Chapter 16
AMEIRAH
The vast domed hall where the council held their meetings was almost as old as Morysen itself.
History had been written into law by clergy and gentry members sitting at the ancient, curved desks that followed the circular room.
Legends had been born on the chequered purple and white floor, the colours of the two mighty houses that built the city—Saber and Naji.
Those two families were the source of a feud that was legend itself, and had split the dynasty into two, leaving Naji to establish the white city of Wenton while the Saber family ruled from Morysen.
Right now, I sided with House Naji in that feud as I tentatively crossed the cavernous room.
Eyes peered at me from dark faces, some hooded, every seat occupied as Khalid warned.
I wanted to know what Khalid was doing with the prince, wanted to know what the hell they both were playing at, walking a line of treason.
How did they even find out I’d be summoned to stand before the king and council?
More importantly, did Varidian know? Had he sent me here into the heart of a political storm, or was this just shitty luck?
The gentry to my right watched me like colourful birds of prey in finery, jewels, and gaudy silver, their stares critical yet hungry in a way that made me feel sick. Would they pick over my bones by the time this meeting was through?
I looked to the left side for comfort, not daring to yet look King Bakshi in the eye, but my heart froze then resumed twice as quickly.
Where clergy would usually sit in gold and silver trimmed white djellaba were a row of strangers in robes as black as midnight.
On their breast was the silver minaret and stars sigil that had been stitched on every dark djellaba of those soldiers at Wyfell.
The same sigil as the riders who attacked the Legion of Fyrevein, the riders who’d been searching for me.
For Raheema—the sky blue that was so rare it had made them suspicious.
Cold trickled from the nape of my neck down my spine and I couldn’t fight a shiver. I took slow, measured steps even as everything raced inside me, blood pumping furiously, my brain rushing in circles, trying to predict what the king wanted and how I could avoid giving it to him.
If Khalid was right and Bakshi wanted my power…
“Ameirah,” the king himself said with a warm smile as his burly guard left me in the middle of the room, my numb legs halting on a golden star that marked dead centre, light from the many torches reflecting off its shiny, gilded surface.
I felt like a criminal on trial, but I’d done nothing wrong, broken no rules.
“Thank you for joining us at such an early hour.”
Play along. Stay alive.
I made myself smile, thought of Varidian and Rawiya and Raheema so a glimmer of light entered my eyes and made it believable. “Of course. Anything for my family.”
I could have gone the anything for my esteemed king route, but he’d never fall for simpering bullshit. But a girl abandoned by her family, given a second chance with royals and grateful to not be alone? That, he might buy.
Except, the king’s eyes narrowed, and he sat back in the tall, gilded throne as he assessed me.
Amber eyes, the same colour Varidian’s were before the storm turned them topaz blue.
I straightened my back, keeping my expression neutral, a little curious, even as my heart raced and sweat pricked my palms and my upper lip.
His eyes had narrowed on my leathers, I realised, not on my face.
The crimson leathers. With the twin snakes of House Marrakchi embroidered on the legs, the breast. Shit.
I should have remained in my sleep clothes, because the way Bakshi’s nostrils flared, his mouth pressing thin, was an icy omen.
He didn’t say a thing, and I wouldn’t acknowledge it unless he pointed out the obvious alliance with my mother in law’s family.
Red vipers, in a city where everything was violet wolves.
Play along. Stay alive. I took slow breaths, the dry air of the council chamber at once as comforting as a library and as unsettling as a court room.
I tried not to jump to conclusions. And yet…
the council was in full attendance. I’d been escorted here by an armed guard. And it was the middle of the night.
“The city is abuzz with news of what happened in Tourlestyn and Daurith, so I have no doubt you’ve heard that dark forces sweep across our land.”
I nodded.
“If we’re going to push them back, and reclaim the cities invaded, we need the greatest powers in our land to work together.”
The back of my neck tingled. “Who are they?” I dared to breathe. “The people who attacked Daurith?”
“A small group of rebel clergy leaders,” the king replied with a shake of his head.
“That’s why you’ll see new faces already in the mosques of Morysen, and in all of Ithanys’s great cities.
We don’t know what they want with Tourlestyn, or why they targeted Daurith, but no group who takes a city by force has good intentions. ”
My thoughts exactly, which was why I didn’t trust any of these black-clad clergy. I doubted they were clergy at all, and their presence here told me everything I needed to know. They answered to the king.
He sent that legion to Red Manniston. He ordered that farmer be killed in Wyfell, those warnings spread across the whole empire.
And if he’d forced all imams from their positions, not only was it heinous, it was… interesting. Why did he need to replace them, like he’d tried to replace Raheema as my wyvern? It was an effort to keep the thoughts off my face, to widen my eyes with shock, part my lips with horror and disbelief.
“But they—those people who attacked our cities, our wyverns, are clergy? They have a foothold everywhere, in every town and village.” The words were bitter, my stomach souring, but I let more horror shine through my eyes as I breathed, “They could take over Strava or the Red Star. They could take Morysen.”
“Not any longer, so calm your fear, daughter.” Bakshi’s eyes were soft, sympathetic. Lies and trickery, no matter how convincing it looked.
I swallowed, and made myself look at the row of dark clergy. The bastards who were the real threat but presented as the remedy. “You’re right.” I softened the line of my soldiers. “We’re safer with them gone. They are gone, aren’t they?”
“Forever,” he promised with a smile so sweet it made vomit churn in my stomach.
I dared a single glance at the gathered gentry and high gentry fae—and whipped my head forward again when I met the loathing eyes of my father. Bastard. “What do you need from me?” I asked the king. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
He’d already mentioned magic, so it seemed Khalid was right. That wasn’t surprising, but it was odd that my sneering cousin had helped me.
“I’ve heard of your power,” Bakshi said, the friendly expression not fitting the greedy gleam in his brown eyes or the way he leaned forward. Eager, restless. “Falael has told me many stories of its capabilities. I’d like a demonstration.”
“A—” I stared at him. Froze. “A demonstration? Of my killing magic?”
Bakshi rested his hands on his knee, watching me. “Do you have any other magic I should know about?”
My brow furrowed before I could stop it. “Fae can only possess one kind of magic.” No matter that Naila somehow had two. “I only have death, and I can’t demonstrate it without killing anyone.” My mouth was dry. “I won’t kill anyone else.”
But I wondered if word had reached him of the battle over the Red Star last month.
I wondered if he heard that my magic swept out in a dark wave and killed every enemy wyvern in the sky.
And if he’d given the orders for those wyverns to be there…
yes, he’d want to see my magic. He’d want to know what he was up against, what stood between him and his wyverns attacking our home again.
“Rest your conscience, daughter,” he said, lifting a hand gleaming with a dozen different rings, summoning a member of the clergy on my right.
The man who rose and strode across the chequered floor was two feet taller than me, and as thin as a rake, but there was something about his narrow face, his long nose, and his small eyes that reminded me of my father.
Not the way he looked, but the way he looked at me.
“Javed has volunteered for this honour.”
The honour… of me killing him? Yeah, I bet he volunteered.
I’m sure the royal decree issued had nothing to do with it.
I scanned the man’s face as he came closer to the golden star I stood upon, searching for a glimmer of fear.
There was nothing except the flat expression that made all my alarm bells ring.
“What honour?” I breathed, even though I knew.
“He understands what will happen when you touch him with your bare hand.” Bakshi nodded, his amber eyes encouraging, sympathetic. “This will help keep our empire safe, Ameirah. I understand your reluctance, but this power you hold could save us all. We need to use it.”
I swallowed. Glanced at the dark clergy seated in the curved row of seats beneath the gilded dome.
Looked for salvation among the gentry and wished I hadn’t.
My father sat in one of the end seats despite the rank he bought himself by marrying me to Varidian.
Rank, it appeared, did not buy him popularity.
Closer to the throne, to the king, sat an unwelcome face—Xiu.
Beautiful and cold and judging as usual.
Rare, so rare for a female gentry to rise to the council, and yet there she sat, watching me like a sand cat eyeing a hare as its next meal.
She certainly worked quickly, to go from my handmaiden to a council member in a matter of months.
If I hadn’t loathed her, I would have been impressed.
Beside her sat a man whose face I’d never been able to forget, who haunted my nightmares.
Kaazhim, the man who was with my father in his office the day Shahzia died.
The day I killed her and the clergyman they were meeting with.
My stomach clenched, and I was held captive under his stare.
He looked the same, down to his clean shaven, too smooth face, the smile that lit up eyes the colour of baked earth, and the king’s ransom of jewels on his wrists and neck.
There was a delight and eagerness he tried to hide, like he was as excited to see the display of my power as the king.
As a child, I thought he seemed friendly, nice.
As an adult, I saw through that veneer to the greedy truth.
I’d hate to disappoint them both—along with Kamaal, because there was no way I could play along with this—but there would be no show tonight.
“Remove your gloves and clasp hands with Javed,” Bakshi said, startling me.
My heart beat so loud, it filled my ears, the whoosh of blood so loud I barely heard my own voice. “I can’t.”
My hands trembled, sweating inside my gloves. I couldn’t take them off. I couldn’t add another face to my nightmares.
“I’m sorry,” I rasped, my eyes on the floor. “I can’t.”
The words seemed to pulse through the room, from the shining floor beneath me to the silver dome above our heads, then echo along the curved seats, through the vivid gentry and the monochrome clergy, and to the throne of the king.
“I can’t kill anyone else,” I breathed. Killing in defence of my home was one thing, but a sacrifice holding out his hand for the touch of death… No. I wouldn’t.
“You can’t,” King Bakshi repeated, leaning back in his throne and looking… pleased?
I shook my head, my breathing faster. A sense of danger heightened my senses until my clothes scratched my skin, my hair itched my face, and I couldn’t stand the sound of his voice when he asked, “Do you defy your king?”
I opened my mouth—and struggled for words. “I can’t kill anyone else. I can’t do it, I’m sor—”
“Yes or no.” His voice was a whipcrack and I flinched. “Do you defy your king?”
My mouth was so dry it hurt to swallow, and every instinct I had screamed at me to run. But I was surrounded by enemies, by predators, and I wouldn’t make it to the doors. Not unless I killed my way out and that thought was intolerable.
My voice was barely above a whisper.
“Yes.”