20. Sneaking Around and Stabbing Things #2
Around the room, comfortably nestled among cushions and lantern light, gazes drifted lazily, some curious, some indifferent, some even amused.
Amidst the clinking of glasses, murmurs and snickers, and the sweet floral smoke in the air, Salma caught my eye and winked, completely unbothered by another normal evening in the Seraglio.
After a torturous few minutes that my mind inflated to hours, Mali stood, bringing Jora up with her. Jora giggled and swayed slightly as Mali steadied her.
Mali’s low, sultry tone carried across the cushions. “Come.”
She took Jora by the hand and led her toward the door, their crimson and emerald robes swirling and shifting in their wake. They disappeared down the corridor toward the royal chambers. I stared after them.
With a giggle, Salma slid toward me and with one finger, pushed my chin up, effectively snapping my mouth shut. “You’ll catch flies, little bird.”
“Are they…”
“Yes, they go to the King’s chambers,” she answered. “Sometimes we are chosen, but most nights, she goes to see him on her own.” She shrugged. “They have quite an unconventional relationship.”
“I guess she doesn’t mind sharing.”
“No, little bird, I was talking about when she goes on her own.”
“That’s the part that’s unconventional?”
Salma laughed. “Yes. Strangely enough, they are actually in love.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That’s a good thing, right?”
“It is. And it makes an even better story. Like a fairy tale.” Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes were bright.
“Is it that unbelievable?”
“It’s believable, I guess. It just rarely happens.
” Salma leaned toward me and lowered her voice.
“You see, Mali was a slave. Her family was destitute, and when she was a child, she had to beg for scraps in the streets, taking shelter down in the flood tunnels. Her family sold her as a slave to the palace when she entered womanhood.”
My stomach twisted. And here I thought my childhood was rough.
“As luck would have it, she was assigned to serve in Faisal’s quarters. He was not king at the time, of course.” Her expression slid into something softer. “Some say they were in love for years in secret.”
Her brow lowered as she shook her head. “King Asad would never have allowed a union like that. He was a wicked man. And if he had found out his brother had fallen in love with a slave…he would have sent her away. Or worse. But after Asad’s death and Faisal became king, he declared Mali a free woman and married her.
” She gave me a dimpled smile. “Isn’t that the sweetest story ever? ”
I nodded. Sweet. Sure. Also convenient. Nothing like a brother's timely death to clear the way for true love.
“It almost makes me want to fall in love,” she paused, “but then I get over it!” A deep, melodic laugh burst from her lips.
I smiled along with her and then froze.
The flood tunnels.
Puzzle pieces started clicking together.
Mali knew the flood tunnels. The inscription on the sundial was written to Mali, the Queen under the Sun.
Griffon said the map had two symbols in the corner.
The symbol for the sun and the symbol for queen under it.
It didn’t mean ‘from Solis to the queen’.
It was a signature. The Queen under the Sun.
Or, in this case, the soon-to-be Queen of Solis.
Holy twin stars above, Mali was the informant.
Hours later, I lay awake staring into the darkness above my bed. With Griffon wallowing in a dungeon somewhere, sleep felt like a luxury I had no right to.
My original plan of sneaking away and somehow freeing Griffon was off the table.
Laith would see to that. And in all honesty, it shouldn’t have been on the table to begin with.
Mali was right. What had I been thinking?
Intimidate the guards with my extensive combat portfolio?
Run off into the desert with an entire kingdom in pursuit?
And those ruhks? Those taloned terror-turkeys would have swooped down and eaten us for first meal.
I’d begun sneaking around at the Citadel only after becoming familiar with the building layout, studying the guard patrols, and learning the routines of its people. I rushed it here because I had little time. And now I had even less.
I sighed at my increasingly unproductive doom-spiral.
The darkness above my bed had judged me enough for one night. I got up, pulled my robe over my sleep shift, and found my way out to the common room. The now-quiet lounge was dim, with nothing more than a couple of lanterns casting blues and greens around the room.
In the half-light, the two guards in black robes and tight turbans loomed at the other end of the room like living shadows.
One was stationed at the main entrance and the other at the door leading to the royal chambers.
The younger one leaned slightly on his staff, his eyes following me as I entered.
And of course, the other one, still as stone, was Laith. Did that man ever sleep?
His eyes flickered in my direction, and when he registered who exactly had just entered the room, his nostrils flared on a sharp exhale.
I stopped and raised both hands in mock surrender.
“Don’t panic. I don’t plan on making any daring escapes.
” My mouth curved into a grin. “At least not tonight.” I gestured toward the empty room.
“Thought I’d pace dramatically for a while instead of lying awake.
You know, therapeutic laps for sorting out the mess in my head. ”
Laith’s blank expression didn’t change. The man was either immune to humor or was actually carved from stone and I’d simply failed to notice.
The younger guard, with a scar down his left cheek, had the decency to look slightly bemused.
His eyes softened just enough to betray that he might, just maybe, appreciate my efforts.
When neither made a move to stop me, I strolled along the perimeter of the round, recessed seating area.
The cushions had been cleared away, leaving no trace of the party from only hours before—just bare mosaic floor, and the echo of my slippers marking time like a metronome for my scattered thoughts.
Mali was the informant.
Like a persistent moth around a flame, the thought kept circling my mind.
It made sense in a sinister kind of way.
As a slave of the palace, she would have known it inside and out, had access to places others didn’t, and been invisible in the way that servants always are.
And she would have had reason enough to want King Asad dead.
It removed the threat of his discovering her relationship with Faisal.
In fact, it resulted in her gaining both her love and the crown.
With a mind racing faster than my feet, I completed one lap and started another. I watched the brass lanterns throw geometric patterns across the walls as I worked to put the pieces together.
There was a problematic detail that nagged at me. How does a slave get an audience with the queen of a foreign kingdom and throw out the proposition of teaming up for an assassination? Seems a bit ambitious. Even for the future queen under the sun.
Unless Faisal was in on it. The prince of a neighboring kingdom could have gotten the queen’s attention. Bargained with fellow royalty. You kill our king, and we’ll open up the trade routes.
I gasped and jerked to a halt—Faisal and Mali worked together.
Both guards tensed, shifting a half-step forward, their staffs rising on instinct.
My hands shot up. “I’m fine!”
Tension hung in the air, as if at any moment I’d declare a coup.
“Just had a thought. A non-escape-related, shockingly well-behaved thought. Promise.”
The guard with the scar remained poised, his eyes narrowed.
I cocked my head to the side. “Although I have to say, that was impressive.” I lowered my hands slowly. “That menacing step of doom was perfectly in sync. Do you rehearse?”
Still nothing from Laith. He was the poster child for poker-face perfection. The younger guard, however—his mouth twitched. It was ever so slight, but I’d call that a standing ovation compared to Laith’s unwavering impression of decorative statuary.
Emboldened by the micro-glimmer of humanity, I took a deep breath and began lapping once more.
“Don’t mind me. Just working through some theories on…
” I trailed off. Treason is probably a topic that should be avoided.
“Optimizing the aerodynamics of flying carpets. Yeah, that’s it. ” I nodded. “It might take a while.”
I contemplated my new theory about the assassination plot.
How can I use it? Blackmail? Yeah, sure.
I can see it now: “Congratulations, Wren, you’ve perfectly executed your own undoing.
” Imagine the excitement of being upgraded to a priority execution.
The eunuchs would start chest-bumping and giving high-fives.
And besides boldness bordering on insanity, blackmail would also require a tad bit of proof. All I had was speculation based on gossip, a second-hand account of a map, and a romantic sundial inscription. Not exactly compelling evidence.
Another lap.
The tesserae blurred beneath my feet. The intricate inlaid patterns of cobalt and gold tiles probably had a deep symbolic meaning I was far too frazzled to decipher. Laith eyed me with suspicion as I passed. Or maybe that was his resting face. Hard to tell with that man.
If Mali and Faisal orchestrated Asad's death, it only benefitted them for a foreign assassin to take the fall.
It kept suspicion away from them, satisfied the people's need for retribution, and gave King Faisal hero status for bringing their greatest villain to justice.
The human torch show was just the cherry on top of their treason sundae.
Which, unfortunately, meant one thing: they would never let Griffon go.