Chapter Fifty-Eight
Torin
Days later
“Halt! Do not approach the gate!” a voice screamed from atop one of the parapets that surrounded Iluul’s giant steel-enforced wall.
With a sigh, I closed my eyes and cracked my neck.
My mare swayed beneath me, rocking from foot to foot as if it were too painful to stand still.
“Tell your mare to stop moving!” a different guard shouted.
“Have you never ridden a horse before, brother? She’s tired and restless from our journey,” I called back, my voice hoarse from exhaustion and the dry air that dominated the westernmost part of Iluul.
The regional boundaries were much more superfluous in the southern part of Elyria.
Our ruling structure was similar to Vespera; large cities dominated the access to the sea, while the surrounding land outside the city itself was more ambiguous.
The people who lived there functioned as their own government and negotiated with the major cities for trade and protection.
Clearly, that had worked in Solace’s favor. There was no sign of struggle or fight surrounding the smaller towns that dotted the landscape beyond the mountains—simply burned-out husks of what used to be villages.
It seemed that her reach and warpath encompassed much more of Elyria than any of us originally surmised.
The thought stoked the flames of my impatience and frustration, and I rubbed a dirty hand down my sand-encrusted face in exasperation.
“Can you not see who I am?” I called out petulantly when it was clear none of the guards were moving to open the gates.
“No, sir, we cannot. Even if we could, you must understand that our security is . . . heightened now.”
Unfortunately, I did understand.
I squinted up at the battlements, shading my eyes with my hand against the relentless light of the sun. It pounded against my back, soaking my shirt and pants with sweat even as I felt its rays scorch my skin and scalp.
Father will have a good chuckle at this once he sees me.
He and his Chief Vizier, that was.
“I am the Prince of Iluul,” I snapped, the weight of my mission bearing down on my shoulders and forcing my heart to beat faster. “Open the gates.”
There was loud whispering and grunts of shock before I heard the sounds of boots slapping against the sandstone steps that led down from the parapet.
A small door set into the rocky wall opened, revealing a man dressed in the typical clothing of a vizier in Iluulian court. Even from this distance, I could see the sparkling golden thread embroidered on the evergreen kaftan, most likely in an ornate floral pattern.
I squinted again, trying to discern the man’s identity, but the heat of the day caused his outline to wave and undulate as if he were conjured by my mind.
It wouldn’t be the first time a mirage had led a traveler astray in the southern deserts.
Alas, this was no trick of the mind. The man slowly approached my mare, only stopping when he was within speaking distance.
Neither of us spoke, both quietly judging the other’s merit and weight.
He was new to my father’s court, at least appointed in the time I’d been away, though he was not young by any stretch of the word.
The skin around his eyes and mouth was wrinkled, even while his cheeks hung heavy beneath a substantial beard that was more white than black.
His belly protruded slightly over his kusak, stretching the green kaftan to its limit.
The man was clearly from the upper caste of Iluulian society, most likely a merchant, and I wondered when my father started filling his council with wealthy men as opposed to those who resembled the people.
“Who are you?” I barked, already irritated at the poor excuse of a vizier that stood before me.
“I am Vizier Emin,” he drawled. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, only helping to protrude his large belly further. “But that is not the question. The question is, who are you, and why are you impersonating the Prince of Iluul?”
“Impersonating?”
“That is what I said.” Vizier Emin’s voice was deceptively melodic yet monotone, and my neck prickled with unease.
“My father is Kerem, the Pasha of Iluul. Take me to him or bring someone out here who actually knows the rulers of Iluul,” I hissed. The mare shifted beneath me in response to the animosity and fury emanating in palpable waves.
Vizier Emin’s beady brown eyes flicked to the agitated horse before focusing on me once more, no trace of emotion flitting across his face.
“The pasha is unwell. If you are as you say you are, I think that is something you would have known. The Chief Vizier rules in his stead, in the absence of the pasha’s true son.”
The weight of his statement sank like a stone in my gut.
“My father is sick?” I hated how weak my voice sounded.
Again, the vizier’s face showed nothing.
“Hmm. Interesting that that is news to you.” One large hand came above his head, and I tensed, readying myself to dodge the arrows that would inevitably rain down upon me. Instead of giving the signal to attack, Vizier Emin snapped his fingers.
My gaze tore from the pudgy man impersonating a vizier to focus once again on the small door in the side of the wall. Four men emerged from the doorway, each dressed in blue kaftans and caksir that identified them as janissaries—my father’s personal guard.
Fuck.
They were proficient and deadly, and I was certain that even with my magical abilities, the minute I reached for my powers, I’d find two arrows in my head and two more in my heart.
“Surely you understand that in times such as these, one cannot be too careful with . . . visitors. Or boys claiming to be the lost Prince of Iluul.” The vizier gave me a mockingly sympathetic smile before turning on his heel and striding back toward the wall.
The janissaries were younger than I anticipated, none of them from my father’s guard before I left.
“Dismount and hold your hands in front of you,” one of the janissaries barked. He was roughly my age, but the deep wrinkles on his face from constant exposure to the sun made him seem much older.
I did as they said, dismounting from my mare with a heavy sigh.
My boots thunked to the sand, sending dust clouds up to coat both me and the four warriors that surrounded me.
Without a fight or fuss, I proffered my hands, wincing as rune-enhanced shackles encased both wrists, dulling my magic, but not completely.
It was still there, still accessible, if I reached hard enough for it.
Hopefully I won’t need to.
“Where are your crystals?” another janissary asked.
“I don’t have any,” I bit out with a shake of my head.
The janissaries, unlike Vizier Emin, showed their surprise in raised brows that were quickly schooled once more.
“We are to escort you to the zindan beneath the palace until such a time that the Chief Vizier can speak with you. If you try to access your magic or resist us in any way, we will use whatever force necessary to protect our city and our people. Do you understand?”
I nodded my head curtly.
Without another word, two janissaries flanked my front while the two remaining stood at my back, forming a small protective square.
They moved in sync, marching me quickly across the packed sand to the still-open door.
Thankfully, one of the men at the back grabbed the reins of my mare, ushering her along with us.
“She will need food and water as well as a stable for the night. If Hisan is still in the royal stables, please give her to him. I will need her before I leave,” I said, steel underlying my words.
I caught the edge of a frown on the janissary to my front left, clearly recognizing the name of the stable master and wondering why I would know of him.
Good. Maybe they’ll question it enough to let me go.