Conqueror's Blood (Gunmetal Gods Book 2)

by Zamil Akhtar

  His gaze softened. “Tell me…who do you think I am?”

  I wanted to say evil. If anyone was evil, it was him. The things he’d done…

  “I don’t know.”

  “No, you don’t. You don’t know a thing. You think claiming spoils, so my riders get their due, is so wrong? Do you know how many I’ve made scream because Tamaz or Mansur needed blood to be shed, so they could rule in peace? So their hands could stay clean? If I’m wicked, so are they! So is every Seluqal! So is Kyars!” His cheeks turned fiery. “I’ll tell you what — they made me into their mad dog, and now I enjoy it. I savor each scream, every shrill ‘no!’ Truth is, I’ve been looking forward to this day.”

  “Does your affection for me weigh so little against the gold and slaves you’ll claim? Was this all just a false choice?” I made a fist. “Well, Khagan Pashang, here’s a real one. If you claim even a single stone more, we’re done. I’ll never, ever look upon your face except to spit on it. But if you call off the sacking…then I’ll do whatever you ask.”

  “You think it’s an easy choice for me? On the one hand are all my feelings…for you, for my visions…and on the other, my duties to my tribe, who are just as deserving of this world’s pleasures as any rich Alanyan.” He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “Last night, I was praying. Praying to you-know-who. I sought guidance, but I’m more confounded than ever. Those visions I saw in the Palace of Bones…they’ve all come to pass — except one. Part of me wants to see this out, another to run away. And yet…I wonder sometimes if I still have a choice.”

  “What’s left? What did you see?”

  “I saw…you and me…holding hands in the sand...amid a deluge of smoke and blood. And in the sky above, I saw Lat with peacock wings, holding a magnificent gold scepter. And then I saw you and me…sitting on that golden divan…together.” He chuckled somberly. “Can you imagine that?” He swallowed a lump. “If ever you thought I wanted such a thing, you’re mistaken. I came here to help Mansur and get paid for it. That’s what you asked your Ruthenian plaything to find out, right?”

  I nodded. Nice to be honest, for once. “You’ve no higher ambition?”

  “Mad dogs don’t belong on thrones. Even I know that. So what you’re asking…to defy Kyars, without Mansur or another Seluqal on our side…we would be fighting the greatest dynasty the world has ever known. And if we triumphed, we’d have to create a new dynasty, a new kingdom.” He poked himself in the chest. “I’m a destroyer, not a creator.”

  “Then let me do the creating.” I couldn’t believe what I’d said. Was this what I wanted, or the best among many awful choices?

  I took his hand and massaged his harsh fingers. “Here’s the first thing to consider — if you sack this city, you’ll be killing the mare. Instead, we ought to milk it, like the Seluqals do.”

  “I don’t know much about…milking.” Seeing his befuddled expression, I wished I’d conjured a better analogy.

  “I know a thing or two,” I said. “I’ve been living with them. Tamaz treated me like the daughter he never had. I know the game they play here.”

  “You do realize, if we succeed, all of Alanya will rise in rebellion. Sirm and Kashan will march their armies here, eager to fatten their own kingdoms.”

  “Then we’ll ally with their enemies. The first few years will be a mess, but ask yourself — would you rather run back to the Waste? What’s waiting for you, there? You’d be caught between the Sylgiz and the Alanyans. It’s endless war for you, either way, but at least here there’s a prize worth fighting for.”

  That was likely my best argument. But was I really going down this path? Was I ready to commit everything?

  “I’ll go call off the looting. In the meantime, go talk to Khizr Khaz and fulfill your end.” Pashang clasped my hand. “Say it, now.”

  “Say what?”

  “What you used to call me, when we were children.”

  I chuckled. Of all things. “How about when you get back?”

  “All right — but I’m holding you to it.” He went downstairs. I returned to the Sand Palace to speak with the Grand Mufti.

  They kept Sheikh Khizr under guard in one of the guest rooms. When I entered, he was praying, his hands outstretched. I let him finish. Afterward, he sat on the floor and poured out two cups of tea.

  “I noticed you in the great hall,” he said, “turban and all. I see you found your sword. There’s naught Pashang couldn’t slice, so well done.”

  “Sheikh…” I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to describe my shame, so instead asked about his: “Why did you support Mansur and then turn your back?”

  “For us old men, Mansur will always have the better claim. I was there when Shah Haran made his sons swear the oath — Tamaz to rule first, then Mansur after him — atop Holy Zelthuriya.” He sighed. “But this country isn’t for old men anymore. Truth be told, I don’t know who it’s for.”

  I didn’t share his reasoning, but he seemed genuine. Seemed to be speaking from the heart…and perhaps that was why he’d lost.

  “Whatever happens, I’ll vouch for you,” I said. “Like you vouched for me. You’re a good man…one of the few I’ve met.”

  “Thank you, sultana. Your kindness is a breeze on these old bones. I believe we both wanted to set things right but got mired in the means. How sad that just ends can only be served by wickedness, by deceit, by treachery. By blood and blades. It’s why we are only saved through forgiveness — forgiveness from those we’ve hurt and from Lat herself.”

  To see such a pious man — a living saint, as some believed — stuck in the same dilemma as me made me feel less alone. I only wanted things to be wonderful for myself and everyone but always had an awful choice to make. Even now.

  “Sheikh…I have a request.”

  He sipped his tea. “Tell me, my dear. I am for you.”

  “To spare the city a sacking, I’ve agreed to end my marriage to Kyars. To burn that bridge…so that Khagan Pashang can take me as his wife, if he wants.” I sobbed from the weight of it all. “Only a judge can terminate a marriage without the husband present, and you’re the highest judge in the land.”

  He nodded. “I understand. That must’ve been a harsh decision for you, but you’ve taken the straight path.” The straight path…no…I was farther from it than ever. “Cyra, that’s what faith is about — sacrificing your desires for the good of others.”

  “I’ve always done the opposite — all my life.” I sobbed some more. “I’m not the good woman you think I am.”

  “I know, Cyra.” He put his hand on mine. “I know what you’re hiding, and it doesn’t make you wicked, nor does whatever you’ve done. It’s what you do now — only now — that matters.”

  Did he really? “You couldn’t possibly know.”

  “I know what’s behind that eyepatch.”

  I gasped and pulled my hand away. How did he find out?

  Sheikh Khizr took a long sip of tea, the cardamom wafting into my nose. “If there’s one thing I want you to learn from me, it’s that whatever you’ve done, whatever you’ve become, you can always choose to be better. You’re never too far for forgiveness, so long as you show remorse, so long as you return to the straight path. You understand?”

  I nodded. But I wasn’t sure if I felt genuine remorse or if I wanted to feel better about myself. Did I even deserve forgiveness if I wasn’t willing to right all my wrongs? “I’ll treasure your words, sheikh.”

  I led him to the great hall. Whatever viziers remained in the Sand Palace were already there, discussing matters among each other. Someone had to govern amid the chaos, I supposed. But like Ozar and Hadrith, they must’ve been pressed to preserve their own power and wealth amid the turmoil. Or perhaps I was too cynical, perhaps some had purer motives, like serving the city, ensuring the markets were stocked, that people wouldn’t starve, that trade continued, that crops were planted and watered, that justice was carried out.

  They all glare
d at me. For the first time since Tamaz’s death, I entered the great hall without a disguise, aside from my high-collared caftan and eyepatch. I couldn’t hide myself any longer, given what Pashang and I were about to embark on.

  Khizr Khaz faced the audience, snapped his fingers at a scribe standing in the corner, and cleared his throat.

  “By my power as Grand Mufti and as a judge, I hereby terminate the unconsummated marriage between Kyars, son of Shah Tamaz, and Cyra, daughter of Khagan Yamar.”

  A thorn pricked my heart. I wanted to shout and stop him. The greatest thing I’d ever gotten…gone. My position, my power, torn to shreds…for what? To save pashas and peasants who cared nothing for me?

  Khizr Khaz continued, “May you all bear witness to this termination — in the sight of Lat, the marriage is void. In the sight of Lat, Kyars son of Shah Tamaz is once more a bachelor, and Cyra daughter of Khagan Yamar is once more a spinster. A document will be rendered and stamped by me, the officiating judge, to finalize the divorce.” He clapped once. “That is all.”

  How could I have let this happen? Now I had no choice…no path but that of winning it all. We had to destroy Kyars, and for that, we had to be strong, and for that, we needed allies — all the allies we could get.

  I studied the viziers, who glanced at me with sweating foreheads and gulping throats. Would they ally with Tamaz’s killer against Tamaz’s son? Surely not. By Lat…what had I done?

  I turned to see Eshe standing near the big double door. I went to him while Khizr Khaz waited for the scribe to finish writing the document that would certify my marriage’s end.

  “Pashang promised…that if I agreed to it…he wouldn’t sack the city,” I said. “I didn’t want that on my head.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Eshe beamed. “But now that you’re a spinster…”

  “Your mind’s already swimming in the gutter?”

  He chuckled. “What makes you think it ever left?”

  I laughed too. Although it still hurt. Hurt like the day I watched myself cut my own throat. My one restitution was Kyars accepting me. Somehow, in trying to right the wrongs, I’d been forced to find new hopes.

  “Kyars would never have loved me, anyway. It would’ve been an awful, frigid, bitter arrangement. Not that I didn’t know that, going in. I think I’ve spared quite a few wine glasses that would’ve ended up shattered against walls, at least.”

  “Right. You seemed so eager to be unhappy.”

  “I suppose I didn’t mind being unhappy and loveless, if I had a purpose, if I could make a difference. Truth is, I don’t think I’m all that lovable. People have always wanted me for every reason that wasn’t love, so searching for it seemed pointless.”

  Eshe sighed, sharp and annoyed. “Are any of us lovable? Take this room for a start.” He pointed at the chatting viziers, as well as Khizr Khaz and the scribe. “We’ve all done awful things. Anyone here walks through a garden, the flowers would wilt and the fruit would rot. And yet, among us is the Grand Mufti, a former Disciple, the most powerful viziers in the land, and you, the Sultana of Sultanas…for a few more minutes, at least.”

  “I don’t see your meaning. What does that have to do with love?”

  “We didn’t attain our positions despite our flaws, we did so because of them. And whoever loves us, it won’t be despite our flaws, it’ll be because of them.”

  I tried to understand it…perhaps I didn’t have the wisdom to. “I don’t know. I don’t think I could ever love myself the way I am. Even when I make good choices, like this one, it feels so wrong.”

  Eshe put a warm hand on my shoulder. “Stop punishing yourself. Don’t forget — Zedra’s still out there. She caused all of this, not you, and she needs to be stopped. You merely picked up the pieces and made what you could of it.”

  He was right. All this time…and I still had no idea why Zedra did it. Why kill Tamaz? Why use me to do it? What was her agenda? Just to cause chaos?

  “Eshe…do you know what a starwriter is?” I fingered my eyepatch.

  “A starwriter makes a bloodwriter look like a scribbling child. Aschere was one. She conjured abominations from the Blood Star itself. For the power they possess, they are an absolute danger.”

  Oh Lat, that wasn’t the answer I sought. But I wanted to bare myself. I had to. I’d shown everyone here my presence, now let them see what I truly was, Eshe included.

  “Couldn’t…a starwriter use her power for good?”

  Eshe shrugged. “Perhaps. Any power can be used for good, for evil, or for the vastness between. But one thing is certain — power corrupts, and a starwriter’s power is beyond obscene.”

  Had I been…corrupted by this power? Surely not…I was the same misguided Cyra, just…things were more complicated, and choices harder. But Ahriyya wasn’t whispering in my ear, telling me to do awful things. I was doing those awful things on my own accord.

  Eshe said, “If ever you suspect someone to be a starwriter, tell me, lest a calamity befalls us all.”

  “What if…what if I were the starwriter?” I watched his eyes grow wide.

  He chuckled, releasing his tension. “Don’t scare me like that.”

  But I remained serious, hoping he’d figure it out, hoping he wouldn’t force me to say the words. But as he looked away and fidgeted, it seemed I hadn’t been plain enough.

  “It’s really not something to jest about,” he said, refusing to look me in the eye. “Anyway, we should get to work finding Zedra. We have to be—”

  Someone shouted in the hallway, just outside. Everyone in the great hall silenced and turned their attention to the double doors. Steel clanged in the hallway — then more shouts and more clanging steel. Sword fighting? A gunshot sounded, and every vizier in the room gasped. Eshe grabbed my hand, and we ran up the dais and behind the golden divan as more shouts and clanging steel resounded from outside the double door.

  Three gunshots. By Lat, what was going on? Who could attack us without the guards alerting us, first?

  “Sometimes in the stories, there’s a secret back exit,” Eshe said as we trembled behind the golden throne. “Well?”

  I shook my head. Only one way in and out of the great hall that I knew of.

  The doors burst open. Gilded gholam marched inside, ornate matchlocks drawn in every direction. All the viziers got low, as did Eshe and I, as gholam swarmed the great hall. Khizr Khaz was standing in the middle of the room, holding the document that voided my marriage to Kyars.

  Among the gholam, an obvious face trotted forward: Kato, helmeted and shining. Of course, he’d escaped from the shrine and found a way into the Sand Palace while the Jotrids were out looting. How foolish of Pashang to leave this prize so unguarded!

  Blood flecked Kato’s golden chainmail; he strode up to Khizr Khaz and grabbed the paper from his hands.

  “My good sheikh, your rescue is here.” It seemed Kato hadn’t noticed Eshe and me huddling behind the divan.

  Khizr Khaz said, “And here I thought you a craven, the way you ran from the Jotrids as they charged the shrine. I assumed you’d be miles from the city by now.”

  Kato didn’t bother to read the paper and tossed it on the floor. “I’ve been called many things — craven is not one.”

  “You do know Khagan Pashang is on his way back? You’ve not the numbers to hold this place. What are you after?”

  Kato wagged his finger at the sheikh. “For such a faithful man, you’ve so little faith. I didn’t come alone.” Tens of more gholam marched into the room. “Oh, and you can tell the fools huddling behind the divan that if they don’t stand with their hands raised, I’m going to toss a bomb at them.”

  And blow up the throne? There was no use hiding, anyway, so Eshe and I raised our hands and stood.

  “The one-eyed she-devil herself,” Kato said upon seeing me. “A blessed day to catch all the rats at the roost.”

  It seemed we were to be his prisoners, at least until Pashang returned. How utterly disappointing
that we hadn’t considered this — did Pashang leave so few defenders that Kato’s small force had overcome it so easily? If so, I’d made a poor choice believing in him — one I hoped I wouldn’t pay dearly for. And what about Mansur’s household guard; where were they?

  Ugh, nothing could be worse than falling into the enemy’s grip now. I could scarcely believe it…after coming so far…just as we were making real progress.

  The gholam lined up on either side, then stomped their feet, matchlocks raised…as if a royal procession were coming.

  More gholam marched into the great hall. One held a spear aloft, and at the tip of the spear was…a head! The head of an old man, his gray hair dyed black. The spear tip jutted through his left eye. I’d never seen this face but, given the circumstance, suspected that Mansur had lost his head.

  So that was how Kato got in; Mansur’s men were guarding the palace gate, and they must’ve surrendered upon seeing their master’s head on a pike. Kato must’ve captured him, and that meant Zedra was behind this!

  A man wearing golden plate emblazoned with the simurgh strutted into the great hall. It took a moment to recognize him; he was bigger than last I remembered. Fuller. He passed by the gholam; they bent their necks, as did Kato and Khizr Khaz. As did I.

  Kyars climbed up the dais and dusted his throne with the flat of his blade. Then he looked upon me and said, “Cyra. Heard you’ve been rather busy.”

  Three women walked into the great hall — in front, a red-haired Karmazi I didn’t recognize, wielding a recurve bow, behind her Celene, looking rosier than I remembered, and finally Zedra, clad in a breezy black caftan, her eyes stuck on me.

  “You think I’ve been busy?” I chuckled bitterly and pointed to the woman who’d taken everything from me. “Why not ask the soulshifter what she’s been doing?”

  24

  Zedra

  As feared, Cyra knew. There she stood, behind the golden divan, pointing at me and repeating some combination of “soulshifter” and “bloodwriter” and “Tamaz’s killer” while Kyars let her chitter instead of smashing her teeth with his golden hilt.