by Zamil Akhtar
I touched my chin. “I think I know a room you’d like.”
“Before that, we need to do something I should’ve done the moment we got here.” He pointed at the ceiling. “Take me to the highest place in the palace.”
That would be the eastern guard tower. It was a short walk, during which I explained the history of the Sand Palace to Eshe. It was built by Saint-King Zabur, but then Seluq’s son Rukan leveled it when he seized the city from his own brother. I think Eshe already knew this, or he was uninterested, judging by how tepidly he nodded and hmmd.
Climbing the winding steps of the guard tower terrified me somewhat, and Eshe more so — there was no railing — but reaching the top was worth it. A sand-colored city spread in all directions, hazy in the dusty air. It seemed so still and peaceful.
“Romantic views,” I said to Eshe.
“If only that was why I brought you.” He frowned and unsheathed his dagger. “Cyra, I need your blood.”
“My blood?”
“With conqueror’s blood, I can write a bloodrune that will protect us from Zedra’s soulshifting. I’ll have to write it at four corners of the palace, as well, so I’ll need quite a bit. It’s like spreading a net, you see.”
Of course. I hadn’t really thought about it, but it seemed my blood was special. “Am I the only one with this blood?”
He shook his head. “No, but it’s rare. I’d never written a rune with conqueror’s blood until the day I saved your life. It’s the basis of many potent bloodrunes.” Eshe took my hand. “Just a prick on your finger, all right?” From his caftan pocket, he took out a tiny, emptied perfume bottle.
I winced at the thought of being cut. I closed my eyes; the dagger prick lasted a blink, but the sensation of my blood being squeezed from my finger hurt worse. Seconds later, it was done, and Eshe wrapped my finger with a bandage.
Eshe dipped his finger into the perfume bottle and painted a bloodrune on the wall: an eye within the blazing sun. Then he mumbled something, and the rune glowed for a moment.
“It’s done.” He breathed with relief. “We’ll need to go to the other extremities, now.”
“Why do I have such rare blood, Eshe?” I fingered the high collar of my caftan, which hid the bloodrunes that Eshe had written on my neck, with my blood, to save my life and protect me from being soulshifted again.
He raised his hands, palms up. “Aside from your ancestry, I don’t know.”
“Is it a blessing…or a curse?”
“Maybe neither. Maybe both.”
What about the star-seeing eye, hiding behind my eyepatch? I so wanted to show him, but how could I? Then he’d know I was the very thing he hunted. Beholden to the void, to a star so dark it ate light.
“Eshe…what if I was evil? What would you do?”
He crossed his eyes in confusion. “There’s a difference between not being good and being evil.”
“You think you’re so insightful, but you can’t see what’s standing in front of you.”
“I see someone struggling, like everyone else, for a place in this world. Firing a bit high, sure, but as the Archers of the Eye say, ‘aim at the sun and you’ll hit the moon.’”
I shook my head. He really didn’t get it. But I needed him to know. I couldn’t go on, hiding from the one person I didn’t hate.
I fingered the back of my eyepatch, ready to pull it off and show him what I’d become.
In the corner of my eye, a light blazed. Shimmering red stars exploded beneath the sun. I hadn’t even pulled the eyepatch off, and already I was seeing stars.
“Fireworks?” Eshe said. “Where are they coming from?”
The bursts sounded over Qandbajar. Fireworks indeed…but stranger than that, they were coming from the shrine. And everyone knew red fireworks meant one thing: war.
22
Zedra
It was bad enough being trapped. But when Khizr Khaz ordered his men to stand guard inside my room, it became intolerable. Mirima had gone to stay elsewhere — in fact, so had everyone aside from me and Celene, who was asleep on the pallet next to me.
Of course, I protested. Demanded to see the sheikh. Reminded them that I was the Crown Prince’s beloved. But these Order men didn’t care.
So I threatened them with beatings, whipping, hanging, burning. Who were they to trap me? Some dirt-faced beggars whose only skill was fasting from sunrise to sunset? Is that all faith was to them, depriving yourself?
Their utter indifference to my pleading enraged me. But I couldn’t let that rage dictate what I would do. I had to take the time to think, so my actions would help, not harm.
I’d been a fool; somewhere, somehow, I’d exposed myself. Someone clever had put the pieces together and told others. And so it became quite clear: the old sheikh knew. And if he knew, so did others. The alliance I’d forged to stand against Pashang were now my captors.
Worse, I had an enemy I never expected: Cyra. She always was full of surprises…but a starwriter? How could that be? And if true, which star spoke to her?
So there I sat, on my pallet, surrounded by three Order men watching my every move. In the end, I could sit here and think and think and think, but it wouldn’t save me.
“Father, do you hear me?” I whispered under my breath. “I need you, Father.” I’d been repeating that for hours, to no avail. Our son was somewhere in the city, and his father wasn’t here, helping me save him. It was my burden. Always my burden.
“I need to go relieve myself,” I said to one of the guards.
He tossed a bucket at me.
“Surely, you jest. Can followers of Saint Jamshid be so indecent?”
He said nothing and stared at me, a disgusting smile stuck on his lips. So I grabbed the bucket. Rotated it until I found a splinter sticking out the side. I pricked myself on it and wrote the perfect bloodrune for this.
I rolled the bucket to the man’s feet. He stared at it, entranced. The other two looked as well, and then they stood and stared straight, hands at their sides, eyes wide and unblinking.
I crawled over to sleeping Celene. How foolish of them to keep her with me — likely, they didn’t know the extent of my power, nor the power in her blood. I dabbed my finger in the slobber on her chin and licked it; beneath the obvious disgust of someone else’s spit was a salted milk aftertaste. I didn’t know this rare flavor, which meant it was powerful, and there was a decent chance it shared some bloodrunes with conqueror’s blood. If I had to guess, I’d say it was angel’s blood because long ago, that flavor was found among a tribe that lived in the icelands to the west, though they’d gone extinct before I was born. Not the soundest reasoning, but a wild guess was better than nothing, I supposed.
I shook her awake. “I’m going to cut your finger.” I reached over and pulled a dagger from a tranced guard’s belt. “Your blood is going to get us out of here.”
Celene yawned and rubbed her eyes. “My blood?”
“You have a rare flavor beating through your heart. And rare flavors can do…well, if I’m right, you may yet see.”
She looked up at the tranced guards; I snapped my fingers in front of their unblinking eyes.
“By now, I ought not to be surprised by anything you do.” Celene gulped. “You’ve been fighting so hard…it seems no one can get in your way. To be honest, you scare me…and yet, I kind of admire what you’re capable of. I hope, one day, I can fight as hard as you for the things I believe in.”
I let out a hah. I wasn’t trying to be an exemplar. “Celene, I hope you never have to do a shadow of the things I’ve done. I hope you grow old with those you love and die happy. I almost had that…but it all ended so badly, and then I was cursed with this second life.”
“Is it such a curse? If you can be with your son, would it be so bad? Is it not another chance at happiness, as well?”
She was right. How unexpected: wisdom from someone who hadn’t a wrinkle on her jowls. “Thank you.” I rubbed the wetness from my eyes. “Knowing
that you care is actually…well, it makes this a bit easier.”
“I’ll help you be with your son. Whatever I can do. Just…don’t forget your promise to me.” She held out her hand. “And may Marot forgive me.”
“I won’t forget, dear. I will get you home.” I hesitated, not wishing to see blood on her skin. “Thank you again…for believing in me.”
I pushed the point of the blade into her fingertip. Blood oozed, and she sucked in a breath; I squeezed the flow into a small perfume bottle. Once I’d gotten enough, I doused her wound with water and wrapped it with a bit of cloth.
Before leaving the room, I grabbed a scimitar from a guard. On the way down the stairs, I wrote a bloodrune on the flat of the curved blade, one I’d never tried: a six-sided star, a seven-sided star, and an arrow shooting through them. Whether it would work depended on if this bloodrune could be written with whatever blood flavor Celene possessed.
I whispered the invocation. To my astonishment, it glowed.
I didn’t even know how to wield a sword, but that wouldn’t matter. As it was rather hefty, I simply held it forward with both hands. Celene stayed behind me.
“You know how to use that?” she asked.
I nodded, hoping to comfort her.
Three Order men stood outside, their hoods on. They laughed at the sight of me wielding a sword. So I slashed it in their direction.
The air caught fire, and the fire roared, catching all three on their cloaks. I stared, horrified, at the three burning men — each flailing and crying and running. I gaped in shock at what I was able to do. Celene, too, screamed and covered her mouth. I should’ve used the ice rune — the frozen can’t move or make a sound.
Nevertheless, we had to go. I took Celene’s hand, and we ran into the bushes at the back of the shrine, thorns grabbing at our clothes. We pushed through the growth, the shrieks of the burning men resounding, until we reached the alley behind the shrine. We darted toward the street as the screaming became fainter, until there was silence.
But the street wasn’t empty, like I’d hoped: gholam blocked the road toward the river. They noticed us, then formed up, guns forward.
As they neared, I held out my sword. I was about to enflame the air when someone stepped through the line and came forward: Kato, helmeted and shining like a freshly minted coin.
“Zedra, my-my-my.” He sighed. “I thought you better at keeping secrets.”
“Kato, there’s no time. Let us go.”
He whistled; the wall of gholam parted, leaving a way for us.
“A girl who brandishes a sword — mmm — lights a fire inside.” He leaned his matchlock on the ground. “I have nothing against your kind, you know.”
“My kind?”
“Path of the Children. I couldn’t care less. Khizr Khaz overreacted. Fool is the man who makes enemies of dogs while wolves roam.”
Wait, what? Was that why he’d imprisoned me? But why did he have guards in my room, watching my every move?
Or, perhaps, that was only what he’d told the others. I’d exposed myself by running onto the street and shouting for my son. Surely Khizr Khaz knew. Perhaps he even had my son and Mansur — somewhere — and Mansur had confirmed to him that he’d been soulshifted. Khizr Khaz merely put the pieces together and figured out it was me. And yet, it seemed the sheikh didn’t trust his own allies with the truth.
Or perhaps Kato was playing me for a fool? Laying a trap? By Lat, I was supposed to be a fearsome sorceress yet had no idea what was happening!
“Zedra,” Kato said as we walked past, “you do realize the streets ahead are no-man’s-land. You’re going to be captured by the Jotrids, and they won’t be as polite as me. I know a place where you’ll be safe.” He came close and whispered. “A house in the Glass District. Tell them Kato sent you, and they’ll never betray your trust.” He described the location: the same house where his daughter lived. He wasn’t lying; I’d watched him go there myself after he visited his son in the Alley of Mud when I followed him as the drongo.
“I’d send an escort with you,” Kato said, “but that would attract attention. And your clothes…you’d be better off in rags or robes, you realize?”
I nodded. We should’ve grabbed robes on the way out. “Your help…you’ve no idea how much I appreciate it.” It seemed I’d been wrong about Kato from the first. He was as well-intentioned and true as anyone in this city could be.
He raised an eyebrow. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Always have been. The next time Kyars is pulling off your clothes, you’ll whisper ‘Kato saved me’ in his ear.” He stepped back with a smirk.
The Glass District lay just beyond Saint Jorga’s Bridge, but Order men guarded it. Celene and I could take Saint Rizva’s Bridge into the Metal District, then cut across. We hurried past the gholam and continued down the street, my sword hanging awkwardly from my pant lace.
A layer of sand seemed to cover everything, the result of the streets not being cleaned for a single day. Children watched us from their windows, as if our nervous scurrying was entertainment. We stayed away from the doorways and alleys, wary about being pulled inside, which was a danger for unguarded women even in the best of times. The afternoon sun brought a breeze, but still Celene and I heaved, neither of us accustomed to such a pace.
Finally, we arrived at Saint Rizva’s Bridge. From my conversation with Safia, or rather Sadie, earlier, I knew it was being guarded by Archers of the Eye. And there they were — tens of them, formed up on the far side, Sadie among.
They noticed us as we crossed. Sadie put her bow on her back and approached. Celene cowered at my back, like a scared puppy.
“Zedra,” she tugged at my caftan, “what if she sends me back to Sirm?”
“She won’t, dear. She ran away, just like you.”
Judging by the sweat on Sadie’s forehead and shirt, she’d been standing there for a while. “What’re you doing here?” she asked, trying to peek at Celene, who had pushed her face against my back. “And who’s that?”
I dragged Celene in front of me. She covered her face with her hands, so I pulled them off.
Sadie gasped. “C-Celene?”
Celene finally looked at her. “Been a while, Sadie.”
“Sadie,” I repeated. “There are enemies behind us and worse beyond this bridge.” I held out my hand. “Will you help us?”
She gasped again. “How long have you known who I am?”
“We’ll talk about it later. Please help — Khizr Khaz will torture me, for naught but my faith. If I must, I’ll die like my ancestors — fighting — but neither can I swing a sword nor shoot an arrow.”
Tremors. Behind us. Order men were marching up the street toward the bridge.
Sadie took my hand. “All right. I’ll ask the Archers to delay them. Lead the way.”
We ran across the bridge into the Metal District — my least favorite part of the city. But today, the air didn’t choke with black smoke because no one was working. I took the lead, with Sadie behind me and Celene behind her. We crossed the thoroughfares and even took shortcuts through alleys. No Jotrids to be seen. We were about to cross the archway into the Glass District when a rumbling sounded.
The three of us darted behind a low wall and lay on our bellies. Horses galloped by, hundreds of them, kicking up dust that obscured the air. They brought the smell of the Waste: damp horsehide, shit, grass, and rider sweat. After a few minutes, they’d all passed, heading in the direction of the bridge. Were the Jotrids attacking the shrine?
We stood. Arm spans away, a dismounted Jotrid was pissing in the road, painting a pattern with his stream. His eyes flared upon sighting us; he didn’t even put his cock in and reached for the bow hanging off his horse.
And then an arrow burst through his neck, spraying blood, and he fell into his piss puddle, eyes wide.
Sadie was not only accurate, she was fast. I hadn’t even noticed her draw, but there she stood, huffing, bow clenched tight.
We stayed low
and entered the Glass District. The unbreakable glass statue of that saint greeted us, her hands outstretched as if to hug all who came here. I could never remember her name, but what did it matter?
The house where Kato’s mistress and daughter lived was just ahead, the domes of the neighboring buildings dim beneath the clouded sun. One more street to cross to safety. Once there, I could soulshift into the drongo and search for my son, without any fear of Khizr Khaz or Pashang.
We ran toward the door. Dark drapes covered the glass walls, like all dwellings in the district. I banged the knocker on the wooden door, then folded my arms and waited while staring at Sadie and Celene.
We hadn’t said a word to each other since the bridge, but their fearful eyes told me everything. Sadie was tough, but by appearances, we were just three women running around a city engulfed by war. And though Celene had been through much, she was barely more than a child and couldn’t be expected to be fearless. As for myself…my heart wouldn’t stop thudding into my throat.
I knocked on the door again. What if they weren’t here? I tried to turn the knob, but it wouldn’t budge.
A shadow loomed. Down the lane, a man emerged wearing a cloak. An Order cloak.
“Sadie!” I called, pointing to the man. While I gripped the hilt of my flame-flinging sword, she pulled out an arrow and nocked it in the man’s direction.
The man pulled down his hood and walked toward us, chewing the while. By Lat, it was him! The light-haired, fair-skinned, jelly-chewing man! As he approached, Sadie pulled her arrow taut.
“Don’t, Sadie! He knows where my son is!”
“You…” she said to the man, ignoring me. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Footsteps behind me. I turned to see another Order man; he lunged at me, grabbed my neck, and put me in a hold. I pushed against him but couldn’t break free. More men appeared, grabbing Celene and Sadie, who could scarcely resist. I flailed and pushed and cried but couldn’t weigh against the man’s strength. He stuffed something in my mouth: seeds. They dissolved on my tongue, and it all went limp and dark.