by Tia Reed
“And what do you say?” she asked quietly, wondering if she had lost her only true ally.
He pulled the shutters closed, and shuffled on his knees to face her. The sun struck through the slats, striping across an expression more serious than she had ever seen him wear. “I heard Levi tell Father there is no winning the battle by fighting the visible enemy. Our army must strike at the traitor who allows our nemesis access to our ranks.”
“Oh.” Those sounded like Levi’s words right enough.
“Father flew into a rage and ranted about sending troops to the borders and tripling the number of customs officers. But I don’t think that’s what Levi really meant.”
“Is it that bad?” she asked, beginning to feel safe within the confines of the palace.
Remaining on his knees, Vinsant nodded. His stillness was uncharacteristic. “I think Levi meant we must discover why people desire the bliss so much.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” From safe on the ramparts, she watched the ragged poor queue for food, and the dazed sick beg for alms each eight-day. The drug was rumoured to transport people to Vae’oeldin’s domain. Its influence over her had dwindled before she could fly to the moons, thanks to Arun, but for a wonderful, liberating minute she had sensed a vastness to the life she had never guessed existed. In a world of ceaseless toil, hunger and pain, was escape such a bad thing?
“But would you take it? I mean, knowing that you’ll waste away under its sway or be executed as an example to all.”
It was her turn to look abashed.
Vinsant paled. “Promise me you won’t,” he said. “You can never, ever take it.”
The incongruity of that struck her. How many times had she said those exact words to him? “I can’t live as Ahkdul’s wife,” she blurted. She winced and looked away, busying herself shaking the folds in the silk curtains straight. The last thing she had intended was to burden him with her fears, but if porrin’s kiss was the only way to endure life in Verdaan, she doubted she would have the strength to resist, whatever horrors it might bring.
“I’ll think of something,” Vinsant said, sitting next to her and hugging a cushion in much the same way she had. “I’ll find a way to stop it happening.”
She took a deep breath and searched his face. “They whisper he prefers taking little boys to his bed.” It near killed her, the need to have this talk with him. “When he’s here, mind you are never alone with him.”
He turned up his nose in disgust. “I’m not a child. Besides, he wouldn’t dare.”
Oh wouldn’t he, Kordahla thought. The pleasure of his acquaintance had been theirs nine years back, at yet another of Shah Ordosteen of Myklaan’s marriages. When Vinsant had disappeared during the celebration, she had spent a frantic half hour searching for him before spying him hand in hand with Ahkdul, who was heading towards the bedchambers. She had snatched him from Ahkdul with promises of a special surprise, and fled to the safety of the gathering. Convinced nothing untoward had happened and scared of the repercussions, she had remained silent, refusing to let Vinsant out of her sight for a moment during the remainder of their stay.
“I’m looking forward to his visit,” Vinsant said with a frown. “Know your enemy, that’s what Levi says.”
“You seem to be paying a great deal of attention to what Levi says.” It worried her. There was a self-serving streak about the man.
“He has an excellent grasp of politics,” Vinsant said, sounding just like Mariano. “And he wields a great deal of power. He has to, doesn’t he, to be Majoria.”
“Yes,” Kordahla said with a sigh and hugged Vinsant because they were alone so he would permit it. “I suppose he does.”
“Why don’t you like him?” he asked, batting her with the cushion so he could wriggle free of her arm.
“He’s always staring at me.”
Vinsant laughed. “I told you why.”
“When his attention is on me, I feel like I’ve committed some treason.” She shivered.
“Levi’s all right, you know.”
“But you didn’t tell him you were borrowing these books.”
Vinsant squirmed off the bed. Kordahla sighed again. It was luck she could read and write at all, and that only at her mother’s insistence. Not for the first time she rued her reliance on Vinsant to smuggle in texts. What need had a Princess of learning, Father declared after Mother’s demise. A level of education to converse on household matters, not one to flabbergast prospective suitors was most suitable for women of this realm. Barred the libraries, she had swallowed her pride and listened to her much younger brother talk of his lessons, gleaning what knowledge she could until, sensing her interest and the unjustness of her exclusion, he began tutoring her.
“I’m going to train as a mahktashaan,” he said. He skidded around the room in clumsy emulation of the mahktashaan glide that saw him clip the corner of her curvy-legged dresser and brush the handle of her wardrobe. The creamy derral inlay sparkled all the colours of the rainbow in the shafts of sunlight poking through the slats.
Her eyes followed him. “Whose idea is this?” she asked, swallowing.
“Mine.” He whirled to face her. “I’ve already discussed it with Father. He agreed I might apprentice to Levi directly. Ahkdul won’t wed you for months, and by then I might have enough power to prevent it.”
Kordahla stared at him, then patted the bed. He shrugged and hoisted himself onto her coffer. One finger traced the inlay.
“Vinsant, it takes years to become a mahktashaan. You couldn’t possibly achieve that degree of power before Father arranges a wedding. You mustn’t throw your future away on account of me.”
He brought his feet up onto the coffer, and hugged his knees. “Why do you hate the mahktashaan? I’m the second son of a Shah. I’ll spend my days overseeing some minor castle if I’m not married off to Lord Hudassan’s niece and sent to supervise the destruction of the porrin fields. That would be a fate worse than yours.”
Since he would be his own lord once Hudassan did them the favour of dying, Kordahla heartily doubted it. As an attempt to allay her fears, it was pathetic. “Pettina is only eight or so. You’re in no danger of being married off to her any time soon.”
He jumped off the coffer and squared his shoulders. “Anyway, if I have the talent, Levi’s agreed to train me for the position of Majoria. Then I’d wield almost as much power as Mariano when he’s Shah.”
She had never thought of Vinsant as power-hungry. The allure had to lie in the mystery of those black-clad, hooded soldier-magicians. If unravelling a secret allowed him to assist her in any small way, he was unstoppable. She shivered again, and rubbed the goosebumps that had erupted along her arms. She couldn’t be sick; Vinsant had belted his coat.
“A still wind is blowing,” she said, her breath forming a white puff. She picked up a cashmere blanket from the daybed to toss around her shoulders. They both made the sign of warding. The temperature, if anything, grew chillier. She stood and turned about the room, fear prickling along the nape of her neck.
“Don’t go,” she said to Vinsant. Wide-eyed, he shook his head. Even let her take his hand when the flickering air in front of the door exuded the salted, seaweed tang of the sea. She gagged as it thickened into substance until a djinn floated before them, vermillion eyes blazing beneath a mop of black hair, indigo skin shocking beneath a shiny vest the colour of his eyes. Vinsant wrinkled his nose.
“You’re real,” Kordahla breathed, repeating the warding sign. For all the stories, superstitions and inexplicable chills, never had she thought to meet a djinn in the iridescent flesh. She would have fled to her bedchamber had Vinsant not wrenched his icy hand from hers.
The djinn snorted, and the curls on the end of his slippers rolled tighter. “Of course I’m real, impudent child. Do you think the gods waste their time toying with you foolish beings? Do you think the still winds a quirk of nature, or a figment of your piddling imaginations?” He flicked dirt as black as his shalvar
from under his nail. She sidestepped it, dropping the blanket to make a grab for her impetuous little brother.To her horror, Vinsant dodged. Wrinkling his freckled nose, he began walking a wide circle around the shimmering creature, too calm to have understood their peril.
Kordahla folded her arms tight under her bosom. “What b-business h-have you with us?” It was unfortunate that, chilled to the marrow, she sounded insecure.
The query had the djinn bending over with hysterics. “Grubs on the earth!” He flew dizzying circles around the room, forcing Vinsant so hard against her wardrobe the solid thing rocked, its back thumping against the wall, its legs thudding on the floor. She spun to keep track of his blur, had to stop so she would not topple, and shuddered to think he lurked behind her. When he settled, he reclined in the air, head resting on a hand, one leg bent up at the knee. The indigo crystals which formed his joints pulsed with a muted glow. The utter strangeness of it caught her breath and sent her heart into an ill-timed gallop.
“A magical creature appears as you discuss your future, and the best you can think to do is ask why I am here.”
She cringed at the whiff of fish in his breath. Lunged at Vinsant as he stepped forward. His sidestepping evasion was effortless. Dear Vae, what was he thinking, marching right up to the djinn.
“You’re here to grant us a wish then?” he asked, eyes narrowed.
The djinn blew, and Vinsant flew across the room and landed on his behind. He looked more surprised than hurt.
“Name me flea, and I must do as you bid. Otherwise, you are my tools.”
“But you can’t compel us,” Vinsant said, scrambling up. He had the good sense to keep close to the wardrobe. “You’re forbidden to interfere.”
“Rules change, flea.” The djinn sat, his crossed legs level with Kordahla’s head.
“We won’t make a pact with you,” Kordahla said. She swallowed. “Nothing you can grant is worth the price you would ask.”
The djinn unfolded into an indolent stretch, arms high over his head. “A pity, since you have not yet asked the price. I knew you would be too pig-headed to deal.”
“Then I ask again, what business have you here?” She retreated from his fishy stench, past her walnut dresser to Vinsant and the wardrobe. Her little brother was rubbing at the frost that had beaded over the handles. Vae’oenka preserve them, the djinn was drifting after her, his rotting teeth as hideous as his leer. His features blurred and shifted, melding, by the horrors, into the Ahkdul’s thick prominent brow and large nose. A substantial hand groped for her breast. As she opened her mouth to scream, he grabbed her shoulders and kissed her hard. Vinsant lunged, but the djinn spun to the roof with a malicious laugh. Unable to stop, her brother careered across the rug, and went sprawling across the daybed.
Nauseated, Kordahla stumbled towards the door. She wanted the mahktashaan in here, though she was scarcely able to believe she felt that way. Quicker than lightning, the stinking djinn flashed into her path. Dangling upside down, he waggled a finger at her. She took a step back.
“Only a self-deprecating imbecile would allow herself to be molested by a swine like Ahkdul. Perhaps I am wasting my time.”
On the verge of tears, Kordahla snapped. “Just what do you suggest I do? Give myself to you in exchange for protection?”
The djinn cocked his head and closed one eye, appearing to consider the ludicrous idea. “An interesting suggestion,” he said at length. “But you lousy grubs hold no attraction.”
“Touch me again and I’ll spend my life uncovering your name. I’ll send mahktashaan laden with salt to the ends of the earth to bind you.”
“That, you annoying gnat,” he drawled, sliding into the horizontal position he seemed to favour, “is the most sensible thing you’ve said since yesterday.”
“You were watching me!” Outrage was beginning to replace her shock. The warmth it brought to her cheeks was welcome.
He drifted around her. “You do make an entertaining study. But where were we? What would any self-respecting princess do if about to be married off to a male-rutting boar? If she were condemned to a life of misery and subservience to ensure her elder brother had a prosperous rule? What, Princess, would she do if she had no hope of evading the inevitable in her father’s domain?”
Kordahla shook her head and sidled toward the bedroom door. She wanted this creature gone. His truths were too confronting.
“What could a princess do if there was no escape while she remained in her father’s house?” the djinn repeated.
“Nothing,” she replied. “Nothing in this patriarchal country. Though, I suppose you would think running away a sensible option.”
“Ahh,” the djinn said.
She eyed him with suspicion. His devious manipulation had doubtless prompted her to arrive at this absurd solution.
“You can’t,” Vinsant said, voicing her own thoughts. “That’s crazy.”
“Very well, flea. Leave her for the swine, and take yourself along for company if you miss her so, though you are a trifle old for Ahkdul’s taste.”
Vinsant’s worry as he regarded her made him look so young. Her mouth turned dry. Refuge in Myklaan would be a gift from the gods. Women were allowed an education. Vae’oenka’s blessing, from all she had heard, they were valued members of society. There had to be a noble who would find her appealing enough to marry.
“They’d never,” she whispered, running her sweating hands over her curvy hips. “They’d never harbour me. If father found out, or Ahkdul, it would mean war.” Liberal their ideas might be but the Myklaani would not risk all for a single Terlaani woman, however noble.
The djinn backflipped until he was upside down, his clothing remaining in perfect place. “Indeed, you have nothing to offer. What could a Terlaani possibly offer Myklaan? There is nothing in this barren land of interest to thriving Myklaan, now, is there.”
When he put it like that, it was obvious.
“I’ll get you one,” Vinsant said. “I’ll have access as soon as Levi apprentices me.”
“I doubt it will be that easy. Or that one will suffice.” Until she spoke she had not realised she was actually entertaining the notion. At her side her hands were trembling. She cupped them in front of her mouth and blew.
The djinn tugged a corner of fabric from inside his vermillion kamarband. “Don’t disappoint me,” he said, teasing out the embroidered green rectangle and waving it in farewell. With a flutter of panic, Kordahla snatched at her veil. “That was Mother’s.”
The djinn winked. Before her hand had completed its arc, he disappeared in a puff of smoke and a whump of air.
She and Vinsant stared at each other, neither able to speak.
A tap at the door saw them both jump.
Chapter Seven
Timak cowered in the corner of the cabin where he had been hiding the entire day. His tormentor seemed not to care his hands were idle. Aside from throwing him three pairs of boots to polish at daybreak, Ahkdul had ignored him. He held no hope that would last, so he had worked incessantly at his tether, rubbing the tips of his fingers raw until the knot unravelled enough for him to slip his foot free. Were it not for the sweet voice that chattered through the long hours, he might have smashed through the porthole and flung himself into the sea, diving deep until his chest screamed for air. She, whoever she was, cried aghast when he whispered of it.
There are sawtooths in these waters, she had said. I’ve seen them. Maybe jabberwei too.
That untruth coaxed a smile from him. The vicious, spiny relatives of crocs never left Verdaan’s murky rivers.
And I’m not allowed to save you, she had finished.
Timak’s smile died. That last implied that she could. “Who are you?” he asked for the fourth or fifth time.
A faint scent of roses rippled through the sandalwood perfume splashed over the aging timbers of the cabin. “A friend,” was all she would say. From her artless turn of the conversation, to throwball, and syrup cakes, and sec
ret hidey-holes, he guessed she was not much older than he.
“I know your name’s Yazmine,” Timak said.
Her sharp breath ended on heavy silence. He stood and strained for a sound, hearing nothing but the slap of water on the dipping bow, the flap of wind in the sail, the murmur of husky, unconcerned voices, and the cry of a faraway gull. The thought of her gone made him wobble. He could never bear it if she left.
Down into the sea, until water stole his breath.
He scuttled onto the narrow bunk, wrinkling the musty sheets. The magical Myklaani glass covering the porthole was cold against his hand. He squinted at the gold-streaked ocean, and the glare of the ailing sun
“Oh, don’t, Timak.” The voice was just a whisper.
He swallowed. The lengthening shadows threatened. When they reached the coffer, Ahkdul would force him to suffer the unspeakable on this creaky bed.
The door rasped against the floor planks. A hulk of a figure filled the doorway. Timak leapt off the bed, and pressed his back to the chest of drawers.
“Here, youngster.” The deep voice and short words were all wrong.
Timak let out his breath. The grey-haired, pony-tailed sailor entering his cell was no one to worry about. He turned back to the glare. “What if the sun doesn’t set?”
The sailor clattered a bowl on the table next to the coffer. “The sun always sets,” he said. “Night always falls, and with it the greater evils of the world.”
Timak was not talking to him. “The sun’s not sinking.”
“Timak, you’re facing north,” Yazmine said. “You can’t see the sun.”
“Then what’s that?” He pointed at the white glare beyond the glass.
The sailor shuffled to his side. The sturdy hand had no right to seek his shoulder. Timak flinched, and ducked. The sailor settled his hand on his hip.
“You’ve been speaking to yerself all day. The lot of ‘em is saying you’re crazy, touched by the djinn.”
“Well he is,” Yazmine said through a giggle. “Sort of.”
“You’re djinn,” Timak said, quiet awe in his voice. He had drifted to sleep on Mama’s stories of the devilish pranksters. He couldn’t remember any in which they acted like comforting friends.