Chapter 8 #2
The inside of Kasbah Sol’Kantarra is even more breathtaking than its exterior.
Cool-stoned narrow hallways give in to rectangular courtyards centered on shallow pools of clear water, lush palm trees giving shade as the smell of orange blossoms permeates the air.
The sun doesn’t feel so unforgiving inside here, and I let my senses get lost in the place’s beauty.
Carved wooden doors gleam with gold and silver celestial inscriptions, while pristine marble fountains trickle water in a perpetual loop.
Mael veers to the left, and we go through such an intricately decorated doorway and up a flight of burnished stairs to reach a golden door so shiny I can see my reflection perfectly in it.
“Your room, Aimee. I hope everything will be to your liking. I’ll return at sunset to escort you to dinner.”
He winks mischievously before turning to Killian, all playfulness gone from his face.
“Come, Vampire King. Your chamber is next.”
I’ve been soaking in the giant sunken bathtub for the last few hours, relishing the peaceful moment. Pale pink and pristine white lotus flowers float all around me, while aromatic sandalwood oil fragrances the air.
When I first entered the bedroom, I was taken aback by its sheer artistry. The semicircular room opens onto a vast balcony, marble colonnades separating the two spaces, with the square bathtub set in the middle, while a giant golden canopy bed sits against the far wall.
I thought my room in Sangeries was pretty, but as I watch the sun descend on the horizon, lighting the sky on fire in hues of burnt orange and carmine, I have to admit nothing I’ve ever seen in my short life can hold a candle to Sol’Kantarra.
Splendor like this must be preserved. That’s another reason why we must defeat my sister at all costs.
She would have no qualms about erasing this palace, this city from the face of the realm, in her bloodthirsty quest for power.
All she cares about is death and destruction, and for some Godsforsaken reason I can’t fathom, Killian.
I haven’t forgotten her bizarre proclamation of ownership over him. She made it seem as though there was an ancient history between them, something I’m not privy to. Yet his puzzled bewilderment appeared so genuine, so unrehearsed that I don’t know what to believe.
I should probably ask him about it at some point, if and when we manage to hold a conversation for more than two minutes without hurling insults at one another.
The deepening violet and fuchsia hues of the sunset drag me out of my thoughts, realization dawning upon me that I should prepare for the dinner Mael mentioned.
I wrap myself in the linen robe that I found folded on top of a beige ottoman next to the bathtub and start perusing the clothes inside the spacious wooden wardrobe.
The style here differs from both Ryawarath and Wrahta. Fluid materials in light, earthy tones and bold cuts that surely leave skin exposed in all the right places comprise most of the desert wear.
I settle on a fitted crop top bodice and a flowing skirt crafted from the softest, ephemeral silk I’ve ever touched, dyed in rose gold and bronze hues that resemble the dunes outside, touched by the setting sun.
The translucent fabric drapes in layers upon layers, each one sheer enough to catch the dying embers of light, yet creating an opaque barrier between my skin and any wandering gazes.
I glide several golden spiral bracelets up my forearms, my shadows swirling delicately against the adornments. My feet are bare, save for matching anklets.
A rasping knock on the door comes just as I finish brushing my wet hair, letting it air dry into natural curls that cascade down my back.
Mael awaits in the hallway, his unruly copper hair combed back, his wheaten shirt half unbuttoned to reveal a muscular chest.
“Aimee, it is my pleasure to accompany you to dinner this evening,” he says, extending a hand in a courteous gesture.
“And Killian?” I ask as I take his offered arm.
“He will join us at the banquet hall. One of the girls working in the palace has been sent to fetch him.”
I nod in understanding as I let him guide me through the maze of courtyards and narrow hallways.
“I hope you’ve had a pleasant afternoon. My cousin and her lover would berate me if they heard I didn’t accommodate the Foretold One properly. They are eager to meet you. After all, you are a legend made flesh.”
“You flatter me, General,” I say, bemused. “Where are they, if I may ask?”
“Call me Mael. No need for titles between us, I hope,” he answers languidly, and I recognize the first signs of flirtation in his baritone voice.
“Then you should probably stop calling me the Foretold One, too. I’ve yet to become accustomed to the nomen. Until two weeks ago, I was a nobody.”
“Allow me to highly doubt that you’ve ever been a nobody, disregarding the title you held before.”
He’s definitely flirting with me. I can’t say that it bothers me, not in the least.
“To answer your earlier question, Kahlya and Celine are in the Temple of the Desert God, K’haram, deep in a communal trance.”
“A what now?”
Mael’s laughter bounces off the walls just as we arrive in the dining hall. Candlelit torches illuminate the space, and a long table awaits in the middle of the room, draped in sandy linens and trays of food.
“A communal trance. It’s a ritual used to communicate directly with K’haram.”
I accept the seat he offers me at the table, while he takes the one next to me and grabs a bottle filled to the brim with a clear liquid.
“Would you like to try our version of alcohol? We don’t have the possibility of growing grapes here, so there’s no wine, but mahia is the next best thing.”
“What is it exactly? And I still don’t understand the trance ritual. Or that you can communicate with the fucking Gods here,” I say as I hold an empty glass for him to fill with the transparent liquid.
“Mahia is a strong alcohol that we make out of dates. Stronger than wine, but perhaps weaker than whiskey. I wouldn’t know for sure, as I’ve never tried either.”
I take a small sip of the alcohol, and the sweet taste masks the burn as it glides down my throat.
“You don’t seem very fond of the Gods,” Mael says, curiosity shining in his eyes.
“That’s because I’m not. The Fae ones, at least,” I answer, gulping down more of this mahia drink. It’s warming up my insides nicely, and my limbs soon loosen in sweet intemperance. “They haven’t done shit for me in this life. They are blind and deaf to our pleas, so why would I pray to them?”
“K’haram is not like that,” Mael says softly, leaning closer toward me. “He’s not a metaphysical concept that we believe in blindly. He’s a living, breathing creature made of blood, flesh, and scales. A protector of the desert and of us. The last of his kind.”
I cock my head, puzzled by his words. What mythical creature is he talking about?
“He’s been alive since the dawn of time, since Imiryion’s inception.”
There’s only one fairytale creature presumed to have existed at the beginning of Imiryion. One that Grandma would tell us stories about when she was not reciting the prophecy over and over again.
“You’re not fucking telling me that your Desert God is a dragon,” I whisper in awe, incredulity lacing my words.
“But I am,” Mael says, shifting even closer, his cool breath hitting the side of my face.
He lowers his voice conspiratorially, as if he’s disclosing his biggest secret, directly into my ear.
In a way, I guess he is. “When our ancestors fled the continent in search of a safe haven from all the bloodshed, they didn’t discover an inhospitable island, like you’d imagine.
It’s hot as hell here, sure, and there’s so much sand, it’s bound to end up in all manner of unwanted places, but it’s also the home of the last living dragon of Imiryion.
That is powerful magic right there. Magic that helped us prosper.
Thrive. Build an empire of our own. Magic that Kahlya and Celine want to use to aid you in the upcoming war. ”
I suck in a harsh breath, looking into his riveting aquamarine eyes. From up close, I catch glimpses of cobalt blue and teal mixed in with the paleness of the midday sky. They’re electrifying, and they’re unnervingly gazing at me in a way that only Killian’s onyx whirlpools have done before.
As if summoned, Killian strides into the dining hall just then, stopping short and narrowing his eyes at our proximity.
“What the fuck is going on here?”