Chapter One Samira #2
Tabia replied, “Forty-five seconds, my princess.”
Nailah tried, “Please—”
Princess Amunet dunked her back in the water. Even as it made my stomach turn over and my heart seize, I didn’t look away. None of us did. We weren’t allowed to.
I watched my princess bring the girl to the point of death over and over and then reel her back before she could fall over the edge. As horrible as it was, this was the exact reason all of Ashorah looked to the Gods-Chosen as our salvation.
I’d learned the story my first day in Khada Palace: In times of great strife, the gods smiled upon their people and sent a child of theirs to save us.
And Ashorah—as well as the rest of the continent—was indeed desperate after centuries of drought.
So desperate, in fact, that King Zaid had decided to brave the Wastelands in search of a legend.
No one ever survived the Wastelands, the terrain of dunes and mountains and blazing climate practically engineered to kill humans. But forty years ago, King Zaid had marched through it in pursuit of a forgotten city, buried beneath miles and miles of sand.
The Buried City was said to be a paradise on earth, where water flowed endlessly, where there was no famine or disease. A thing of myth.
King Zaid’s advisors warned him that these myths were likely fabrications, either conjured by the northern enemy nation known as Kaldfold or spread by the freshly conquered jinn-descended princes.
Though the jinn-descended might have been powerful once, the current four princes didn’t possess even a fraction of the strength their ancestors had, making their defeat an easy one, which they’d resented.
And the cannibalistic, shape-shifting Kaldfolk were constantly encroaching on Ashoran territory, forcing us into war often. Neither were to be trusted.
Stories of the Buried City were meant to send the king on a journey, not to a divine water source but to an early grave.
But the Lotus River, the continent’s last remaining water source, had almost entirely dried up.
Everyone, from the farthest Ashoran village to Kaldfold in the north, relied on that river.
Without it, petty squabbles among principalities and territory disputes with the Kaldfolk would be moot. All would perish.
So King Zaid had to try.
He’d gotten lost in the Wastelands, was near death, when he was approached by a pack of jinn—minions of Shaya, God of the Underworld, beings of sand and fire.
They offered an end to Ashorah’s drought and to the war with the cannibal Kaldfolk, and promised to return King Zaid safely home to a prosperous land.
In exchange, the king’s firstborn would be Shaya’s.
The king—delirious with dehydration and heatstroke—accepted without question.
When he returned home and told Queen Neema of the deal, she was appalled.
Over the centuries, the other six gods had all borne half-human children, but Shaya was different.
King of Death, Sire of Monsters. Queen Neema could not bear his spawn.
A child of the Underworld would be too dangerous.
Power over death wasn’t a power any mortal creature should have.
Queen Neema ensured she would not have a child. Details on just how are vague, but it is said she almost did not survive the process. Mutilation might have been involved.
It was decided that the crown would pass to the king’s cousin, Hamadi, and the succession would be settled without a direct heir.
The Lotus River rushed with gallons and gallons of water, just as the jinn had promised. The king promptly dammed it up and claimed complete control over it.
Together, the King and Queen of Ashorah had outsmarted the God of the Underworld.
But a deal with a jinni cannot be broken.
Nearly two decades later, the middle-aged queen fell pregnant. Though she had been so very careful, so very smart, Shaya was smarter. He wore the king’s skin when he came to her. Neither she nor the king were any the wiser until she missed her monthly bleeding.
The queen died during the birth, but my princess survived. King Zaid’s deal with the jinn was upheld. And in one month’s time, my princess would turn twenty, go through the Igniting, and receive the full might of the Underworld.
She was one of us. Had lived nearly twenty years as a mortal. She’d take care of us. She’d make hundreds of rivers flow and stop death from snatching so many of us.
She was going to be our salvation.
“It’s been five minutes, my princess,” Tabia murmured.
Princess Amunet jerked Nailah’s head out of the water for the last time. The scullery maid gasped and choked, water exploding out of her mouth and nose, strands of hair flung across her face like blindfolds. Her limbs trembled from exertion, and her eyes rolled in her head.
My princess gazed down at the scullery maid without emotion. “You are forgiven.”
Still heaving, the girl replied, “Th-thank you, my pr-princess.”
“You may go.” Princess Amunet turned away from the girl and returned to her desk, where she picked up the water chalice and took a big gulp.
Nailah staggered to her feet, her face red and chest rising and falling erratically. I wanted to step forward and offer my arm for her to lean against, help her back to her room. But I didn’t. I just stood with the other maids and watched her stumble out the door.
It was an honor to work in Khada Palace.
We were luckier than most Ashorans. The rest of the kingdom—the world, really—battled drought daily, but here, I got a glass of water every two days.
Plus, we would be the first to witness the Gods-Chosen’s transformation.
We would be by her side when she saved us all.
Some days it was more difficult to remember that than others.
“I want to sleep,” my princess declared.
“Yes, my princess,” we all murmured, and jumped to action, laying out her nightdress while slipping her out of her current gown and wig.
Tabia looked pointedly at me and then the tray of barely touched food, wordlessly ordering me to take it away. I mentally chastised myself for needing to be told and hurried to collect the tray.
For all my princess’s claims of hunger, she’d hardly touched the pita bread and chicken.
It used to be torturous to watch her eat, even harder to see what she didn’t. Leftovers went to the livestock. And at the end of the week, anything the livestock didn’t touch came to us. It was a message. A reminder of our place in the palace.
My first week as a maid, my stomach had growled in response to all her food.
I’d received ten lashes.
I’d learned to control my stomach after that.
Though Princess Amunet didn’t look at me, I curtsied before I left, taking the wide stone steps down to the servants’ quarters two at a time. All maids were required around my princess’s bed for Nightly Prayer. I wouldn’t be late.
But when I turned the last corner to the kitchen, the smell hit my nose and stopped me dead in my tracks.
The kitchens always smelled good. Like garlic and paprika, mostly. But tonight, after the princess’s midnight order, it smelled like bread. Gods, freshly baked bread.
I peeked around the corner. The kitchen was empty.
Chef Nena must’ve gone to bed after handing me the tray.
But the stone counters were still lightly dusted with leftover flour, and the large, curved oven’s mouth lay open like a sob.
I could just glimpse the dying embers inside, a tongue of slumbering fire.
A warm breeze blew in through an open window and carried the smell from the oven all the way to me at the threshold.
I glanced down at the tray in my hands. The thin disk of bread was mostly untouched. Despite how hard I clenched my stomach, it let out a stubborn rumble. Thank the gods no one was around to hear it.
I hovered my hand over the bread but didn’t dare touch it. Faint warmth rippled up to meet my palm. I imagined how soft it would feel, how delicious it would taste. I hadn’t had fresh bread since Mama’s birthday, before I was snatched off the street and brought to the palace. Sixteen years ago.
My eyes darted around the hallway. No servants.
And the next round of guards wouldn’t be due for at least five minutes.
It would be nothing to slip the thin disk under my neckline.
As long as I kept my head down in the hall, no one would look twice at me, and once I was in my room, I could have the whole disk to myself.
I’d eat it under the covers. In the morning, rats would rid the bed of any crumbs. No one would know, and I was so hungry—
No! I screamed the word in my mind, the scar over my heart pulsing in warning. The gods would know. My princess would know. Do not disobey.
Tears burned my eyes as I set the tray on the counter with shaky hands, sending up prayer after prayer of contrition to my gods, the Seven Monarchs, for even thinking of stealing.
I stared at the food a moment more, swallowing back the saliva gathering in my mouth. Salivating like an animal. Shame shot through me. With a shuddering breath, I turned on my heel and went back to my princess’s rooms.
I did not miss Nightly Prayer.