by Tia Reed
Ahkdul’s reaction came quick as a djinn. He punched her in the face. “Is it true, whore?” he demanded.
Her eye watering, she yet found the dignity to raise her face, refusing to either look at him or answer.
“Is it true?” he repeated, punching her again.
This time she cried out as a ring sliced open the skin under her puffy eye. Still she gathered the courage to bring her head up. “Blood honour demands only my life. Mete out your justice, and let it be swift.”
Ahkdul grabbed her by the arms and shook her until she thought the teeth would rattle out of her gums. “Who? Who-did-you-bed, you-despicable-slut?”
“Enough,” Mariano said, pushing the swine off her, though he looked like he might hit her himself. The sympathy she had come to trust was gone from his eyes. That betrayal melted through her frozen heart. Weeping, she sank down, her poise gone.
“IS IT TRUE?” Ahkdul roared.
Her sobs were pure misery against a warbler’s joyous trill.
He slapped her. “It is a ruse,” he said, rounding on Mariano. “She seeks to avoid a marriage. She has already proven the depths to which she will fall to get her way.”
“That can be ascertained,” Mariano said. “I will demand a physic.”
“No man may touch her if she is indeed a virgin. That act will soil her in itself.”
“Minoria,” Mariano commanded.
Hooded and hunched, Arun came forward.
She shook her head. “I will not suffer his touch. I confess.”
“You have forfeited your integrity. We have a right to the truth.” Mariano turned to Ahkdul. “Will you accept the pronouncement of the mahktashaan?”
“Who is this one sworn to?” Ahkdul asked.
“To the Crown, and so to my father before me.”
“Yes. Let him search her.”
So she must suffer another indignity. Arun reached for her. The jerk of her head was involuntary. She flicked her eyes away, refusing to look at him, another violator of her person.
“This will not hurt, Princess,” he reassured, too gentle in this violent mess. His bare hands went to her temples. His mind nudged the edges of her own, and his voice sounded inside her head.
Let me help you, Kordahla.
She closed her mind to it, threw up a blank wall. Vae’oenka forgive her, for she did not have the strength to fend him off. It was a small blessing his search was more reminiscent of the Master Magus’s touch than the brute slap Levi had planted upon her. For that she was grateful. She offered the least embarrassing memories of her lovemaking freely, willing this nightmare to end. Arun skipped past her offering, on and down through the corridors, and into the recesses of her mind. Heart pounding, she waited for the verdict that would end her life.
“She is pure,” Arun said, the worst betrayal of all.
“Why are you lying?” she asked. She looked into his hood to his shadowed, cerulean eyes. Sank beneath their pity further into despair.
He made no reply.
“There remains the matter of her flight,” Mariano said to Ahkdul. “Do you wish to renounce her?”
Ahkdul narrowed his calculating eyes. “I do not. She will be my wife, and her punishment shall be mine to mete out.”
And when he forced her to his bed? When he discovered the lie perpetrated on him? What would become of her then?
“Your Highness, she is lying about more than her chastity,” Arun said. How could she have once thought him a friend?
Mariano’s eyes narrowed. At that moment, he reminded her of Ahkdul. “Speak,” he commanded.
“The crystal and quartz are in Myklaan.”
Now her brother slapped her. His lips pursed as he attempted to reign in his temper. She dropped her head. No quarter, no compassion from any man.
“And my page?” Ahkdul asked. His tongue ran over his fat lips. He had thrown back the cover on her bed, as if searching for evidence of her dishonour.
“Perished in the scums,” Arun said.
“Bring her,” Mariano said to Arun, drawing his sword.
He opened the door. Seeing him armed, the four guards outside drew their weapons.
“You will take us to the dungeons,” Mariano said. “Then I demand another audience with the Shah.”
Arun lifted her to her feet. Stiff and numb, she tried to pull away. Would she could take refuge in the merry court and country scenes painted on bed and dresser.
Hush, came the thought within her mind.
Why did you betray me? she shot back, a hysterical scream, that belied her impassive exterior.
She sensed surprise, then a grief, deep, but nowhere near as bottomless as her own. He sent a burst of calm her way. She fought it tooth and nail, though to look at her vacant eyes Mariano and Ahkdul would never know.
The intrusion in her mind eased. At least let me take your pain, Arun said.
She made no reply. Refused to look at him, even. How could she have known it would not stop him dampening the sting in her face? A small mercy that gave her the courage to frame the one question that mattered. How is Vinsant?
His surprise this time was mild, but still it was there. He chose to speak to her, a low murmur that covered his words from the others. “Prince Vinsant is being punished for aiding you, but it is nothing that will not strengthen him on his path to becoming the powerful mahktashaan he dreams of being.”
Arun dropped his hands. They had stayed at her temple while he spoke, stroking her errant hairs back. She put a finger on the watermelon gem tucked into her choli, gave it a fleeting press. Let it serve as a constant reminder of her folly.
The wary guards flanked them as they walked vaulted halls etched with lauded lines from the histories, of betrayal, and of treason. She was careful to avoid contact with anyone, and with Arun most of all. His justice, not his pity, was what she craved.
They passed into the fragrant gardens, into the tingling caress of the sun, and on to a courtyard with walls stretching up to the second terrace, ivy clinging to one wall, and a calligraphy of prayers leaping from another. Their guards spoke to comrades at the entrance to the dungeon, and the two descended into the gloom. In this regard Ordosteen was to remain true to his word. But that was not fair. He had never promised her she might remain in this wonderful, treacherous realm.
She readily sank to her knees when Mariano pushed her down. His grip on her shoulders as they awaited the prisoners was iron. The brutes emerged chained hand and foot, growling about a trial. It was as well they balked when they saw the three armed men, and her kneeling before them, else it may not have been the guards forcing them to their knees, the one with the red beard, the one who yet had a bandage across his shoulder, and the shaggy third. She fought down the bitter taste of bile. Even in her dishonour Mariano sought justice for her. And yet this witnessing served only to compound her feeling of filth.
“Which one despoiled your companion?” Mariano asked.
“He is dead,” she answered, not caring about the fate of these remorseless men, “but the last one tried to hurt…another,” she said, catching herself at the last moment. If Ahkdul’s preoccupation with her honour had deflected his attention from Timak, she would bite her tongue off before she diverted it back.
Mariano pulled the shaggy man’s head back by the hair. “What manner of man are you?”
“What is this?” the man asked, eyes bulging with fear. “We have had no trial.”
“Terlaani justice,” Mariano said, releasing him. He swung his sword. The man’s head rolled off his shoulders and bounced on the floor. Blood splattered over his companions, and across her face. The stench of his bowels spread across the stone of the courtyard. The other two were hollering now.
Ahkdul squatted beside her, gripped her chin in his hand, and put his lips to her good cheek. “Which one tried to divest you of your honour?”
“The bearded one,” she said, looking through a dangling noose near the far wall. She felt nothing. Thought nothing, even w
hen a peculiar apricot ball of light flitted through the loop.
Ahkdul walked around the prisoner. The man was a coward to close his eyes. His blindness served neither to still his trembles nor stave off his death. Ahkdul raised his sword and drove it into his stomach. The man’s eyes popped open in surprise. “Verdaani justice,” Ahkdul said as the brute keeled over, hands clutching at the wound. “A quick death is too good for the likes of you.” He jerked the sword free and turned to her, standing close so that her breath spread over his middle. “For all I know, their crude attentions may have awakened sinful lust in the Princess.”
“Prin-ce-ss-ss,” the dying man gurgled.
The bandaged man was shaking his head. “Condemn me, but you’ve no honour to leave a man to die like that.”
“Arun,” Mariano said.
The Minoria bowed his head and executed the final prisoner with a clean strike of the sword. Glancing at her, he raised his sword over the dying man. Once, his compassion would have endeared him to her; now, it failed to rouse the glimmer of an emotion.
“Hold,” Ahkdul commanded. “He deserves no mercy.”
“Your Highness,” Arun appealed.
“His death is Lord Ahkdul’s to determine.” Mariano replied. He wiped his sword upon the dead man’s kurta before sheathing it.
“What occurred here?” a voice demanded from the archway.
Now there was a stirring, the echo of a deep hurt. Before she could guard against it, it pulled her face around to Matisse, fair as Mariano was dark.
“Oh, my dear,” Jordayne said, hurrying out from behind him, hurrying to her, embracing her. “What have they done to you?”
Matisse was with her a moment later, nudging his sister aside so he could wipe the blood from her cheek with his thumb. He pulled her up, another man she could not face, would not look in the eye. Leaving her to Jordayne, he placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyes travelled to each of her captors. “Which of you is responsible for this?”
You, her insides screamed at him, though she knew it was unjust. You are responsible for this. Her hand gripped at her bodice, closing tight around the watermelon gem.
“Shah Ordosteen sanctioned these executions,” Mariano said, gripping the pommel of his sword.
“Which of you would hit a woman?” Matisse’s stance was ready for the attack.
There was a moment of silence, accentuated by the scrape of the dying man’s body on the paving as he dragged himself from the centre of the courtyard. Along the far wall, the apricot ball of light wove through the ivy, stalking his progress, a strange magic unnoticed or ignored by all save she.
“It was you.” Ahkdul sneered, too controlled in his aggression. He raised his weapon and ran at Matisse. “You filthy, dishonouring scumsucker.”
The speed with which Matisse drew his sword belied belief, but Mariano had his own sword in hand a mere moment later. Calm, Kordahla stepped away from Jordayne’s encircling arm; stepped between the men, waiting for one of the three blades to pierce her, to bring back the pain that had deserted her. They came fast, and aimed true.
“Retracktos,” came Arun’s command. The swords sailed out of their wielder’s hands, into the azure where their tips touched above her head before they arced over to twang point down in the narrow gap between the pavers at the edges of the courtyard. The stunned men stared at her, standing within reach. Then Ahkdul shoved her out his way.
“You forced her to consider debasing herself,” the swine accused.
She suffered Jordayne to herd her to the prayer wall as Ahkdul swung a punch. Was she the more wanton for being glad Matisse dodged it? Was her soul lost for hoping Matisse’s fist connected with Ahkdul’s chin?
“Imbolil,” Drucilamere said, holding out a hand, fingers spread wide. Ahkdul froze. The mage would not have thought ill of her, when he worked such magic on the Verdaani lord. But it was Lord Matisse he sought to protect, and the strain on his face mirrored that on the swine’s as Ahkdul fought to break free of the spell. Sweat dripped from Drucilamere’s brow, and the vein in his forehead throbbed. Would that Matisse consider them all and walk away instead of pull the corner of his lip into a twisted smile and pummel Ahkdul in the stomach. Ahkdul, Lord Swine, honoured guest of her father’s realm. Even a sheltered princess understood the Minoria was honour bound to raise a hand, to point a finger at the Myklaani heir. Not so bound he need prevent Matisse landing a hit on Ahkdul’s jaw.
“Imbolil,” Arun said as Matisse let fly with a third punch. His crystal glowed. Matisse stiffened mid swing.
“Can he hear me?” Mariano asked, walking around the man she had thought she loved. His boots squelched in congealing blood.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Arun replied.
Kordahla shifted her weight. Jordayne sized her up, took one look at Drucilamere, and went to her lover. “Ahkdul is the greater threat, I think,” she said.
Drucilamere managed a single nod.
Mariano ignored the master mage. No threat he, when the Minoria stood guard. He stepped in close to Matisse. Two pairs of lifeless eyes, two pairs of mute lips, two severed necks bore witness to his right. “If you have laid even an inappropriate eye on my sister, if you are responsible for marring her innocence enough for her to claim she gave herself to a man, I will exact a blood price on you.” Stepping back, he clasped his hands behind his back. “However, if you behaved with honour, you will understand her discipline is my prerogative.”
“Mo-re po-prin,” Drucilamere gasped, his face white.
“Druce,” Jordayne said, quiet and concerned.
His magic faltered; Ahkdul fell free. The glow in Arun’s crystal dimmed, and Matisse stumbled past Mariano. Beyond them, mahktashaan and mage faced each other, bound by magic, split by might.
Jordayne should not have bothered to come back to her, anklets tinkling urgent, skirts rustling her unease. “What did you tell your brother?” the lady whispered. “Matisse has admitted you took pleasure in each other.”
Kordahla stared at the noose. She wanted to be free of this nightmare. The rope might provide a way, but the Minoria would never let it tighten, even if she evaded them all long enough to reach it. And the crackling ball of light zig-zagged near that wall, scaring her more than death. It hovered near the dying man, vibrating with furious, pent up energy. The renegade must have sensed its ominous presence, for he turned his head. With the last of his breath he emitted a desperate gurgle, tried to force his failing body back. The light dove for his chest, plunging inside as though his flesh posed no barrier. A racking spasm lifted his chest from the ground, dragging his flaccid head along the paving as his arms and legs thrashed. Seconds later, he lay inert, eyes wide.
Kordahla’s heart thumped. An archaic power lay within this possession, something which should not be abroad in the world of living men. She stared at the gutted corpse.
“My dear,” Jordayne said.
Her silence drove Jordayne back to Drucilamere.
“How dare you talk about honour when you hit a woman,” Matisse said, finding himself free. He lunged at Mariano. Matisse jerked, crying out in pain, before their bodies connected.
Ahkdul laughed. “Your puny drug addict of a mage can’t protect you.” He drew a knife from his boot, tilting it to reflect the sun into Matisse’s eyes. A cruel curve played about his lips as he thrust. Yelped. Dropped the blade before it could cut kurta or skin. He grimaced as it clattered on the stone at his feet.
Mariano smirked. “For daring to lay a hand on a Crown Prince, you pretender to a throne,” he said. But he too, cried out before he could land a punch. He was facing away from Arun, and would not have seen the crystal glow blue at the Minoria’s neck; would not, in his anger have noticed Jordayne squeeze Drucilamere’s arm, or the mage breathe calm.
The Minoria’s hood turned her way. His head dipped, a gesture Kordahla would have taken as respect were they any other place at any other time. Here and now, respect was not a virtue she deserved.
&nb
sp; “Your Highness, there is business to attend,” Arun said in his usual steady voice, though mahktashaan and mage were eyeing each other off.
“What further business could you possibly have in Myklaan?” Matisse said, and despite the casual way he dropped the words, it was obvious he wanted his sword in his hand.
“I demand the return of the crystal and quartz,” Mariano said.
Matisse flicked a glance at the Minoria, dismissed him by returning to his appraisal of Mariano. Kordahla stepped toward the noose. For all his languid manner, Matisse would not fight to free her from Ahkdul’s grasp. A stable throne was too great a treasure, and she a diversion, a minor prize at most.
“A deal then. Princess Kordahla will remain in Myklaan. In return, I will talk to the mages. They will return the crystals, if they have them.”
Ahkdul clenched fists and jaw. “She is pledged to me, you conceited –”
Mariano raised a hand to forestall him. “Neither the Princess–”
“– pig.”
“– nor the crystals are yours to bargain with.”
Matisse folded his arms. “Is that how you regard her life? A commodity to trade for your success?” Danger lurked behind his light tone.
“She is a Princess. She was born to duty, and it is mine to ensure hers is fulfilled.”
The heir to the Myklaani throne picked up the bearded, disembodied head by the hair and made a display of examining it. “Your sense of honour is strong,” he said at last. He fixed Mariano with a look of challenge. “Yet you would entrust your sister to a man who regards her with contempt.”
Drucilamere leant forward to plant a cautionary word in Matisse’s ear. His words were fast and clipped, his eyes were bright with sobriety. The pair of them played a dangerous game.
“Neither our politics nor our family business are your concern,” Mariano said.
Matisse tossed the head to Ahkdul’s feet. “He got what he deserved. But since politics are not our business, it will not distress you to learn Shah Ordosteen denies the existence of the crystals.”
“Then tell your Shah Terlaan considers his actions an act of war.” Mariano gestured and they filed out of the courtyard. Never again would gardens smell so sweet with frangipani, jasmine, and rose. Never again would the sun sparkle on canals rippling with fountain-fall, or parrots with ruffled plumes delight in their bath. Never again would she see that confidence-destroying smile on her lover’s face. He was shaking off Drucilamere’s hand, striding fast toward her where she walked, trapped between her brother and Ahkdul, while a wary Arun brought up the rear. A soft glow of the crystal and one raised finger was all Arun needed to warn him off as Jordayne, her face frozen in shock, stared after her.