by K A Doore
The heat sputtered and went cold as warmth slid up her arms, down her neck, and across her chest. Illi burned from the warmth, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It felt like touching a warm kettle with frozen fingers, or the sun’s kiss on an icy morning.
It was a wonderful, almost dizzying feeling and Illi wanted more. Illi reached farther. She could feel so many more spots of warmth. She knew she could take them all if she wanted. Take them and make them hers and become stronger. She could be so strong. No one could stop her, no one could threaten her or those she loved. She could expand across the sky, break the horizons, become vast, endless. The world could be hers and hers alone if she just reached—
She brushed across the spots, felt them warm and close. All of them, except two. Those were cold and sharp. One sliced across her as she tried to wrap herself around it and Illi snapped back, opened her eyes—
Her teeth clattered in her jaw. She was shivering. Yet her wrists burned with heat, the bracelets searing her skin. She felt as if she’d just been cut off from something larger and cast away. It was a uniquely painful feeling. Worse, though, were the stares. Merrabel’s expression was pure delight. Heru’s was horror.
Merrabel started clapping. “Well. That was quite a show. Now, if you’ll excuse me, he Fet—I have places I must be. Soldiers.” She tilted her head toward them. “Seize him.”
Heru didn’t react as the soldiers closed in. He continued to stare at Illi, lips moving soundlessly, as they grabbed his arms and slipped the knife from his unresisting fingers. His eyebrows came together, considering, and Illi knew that look too well, knew that all Heru wanted at that moment was pen and paper. It was that look that sent a wind of disgust through Illi, hardening the foundation of her resolve.
“She won’t help you,” said Heru.
“Don’t you have a shred of shame?” snapped Illi. “Somebody just died. Because of you.”
“She was a captain,” said Heru. “She knew the dangers of her position. Perhaps you failed to notice that your new friend did not attempt to protect her. Merrabel Barca will extend the same lack of courtesy to you.”
“Merrabel Barca has so far not been stupid enough to attack somebody with guul. You’re just proving all those ignorant idiots back in Ghadid right.” Illi forced her fists to unclench and let out a sigh. “Seven years, Heru. I made my decision. For once, respect it.”
Heru continued to stare at her with his single eye, but his lips stayed firmly pressed together. Merrabel’s laughter rolled across the space like so many falling rocks.
“She’s a strong one, he Fet,” said Merrabel, approaching Heru. “You don’t deserve her.”
Without breaking stride, Merrabel freed a knife from her belt and drew its blade across her palm. As the blood welled, she grabbed Heru’s cut forearm. Heru struggled, trying to wrestle free, but the soldiers held tight and Merrabel’s grip was strong. Her lips moved and Illi felt something sharp and bright pass between them.
Heru let out a whoosh of breath, sagging between the soldiers. He shook his head back and forth and back and forth, but didn’t try to slip free again.
“Take him to the nearest prison,” ordered Merrabel. She pulled a length of cloth from a pocket and began wrapping her cut. “It doesn’t matter how small. He won’t try to leave.”
Illi’s throat tightened. “Why can’t he come with us?”
“You saw what he’s capable of,” said Merrabel. “I won’t risk that kind of behavior within my city.”
The soldiers jerked Heru around. He moved slowly, as if not fully awake. Illi had seen Heru perform a similar action on simple creatures before, but never another human. Yet the outward signs were the same. Merrabel had bound Heru’s jaani to her will. He would still function and act on his own—so long as his actions didn’t contradict what Merrabel wanted. Merrabel had effectively put Heru on a lead.
Guilt rose in the back of Illi’s throat, burning through her anger over Heru’s reckless actions and fragile pride.
“Are you coming?”
Merrabel had already returned to her horse. She put a foot in the stirrup and swung up with ease. Illi went to Awalla. She didn’t dare look back at Heru. He’d be fine. He could handle himself. He wouldn’t do what was best for Ghadid.
So she would.
15
Two soldiers accompanied Merrabel and Illi from the Aer Caäs; the rest broke off and took Heru west as soon as the path leveled out. Their group of four quickly caught up with and then left the caravan far behind. Without dozens of burdened camels and caravanners on foot, the city rushed at them. Merrabel wasn’t one for idle chat, so they rode in silence.
Illi hadn’t realized how much sound the caravan had made until they’d left it. In place of the creak of leather bags and the rustle of wraps, the grunt of camels and the occasional hum of prayer, was the whistle of wind and the thudding of her own heart. The stench of so many camels was also gone, replaced by dust and a faint reek of salt.
One moment, they were riding hard between blurred fields of withered green, the next they were slowing to navigate dust-clogged streets. These first towns appeared like mirages. They’d pass a square and market and an empty, dusty basin and then they were out among the fields again. But the towns grew closer together and the fields farther apart until the towns themselves blurred into one and the beaten dirt path became stone, which in turn became foot-worn brick.
But even as the path became a street became a road and the traffic around them thickened, Merrabel refused to slow. Her horse galloped headlong through the city, Illi and the soldiers barely keeping up, the rapid clatter of hooves on brick somehow enough to cut a path through the crowd without injuring anyone. They received more than a few angry shouts and hurled insults, but only Illi seemed to notice.
Then the narrowing buildings abruptly opened, spilling them into a bright, round center filled with a crowd that refused to break for them. Merrabel pulled up short, her horse obediently slowing to a walk. She removed her helmet, spilling her mess of curls down her shoulders. A murmur started and spread through the crowd and heads turned. Merrabel straightened in her saddle and cleared her throat.
One of the soldiers announced, “Her Sun-Blessed Grace, General Merrabel Barca.”
The murmuring wavered as those nearest moved away, bowing their heads and extending their arms backward in that same absurd, birdlike gesture that Canthem had used. Illi’s gut tingled with the memory and for a moment all she could see was Canthem’s lips, turned up at one corner in the beginning of a smile. They’d stayed with the caravan; who knew where they were now. Not here and that was all that mattered. As Merrabel rode through the crowd, it parted for her and the awe-tinged murmurs rose and fell like a winter’s breeze. One man stumbled forward and touched the trailing edge of Merrabel’s red cloak, his eyes wide and his mouth parted. More tried to follow his example, but the soldiers maneuvered their camels between Merrabel and the crowd.
Still, the reverence was palpable. Illi might not understand all the words that rose above the general murmur of the crowd, but she understood their gist. Blessed. Mighty. Honored.
Savior.
Rage, sudden and untethered, flared in Illi. What did this woman have that Heru didn’t, that her people treated her with reverence instead of disgust? Heru had saved Ghadid just as Merrabel claimed she’d saved her people, and yet one was thrust to the outskirts and the other brought forward and outright celebrated.
Yes, and look at what you did to him, the only person who could stand him. You left him to rot in her prison, under her control. Perhaps it’s not in your place to blame Ghadid.
The rage sputtered and died, cooling into a shame that was much heavier and harder to swallow. To distract herself, Illi looked around at the upturned faces, basking in Merrabel’s presence. Thankfully, their attention slipped past Illi, rendering her almost invisible.
The buildings rose tall all around to three, four stories in height. Colorful curtains fluttered in open windows, and
heads poked out here and there. Some buildings even had windows as big as doors, with metal railings all around, crowded with even more onlookers. Red and yellow ribbons had been tied to the railings, ruffling limply in an intermittent breeze.
The walls had been built from white sandstone and so the whole square glared with light. The buildings ran together in one long wall that extended the length of the open space, only ending when it met a road. At the opposite end of the square, another building soared, fronted by a vast arch that arced over half the square. Its surface was covered with geometric designs, inlaid with gold and turquoise and pale blue glass.
The building bubbled with domes and more arches, although these were less ornate. Beyond it all rose a wall, dark and metal and towering. The wall cut across the sky like a second horizon, extending east and west as far as Illi could see. She’d caught glimpses of its dark metal as they rode through Hathage, but only now did she see enough of it to understand its sheer breadth.
Why did they need such a wall? Guul roamed to the south and yet they’d passed no walls, no guards, no barriers at all on their way into the city. What was so much worse to the north?
Soldiers met them on the other side of the arch. Without a word, they let Merrabel and her company pass, then formed a line to block anyone from following. The crowd pressed against the soldiers, reaching but not struggling. Their murmurs turned to shouts as Merrabel slid from her horse. Illi dismounted as well and someone took Awalla’s lead as soon as her feet hit the ground.
With the ease of routine, Merrabel left her horse and strode toward a large, wooden door. It opened before her on silent hinges, bringing them into a broad courtyard attended by waiting servants, heads bowed. When the door shut behind Illi, it dampened the rumble of the crowd. Illi took a deep breath, tasted citrus, jasmine, and salt.
The courtyard was awash in life. Not just the servants, now crowding Merrabel, but also flowers and trees and shrubs. It was so green. The fields they’d passed on their way in had seemed impossibly green, but now those were drab in comparison. Her mother would have loved to spend a year here, just getting to know each and every one of these foreign plants. The memory of dirt-stained fingernails stabbed through Illi, as unexpected as it was sharp, but nobody glanced at her when she stumbled. She pushed away the memory and looked past the plants.
Blue tiles peeked through the greenery, as vibrant as a winter sky. At the courtyard’s center gurgled a fountain, a shimmering pool of clear water in a basin like the empty ones in the towns and villages they’d ridden through. Illi’s mouth grew dry and she could all but taste the water.
Merrabel was unfazed. She kept walking, right past the fountain and the greenery, even as she stripped off her leather gloves, handed them to one servant, and accepted new gloves from another. She unclipped her cloak and let it fall, a servant there in time to scoop the fabric up before it touched the ground. Without looking, she held out her helmet, and again it was snatched up by waiting hands.
All of her attention was focused on the far end of the courtyard and a lone figure standing there, hunched under a fine silver cloak. The figure wore no tagel. As they drew closer, Illi picked out her hair, her features. The hair was short, but fine and soft like cat’s fur. A light brown, it framed her angular face and just covered her ears. Eyes as blue as the tiles watched them approach, somehow brighter when set against skin as pale as sand. The top of her cheeks were stained pink, like the edges of white blossoms.
A darkness peppered her chin and neck: stubble. All at once, Illi realized the figure was a man, not a woman. She cast her gaze down out of habit, but could still see his face clear in her mind. His face—and the circlet of metal in his hair.
“Your Majesty,” breathed Merrabel.
She stopped still a dozen feet away and knelt. Illi froze, unsure what to do before a king. She knew the title meant power, and a great deal of it, but what could a king do that a drum chief couldn’t?
“Kneel,” hissed Merrabel. She grabbed the bottom of Illi’s wrap and tugged.
But Illi remained standing. She’d never knelt for anyone and she wasn’t going to start now. She bowed her head and placed her closed fist over her heart, the appropriate sign of respect for a drum chief, and even that felt like too much. After all, this man, this king, had no authority over her.
“Merrabel,” said King Thamilcar, and his voice was much deeper than Illi had expected. More resonant. “Come, rise. You know you don’t have to do that, not for me.”
Merrabel rose. “Your Majesty, we’ve already had this conversation. I’ll always kneel. It’s your due, as our king and leader. Anything less would be disrespectful.”
“From others yes,” said the king, gesturing broadly. “But never from you. You are practically my equal.”
“Practically is not the same as legally,” pointed out Merrabel.
“There are ways to make it legal.”
Merrabel stiffened. “Your Majesty. Please. Let’s not get into this now. There are more pressing matters.”
King Thamilcar glanced at Illi with disdain. “Of course there are. There always are.” He sighed, spread his hands. “Who is it that you’ve brought home now? I thought you’d gone to find a disruption and, well, disrupt it. Not bring back strays.”
“I located the disruption, Your Majesty,” said Merrabel. “And this girl from the Wastes will help me find a way to rid us of it. The guul will come no farther than the Aer Caäs, I promise you.”
“Good,” said the king, but he didn’t sound convinced. “I could use some promises. There’ve been multiple reports of guul attacking our traders to the west while you were gone and the court wants action, any action at all. I’ve held them off with assurances of your imminent return and—now you’ve returned. What shall I tell them?”
Merrabel made a small, aggrieved noise in the back of her throat. “The attacks will be seen to, but first I must have time and space to finish my exploration of this disruption. I’m close to a solution, but that still remains tenuous.”
“Good. You can tell the court that.”
“No.” Merrabel held up a hand. “You can, Your Majesty.”
The king frowned his annoyance. “You would do a better job.”
“You’re the king.”
The king sighed. “Perhaps that wasn’t the wisest choice,” he added quietly.
At that, Merrabel laughed and clapped the king on the back. “With every ounce of respect, you’ve never had the stomach to do what I do. And an army is an entirely different beast than a court. You’re doing fine, Your Majesty.”
“But the drought, the refugees, the guul—”
“Will all be solved soon,” said Merrabel. “You can tell your court I’ve promised you myself. But I cannot appear before them, not yet. They’ll make a hundred demands on me and I haven’t the time or the patience. Give me a month, Your Majesty.”
“You will have a week,” said the king. “I’ll reassign your duties in the meantime.”
“And you won’t send for me,” added Merrabel.
“And I won’t send for you. But I expect a report at the week’s end.”
“Fair. You’ll have it, Your Majesty.” Merrabel bowed deep, then gestured for Illi to follow.
The walls closed in around them as they left the courtyard behind. It wasn’t until Merrabel had shut a thick door between her and the king and they stood in a wide, well-lit room swarming with servants that the tension left her and she let out a small sigh.
“That man,” was all she said before crossing the room for another corridor, this one longer and taller and less confining. Her stride lengthened and Illi had to all but jog to keep up.
“He doesn’t seem very … confident,” said Illi carefully. She’d wanted to say kingly, but somehow she didn’t think that’d go over well.
“He’s still learning,” said Merrabel tightly.
Illi frowned. “He’s as old as you, at least. I don’t know how kingdoms work, but our leaders go t
hrough years of training before taking up the drum.”
“He’s only been a king as long as Hathage has been a kingdom.”
“And how long has that been?”
Merrabel cut a glance at Illi. “Since the Mehewret Empire fell.”
“Only seven years. How did he become king?”
“Before the Empire decided to claim us as a province, we had kings and queens, a line of succession. But the Empire insisted on having their own governors in place and the royal line was executed. Nasty business, their bodies were left to rot in the public square for all to see. The Emperor at the time commissioned songs about it.” Merrabel shuddered. “But somehow, they missed one and the royal line persisted, in hiding. When the Empire fell, we overthrew the governor. Then one of the royal blood revealed themselves and claimed the throne. He just so happened to be my fellow general, Hast Thamilcar.”
Merrabel paused at a seemingly random door. It was wide and wooden like the others they’d passed and, like the others, indistinct. Merrabel reached for the handle, but let her hand rest on the metal without turning it.
“So no, he hasn’t had the luxury of years of training,” she continued, her gaze fixed on the door. “There’s a lot to learn about leading a kingdom and he’s still learning, yes. Sometimes he thinks he’d be better served if I were at his side, but he’s wrong: I’d be shackled like a dog and he needs me free. He’s a good ruler. Fair when it’s possible, decisive when it’s necessary. He would do anything to keep his kingdom safe. But he can’t.” She lifted her gaze and settled it on Illi. “I can. And I will not fail him.”
“Why aren’t you king?” asked Illi. “Blood doesn’t mean that much, not really.”
“I’m better suited to a sword than a crown. And a king can’t do what’s necessary.” Merrabel’s lips twisted up in a sly smile, as if she and Illi shared a secret. “Besides, you studied under Heru, so you should know: blood means everything.”
Still looking at Illi, Merrabel pushed open the door. She held it as Illi stepped through.