Seas of Crimson Silk (Burning Empire Book 1)

by Emma Hamm

  He was waited on hand and foot, she realized with a flash of temper. These people were already overheated and tired themselves. Yet, they were forced to stand so that he might be fanned with air?

  The heat deep inside her body flared again, sending pulses of warmth radiating outward.

  “Wife,” the sultan called. He gestured at her with the goblet when the other woman stirred. “So glad you could join us.”

  “Your guards said you wished to see me.”

  “My advisors still think you were sent to kill me. An assassination attempt upon my life would be a breach of the peace treaty, and a declaration of war. Did you know that?”

  She traced her teeth with her tongue, desperately holding onto her temper. “I’m aware.”

  “And do you know what we do with assassins in Bymere?”

  “I know what we do to them in Wildewyn.” She curled her hands into fists.

  “We cut off their hands, feet, and nose then bid them crawl out into the desert until they perish.”

  He thought to intimidate her? She demurely folded her hands in front of her, ducked her head and curtsied. “Your Majesty is kind. In Wildewyn, we feed them to the wolves.”

  The woman at his side chuckled. “Husband, she doesn’t just spit fire. She has claws!”

  Laughter bubbled throughout the tent. Sigrid held herself still with pride, knowing that they were trying to get a rise out of her. They might laugh all they wished. She would not give them the reaction they were hoping for.

  Nadir watched her with a hooded gaze. His foot twitched, but he did not otherwise give any reaction. They stared at each other across the tent, a battle of wills impossible to detect.

  He quirked a brow. “You’re brave for a woman so far from home. My advisors and I know little about your people. Perhaps you care to enlighten us with what has given you such courage?”

  “The Beastkin are secretive. We do not regale audiences with the tales of our people.”

  “You do now.” He bared his teeth in a mockery of a grin. “At least tell us one secret, wife.”

  She wanted to tell him that every one of her women was far stronger than any of his men. That her people were born of earth and steel. That they would never bow to a boy king and his people who had proven themselves unworthy of standing before her.

  The dragon unfurled its wings in her mind’s eye and let out a growl that rumbled through her chest. “We are all trained from a very young age to fight,” she gritted through her teeth.

  “Warrior women,” he repeated with a nod.

  The white-haired advisor sat up and leaned forward. “It was your people who killed all our men.”

  “They should not have attacked a wedding,” she hissed.

  Nadir slashed a hand through the air and stood. “I wish to see this prowess. You think you can fight, and that you are better than my trained warriors?”

  She refused to give him a response for such an insulting question.

  The white-haired advisor chuckled and gestured towards the tent entrance. “Well? If you can fight so well, if you’ve been trained your entire life, why don’t you show us?”

  “How should I show you?” she asked while staring at Nadir. “Would you like me to fight some of your soldiers? I’ve already done that.”

  “Not that we’ve seen.” The advisor rolled to his feet and strode to his sultan’s side. “What do you say, Your Majesty? It’s far too hot to work. Why don’t we see what your new bride is capable of? Perhaps we’ve been lucky enough to find you yet another personal guard.”

  “Abdul,” he growled, “tread carefully.”

  “It’s an easy enough task. If the girl thinks she’s so well-trained, let her prove it. Her struggles will entertain the entire camp, and no one will hurt her. At least not permanently.”

  She watched the sultan struggle to decide. He was under their thumb, she realized. Even the slightest suggestion that was obviously a bad idea was one that he would consider.

  The woman rose and slid her hands across his shoulders. “Come, Sultan. We’re all bored, and you want to see what she can do. Don’t you?”

  Sigrid had heard of such creatures before. In children’s tales, they were the monsters who came out of the shadows, whispering in someone’s ear, tempting them to do terrible things. In reality, they were people with poor judgment and power.

  Surprisingly, the sultan looked at her for confirmation. “What say you, wife?”

  Her heart stopped, shock making even the dragon retreat in her mind as she stared at him. He asked her advice? The mere inquiry seemed so out of character that it stilled her tongue until she managed to say, “Do you wish me to fight?”

  The power back in his hands, he appeared lost. She saw him for what he was now. Just a boy with too much power, tugged in all directions by advisors who were far too wicked.

  Sigrid cleared her throat. “A demonstration wouldn’t hurt.”

  The stain on his cheeks meant he understood what she had done. She’d taken the decision away from him and forced him. Still, it was easier for her to swallow an order if she was the one who was giving it.

  “Good girl,” Abdul, the white-haired advisor said with a chuckle. “Shall we go outside?”

  Raheem cleared his throat, a warning for her to move before someone touched her. Sigrid slid outside back into the heat. The last remnants of night filled the air, dew and sweat sticking to her skin. This would not make any fight easy, but she would endure.

  The echoing hoot of an owl lifted into the air. Sigrid couldn’t see her sister, but knew that Camilla was nearby if the worst happened.

  They made their way to the center of the tents where a small circle was outlined. She didn’t know its use although the ground was trampled by hooved animals she had yet to see. For now, it would suffice as a training ground.

  Abdul lifted his voice, shouting for all to hear that there would be a demonstration by the Beastkin woman, who claimed to be the best fighter in all the lands.

  She’d never said that. Sigrid shook her head and stood at the edge of the circle with her hands clasped in front of her and head bowed. There was little for her to say. They would gather as many men as they could, and she would wait until the sun set if that was what they wished.

  A drop of sweat rolled down her neck and disappeared into her dress. The heat was stifling, but she refused to remove any of her armor. Not yet. This would be a show for them all to remember. To realize just how powerful the Beastkin were.

  It was never her intention to frighten them. She wanted acceptance and understanding, but her patience was already running thin. They had disgraced her by giving her a tent clearly meant for slaves. They treated her as little better than the sand beneath their feet.

  They would now learn just how dangerous a drakon Beastkin was, and they would never forget it.

  Raheem stood beside her, flexing his hands. “Are you sure about this, Sultana?”

  “I am.”

  “What if they touch you? I thought this was something terrible for your people. Something worth killing yourself over.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not worried about that.” Because she hadn't been entirely truthful with him. Some Beastkin would kill themselves, others would simply kill the offending person.

  Abdul strode into the center of the circle with a man at his side. Before she could step forward, Raheem held a hand in her way. She glanced up into his worried gaze.

  He wrangled a small smile out of her with that small bit of kindness. “They won’t touch me, Raheem. They won’t have the chance.”

  Perhaps she stunned him because his arm dropped, and he stepped back with a dumbfounded expression on his face. They were easy to read, these Bymerians. They hid not a single emotion. Everything played out on their faces for all to see.

  It was unnerving. Weren’t they worried that someone would see their inner thoughts?

  The man they brought forward was too young, and Sigrid knew he would not be a ch
allenge. There wasn’t even hair on his upper lip yet, and his feet fidgeted in the sand as he waited for her.

  A topknot of dark hair swayed in the breeze. He was finely made although a little too feminine for her tastes. Pretty, not handsome, but perhaps he would turn into something more. Dark slashes of eyebrows winged back from his dark, brown eyes. A sturdy nose coupled with a weak jaw made him appear far younger than he might have been.

  Sigrid sucked her teeth and shook her head. “This is the warrior you bring forward?”

  Abdul lifted a brow and mockingly bowed. “We cannot risk hurting the new sultana.”

  It was another insult, thinly veiled behind the ego of a young boy who likely didn’t want to fight. The irony was not lost upon Sigrid.

  “What weapon do you choose, son of Bymere?” she asked the boy.

  He startled back at the sound of her voice. Already he was giving her too much ground. “I fight with the traditional blade, Sultana.”

  She didn’t know what it was, but that was good enough. Blades were something she was familiar with. They trained with them for fun in the courtyards of Wildewyn. She’d struck many a child with the flat of her blade. Perhaps she could teach this youngling a lesson he would remember.

  Nodding, she turned and strode towards Raheem. “A sword?”

  He arched a brow. “A wooden training sword is smarter.”

  “Give me a metal one. Let him fight with the real thing.”

  She watched the posture change of the surrounding men who could hear her. Raheem cleared his throat and shook his head. “It’s far too dangerous to fight with actual swords, Sultana. We cannot risk harm coming to you.”

  “You wanted a demonstration, did you not?” She raised her voice, glancing over her shoulder at Abdul. The sun reflected off her metal chestplate and sent a beam of light to heat his torso.

  He acknowledged her challenge with the gritting of his teeth and an angry grimace. “If that’s what the sultana wants, then by all means. We shall fight with a blade.”

  Someone strode forward and handed the boy a curved sword she’d never seen before. It would be unusual to fight against something like that. Her own sword would catch on it if she allowed him too much leeway. Interesting choice, and perhaps something she would try later.

  A piercing cry fell from the sky along with a bundle of fabric. Sigrid lifted her hand and caught the thin rapier her sister had carried from their tent. The silver owl blended in with the sky, nearly impossible to distinguish from the streamers of white clouds.

  Murmurs whispered on the wind. The men didn’t like the surprise, thinking her a witch or perhaps a magician of the storm. What else could she do if weapons appeared out of thin air?

  Strange beings. They would rather believe in the impossible than what was right in front of them.

  Sigrid handed the bundle to Raheem. “Unwrap it.”

  “I’m not your apprentice.”

  “And I’m not asking you to be. A warrior does not touch her sword until it is bared for all to see. Unwrap it.”

  The personal guard accepted their differences far easier than the rest of his people. Though he was clearly embarrassed, he still took the time to pull the fabric away from her sword and bare the white metal for all to see.

  Helvete had been with her for a very long time. It was her first sword, forged with the heat of her own mother’s breath. The blade was impossibly white, decorated with runes to imbue her with strength, honor, and courage. Lapis lazuli stones decorated the hilt that wrapped around her hand like it was melting into her skin.

  She closed her eyes. “Ancestors, guide my hands. I ask your souls to flow through me, to stem the battle rage, and to train instead of harm.”

  Raheem opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but snapped it shut when she shook her head. Now was not the time to ask questions. She would answer them in her own time if she wished to.

  She slid her hand to the pommel of the sword and lifted it up. A man beside her hid a chuckle, and she heard snippets of conversation as she turned.

  “What is she going to do with that twig?”

  “A ritual for a sword? She knows she’s just going to stick it into someone right?”

  “Obviously hasn’t fought before.”

  The words washed over her, but did not penetrate through her concentration. Even training was a taste of what battle was really like. They should understand this, but perhaps they had never fought in a battle either.

  The boy waited for her in the center with his curved blade touching the ground. His throat bobbled as she made her way towards him, his eyes flicking everywhere but her.

  “You're afraid of me,” she said. “That's good. You should always be afraid of your enemy no matter what they look like.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” His answering growl made the crowd burst into laughter.

  “You are,” she corrected. Sigrid swept her skirts to the side with her free hand and lifted her blade. “And if you are not, then you are a fool. First blood?”

  His lip twitched, and he nodded.

  Abdul let out a whoop which apparently meant it was time for the fight to begin. The boy lurched forward, clumsy on his feet and trying to use his weight to gain advantage.

  Perhaps that worked with the boys when he trained, but he didn’t appear large to her. Sigrid had fought against Wildewyn men her entire life. They were larger than life, giants among men, and only grew bigger as they aged.

  She sidestepped the boy’s quick attack and let him stumble to the other side of the circle.

  Head cocked to the side, she pointed at him with her sword. “Never make the first move. Survey your enemy, and let them see your eyes before you try to fight them.”

  He huffed out an angry breath and charged forward again.

  Sigrid didn’t want to crush the poor boy’s ego too soon. She let him get close enough to feel the heat of her body before she ducked low and swept her leg out to the side. The pivot was graceful, and she admired the silken flow of her dress as it arced around her. She even gave the boy her back for a heartbeat, but he couldn’t stop his own forward momentum.

  He fell to a knee, then scrambled back to his feet. Chest heaving, he stared at her with so much anger in his gaze that she knew he wouldn’t change his tactics. Was this how Bymere taught their sons to battle? With rage clouding their minds?

  When he charged her again, she let him meet her sword to sword. Her biceps flexed, and she held him in place, close enough to stare at her eyes, far enough away that he would never touch her.

  “Fool,” she growled. “Your heart has no place in battle. Fight with your head.”

  The anger melted from his gaze and, again, she saw his fear.

  “Good.” Sigrid tilted her blade, slid to the side, and let him fall forward. “Perhaps now you understand.”

  She was finished with this child. He would not learn as she wanted him to, not with so many Bymerian thoughts filling his head. Later, she would voice her concerns to Raheem.

  Spinning on her heel, she let Helvette rush through the air and slice through the boy’s arm. To his credit, he did not cry out. But the bloom of red blood clearly marked her victory.

  He threw his sword to the ground and stomped away.

  Sigrid shook her head. The boy wouldn’t learn if he couldn’t take defeat. There were always small defeats on every battlefield. One needed to learn how to recover from those so that life was not lost.

  “Good show,” Abdul called out. “You can fight our children well.”

  “Your children are nothing but that. If you wish to insult me, advisor, then perhaps you should find me an appointment worthy of battle.”

  They had apparently already thought of that. She fought for the rest of the day. Sand blasted in the air from her feet, from their hands, spraying up and catching in the sunlight which steadily set.

  Every opponent grew increasingly difficult. Her muscles ached, her back flamed, and her vision skewed. Wate
r, she needed water.

  Sigrid lifted her blade and deflected yet another sword that arced down towards her. She could admire the man's leap into the air, it made him far stronger than he actually was. A shame that he left his belly open to her attack.

  Careful, she reminded herself. Don’t gut him just because you are tired.

  The man had no idea how close he’d come to death. He slapped a hand to the red welt that beaded up just enough to mark her victory.

  Exhausted, overheated, and shaking, she lifted her blade again and waited for the next person to attack. If they wished to do this for the rest of the day, then so be it. Her pride wouldn't allow her to stop. Not when she was so far from home.

  Heat unfurled in her chest. She wanted to change so badly, to feel scales replace flesh and show them all what a drakon could really do. The edges of her mask seared her flesh. It heated to control the beast inside her, numbing the desire until it was little more than a festering wound on her soul.

  Soon. Soon she would allow her true self to fly free, but not tonight.

  A female voice lifted into the sky. “I grow bored, husband. She’s showing off, and perhaps she’s made herself clear. It’s a shame she’ll never use it again. Fighting is useless for women. We were made for more delicate pursuits.”

  Heavy brocade stuck to Sigrid’s chest underneath the metal armored plate. Her skirts were heavy with sand that scratched her legs. Her hair stuck to the back of her neck, sweat slicking her face underneath the mask.

  But she still did not agree. She was made of steel and stone. She was not made for delicate things. She was made to feel skulls crack beneath her fists, for mountains to break underneath her claws, and to shake the sky with a roar like thunder.

  Nadir strode into her line of vision. He crossed his arms and stared into her eyes. Could he read her thoughts? Did he understand that she wouldn’t stop until she had made every man in this tented village bleed?

  “One last opponent,” he finally said.

  “Who?” she snarled.

  He grasped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. “Me.”