Chapter Two #2
His expression had been unrecognizable. “I am the king of Oryndhr. My enemies need to understand the consequences of going against me.”
“But you could have gone about this a different way. A humane way.” I’d glanced to Clem for support, but she had shaken her head.
“He’s right, Sura,” she’d said. “We can’t afford to be merciful when our foes are not.”
“Merciful?” I’d scoffed. “Our response was monstrous.”
“Sometimes you have to be a monster to kill the monsters,” Aran had interjected, though I could see the sorrow on his face before he wiped the emotion away so Roshan wouldn’t see it.
That was telling—why would he hide his true reactions from his cousin?
He was the king’s chancellor, his adviser.
And yet, even Aran had seemed unusually meek.
I’d known I couldn’t convince them, and it was much too late to change anything, but I’d persisted anyway .
. . perhaps out of my own monumental guilt.
“But we’re not monsters. Those are men who might have been led astray by a heretic.
We don’t even know who this oracle is. You have a duty to your people, Ro, even those who might be your opposition. ”
Oh, he hadn’t liked that—me taking him to task in front of his trusted circle. “It’s not your place to question my rule.”
That had struck like the blow he’d meant it to be.
My face must have reflected my hurt, because remorse had leaked over his features. “Leave us,” he’d told the others. “This is hard for me, too,” he’d said once we were alone. “By the maker, you think I wanted to kill those men? I had no choice.”
“There’s always a choice.”
“Ruling is not that simple, Sura.” He’d raked a hand through his hair, the brief glimpse of softness in his expression disappearing.
“Look, perhaps it would be better if we . . . both had some breathing room. You’re upset, and I don’t want to say something I don’t mean.
I’ll go back to Kaldari, and you can stay here to visit with your father and aunt until the morning. ”
I’d frowned. “We promised to be honest with each other, remember?”
“And I am, Sura,” he’d said. “Gods, I can’t bear you looking at me like that. This path is paved with brutal decisions, and I need you with me. But I understand if you can’t.”
“You’d let me remain here?”
The words had slipped out, the hope in them at being released something I’d stupidly been unable to hide, and the bitter devastation on his face had hit me hard.
It’d vanished in a blink, his features stiffening with practiced neutrality.
“Tonight, Suraya. I’ll give you tonight because we both need space.
But you’ll return tomorrow, and we will continue the tour as planned. ”
So magnanimous of him.
In truth, I’d appreciated the reprieve, even with Clem and a few guards staying behind. I needed the time to process my emotions separate from the king, and I’d fallen into a restless slumber in my bed immediately after Roshan left.
But everything aches: my body, my mind, my heart.
I need . . . him. My shadow god.
My eyes flutter shut as I curl back under the blankets, hoping that sleep won’t continue to elude me.
But my brain is still churning in a sour mix of bitterness, guilt, and anger that I can’t seem to overcome.
Eventually, however, I give in to utter exhaustion and dream of nothing until a devoted hand brushes over my hair.
At first, the light touch makes me think of Vena and then, achingly, of my mother—but the scent of smoky darkness and oud that accompanies it is deeply familiar.
My silver-haired knight in stygian armor who always seems to appear in my dreams whenever I am distressed.
I’m thankful for that, at least, even if my delusions are all in my head, though admittedly, my mysterious visitor becomes more substantial the more often I imagine him.
Even in my dream state, I feel my body instantly at ease with his presence.
“You came,” my lips shape.
You called.
Usually his visits take on a more erotic slant, but these unhurried ministrations feel kind and compassionate, as if he senses—and by he, I mean my subconscious, clearly—that I am in need of solace and tenderness.
I sigh in quiet gratitude as those long, gentle fingers graze my brow, ghosting over my fluttering eyelids.
His mouth touches my brow in the sweetest of kisses.
For the first time since the horrific execution, my chaotic thoughts abate.
His mystical presence lulls me into a placid state of somnolence, a thousand gentle shadows stroking me into quiet serenity.
Rest and release your burdens to me, Starbright. I am here.
I sleep. Finally.
***
A SCANT FEW hours later when I wake, the sun is bright in my bedroom, making me squint as I sit up.
I inhale a deep breath of the warm air, letting it fill my tight lungs.
Rising, I peer out into the desert from the window, the sand dunes rolling in shimmering bands of silver and gold as the morning sun crests over them in the distance.
But the beauty I can always find to cheer me up is absent.
All I see is blood. On my hands. On my name.
Futile tears trickle out of my eyes. I lay my head on the windowsill and count the dunes that I can see, but my childhood trick to calm myself doesn’t work as well as it used to.
“Peapod?”
Snapped out of my thoughts, I turn to see my father leaning on the doorjamb, his solemn face wreathed in concern.
“Papa.” The wobbled word doesn’t even come out fully before I’m a blubbering mess that he swiftly gathers into his big, welcoming arms. I bury my face in his shirt, neither of us caring that I’m soaking him in the process.
“All will be well, my girl,” he murmurs, rubbing my back in soothing circles.
I sob harder. “It won’t. I’m a monster. Everyone saw what I did.”
“And they also heard what the king commanded you to do,” he says gently. “Besides, you handled a difficult act with so much care and grace. It was fast, finished in a blink. Even if you were watching, you wouldn’t have seen any pain on their faces.”
“Truly?” I sniffle.
“I promise you.” He hugs me tighter. “That magic of yours is powerful. All I saw was a bright light that had me shutting my eyes and it was done. You did the best you could.”
I swallow hard at his unwavering faith in me. Did I? Or should I have fought harder?
Breathing deeply, I stay tucked in his arms for a few more minutes before sniffing and wiping my face.
My skin is hot and splotchy, and I’m sure my eyes have probably swollen to twice their size.
The second I think it, a cooling sensation rolls over me and what feels like a cold compress rests against my eyelids. Thank you, my simurgh.
With reluctance, I step out of my father’s embrace and scoop my thick hair up into a tail, finger-combing it and securing it with a tie. I’m sure my magic can fix that, too, but the familiar action helps to calm the noise in my head.
“So,” he says, “how are you feeling, really?”
“Like everyone is afraid of me.”
He winks. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Nor am I,” a voice says at the door, and I smile at Amma, who is carrying a steaming plate of food: a large serving of her famous roasted crushed tomatoes with onion and salted fish, and fresh, flaky layers of piping-hot flatbread.
My mouth instantly waters. Normally she’s very strict about only allowing food downstairs, but she must be making an exception, given recent events.
“Thanks, Amma,” I say, and sit at my desk to eat while she perches on the edge of my bed.
I break off a piece of the flatbread and dip it in the sauce before popping it in my mouth.
Maker above, there’s nothing like a home-cooked meal to make a girl feel cherished, especially one from Amma. My eyes sting again.
“How are you holding up, love?” she asks.
“Better now,” I say through another mouthful. I swallow. “But I wish I were staying here longer. I miss . . . home.”
She frowns. “Why can’t you?”
I exhale. “I promised the king that I would stand by his side, to present a clear message and ensure the peace. You saw what happened here with the assassins. He needs my help to keep the houses in line.”
“Is that what you want?” my father asks, moving to sit next to Amma. “Kaldari is still a pit of vipers, and I have no trust in a system that aims to govern without counterbalances.”
His opinion on the capital as well as the monarchy doesn’t surprise me, considering how much persecution he and my mother faced running away with me. My father has always been a rebel. “Still riding against the monarchy, Papa?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Tyranny is born when service cedes to control and duty falls to power. There are those of us who keep a close watch on the seeds of oppression being sowed.”
“Roshan isn’t like that. He wants peace.”
“That may be. But he is using you—and fear—to gain it,” Papa says, face fierce with concern for me. “I ask again: Is that what you want? Because if it isn’t, I will find a way to keep you here, even if it means going against the king.”
“Always my greatest defender,” I murmur.
I keep eating, mulling over my jumbled thoughts.
I’m sick of Kaldari, of being constantly followed, of obeying all these new rules for my supposed safety, of being stared at and whispered about.
Not that the latter wouldn’t happen here, especially after last night, but at least I’ve known these people my whole life.
“I love him,” I say eventually. “And he loves me. I have to believe that all of this is temporary, and the sooner it’s behind us, the faster we can move on to living our lives.”
I know the moment I say it that it’s a naive, wishful stance. There’s no way that either of us, especially a king with a kingdom to rule, will ever get to live our lives. As Papa alluded to before, duty will always take precedence—a good ruler is first and foremost in service to his people.
And despite recent events, Roshan needs me.
“The truth is I can’t abandon him,” I admit. “He’s lost the only family he had, and the only one who ever protected him was his father.” I glance at mine. “I suppose he has Aran, his cousin, whom you’ve met, Papa. I saw the two of you talking for a while.”
“The Lord Chancellor seems like a man of honor,” my father says.
“A bit idealistic, with grandiose notions of the perfect egalitarian society, but he promises to keep an eye on things. He also promised to send me regular reports and make sure that the king treats you well. He told me that you’ve been excelling in your magical studies. ”
I lift one shoulder and mop up the rest of the sauce with the last piece of flatbread. “I don’t know about excelling, but he’s a good teacher. I’m learning more about my magic every day.”
Papa wrinkles his nose and scrubs a palm over his bushy beard.
“He has strong views about the gods. He insists that Saru is trapped somewhere, which was why the queen nearly succeeded at bringing Fero’s return.
Says he’s scouring the history books for any mention of the hand of Saru.
Some god-touched sword that has been missing for centuries that can be used to banish a god for good. ”
“A god-touched sword?” I echo, frowning. Saru has been in god-sleep since the hundred years’ war when he vanquished his twin brother, Fero.
“Indeed. There was a prophecy connected to it, too. Something about godslayers and lightbreakers and killing blades.” He shrugs. “You know I don’t believe in any of that soothsayer nonsense.”
I let out a disbelieving huff of laughter. “Papa, I am one of those prophecies. I’m the Starkeeper, remember?”
My father folds his arms over his chest. “Speaking of that, he also told me how you brought the king back from the dead with your magic.”
“He did?” Dread fills me at the memory. Shuddering, I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood.
“I’ve never felt darkness like that, Papa.
The queen . . . she nearly undid . . . everything Mama tried to do .
. .” I trail off, my throat tightening at the recollection of her mottled skin and bloodred eyes, and the foul essence of the nebulous god she’d summoned. I’d come so close to dying.
“Sura.” Amma lets out a distressed noise as if sensing my terror. Considering my mother was her sister, she would have known about Queen Morvarid’s vile magic.
“I still feel like Fero is here sometimes, in the dead of night,” I confess. “That I never quite got rid of him. That he’s watching . . . and waiting . . . to strike when I least expect it.”
“He can’t hurt you, Sura,” my father says.
I rub my cold arms, a rash of goose pimples appearing out of nowhere. “How do you know?”
Amma is the one to answer, her voice soft. “Because the god of death needs three things to take corporeal form,” she says. “Akasha, a death magi, and an anchor.”
Papa nods. “Morvarid might have her devotees, but they are not as powerful as she was. And you are protected by your magic as well as the king at your side.”
I rub my arms again. “So you’re saying it’s safer to stay with him.”
“I’m saying you should not do this alone, my brave peapod,” he replies. “You need allies. You can protect yourself, we have all seen that, but even the best warrior has chinks in their armor, and sometimes the deadliest of enemies can strike from within.”
I stare sharply at him. “Did Aran tell you that?”
“What?”
“That there’s someone on the inside,” I say in a low voice, “who has been feeding our enemies information. They knew we would stay here in Coban last night. Only those in Roshan’s inner circle would have been privy to the king’s plans.”
“Vipers slither at the heart of every court,” he mutters.
“Promise me you will be vigilant, Sura,” Amma says, and taps her breastbone. “Trust the creature inside of you.”
My simurgh unfurls and stretches, peering from my eyes at my aunt and my father, and joy radiates from her. Kin. The single word conveys a wealth of emotion, of connection and love, along with a deep desire to see them protected.
“She says you both must do the same. Safeguard each other.” I stare at my aunt, whose face has paled. “Amma, what’s the matter?”
But her eyes roll back in her head as my father releases a worried shout. The hypnotic voice that emerges from her lips isn’t hers. It’s Vena’s, one I know well, though I haven’t heard from my celestial guardian of sorts in a while.
Not since the night I died.
“Prepare, Starkeeper, for the battle of earth and sky has begun. The godslayer will rise over the embers of war.”