Running Wild

by Lucinda Betts

  But fear rode in on the waves of surrender. Fear they were running out of time—not fear of discovery. As long as she had her bridle, her head would not end up on a pike, no matter what rules she violated.

  “After we vanquish the shitani,” he said, “will you consent to marry me, Princess Shahrazad?”

  “I—”

  “No,” he said, putting a finger to her lips. “Do not answer me now. You must think on this. Your father may desire your head for this choice. The Raj may desire mine. My mother herself may object.”

  “I will think on it then,” she said. But she knew the answer.

  He nodded, a rakish grin on his face. “We’ll finish this properly, in a bed of teak and silk.”

  She nodded, closing her veil over her face in deference to her father. “I’ll see you in the Sultan’s study.”

  “Don’t let him arrest you or take your head. I have enough demons to kill without him adding to their numbers.”

  She held up her bridle. “No one will control me again.”

  He touched her hand and strode toward the commander of the Warqueens as she watched. Tahir, Prince of House Kulwanti, did not appear afraid.

  She remembered that bravery as she walked past her father’s guards. They didn’t try to stop her. They didn’t try to question her. In fact, they didn’t even acknowledge her.

  Which was not right. Shahrazad had never in her life roamed these halls without an escort, had never walked unchallenged through a guarded entryway. Fear snaked through her stomach.

  When she arrived at her father’s door, she debated whether she should knock. Duha always had, but she was not her nurse. Marshalling her inner strength, she opened the door and walked through exactly like she was a man.

  “Princess Shahrazad,” her father said formally, not standing from his cushion. “We’ve been waiting for you—since you evaded my guards with the help of a strange man, an invisible man.”

  “Father,” she said, rushing toward him. The blue smoke from his huqqa coiled around him, obscuring his features. “May God hold you in his eyes, I’m—”

  “I’m sorry God has failed to hold you in his eyes,” the Sultan said. His own eyes were as sad as she’d ever seen. “Guards!” He clapped twice. “Take her to the prison.”

  “Father,” she said, refusing to acknowledge the fear in her stomach. “You must know that the shitani invasion is upon us.”

  “Take her now.”

  “But you don’t understand,” Shahrazad said, stepping away from the guards who eyed her warily. Perhaps the idea that they were to grasp royal flesh—a woman’s flesh—unnerved them. “The shitani. They’re coming. They’ll be here tonight or perhaps in the morning—hundreds of them. Thousands! You and the Raj must prepare to fight them.”

  “How dare you speak to your father in this way,” the Raj said. She hadn’t seen him clearly in the smoke-filled room, but she saw him now as he leaped from his cushion and approached her.

  “Father,” she said, falling on her knees before him. “I’ve always been a dutiful daughter, served you and our land in my thoughts and in my heart and actions—I’ve seen the demons myself. They’re swarming over the Amr Mountains as I speak to you.”

  “You!” her father roared. “You dare call this land yours when your actions brought these very demons to our doorstep.”

  Shahrazad shot a glance at the Raj ir Adham, meeting his gaze in bold defiance. If her defiance had brought these demons, his had as well.

  “Yes, it was he who told me,” the Sultan said, perhaps catching her glance and misinterpreting it. “My spies told me he was to blame for this cursed invasion, but the Raj himself has clarified this point. By your own admission, you’ve touched a man, succumbed to the temptations of the flesh.”

  A flash of fear crossed the Raj’s broad features. If she mentioned the Raj’s penchant for men now—and her father believed her—they’d accompany each other to the Pike Wall. Rakeb men were never forgiven.

  But Shahrazad understood his choices: it was either her neck or his, and like most people, he’d chosen her neck.

  Well, she didn’t care. She had her bridle, her freedom.

  And if the Sultan beheaded the Raj, they’d have one fewer army at their disposal.

  “What you say is true, father,” she said, shoulders back and chin high. “I have allowed a man’s touch, and I have allowed affection for a man other than you into my heart. Prince Tahir of House Kulwanti is a great ruler, and at great expense to himself, he’s brought you an entire regiment of Warqueens to help you battle the encroaching shitani.”

  “I have all the alliance I need with the Raj ir Adham, who’s pledged his fidelity to me despite the failure of this marriage.”

  “No doubt,” she said. She looked at the Raj, but he wouldn’t meet her eye. “You should both be preparing your armies. Should I inform Prince Tahir that his armies will not be needed?”

  “You dare speak to me of matters of which you know nothing.” The Sultan had nearly shouted the words, but then his anger fell away. “You’d always been the perfect daughter, Shahrazad. You were always my favorite. What happened?”

  “Father.” She embraced him, but he remained stony beneath her hands. She took a step back and nodded, knowing there was no way back into his heart. “Did you ask yourself the same question when your tattoo appeared?”

  For a moment he stood in silence. She watched the muscles in his forehead freeze, the fine skin around his eyes tighten. Then he broke. “Guards,” the Sultan ordered. “Take her away.”

  The soldiers marched toward her, spears at the ready. This time she didn’t resist, not even when they grabbed her arms and touched her flesh.

  “Wait,” the Sultan said. “Turn her toward me.”

  For a moment, hope rushed through Shahrazad’s blood. Her father had changed his mind!

  “I want to be very clear on one thing,” he said. “The klerins will take your case first thing in the morning, and your head will join Haniyyah’s on the Pike Wall.”

  But Shahrazad refused to be daunted. “As you wish.”

  True fear still hadn’t penetrated her heart, even as the guards marched her through the maze of halls. No doubt, they’d put her in her own bedchamber. Even Haniyyah had been housed in her own bedchamber before her execution.

  And once the guards closed her door and locked her inside the safety of her own chambers, she’d slip the bridle over her head and fly away, out the window. She’d find Tahir, and they’d escape. They’d escape the demons and their parents and the wretched magician, and they’d fly over the mountains until her father’s treachery was nothing but a memory. She’d done all she could for her father—and her land. She could do no more.

  But the soldiers didn’t take her to her chambers. Instead, they led her to the bowels of the palace.

  “Where are we going?” she asked. “Take me to my chambers!”

  But the guards didn’t answer, and her mind raced to make sense of this. Then she remembered. Both the Sultan and the Raj knew she’d shift form at sunset—and they were stopping her.

  The guards opened a huge gate with a black iron key and locked it behind them. They used a second key to open a smaller door.

  “The shitani are coming,” Shahrazad told them in a desperate attempt to keep her freedom. “They’re coming to this palace as we breathe. I myself killed three of them in the desert. Prince Tahir killed one by the library. Who knows how many are already here? If I were you, I’d prepare the men.”

  But they didn’t answer. Instead, they shoved her inside the dark room and slammed the door. She heard the lock click as they turned the key, and then she heard their footsteps clap down the hall toward the larger gate.

  She was alone in the smallest, darkest place she’d ever been in her life, and she had no idea how to escape.

  As the commander explained in her no-nonsense voice, the Warqueen Abbesses had no interest in sharing quarters with the Sultan’s men. Instead, they pitche
d small tents in the sand outside the palace walls, maximizing the wall’s ability to shade them.

  “Ah,” a man with a fine-boned face said as he approached Tahir. “You’ve settled your men, then. I’m glad to see it.”

  The speaker looked so much like Shahrazad that Tahir knew immediately this was the Sultan. “Sire,” he said, bowing deeply. “My mother, the Queen Kulwanti, sends her greetings to you. We are glad to assist you in this time of darkness.”

  “But is it so dark?” a second man asked. Tahir recognized him too, despite his clothing.

  “Greetings, Raj ir Adham,” Tahir said, bowing almost as deeply to this man, even as he wondered at the game. “You must know it’s a dark time. You yourself have seen a shitani.”

  “When did this happen?” the Sultan asked, eyes alert. “When did you see a demon, my friend?”

  “I found this rogue skulking through your palace, my lord. And while it’s true I saw a demon at this time, who’s to say this man didn’t bring it himself? He held it in his own hand.”

  Tahir paused, studied the Raj for a moment. He’d seen the man naked, fucking another man in a land where such things meant death. Was the Raj trying to tell him something, or had he decided Tahir was an enemy to be eradicated by the Sultan? Probably the latter—the magician would do anything to run Tahir and Shahrazad from the comfort of their homes. Why should the magician have treated the Raj any differently.

  “Come now, Raj,” the Sultan said. “We have a true enemy to fight—the shitani. Let’s not waste our precious resources battling each other. We need as many allies as we can marshal in these dangerous times.”

  “Wise words,” the Raj said. “My apologies.”

  “None needed,” Tahir said, bowing again. The Sultan’s words were wise, but there was something calculated in them. And the magician’s warning rang in his head. The magician had said the Raj was not to be trusted—but she’d told so many lies. “May I ask after Princess Shahrazad?” he asked the Sultan. “I believe your devoted daughter sought your counsel. Did she warn you of the demon hordes we saw scrambling this way?”

  “She found us,” the Sultan said, straightening the sleeve of his embroidered robe. The dark blue of it matched his complexion well, and Tahir assumed that was no accident. “She is dining now, enjoying my finest date-palm wine and goat cheese. She seemed very tired and hungry.”

  “Yes. Our last hours have been busy,” Tahir said, hoping neither man sensed his fatigue. He hadn’t slept since they’d left the oasis, and that seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “So we’ve heard,” the Sultan said.

  Mentally reviewing the preparations needed to fight this battle in his mind, Tahir said, “This may be our last moment of respite. Shall we use it to make a battle plan?” That he could plan and speak—and think—sent liberating joy to his gut. “Perhaps the commander of the Warqueens has information regarding shitani weakness that you lack—or vice versa?”

  “A fine idea.” The Sultan nodded at this. “Why don’t you come to my study?”

  “We have little time to spare, my Sultan,” Tahir said. “As I’m certain the princess told you, when we flew over the Amr Mountains, we saw thousands of the demons swarming the crags heading this direction. The ground was so thick with shitani we couldn’t see the earth beneath their claws.”

  “That does sound dire, but they have some distance to travel, no? And you must be tired and hungry. You cannot command your troops—not even girl troops—without food in your stomach.”

  Tahir realized he hadn’t eaten since the night in the oasis, either. “Very well,” he agreed. “Dinner would not go amiss. Please allow me to send for my commander. She should take part in this conversation.”

  Tahir didn’t miss the dyspeptic expression crossing the Raj’s face, but the Sultan’s expression remained closed. He merely made an accommodating gesture with his hand. “Very well, young prince.”

  She’d decided to batter the door down with her hooves. She didn’t care if the guards heard her. She didn’t care if they saw her and came running to stop her. She’d run them down, lash them, pummel them like she had the shitani in the desert. Their blood would coat the floor.

  Remaining in prison was not a viable option, not while the shitani roamed this world unfettered. She would not allow them to swallow the palace children or enthrall the palace men. No woman of the Land of the Moon would tolerate demon tongues lapping their flesh.

  She slipped the bridle over her head. The first time she’d done this, she’d felt ridiculous, like a child playing with stable tack. But now, now, the cold metal in her mouth tasted not of iron but of freedom. And her hooves felt like power as they formed. Her tail was a flag, an emblem of her freedom. Her muscles showed her strength; her teeth showed her might.

  As her human body gave way to pegaz form, the walls crushed in around her. Her pegaz form completely filled the small chamber. The dank bricks smashed her wings against her, but she didn’t care. She’d changed with her hindquarters facing the door, and that wasn’t an accident.

  With a powerful kick, she lashed at her prison cell. She wasted no time splintering the heavy old wood, kicking her powerful hind feet into the door like she wanted to kill it.

  The voices in her mind began nearly immediately. Even as she pounded away at the door, they chanted at her. My queen! Come to us! We will love you. We’ll adore you, never lock you away. Our queen! Come to us!

  Coming to them was the last thing she wanted to do as she galloped down the narrow hall. She rounded the corner to the large gate where she assumed the guards stood. She’d batter down that gate and anything else that stood in her way.

  But the soldiers had a different idea—they waited for her, ropes swirling.

  My queen! We love you, my queen.

  She reared onto her hind legs with an angry squeal. Her front hooves sought bone and flesh, but it was no use. The ropes lashed out and snared her forelegs. Another rope snaked insidiously around her neck. She leaped back, but the guards pulled the ropes tight, so tight she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t run.

  Quick as a night jackal pouncing on a hare, they’d tied her legs together and stuffed her head into a grain sack. She couldn’t move, couldn’t see. She inhaled barley dust and began to cough.

  “The Sultan said she’d try this,” she heard one guard say.

  Leave your vicious land, my queen! Join us. Come to us! We love you.

  “Save your words and help me drag her heavy ass into the next cell.”

  “She doesn’t have a heavy ass—she is a heavy ass.”

  Together the two men pulled her over the cold flagstone, carelessly bruising her tender flesh. With much grunting, they slid her into an even smaller chamber, knocking her hip on the iron doorjamb.

  They stepped on her withers to get out of the cell. They crushed her tail and her wings. But that didn’t cause as much despair as the sounds they made. She heard clanging as they closed the door—it was iron.

  Despair washed through her. Even if she could free herself of these cruel ropes, get the sack off her head, what could she do? Not even her powerful hooves could batter this metal door down.

  Our queen! the voices said. We will save you.

  Leave me alone! If she’d used her human voice to say those words, they would have left her mouth as a shriek.

  But we’ll never leave you, she heard. We love you too much. Your womb calls to our cocks. Come to us!

  16

  “Flight would help,” the Warqueen commander told the Sultan as he wiped nonexistent crumbs from his lips with a silk napkin. She herself did not eat, and no one invited her to do so. “Shahrazad can fly. Use her.”

  The Raj looked at the Sultan at these words, his blond braid coiled around his shoulder. To Tahir, both men looked worried.

  “My daughter is too precious to risk in warfare,” the Sultan replied after a prolonged pause. “Too precious.”

  The Warqueen said nothing, and Tahir knew how she felt.
The truth of her words was so obvious that no further explanation should be necessary.

  And yet it appeared the Sultan needed to hear them.

  “My lord,” Tahir said, replacing his goblet carefully on the table. “The shitani cannot harm her as she soars above them. They have no projectile weapons—their weaponry lies in their ability to enthrall their victims, and I’ve found that requires both touch and eye contact—books from your own library confirm this.”

  “He’s been in your library,” the Raj pointed out.

  But the Sultan didn’t seem to care. “As both you and your Warqueen come from a land where women are not loved enough to merit protection, I understand that this is a difficult concept for you to grasp—but I cannot permit my daughter to parade herself as an absurd flying horse for all to see.”

  “Even if it protects all those who see her? Even if it prepares your men, lets them know the location and timing of the enemy?”

  “Even so.”

  To control his anger, Tahir took a date, let its soft sweetness explode over his tongue. He believed he knew Shahrazad well enough to guess that she’d sacrifice this small portion of her safety and dignity for the safety of her land. “Perhaps this is a decision we should leave to Princess Shahrazad,” he suggested.

  “Nonsense!” the Raj said. “A woman cannot decide such a thing.”

  Tahir was pleased again with his Warqueen. Her face remained implacable, and she remained silent. “I know,” Tahir said in what he hoped was a calming voice, “that women aren’t often consulted in your land. But fate has touched your daughter.”

  “Someone touched her,” the Raj said, almost under his breath as he allowed the servant to put more jasmine rice onto his dish. The words sent alarm racing through Tahir. What had these two done with Shahrazad?

  “I would like to see her,” Tahir said, standing to make his point. The Warqueen stood as well, her hand on the hilt of her sword. “You might consider me a paranoid man, but I feel a sudden concern for her health.”

  “Now, Prince Tahir,” the Sultan said, his dark eyes peering at him, “there’s no need to be hasty. Finish your dinner, and we’ll go to the women’s quarters if you wish. You’ll see her there, dining with her cousins and her beloved nurse.”