Chapter 14 #2
We kept walking, finally stopping before two large wooden doors decorated with plastered seashells.
The steward nodded to a pair of guards, two stocky youths so similar in appearance that they might have been brother and sister.
Intricate ebony tattoos twined around their arms and up their necks, stylized waves and teeth, spears, and what might have been human figures.
The two were striking enough that I paused, wondering if they might be fellow foreigners, but they were dressed in the same white tunics as seemingly everyone else, sporting brilliantly dyed cloaks in a bright crimson step pattern set against the sunny green of a new leaf.
However, the cheerful colors couldn’t hide the fact that there was something unsettlingly shroud-like about the way the cloth clung to the young guards’ shoulders.
Neither one spoke—neither one moved, not seeming to acknowledge the steward’s nod.
A glimmer of wetness on the young woman’s cheeks caught my attention and I risked a second glance, wondering if it was tears.
A rictus smile greeted me, her face dry and her expression now dazedly jolly. The steward pushed open the doors, ushering us inside.
It wasn’t the grandest room I’d ever seen (though to be fair, I only tended to observe “grand” rooms in hasty examination before a con), but oh, it was most extraordinary.
Murals of spiriting dolphins and frolicking maidens with flowers in their hair covered the walls.
There were no windows and no lamps, yet a wondrous glow lit the space from above and glancing up, I let out a soft sound of admiration.
The ceiling was entirely glass—or something similar to glass—with large panels of thickly glazed transparent material held up by a timber checkerboard frame.
A rushing whisper caught my ear, like a gentle tide, and with delight, I realized it was more water; on both sides of the chamber were crystal-clear pools that rose to meet a marble floor of shimmering pink and indigo.
The entire effect made it seem as though we had been transported to a sunset seaside cove.
If this was the prison lair of Khayzur’s enchantress, it was the prettiest cage I’d ever seen.
“Lower your gazes,” the steward said softly. “And bow when I say so.”
I obeyed without comment, nudging Dalila hard in the ribs when she attempted to straighten up. We shuffled forward through the quietly lapping water and onto a soft carpet whose patterns were familiar.
It’s Shirazi, I realized, noticing the woven nightingales.
Identifying the origins of the rug in the room rather than the supposedly immortal sorceress deep within was probably a waste of my wits, but I’d been pirate too long not to notice valuables, and the pricey carpet underfoot was just that, like the Chinese porcelain back in the city.
And in good condition. If that carpet had come off a shipwreck, it hadn’t been a devastating one. Perhaps it had even left survivors.
“Are those our new arrivals?” a woman with a rich, smoky voice spoke up in perfect if accented Arabic. “Come closer.”
Still under orders to stare at the floor, we lumbered forward.
She chuckled. “Has Mitanni frightened you so? Be at peace.” It was both a command and an invitation. “Tell me your name and from where you hail.”
I straightened up, getting my first good look at the Queen of Khatti Ugal.
And a good look it was. As I am drawn toward things that are bad for me, my taste has always been in men—the prettier and more disastrous, the more tempting.
But even I could not help but be taken aback by the extraordinary beauty of the woman before me.
From upon a driftwood throne not much more elaborate than the surrounding benches, Lab radiated power.
Though she appeared my age, she was wearing it better, as though aching joints would be afraid to mar her.
Tousled ebony hair, blacker than the most moonless night, fell to her waist, glimmering with occasional streaks of silver like the fall of a shooting star.
Her eyes were large and equally dark, the rich brown of life-giving soil, staring out from a strong nose, a falcon’s profile.
She was tall, well-nourished curves speaking to motherhood and a body that had never been deprived of food nor forced to labor in the ways that cripple most women.
A generous mouth had been painted with indigo, the arresting color drawn out as well from her long lashes and arched brows like a moth’s wings.
The queen’s white tunic was draped with a structured outer cape: one gorgeously woven and falling as though spread feathers, patterned in royal purple and dark gold.
An elaborate bronze diadem crowned her uncovered head, a unique piece with sharp points like jutting spear tips radiating around her face like a deadly sun.
From each tip hung a braid of woven sea silk ending in jeweled beads that swayed and veiled her face when she moved.
Lab was, at first glance, a vision of alluring terror.
Her beauty was preternatural, a perfection nearly on par with Raksh’s—though if my first impression of my husband had left me lustful, Lab left me with the sense that she could snap her fingers and order the waters of her throne room to swallow me whole.
Magic, my mind screamed, yet I felt no such tug in my heart, in the senses attuned to the Unseen Realm.
I studied her further, noting that the gold ringing her wrists and neck were familiar styles.
The earrings were elaborate jhumkas, of seemingly Indian origin, and the collar around her neck looked like something from Sofala.
More treasures from around the world, for a kingdom separated from it. My heart beating fast, I took a few steps closer, trying to set everything I’d heard about Lab out of my head. I was a lost mariner, not an ulterior motive to my name.
Now I could only pray she believed it. “I am Captain Amina al-Sirafi,” I greeted. “My ship is the Marawati and we were traveling from Basrah when we were caught up in a storm and washed upon your land.”
“A captain from Basrah.” Lab tilted her head, examining me so openly I felt as though I were laid out before a physician.
Or perhaps a taxidermist. “I am called Lab-enum-Asterate, Queen of Khatti Ugal.” She gestured to the group around her: six men and three women, all older, if of diverse appearances.
“These are my councilors. I fear you caught us in the ever-engaging matter of market regulations.”
I bowed again. “It was not my intention to interrupt you.”
“Nonsense. You are the first female captain of a sailing ship I have encountered. That I believe my kingdom has encountered. I even had my chief scribe consult our old records, but I could find no mention of a female captain. Indeed, we rarely see women among the lost. It is typically sailors and the occasional merchant or scholar, all men. It is . . . fascinating.” Her unrelenting gaze had yet to leave mine. “Curious.”
Suspicious. I kept my voice light. “I am unusual in my sex and position, but not entirely novel. Though, yes, in my world, the majority of traveling merchants and scholars are men.”
The queen looked down her nose at me. “And what was the nature of your travel: trade or knowledge?”
Majed stepped up. “Both. Our nakhudha, the captain, wishes to protect me, but it is I who chartered her ship,” he lied.
“My name is Majed. Majed ibn Suleiman Batawiyna. My passion lies in the navigation sciences, but my family’s business relies on more practical matters. I was escorting a shipment of goods.”
Queen Lab’s gaze shifted to Majed and I would swear I felt a literal weight lift from my shoulders. “What sort of goods?”
“Drowned ones now,” Majed said with a mournful air. “We had two seasons of ivory in the haul and someone”—he cut his eyes at me—“made me toss it overboard when the waves got rough.”
“Ivory is heavy,” I defended. “You are fortunate I didn’t make you throw over your maps as well.”
“A shame to lose a good so precious,” the queen mused. But Majed seemed to hold her attention only briefly before she glanced at Tinbu, her eyes sizing him up. My friend flinched, jerking back as though he’d been struck. “His clothes are less fine,” she assessed. “Your slave?”
“My first mate,” I replied, trying to keep the edge from my voice. The question seemed unnecessarily provocative, as though she hoped to stir a reaction. “Tinbu. The most talented shipwright this side of the Indian Ocean.”
“I have little need for fine clothing,” Tinbu lied—my friend had sported some fabulous stolen garments in our criminal age. “But the nakhudha speaks correctly about my position. I am from the land that many people call the Hind,” he added, keeping his origins as vague as I had.
Queen Lab seemed to consider that, studying Tinbu for a long moment—longer than she had Majed. It felt as though we were on trial, being judged for positions I could scarcely imagine.
Then her attention shifted to Dalila. The sea silk braids glinted in the chamber’s dim light as the queen turned her head, the jeweled beads clinking gently together. “And you?”
I moved to interrupt. “This is my—”
“Physician,” Dalila cut in, smoothly defiant. She didn’t bother glancing at me; indeed, her gaze—careful but unafraid—was aimed only at the queen. “An honor to meet you, Your Resplendency,” she added, using the title that the queen’s steward, Mitanni, had spoken. “My name is Dalila.”
Our physician? God, I was going to strangle this woman. What had possibly possessed her to claim such a thing? But there was an undeniable flicker of intrigue that blossomed in the queen’s face.
“A physician?” she mused. Her eyes were pinned on Dalila like arrows. “And where are you from?”