9. NINE
NINE
Mina
KALISHAM – ONE MONTH AGO
One woman’s failed needlepoint is the same woman’s target practice. A new rip forms in the center of the silk handkerchief that I tied to a towering rose bush. The bright red petals mock my obvious lack of artistry as they gently fall to the sandstone pathway.
I hand my bow to Garsif, but he struggles to nock another arrow before firing, missing the corner of what is supposed to be an embroidery of Raha, my sister’s favorite falcon.
The mess of indigo thread looks more like a deformed camel.
Good thing I prepared a different coronation gift for her weeks ago.
“Closer.” I bite back a laugh. “Not bad for a bow nearly as heavy as you are.”
“You mastered a bow this strong when you were my age.” A little crease forms between his eyebrows as he threads the next arrow through the string.
“I was half a foot taller…”
“I am not short,” Garsif says, spinning around. I quickly reach out to keep the obsidian arrow pointed down the lane of neatly trimmed rose bushes.
The northern garden is a manicured maze of flora that reaches nearly nine feet in height. I can barely see the domed, azure roof, but distance does little to drown out all the excitement from the palace. It does, however, make a decent hiding spot.
Everyone is so busy with their given tasks that we don't even need to sneak around to go unnoticed.
Extra attendants buff and polish every surface to a radiant glow.
The best chefs from all over Kalisham prepare ceremonial dishes, from pomegranate-basted lamb and almond-crusted geese to toasted saffron rice.
Despite our distance from the kitchens, I can taste the blend of cardamom and sumac in the air. My stomach rumbles in anticipation.
I run my free hand through Garsif’s unruly black hair before he swats it away.
“I never said you were short. Master what you can with the body you have. The rest will come with time.” I bump him with my hip, asking for the bow.
I spent the better part of a year crafting it for my coming-of-age ceremony last month. The deep curves are a meticulous blend of ash, ram’s horn, and sinew. I chose a corded silk for my string, dyeing it my favorite shade of orange instead of the traditional indigo.
This bow is supposed to represent my persona and strength, so I might as well be true to my heart.
I pull the string back, anchoring it to my mouth, and let the chaos around us fall away as I put the arrow right through the center of the fabric.
A perfect hit is easy at this distance, though.
“Watch my arms. Your elbow is dropping because the pull weight is too much—for now,” I add at his glare.
I nock another arrow, breathing deep to steady my hand and heart.
Willing the breeze to still, I hit the exact same spot as last time.
Usually, my favorite pastime can cure any mental ailment, but dozens of arrows have done little to ease the anxiety nestled in my chest. No amount of repetition is able to diminish the weight of today.
I plaster on an encouraging smile and hand Garsif the bow.
He practices the pull a few times as I push his elbow up into place.
He nocks an arrow and takes aim, releasing at the same time a saffron linen skirt steps into the path.
The bright figure blocks the target, but Garsif’s arrow blessedly misses her by at least a foot.
“Princess Mina! Prince Garsif. We’ve been looking everywhere for you both. Your mother requested your presence over an hour ago.” Valli, Mother’s main attendant and master of ruined fun, rushes over and rips the bow from Garsif’s hands.
“I could have hit you,” he warns.
“Then perhaps you should save your archery for the training ground.”
I roll my eyes and throw Garsif over my shoulder. His laughter tickles my back. “Yes, but then you would have found us sooner, defeating the purpose.”
“To the baths immediately.” She ushers us toward the palace.
The alabaster walls of my home sit high on a hill in the center of the city. The open-air hallways have a clear view of the Saurhaz Desert. Every sunset paints the white dunes a lovely shade of orange before the light reaches the crimson pillars that mark the city’s edge.
Neat rows of sandstone and red clay buildings are broken up by spacious squares, hosting small gardens of wildflowers and fruit trees. Canopies offer shade to cushioned sections where people can relax and converse after a long day.
A hot breeze carries the excited voices of our people to the inner walls of the palace, where I find my sister relaxing in the bath.
“You’re losing your touch. They found you before sundown,” Fareena teases from the clear water saturated with jasmine petals.
I stick my tongue out before stripping down and wading into the cool springs to scrub away the day’s sweat and sand from my hair. I sink below the surface and close my eyes, letting the stillness of water calm the current of my hammering heart.
I emerge to splashes echoing over the quartz wall that divides the natural spring in half.
“Less foolery and more washing, Garsif!” Fareena shouts as an attendant towels her off.
His giggle replaces the sloshing waves as I add, “Yes, Garsif! Your future queen commands order.”
Fareena waves her hand through the air, splashing the springs into my face. A rather immature display of power from the Crown Princess of Kalisham. I consider letting it slide. Her world is about to transform in a few short hours when Queen Estere Ardeshir passes along her crown and title.
Mother is still in her prime, but tradition dictates the eldest daughter take the throne on her twenty-fifth birthday. A young, fresh set of eyes to lead our people, with the guiding hand of the former queen as one of many advisers. A brilliant way to make sure we continued to prosper.
I only wish another family could take the reins in our stead.
I glide my hand across the surface of the water, calling a narrow stream to rise up and whip at the future queen’s bare back.
She jerks forward, turning on me in a fury. “So help me, Mina, if you leave a welt for the ceremony, I’ll drown you where you stand.”
I hold her glare for a few moments, trying to push more water at her as she tries just as hard to splash me. Our wills battle for control of the springs and send out tiny ripples until we burst out laughing.
For a few more precious moments at least, she remains only my elder sister. I flash her a whimper of mock fear, hands up in a call for peace, as I emerge to get ready.
Attendants step forward to dry and moisturize every square inch of tawny-brown skin until we shimmer like the granite below our feet.
Our hair is combed until it’s dry and lies straight as a blade.
We are mirrors of each other, along with our whole family.
Hair black as the obsidian we mine to the east. Eyes like jade.
Even our curves are similar despite the fact I only had my coming-of-age ceremony two weeks ago.
The tattoo down my spine is still sore. The intricate vine of jasmine is the mark of my family, the Ardeshirs, chosen by the twin Goddesses of the Moon and Sun to protect Kalisham.
The petals reflect a lineage of strength and courage I can’t seem to muster today. They symbolize that my time of adventure and play has come to an end. Fareena’s coronation bought me a few extra weeks before my official duties start, though Mother still has no idea where to place me.
I want to serve my people, but a selfish part of me wishes to remain exempt from duty for a little while longer.
No marriage prospects or stuffy meetings. Nights shrouded in mischief, sneaking around the palace grounds with Garsif, helping him practice his takedowns on an unsuspecting guard or two.
Turning twenty symbolizes the shift from lectures and exploring to expectations and rigidity. Twenty means the people relying on me will grow from merely my family to hundreds of thousands of citizens overnight. The pressure of it all makes me a little dizzy.
Thank the heavens I’ll never have to be queen.
I push the thought away and focus on the young attendant rubbing rose-scented cream onto Fareena’s arms with furrowed brows. Her hands shake as she works, checking my sister for any missed spots.
Hundreds of girls apply to be a part of the ceremony, even if it’s just helping out around the palace in some small way. To be chosen is an honor, but I can sympathize with the pressure they must be under.
This girl looks about fifteen, and the raw perfection of Fareena is enough to unsettle anyone.
I used to try to imitate Fareena. If she mastered something, I wanted to follow in her footsteps. Yet such standards were too high; I always came up short with the exception of my bow, dagger, and spirit.
The talent for music and grace skipped me completely. Eventually, Mother taught us that we are each beautiful in our own ways and a woman’s duty is to support and encourage, not compare and envy.
Easy for her to say. She had only brothers to compete with, and she put each of them to shame before they fell to illness as adolescents.
Fareena and I don our robes and head to the dressing chamber that’s been prepared for the ceremony.
Flames dance in the sconces, illuminating the windowless space and highlighting a long table of accessories.
Gold and silver catch the light, reflecting the best craftsmanship in all of Kalisham.
Delicate headpieces with sapphires and rubies.
Bangles and necklaces with metal delicately woven around amethysts, opals, and every precious stone our land provides.
Rare minerals to the rest of the world, but Kalisham is so richly blessed with them.
The stone floors are covered by a large woven rug. Crimson and gold threads intertwine the figures of two women, blooming flowers, and a fierce battle. I used to trace the lines, following their story until I’d fall asleep right on the floor.