by Zamil Akhtar
I was screaming at the deaf; his face remained plain, as if he were here to wash out his clothes, not our bloodline. The blood of Chisti shall never mix with soil — a commandment he would follow.
Seluq the Dawn pushed Najat’s head — my head — into the river. Send me back to my room in the palace! Anything but this!
Holy water filled my eyes and nose and throat and lungs. I yearned for air, but gasping brought more water. The fear of death replaced thought.
I flailed, pushed my head up, but water filled everything. My eyes turned to ice, my screams to silent bubbles that popped in the darkness. And even my fear, as much as it became my existence, returned to the depths of a still, soundless, void sea.
I was heavy with water, bursting, pressure exploding my eyes and heart and belly.
Ruptured, hopeless, dead, dark — I stilled.
My mind emptied. I resigned to die. All pain, without name or reason.
A thought struck like lightning: I DON’T WANT TO DIE.
I raged, flailed, screamed, choked, pushed all I could. But the water flooded in, filling me with death, bloating my core. Chilling my hope. Freezing my bones. I DON’T WANT TO DIE would be my last thought before I sank into the abyss.
Hopeless, I stilled in a silent, unfeeling dark.
And then, I finally died.
A familiar ceiling. Surrounded by silk, in my bedroom, in the Sand Palace. Oh Lat, such a relief to not be drowned and dead.
Too real…and yet, I’d wanted to taste the past, though not that. Had Najat truly suffered so? It made my suffering seem so…tepid. Curse all water! Cold, tepid, hot — perhaps I’d never bathe again. How could what gives us life destroy us so? Annihilate…so thoroughly. No light, no sound, no air — water was the abyss we feared. I could still feel its torrent in my throat, its bursting pressure on my belly, its ice in my eyes.
Footsteps from the balcony snapped me from my thoughts. I gasped as a man entered my room. Light skin, curly yellow hair, youthful. He gave me a chill glare — a death look. If water was bad, then so were we humans. All of us, killers!
Behind him in the sky…something filled it. Dreaded, demonic. Those heads…three of them, each with six sun eyes. Marada. The Sultana of the Marid jinn tribe.
Water, men, jinn — it seemed everything wanted to kill me. By Lat…if Marada was with him, then he must be…
“Are you Kevah?” I asked as I pulled my blanket over my shoulders, as if that would save me.
He walked to the base of my bed, eyes as forlorn as I’d seen.
“What do you want?” I shuffled backward, into the wall. “Help!” I screamed, wishing this were still a mirage.
I wanted to bloodwrite. Do anything to save myself. But the man stepped onto my bed, bent down, and put his hands around my neck.
“The blood of Chisti must never mix with soil,” I said.
“What?”
“The blood…must never…” I trembled and cried. “Never…” Of course, Father had warned me that Kevah was coming. My meddling hadn’t gone unnoticed by the Disciples and the Order of the Magi.
“I’ll make it quick.”
“But I don’t want to die.” I’d only just drowned. Suffocation seemed little better. Both were airless and stretched the agony, pain compounding each second. Bloody deaths were a mercy…a quick beheading best…what a curse they wouldn’t kill us that way. “Kevah…” I gripped his arm. “Don’t do this.”
Unlike Seluq, Kevah heard; hardness left his cheeks. He took his hands off my neck, brushed my hair, and slid his palm down to my chin, eyes crossed and bewildered. “You’re not wearing a mask,” he whispered.
“What?”
Kevah raised a finger; it turned to ice. He thrust it into my forehead.
I awoke gasping. No one in my room, and nothing in the sky outside my balcony — just myself and a barrel’s worth of sweat all over me and my silk sheets. So…it was a mirage. A mirage within a mirage — rather like a dream within a dream. I’d had a few of those, especially during anxious times in my long life.
As quickly as it’d come, the soaking terror of Kevah’s hands on my neck evaporated, and the equally terrible reality flooded my mind.
Truth is, sometimes I barely believed the story my memories told. So perhaps it was good that the horrors were burned onto my mind once more. But, somehow, I felt the sweet remembrances, too: the joy of my grandson’s tender hug, the laughter of my great-granddaughters as they played amid flowers, and even the smile of strange, white-eyed Eglab as he dove in the river and snapped at fish with his stork beak. I recalled my son’s hope the day he left to fight with Seluq, to take back our inheritance, our kingdom from the saint-kings…a sad thing, to be betrayed, in the end. Perhaps as sad as the hope I clung to, on this day.
I crumpled the parchment with the bloodrune. It shouldn’t have sent me into such terror — rather the opposite. And why had I inhabited Najat rather than myself? Perhaps, in the end, it was better to be reminded of the awful truth than poison my mind with wonderful lies.
I sat up in bed and threw off my sheets. I still needed to do much: kill Cyra, kill Khizr Khaz, kill that Himyarite, and kill everyone else who stood in my way. I gritted my teeth and filled myself with the rage and sadness of the day Seluq the Dawn destroyed my home.
The simurgh statue…was not here. And as I stood beneath a thin, cloud-covered crescent on the platform where it once was, I could scarcely believe what Sadie said.
“It turned from stone to flesh and whisked them away, like in the stories.”
The gholam nodded and repeated the like. If true, starwriting was more powerful than I’d imagined.
And yet, unlike the gholam, who couldn’t stop recounting how the simurgh took to the air, Sadie’s face remained plain — bored, even. She’d seen greater wonders, no doubt. Perhaps one day, when I had no one left to kill, we could sit over coffee and learn from one another.
“You said you shot the Himyarite? A killing blow?”
She tensed up. “Well…a slow death, I imagine.”
I shook my head. “Slow deaths are not good enough. Imprisonment isn’t good enough. Nothing but still hearts will win us this war!”
I clutched my forehead again, lightheaded. Sadie gripped my shoulders to steady me. Why was I so frail? What was happening to me?
We went to the room Cyra had escaped from. A fresh rune in conqueror’s blood lay atop the door’s threshold. It was the same one I’d painted in the harem bath. For thirty minutes after the bloodrune activates, all who crossed below would fall asleep. But Cyra was no bloodwriter.
I asked Sadie, “You said the Himyarite flung ice at you from his sword?”
She nodded. I knew that rune; you could write it with conqueror’s blood, as well as two other rare flavors.
“So…he’s the one.” The two gholam he’d frozen had thawed, though their hearts would never again beat.
A thought blazed: the Himyarite must’ve written bloodrunes to block my soulshifting. If so, this palace was a prison. I couldn’t win us the war from here.
In the great hall, Kyars was sitting upon his gilded divan and deliberating with Kato and his other generals.
“My Shah,” I said to Kyars. “This palace is not safe. That Himyarite sorcerer has written his bloodrunes everywhere. Do you not see? It was him who bewitched Cyra, who turned her to evil. Everything makes sense, now.”
“My love,” Kyars said, “this palace is the only true defensible position in the city. If it’s not safe, then nowhere is. And you…you should be resting.”
“If you want a lover who’ll do naught but rest, then why not dig up a corpse? I’m telling you this palace is not safe, and I’ll not stay here another moment!”
Sadie clutched my shoulders as if to steady me. I hadn’t noticed my tilt. Why was my young body swaying like an old woman’s?
“You’re upset, my love,” Kyars said. “And yes, it is upsetting that they escaped. But…perhaps it’s better if they go — a
ll of them, Pashang included.” He looked to Kato. “We had a chance when they’d turned their backs and fixated on booty, but they’ve since formed up. A battle now would devastate this city, and I’m its protector, not its destroyer.”
“Are you so cowardly?” I clenched my fist. “You can’t allow two sorcerers and a khagan who supported your usurper to live. This city can drown in blood, but they must die!”
“The moment the Jotrids entered the walls, they had us. I’m not just a shah, I’m the beating heart of this city. I won’t let them harm it, nor harm it myself.” Kyars stood. “I’ve already sent word to them, along with my uncle’s pieces. This is their chance to do the right thing — to go away. Pashang has no Seluqal, and thus no rallying cause to fight me. If he’s of sound mind, he’ll see that and go.”
I understood. Kyars cared about his people, or at the very least, the taxes they paid. He wanted to save them; convincing the Jotrids to go was the only way to prevent blood from painting the streets. But, like I once did, he underestimated Cyra; she was keen on some mad cause and had to die.
A dreadful knot twisted in my stomach. If reasoning wouldn’t move Kyars, perhaps harsher appeals would. “Are you really so meek? Craven? Just like…just like your father! He let the enemy linger in the city, and they killed him! Are you so intent to join him in that sepulcher?” I sniggered. “Where will you sleep, to the right or left of Saint Jamshid? Seems you’d rather spoon him than me!”
Kyars stepped down the dais, face to face with me. “You’re restless. Poppy seeds would do you good.” He gestured to the gholam on guard. “Take her to her room.”
Why was I so utterly incapable of convincing anyone? I wouldn’t mind going to my room if I could soulshift, but thanks to the Himyarite, that wasn’t possible.
“Wait,” I said, “take me to my son. I need to see him. Then I’ll feel better.”
Kyars sat back on his throne, sighed, and nodded. “Of course, my love. You can both rest in my chamber.” He smiled at Sadie. “Cousin, look after her.”
I wasn’t surprised to see Vera in the chamber, rocking Seluq’s crib. Her smile upon seeing me was so false. Fear lay behind it, made plain by her twitching strawberry cheeks.
“Sultana.” Her eyes watered. “Thank heaven you’re safe.”
Would I just forget, like the others, how she’d stoked Mansur’s ego? How she’d rendered a false confession against me? I knew she did it to survive. I knew she took motherly care of my son; even so, anything but absolute loyalty from those who served was a danger — to myself, my son, and thus to mankind.
“Vera, I feared you’d been harmed. When I heard Mansur forced you to call me a whore, I imagined he’d beat you, burned you, pulled out your nails. And yet, here you are, more radiant than the reddest tulip.”
She got on her knees, crawled to my feet, and kissed the base of my caftan. “Forgive me, sultana. I was weak. I said truly awful things. I take it all back.”
Of course. But if Mansur or Pashang still controlled the palace, she’d be groveling to them instead. Such a wretch!
“What else did you tell them, I wonder?” I stepped on her hand, pushed down hard as I could. Vera yelped, tugged her hand out, and crawled backward.
“Sultana, I’m sorry! Please forgive me. I didn’t mean you any harm. I was afraid!” Tears ran down her cheeks — how sickening. How utterly insufferable.
Why weren’t traitors being drowned, strangled, noosed? Why weren’t their heads decorating our walls? Why were so many vile hearts still beating in this city?
Perhaps we could start with her. With someone weak. I could hang her lovely head on the palace gate, show everyone what happens to traitors!
I glanced around the room for something to bash her head with. But this was a pleasure room, so there was nothing but pillows, jewels, and silks. Perhaps I could just beat her head against the wall until her teeth shot out and her brain bled.
I cornered her against the wall. She screamed. I knelt and put my hands on her neck. Dug my fingernails into her soft skin. Then I squeezed. Squeezed. She squirmed. Grabbed my arms and flailed. But I squeezed. Squeezed as those pink cheeks turned blue. I banged her head against the wall and pressed my body on hers to keep her still. Squeezed as she screamed silently, without breath.
And then she stilled. I shut her wide eyes, closed her hanging mouth, and cradled her in my arms. I could not help but cry. If only I could have held my dead daughters like this. I dried the tears and slobber from her face with my caftan, letting her seem at least somewhat at peace.
In a better world, Vera could’ve been a daughter to me. Someone worth loving, like Najat, despite her base blood. But this was not that world. And still…it was my task to save this…this wretched existence we shared from being remade in fire.
Baby Seluq cried out, as if he knew his caretaker was no more. Who would look after him, now? Did Celene know how to rock a baby to sleep? Was her kiss as sweet as Vera’s? Could Sadie hold a baby the way she held that bow?
Sadie and Celene watched in the hallway, mouths agape, as gholam carried Vera’s corpse out of the room.
“Send that to Cyra,” I said to the gholam. “Fire it from a fucking cannon.”
I’d done some good. But more good was needed to win. Khizr Khaz had to die, too, and he was here, somewhere. As for Ozar and Hadrith, they were a two-headed snake licking the asses of two masters at once. I’d have to sever both heads. These traitors were no better than Seluq and his horde, bowing to us one day and drowning us the next.
Sadie said, “Y-You killed her!?”
I nodded. “Someone has to clean up this place, dear.”
She covered her mouth and swallowed. “Why? How could you be so cruel?”
“Nothing cruel about it. It was justice, carried out deftly.”
“Justice?” Sadie scoffed. “Then where’s the judge? Was he in there, with you? Did I miss the trial?”
“Don’t let appearances fool you. She was a traitor. We’re in a war with blurred sides — there’s no time for trials. Each of us must fight for the good on whatever battlefield we can, whether out there or in these halls.”
She chuckled, as if she found it all so absurd. “I…I don’t want to be a part of this.”
“You don’t want to help restore this kingdom?” I took her hand, but she yanked it away. “Sadie, dear, that girl aided the enemy throughout. Lat knows what she would’ve done had I let her live. She was a danger to us all, and to my son. I couldn’t suffer her any longer.”
“You’re not who I thought you were.” She shook her head and glared at me in disbelief. “I came to Qandbajar for an archery tournament, not to abet the murders of young girls. I won’t stand with you.”
Just as well, then. I didn’t need her. Didn’t need anyone. I couldn’t rely on these saint worshippers — I’d have to do everything.
“Go, then.” I smiled. “Go be with all the unsoiled, bloodless hands. The true saints. Prepare for a long journey — you won’t find them within a thousand miles of here.”
She turned her back and walked away.
“Some parting advice,” I said. “Want to protect what you love? Shoot to kill. The wounded come back for vengeance.”
Celene came to my side. “You all right?”
I nodded. We watched Sadie walk away, bow on her back and fist clenched.
“I know…firsthand…the danger traitors pose,” Celene said. “They forced me to marry one. I won’t question why you did what you did.”
This girl had more history than I realized. “I didn’t know you’d been married.”
“To Micah the Metal himself. But we never consummated it, thank the Archangel.” She let out a relieved sigh. “Zedra, what’s going to happen now?”
I let myself breathe, then said, “Only what we make happen, dear.”
I caught Kato on his way out of the great hall. He wore heavier armor than usual and sweated more, too. But the calligraphy-covered gold plate across his chest and
shoulders suited his hard build.
“I don’t feel safe here,” I said. “Lat knows where that sorcerer put his bloodrunes. Cyra must’ve helped him sneak into the harem and put runes there, too. We know not their purpose — you must convince Kyars!”
He rolled his eyes. “Am I in charge of your security, too? Here I thought I was a general, yet you seem to think me a glorified sentry bent on your will.”
“You’re a gholam. Your only job is to protect my family!”
“Indeed.” He pointed toward the exit. “There just happens to be a man out there devising a thousand ways to end your family. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to chase him away, and if that doesn’t work — well,” his voice turned melodious, “Qandbajar, O’ Qandbajar, you were lovely once!”
“The house you mentioned,” I said before he turned away, “in the Glass District. Perhaps I’d be safer there.”
“I agree. You likely would be.” He hunched his shoulders. “Now go convince the man who owns us.”
Kyars was in his chamber, rocking Seluq’s crib. I entered and shut the door behind; he turned toward me, teeth clenched and eyebrows zagged.
“You killed Vera?” He shook his head in disgust. “Why?”
I snickered. “Miss your little plaything?”
He marched over and backhanded me across the cheek, bells exploding in my ear.
“You can’t just kill whoever you feel like! This is not some patch of shit and dirt in the Waste! Only me,” he jabbed his own chest, “only I decide life and death here!”
I rubbed the sting. “You’re weak. Mansur was weak. Tamaz — your father — was so weak a slap like that would’ve made him cry.”
He smacked me again. Oh did it shock my jaw.
“Remember your ancestor, Seluq the Dawn?” I rubbed the bruise and snickered. “Now there was a strong padishah who did whatever was needed to win. May our son be like his namesake and nothing like you!”