walking down the long corridor, past the ceremonial swords and shields hung on the plain walls. A pinkish light trailed through the air beside him. He didn’t think the nasty page could see his silent genie. The bully wouldn’t have picked up the apple or crunched into it if he could. He wouldn’t have tried to follow, or waited until a sword floated off the wall and barred his way to let the apple thud to the floor and patter away.

  Yazmine shouldn’t have thought that made anything all right. Timak turned into a musty room and shut the door on her fuzzy light. When he turned, she was there anyway, bobbing in the centre.

  “You don’t visit,” he accused.

  “I’m sorry. They won’t always let me come.”

  “Who are ‘they’?” Motes floated in the sunbeams spearing through the broken shutters, but there wasn’t any other bobbing light.

  “The other djinn.”

  He loitered among the cupboards lined up against the walls, opening and closing doors carved with the oak and bear Myklaani crest. A thick layer of dust had dulled the cluttered ornaments inside. They clinked as he tried to push them back but they didn’t slide far. He sneezed. “Why are they so mean?”

  “I don’t think they are.”

  “You don’t think?” he asked, spying a chest to one side of the keyhole window.

  “I don’t remember much when I’m here. There are the rules. And the indigo djinn I must obey. I know I will remember when I go back to Court.”

  He went and knelt by the chest, undid the rusting iron clasps and hefted the lid open. It was full of mildewed clothing. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  She sighed. “I know. I have a vague feeling I must prove myself. I remember before though.”

  “Before what?” He pulled out a bundle of clothing.

  “Before I was a genie.”

  Sitting back on his heels, he looked at her light. “You mean you weren’t born a genie?”

  “No, silly. I used to be human. Well, almost.”

  He blinked. Now he really was confused. “Human?”

  He heard her sharp breath. “I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that.”

  “I won’t tell. What happened to your parents?”

  “I miss them so much.”

  Timak looked down. “Me too. Genie, will you sing to me?”

  She hummed a familiar tune. He couldn’t remember the words either, but her voice helped drive the loneliness away. After a verse, he got up, stuffed the clothes into a cupboard on top of a set of dusty crockery, then climbed into the chest. It smelt horrible but the woollens at the bottom made both a soft bed and a good place to stuff the portions of dried meat and fruit he pulled from inside his clothes. The cooks and scullery maids were kind to him even if the other pages were not.

  “What are you doing?” Yazmine asked.

  “I’m getting ready. Just in case.”

  “The indigo djinn said they will be here tomorrow.”

  Timak climbed out, pushed open one creaky, split shutter, and peered through the window. It was a six storey drop to the oak and bear fountains in the canal. “I won’t go back to him.”

  * * *

  Three nights in a row Matisse came to her, bestowing his passionate attentions and, on that third, longed for visit, a green gem with a crimson heart.

  “A symbol of how our Realms intertwine,” he had said, holding its gold chain so it twirled in the cleft between her breasts. Kordahla had ignored the tease in his voice as he wrapped his body around hers. Crimson for Terlaan, green for Myklaan. Dare she hope it carried meaning? Dare she believe it a pledge when the mocking glint remained in his blue eyes?

  On the fourth day, she was denied even a glimpse of his fair head. On the fifth, dressed, an embroidery in hand, Kordahla opened the doors to the balcony, inhaled the rich perfume of the frangipani, and gazed at the twinkling stars. Daesoa shone full, Dindarin new, and so the two were yet a minor moon removed from brushing their lips in their lover’s kiss, as he had brushed hers. The memory of his touch evoked a tremor of desire. Her hand strayed to the watermelon gem around her neck.

  Behind her the unlocked door clicked ajar. She turned, far too eager when not a quarter moon past she had checked, and checked again, the bolt was home. She suppressed her disappointment as Timak squeezed through the crack between door and jamb. He halted before he was full inside the chamber, too sensitive to her mood by far.

  She stepped into the room she had left bright with lanterns. It was flecked with the wink of gold tiles, and the gilded ornamentation on dresser and drawer. She held out her hand. “It is late for you to be up.”

  He walked across the marble to her, and placed his fingers across her palm. “They are coming for us.”

  She had always known they would, though that did not soften the blow. She squeezed his hand. He was looking at her, expectant and sure. “Can the genie tell you who?”

  He looked up and listened. “The Crown Prince of Terlaan, him, and a hooded man.”

  Kordahla closed her eyes and swayed. “What colour is the mahktashaan’s crystal?” Dear Vae’oenka, she prayed, let it not be Levi.

  “Bright blue,” Timak answered.

  She exhaled relief, opened her eyes and took a breath of false cheer. “How many hiding places have you found?”

  “A few.”

  “Then you’d best stock them with supplies.” He looked at her with those serious round eyes. She led him to the padded seat at her dresser, and patted the emerald and gold brocade. He perched beside her, not quite sitting. “Whatever happens, there’s no reason for you to return to him.”

  “Are you going to hide too?”

  “I’m afraid they would tear the castle apart looking for me. Then we would both be found.”

  “You could marry the heir.”

  A breeze gusted in. A lantern flickered and went out.

  “Matisse? Perhaps,” she said. The longing sent a painful twist through her heart. She fingered the gem, traced the circle of gold which enclosed it. He had never held her in comfort; never once said I love you. She forced a smile. “I don’t think it will happen before they arrive. Now, run and do as I say.” The task would help keep him from fretting.

  The boy stayed where he was. She rose and went to close the balcony doors, to hide the nervous wring of her hands.

  “We could go.”

  The yearning was unbearable. She whirled to face him, the layers of her skirt rippling in the draught. “Oh, Timak. There is nowhere left to go. You are safe. That will comfort me if I must leave, but we do not know it will come to that.”

  He threw himself at her, threw his arms around her. She held him back. “Hush. It is not so bad. He won’t touch you again, I promise.”

  “I wished he would marry you,” he said, rubbing tears from his eyes. “On the ship. I wanted him to stop so I wished he had someone else to torture.”

  She stroked his dark hair. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” She held him until his hiccups subsided. “Will you tell me who your parents are? If I must go, I will see they have a message you are safe. Then perhaps, I will have two friends.”

  “My father is a soldier under Captain Subhi at the third watchtower.” The boy was proud o
f his father’s position, that much was plain.

  She drew a breath. A soldier would not be an easy man to reach in confidence. “Is your genie still here?” He nodded. “She’ll steer you away from Ahkdul.” With the help of the Vae, it might be true. The rose genie had always looked out for Timak before.

  “If she’s here, the djinn must be too.” He pulled away. The unspoken suggestion in his eyes startled her.

  “You think I should make a pact?”

  “It won’t be worse than living with him.”

  “I still don’t know what I bargained with last time.”

  An icy prickle travelled along her arms. A tendril of smoke curled beneath the balcony doors. “Find some food to stockpile,” she said, ushering him out. “I need to talk to Lady Jordayne.” This child had suffered too much to sacrifice himself to the djinn.

  “The boy is right.”

  Kordahla started. Legs and arms crossed, the indigo djinn was hanging upside down by the balcony doors.

  “Or rather my rosy charge was. I am here,” the djinn drawled. Golden streaks of lanternlight reflected in his skin.

  A finger to her lips, Kordahla closed the door on Timak’s glare.

  “Want to deal?”

  “Ask me again when my brother and Ahkdul get here,” she said, picking up a sheer shawl to drape over her shoulders and midriff. The costumes Jordayne insisted on plying her with got briefer by the day.

  The djinn slid onto his side and yawned, sending a whiff of fishy breath her way. She wrinkled her nose.

  “Why draw out the inevitable?” the creature said, picking his.

  “Why are you so sure I need your help?” She went to the dresser, took a mirror, and smoothed her hair. With luck the creature would not see how her hands shook.