by Zamil Akhtar
On the floor behind a low desk stacked with books and scrolls sat Khizr Khaz, his back against the wall. He stood to greet us. The man wasn’t wearing his typical carded wool cloak but rather a rough-looking caftan that ended just above his bare ankles.
He gestured for the three of us to sit, though there weren’t any pillows. Just cool, uncarpeted stone. Celene and I did so; Mirima took an age to lower herself and find a comfortable position: her usual high back and clasped hands. Stark contrast to Celene, who rested her chin on a fist.
“Apologies, but you gave me no warning,” Khizr Khaz said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I would have come to the palace, where you’d be more dignified, had you summoned me with some notice.”
“It’s not dignity we’re lacking,” Mirima said. “Surely you’re aware what’s happened in the palace. What your old friend is doing.”
“My friend and your brother.” Khizr sighed.
Mirima turned to me. “Go on, dear. Best he hear it from you.”
I put my hand to my chest. “Mansur has accused me of infidelity and taken my son, claiming he is not of Kyars’ seed. He will murder my son, I have no doubt, as part of his scheme.”
“His scheme to claim the throne,” Khizr said, noting, with a faint smile, our surprise at his frankness. “The man has never stopped believing it was his right, despite Tamaz removing him from the line of succession that their father decided for this kingdom. There’s a reason the Sirmian shahs still kill their brothers.”
“Sheikh,” I said, my voice fearful and heavy, “we can’t wait for my beloved to return. Every day that he doesn’t, Mansur grows more brazen. That’s why we’ve come here. You’re the only one who can stop him.”
“Not the only one.” Khizr Khaz knocked on his desk.
The door swung open, bringing sunshine from the hallway. Amid that light stood a man clad in golden chainmail, gleaming in the glow. He looked upon us and bent his neck.
“Sultanas,” Pasha Kato said, “how lovely to see you healthy.”
“Kato.” Mirima looked up in surprise. “I was wondering what happened to you. Mansur was rather tight-lipped when I asked him why the palace had been emptied of gholam. I could barely convince him to let me retain my escort.”
Kato put his hands on his hips. “He ordered us to return to our barrack, so he could take the palace and seize the heir, unimpeded. But with the men of the Order, we’ve the numbers to overwhelm his household guard.”
Just what I wanted. While Mansur was busy fighting off the gholam and the Order, I could ensure my son’s safety, my own way.
“No!” I exclaimed, shuffling to my knees. “You’d make a battle of this? If Mansur finds his back to the wall, he’ll dangle my son’s life to save himself!”
“There’s yet another problem,” Sheikh Khizr said. “The Jotrids. They’ve shown no desire to enter the city, though I doubt they’ll sit by if we attack Mansur.”
“The gholam still control the walls,” Kato said. “But…we’d have to divide our force to both retake the palace and hold the walls.”
“Precisely.” Khizr gestured for Kato to sit next to him. “Even with the Order augmenting your force, can we stop so many with so few?”
Kato sat cross-legged, across from me. “We need only keep Pashang from entering until Kyars returns. But Mansur’s arrest can’t wait. The longer he remains in the Sand Palace, the more people will believe he’s in control. We must secure the heir and the Sand Palace without delay.”
I squeezed my chest. “Did you not hear me? Mansur has all the leverage. He could kill my son. I came here believing the Fount and the Order would pressure Mansur into giving up this foolish power grab. I didn’t come for blood.” I came for nothing but blood. An ocean of it.
“Pressure?” Kato scoffed and shook his head. “Sultana, we are well beyond negotiating. The moment Mansur accused you, the mother of the shah-to-be, of infidelity, he turned traitor. I’m going to take his head off, embalm it, and perch it at the tip of the Grand Bazaar. Then I’m going to march to Merva and do like to his wife, two sons, and daughter, so none may ever challenge Kyars and your son.”
Good. My faith in Kato seemed repaid this day.
I sighed, as if in resignation. Noting my trembles, Mirima hugged me. “It’s been hard on her,” she said, “as it would be for any loving mother. And I share her concerns. But…though I hate the stench of blood, even I cannot think of another way. My brother must die.”
I gave them a few sobs. “Please, get my son back. He’s all I have in this world. Him and my beloved, who is so far away.” And now, a gush of tears.
As Mirima held me close, I met Celene’s gaze. She’d been quiet the whole time, sitting in the corner, and couldn’t understand much Paramic anyway. But, as she stared into my eyes, she showed the briefest smile, as if she understood me. And, by every indication, she was the only one who did.
17
Cyra
“Your bandage is soaked in sweat,” Eshe said as he set my breakfast tray at my bedside. “I’ll run down and buy some gauze, help you change it.”
I sat up in bed and stared at the clear broth as my stomach knotted without appetite. I absolutely could not let him help me change it, given what was underneath.
Eshe mixed the bowl with a spoon — whatever paste he’d added spread and thickened the broth. Still, I winced as he brought the spoon to my mouth.
“Eat,” he said. “Your body has a fight of its own, needs what nourishment it can get.”
“Ugh, all right.” I slurped and swallowed. Not entirely tasteless — the chickpea paste had an earthiness to it.
“Cooking isn’t one of your many talents, clearly,” I said with my wryest smile.
Eshe chuckled. “I made breakfast for a sick woman. Return when you’re healthy, and you’ll see just how talented I can be.”
Surprising confidence. “Really? I’ve been eating palace food for the past eight years. You’ll need more than confidence to impress me.”
He brushed my bandage. I turned away, fearful he’d notice. Notice my featureless black eye. But it stayed covered, and he only seemed concerned with how much I’d sweat during the night.
“I’ll go get the gauze.” At that, he left.
What the hell was I going to tell him? Oh! I hadn’t even noticed I grew a new eye! Haha! The man hunted sorcerers and things arcane — well, I’d become something worth hunting. The eye showed me stars, and yet I’d no idea why, nor who gave it to me. All I knew was Khagan Pashang — of all fucking people — knew something about it.
Whatever it was, I couldn’t let it distract from my purpose. We’d come to Qandbajar for a reason: to find and expose the sorcerer who killed Tamaz. To make certain Kyars, my husband by law, would take the throne knowing the truth. Many stood in our way: the sorcerer, Kato, and Lat only knew who else. The time for wavering and weakness had long passed.
I couldn’t hide this from Eshe, though. He hadn’t hidden his secrets from me, and we were partners in this ordeal. I had to tell him, I just…didn’t know how. So I went over it in my head:
Eshe, my dear friend, I grew a weird eye that makes me see stars, even in the daytime. Oh, and it’s entirely black…you know, like the wicked jinn from all those children’s tales.
Wording confessions was obviously not my strength. But, like pouring alcohol on a wound, better to get it over with. I ought to just show him the eye and let him think what he will. He had to know, and he had to know now.
Ten minutes later, he thump-thumped up the stairs, entered my room, and tossed a bundle of gauze at me.
“Come on, take it off.” He paused mid-step. “Your bandage, I mean.”
“Bet I’m not the first girl you’ve said that to in this bed.” I took a deep breath and reached for my bandage, ready to reveal my secret.
Knock-knock sounded on the door.
“Who could that be?”
As he went to answer the door, I got up and watched from the threshold of my r
oom. Eshe opened the door, peeked through the crack, then backed away as the person on the other side pushed it wide.
Persons. Three men wearing flowing, ocean-blue robes with bronze scimitars on their belts entered the room and surrounded Eshe. I recognized the tall felt hats they wore, so exaggerated they nearly brushed the ceiling, as well as the metal clasps. Philosophers.
“This must be about the book,” Eshe said. “I was just meaning to return it.”
A man who wore a foreign shirt that featured an even larger metal clasp at the waist stepped forward. “You think the Grand Philosopher would barge into your lodging to retrieve a book?”
“You’re…Litani?” Eshe asked as I backed against the wall, content to listen and not see or be seen. The Philosophers often seemed rude, dismissive, and blunt, even the ones who tutored me. I hoped Eshe wasn’t in trouble.
“Pleasure to meet you, Eshe,” Grand Philosopher Litani said. “How is Hakaim, by the way?”
“My father? He was well, last we corresponded.”
“Happy to hear it. Your father did a great service for mankind. He only salvaged a fraction of the Ten Thousand Tomes of Tinbuq, but enough to be a torch in the night.” He sighed like a disappointed father. “And then there’s you…losing a book, darkening the world. I know you don’t have it. But in that mind of yours, there are so many more books, aren’t there, former Disciple Eshe?”
“If you want something, you need only ask. No need to barge into my home. I am a free man, with rights.”
“Rights.” Litani scoffed. “You forfeited your rights the moment you didn’t return Flavors of Blood Volume Two.”
“Is this or isn’t this about the book?” Eshe asked, his tone perplexed. Obviously, Litani was using the lost book as a pretext for something else. “Like I said, I’ll find and return it. Fine me, if you must, for the delay.”
“Fine you,” Litani said. “A fine you could obviously pay, given your lodging. That just won’t do. We’ll talk more at the Tower. Bring him!”
Eshe gasped and struggled and shouted as they grabbed him. A thwap sounded; Eshe wailed. I peeked to see him spitting blood on the wall — oh Lat, he was hurt! I backed away and heard rope tighten on his wrists as he huffed and pleaded. I wanted to jump out and save him…but what could I do?
Litani, though, continued to walk through the apartment. He stepped toward my room as I covered my mouth to douse my hurried breaths. He was a hair from entering when he said, “We can ransack this place later.” He whistled. “Let’s go. Master is waiting.”
Master? But Litani was the Grand Philosopher — no one was higher than him at the Tower. Just who was he working for?
From my window, I watched them push Eshe into a black-roofed carriage. Before his head sunk inside, I caught sight of his bloody lips and fear-drenched eyes. By Lat, the Philosophers were a powerful group. What had he gotten himself into?
With daytime fueling me, I resolved to help my friend. Coming to Eshe’s loft had been a mistake. We should’ve gone straight to where I now trotted: the Shrine of Saint Jamshid. Straight to Khizr Khaz, the most powerful man we could count on.
Heavy crowds made passing through the streets slower than wading through pudding, even on my spotted steed. A stinking sweat stench wafted in the breeze. The impatience was palpable: shouting and cursing alternated through the air. Awful to get stuck in this mire.
By the time I arrived at Saint Jamshid’s, heaviness bore on my chest. Climbing off my steed, tying it at the nearest stable, and tossing a coin to the stable boy — just these rudimentary actions made me want to collapse on silk sheets. Or any sheets.
Out-of-rhythm chanting replaced the shouts and cursing of the streets as worshippers streamed in and out of the shrine. After walking through the colorful stone arches and main doorway, supplicants would reach through the cage that separated them from Saint Jamshid’s sepulcher, as if they begged him to take their hands along with their prayers.
I plodded past the shrine toward the flat-roofed building where the Order lodged. Before I could reach the door, it swung open. I dashed behind an arch as several gholam, gilded scimitars on their belts, walked out. Upon sighting the bald, steel-faced Pasha Kato, I gasped. He was talking to a woman at his back; she was wearing dove-like brocade with silver accents, fit for a queen. What was Mirima doing here?
More shocking: behind them, Zedra walked out, wearing the breezy teal caftan of a handmaid. A relief to see my friend on her feet, but why was she dressed that way? Behind her was a familiar young and pale girl, similarly garbed. Was that…Celene? The Crucian princess I’d bought for Kyars?
I held my breath and listened as they passed. Difficult to make out what was said. Zedra and Celene spoke in Sirmian, though, and they mentioned the name Seluq. Her child?
Once they’d disappeared beyond the arches toward the back of the shrine, I let my breath out. What a strange grouping — why were they with Kato? And what were they doing in the Order’s lodging?
I opened the door and entered the hallway. Bereft and emptied of people. The doors were shut, except for one, and within was the only man I cared to see: Khizr Khaz, sitting behind a low desk, writing a letter with a feather pen and blue ink.
He raised his eyebrow. “You can’t be seen here, girl. Come in and close the door!”
I did as told. A candle burning in a corner niche provided dim light.
“Sheikh Khizr, I desperately need your help.” I got on my knees, eye to eye with him. “Just now, one of my allies…my friend Eshe, was kidnapped by the Philosophers.”
He crossed his arms. “Philosophers? What do they have to do with anything?”
“It’s all so complicated.” I pieced it together as I spoke with tense breaths. “He didn’t return a book or something, and so they took him. I know we have a thousand other things to discuss, but this is urgent. It can’t wait. If they hurt him, I…I…”
“It’s all right, Cyra. I tell my own daughter, one bite at a time. Here you are, trying to gulp the whole apple.” He pretended to chomp an apple.
He was right. “Eshe saved my life.” I described how he’d written the runes that stopped me from bleeding out.
Sheikh Khizr nodded. “Ah, the exiled Disciple. So…the Philosophers have him.” He sighed as if worn by the thought. “I’m going to be frank with you. Though several in the Order are Philosophers too, I don’t have influence in the Tower of Wisdom — its leaders don’t like me. And right now, what influence I do have, I’m putting toward saving this kingdom. One man, though a dear friend of yours, can’t weigh against that.”
“I understand, Sheikh Khizr. I ask so much of you. Yet, I’ve nowhere else to turn.” I shut my eyes, but the tears flowed anyway. This burden weighed too much, and I needed someone to help me bear it. Without Eshe, it was all on me.
“Forgive me for changing the subject, but what happened to Kevah?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. He said something about a jinn tribe and jinn sultana when the desert snows started. After that…I don’t know.”
“We could have used him…in what’s coming.”
“Did something happen?”
Khizr Khaz cleared his throat. “Just as the Disciples feared, this succession has turned more than messy. I believe the sorcerer, whoever he may be, is not backing Kato — like you assumed — but Mansur and that dreaded khagan at our gates.” He explained how Mansur had seized Zedra’s child and expelled the gholam from the palace, which shed light on her visit here.
It truly was messier than I’d imagined. So many factions, so many vying men, yet all I wanted was to find the sorcerer who destroyed my life and to help Kyars keep his throne, perchance he may still consider me his wife.
“What should I do?” I asked, though I knew what I wanted to do. Even before my earnest hopes, the one thing I couldn’t stomach was Eshe hurt. He’d saved me, and so I owed him everything.
“Nothing.” Khizr Khaz shook his head. “You can’t do a thing.” Did he ha
ve to state the obvious so mercilessly? “Only warriors can defeat Mansur and his household guard, who are all hardened khazis from Kashan and beyond. You are no warrior. We’ll need your gifts after the blood has dried, when it’s time to uncover the sorcerer.”
“I’ve no gifts.” I lowered my head in self-pity. “Just rage, bitterness, and heaps of despair.”
“You’re more motivated than anyone, then. And you know what motivates me? Enforcing.” He knocked on his desk — a woody bang. “Enforcing laws, good conduct, and godliness. Enforcing marriage contracts, like the one I presided between Kyars and yourself. In mine eyes, you are the Sultana of Sultanas and naught less.”
By Lat, to hear such from the Grand Mufti enlivened my spirits. I managed a hoarse “thank you.”
“Regarding the Philosophers, if you’re going to try something in the interim, be careful. They are not what they seem. I suspect, as I’ve always suspected, that their loyalties are to a foreign power.”
I’d never heard such a thing, and the thought of yet another enemy tightened my chest. “What foreign power?”
Khizr Khaz leaned across his desk. “The mightiest country in the world — the Empire of Silk.”
I knew from geography lessons that the Silk Empire was on the far side of the earth, across the Waste, and beyond two seas. Theirs was a country built on metal and secret knowledge. Could they be related to the master Litani had mentioned? Perhaps they wanted Eshe for all the books he’d memorized. Perhaps they’d send him to the Silklands, and then I’d never get him back.
“I really don’t know what to do, sheikh,” I said. “I can’t just walk into the Tower and demand they return my friend.”
“No, you can’t. You need an ally with influence. But Kyars, your best bet, is not here. Hadrith, your next best option, is in prison. Ozar, a likely number three, is in there with him. There are other viziers who could help you, but why would they? Everyone believes you murdered Shah Tamaz.” He grunted, reached behind, then dropped a bare scimitar on the table. “This is my answer to Mansur. I suggest you find your answer to the Philosophers.”