Queen of Shifting Sands, page 19
The tension fled the air. Unspoken protests retreated to the shadows. A smile curled onto Dalmah’s face, but Lystra decided instead to look into the blazing eyes of the king—her king. The man who had faced and fought death each and every day of his life.
Well, he would no longer fight alone. His fight had become Instanolde’s and she believed the impossible. That, together, they might just win.
Chapter 29
Elerek
Elerek had to look away, the fire of accomplishment in Lystra’s eyes enough to scorch. He hardly listened as the houses pledged their aid to the cause. Norbah gave a formal call for a draft of able soldiers and then the council adjourned.
Sitting here, face-to-face with the houses, some of whom had already spurned his rule—his birthright—he felt as crippled as they saw him. Despite his confidence in the plans that he and his queen had made, he feared that his every word sounded immature, like a child crying for help.
Nothing like Cormek.
Cormek could command a room with all the flair of power, grace, and just a hint of flamboyance. His voice carried authority as if it were made of clouds. His every asset—his physical prowess, winning smile, towering figure—all contributed to his success, whether amassing followers or securing the most beautiful girl in Instanolde on his arm. Except, that girl was now Elerek’s wife, and her impressive speech had done its work, inspiring the council of nobles.
Stop it. Elerek exhaled, attempting to dispel the bitter, noxious thoughts amassing in his head. These thoughts were just that, thoughts. That didn’t mean they were real, or accurate. He knew his plans were sound, his ability sufficient, and that would have to be enough.
His gaze returned to Lystra as she rolled the parchment that contained her address, the movement of her fingers soft and delicate. The light from the open window caught in the loose strands of hair that had escaped the careful work of the braid she wore like a crown, turning them to molten gold. He wondered if she’d noticed his confidence, and if she would call it strength.
The bold queen who returned from the Sancen to stand at the pyre of her beloved. Now, she’d risen like a phoenix from the ashes to become all that Instanolde deserved in its hour of need. He’d given only a certificate of a political marriage. Would she ever look at him—just once—as she had Cormek? Or was that merely a dream of fantastical proportions?
“. . . Tomorrow morning? Your Highness?”
He blinked, returning to the world of reality. Lystra watched him with an intense expression, clutching the scroll.
The address. “Um, yes. You will deliver it at dawn.”
She gave a satisfied nod.
“Granddaughter.” The countess of House Arghan swept to Lystra’s side, laying a claw-like hand on her shoulder and hovering like some desert vulture. “Well done. I’m glad to see that not all my training fell on deaf ears.”
Elerek blinked. So quick, so subtle, he’d almost missed it.
Lystra, the queen of the shifting sands of the Sancen, flinched.
Leaning back in his chair, he studied the pair, the two Arghan queens. Lystra had broken in his presence before, suffocating beneath her grief and the rawness of her pain, but never out of fear. What hold could the countess have on her?
“You will inform the kingdom of your decisions?” The countess’s lips tightened. “I trust that they will hear it from you. Yours is a voice the people will heed.”
Hmph. Elerek began to tap his fingers on his chair’s armrest. Whispers of the manipulations Lystra had mentioned wormed their way back into his mind. Could she have meant her grandmother?
The queen his own tyrannical father had forced off the throne . . .
He wheeled his chair closer, circling the table.
“Yes, Grandmother.” Lystra’s hands tightened on the roll of parchments.
“Do let me glimpse your proclamation, make sure that all is in order?” Dalmah reached for the parchment. “You are very new at this.”
You old viper . . . Fury simmering in his skin, Elerek cleared his throat. “The houses will hear it from her, as they should.”
Lystra’s eyes went wide, staring at him in astonishment.
He spoke loud enough for his voice to travel. “They’ve already become accustomed to her voice, and there is no one better than the queen who has crossed the desert herself.”
The countess lifted her head, her hand freezing in its reach. Her eyes, cold as the steel of a blade, fell upon him. Elerek scowled, leaving no doubt in his mind about the countess’s hold on her granddaughter. Did this woman truly believe she could influence the throne—through Lystra?
And what of the dagger? The footsteps of his queen moving in the dead of night armed with a blade? Had Dalmah of House Arghan proposed this? His death?
“Indeed.” Dalmah’s voice clipped with ice.
With one last aloof look at her granddaughter, the countess glided from the room.
A slight shudder quivered in Lystra’s shoulders and then, like a blossom after the short-lived spring rains, she reverted into her regal posture.
Elerek frowned. No, he couldn’t jump to conclusions. The countess might be a bitter old snake, but that didn’t mean she was planning to murder a king. Particularly one that she’d arranged for her granddaughter to marry. The picture didn’t add up. “Are you all right?”
Lystra pushed a stray lock behind her ear and nodded. She didn’t look at him.
Elerek leaned forward. Before his very eyes, Lystra transformed. The queen who stepped into the pen of a wild cardant vanished. Now she looked as cornered as the reptile. “Your grandmother, she—”
“—Is of no consequence,” Lystra snapped.
If possible, the room grew hotter. Slowly, Elerek backed his chair away from the table. Behind him, Norbah spoke to the courtiers of training new soldiers and setting up patrols.
Lystra dropped her shoulders in an exhale. “I apologize.” Somehow, even as the words slipped from her lips, the queen returned. Whatever coils the countess held on Lystra loosened and slithered away. “Thank you . . . for standing up for me.”
She was real. Flesh and blood alive as anything. The only mask she wore was the fear, a suit of armor to protect herself from her grandmother. Elerek vowed that the woman wouldn’t enter their palace again. “You’re welcome. Thank you for your speech to the houses. Our survival may depend on such boldness.”
Her lips smiled, and her eyes brightened in the glittering afternoon light.
Elerek arrived early to the courtyard where the wedding feast would take place. His gaze swept the pergolas, draped with blooming evells and surrounded by ponds populated by graceful fish and lilies. A handful of servants worked to stage the space with low tables and cushions tasseled in gold, preparing for a celebration at which they would be the guests.
There. Elerek made a wide orbit of the waterways. As the sun sank, leaving the western sky streaked with orange, torches and lamps were lit and Myra swept from one circle of light to the next, like a pari nymph from the old tales, dusting a bit of mineral powder upon the flames, turning each tongue a pale blue.
Elerek cleared his throat.
She looked over her shoulder. He knew from her eyes that she had been smiling, perhaps laughing with her companions. But when she saw him, her face grew as pale and sober as the stone pillars of the pergolas.
And on her arm, the curse mark continued to spread across her skin.
Starkindler, please. A soft breeze kicked up from the desert, finding its path through windows and open corridors and whistled with a sound as lonely as the cries in his heart. He didn’t want to watch the curse take anyone else.
But the ways of the curse didn’t belong to the Starkindler, nor was he to blame for the mark of death upon Myra.
“I need to speak with you.” Elerek folded his arms, his limbs numb from the lingering deadness of the curse. He drew his thoughts away from the guilt, the self-loathing, remembering that he came to deliver rebuke.
Myra handed the tin of mineral powder off to one of her companions and stepped closer.
“What were you thinking?” He spoke through clenched teeth, every muscle set on edge.
Shame bloomed like the most delicate of rose petals upon her cheeks, as red as the kaftan she had worn to his chambers last night.
“It wasn’t my intention to embarrass you.” She spoke softly. “I just . . . you wed, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you . . .”
Me—and Lystra. He leaned forward. “Myra, you know that’s impossible.”
“Is it?” She brushed a bit of the powder from the back of her hand, sending a small blue cloud into the shadows. “Your queen would be a fool not to see what I see in you.” Her eyes flashed. “No one believes her foolish in the least. No one in all of Instanolde.”
Elerek closed his eyes, his lungs expanding. The image of Lystra leaping without hesitation into the cardant’s pen filled his mind. She didn’t fear the reptile’s sharp teeth, clawed limbs, or the thought of being trampled. This queen had already survived the impossible, the attack of the Jarkins amidst the Sancen’s desolation. And she would continue to survive, to see Instanolde through this night and into the dawn.
“The queen would indeed be foolish,” he replied. “Considering her understanding of the curse.”
Myra tilted her head to one side, the rebuke that Elerek had come to deliver turned back threefold upon him. “El . . . consider to whom you speak. Would you call me foolish?”
Stars. Elerek looked away, air hissing through his teeth. This wasn’t what he’d come to discuss. “What’s done is done. I cannot turn back time any more than I can hold back the curse or halt the constellations in their dance.”
Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, tiny diamonds filled with stars. “I ask not for time undone, El. You know that.”
The softness of her voice broke him, the same softness that whispered in his ear beneath the fall of darkness. “Then let me do the asking. Do you understand, Myra? What I’ve done? What I’m doing? I need to save Instanolde.” He looked at her. “And that means I need to save Lystra.”
Myra blinked, releasing the tears to run freely down her face. Her fingers reached for her scarf, adjusting it about her shoulders, veiling the curse mark. “You’ve changed, El.”
“I had to.” Had this really come as such a surprise? “My brother died. The Jarkins attacked. I became king.”
She bowed her head, the shadows claiming her gaze. “Perhaps this was the way things were meant to be—and perhaps you will become a better man for it.”
I’m cursed. There was no breaking it, no one striving to save him. No sunrise awaited him, and even the stars seemed dark amid his endless night. “I have only this breath in my lungs. That is all.”
Myra drew a shuddered breath, her entire frame trembling with it. Pushing her hair back from her face, she turned away. “The feast is beginning. We should enjoy it. All of us, together.”
Elerek nodded. Behind them, their cursed family began to gather, summoned by the loud commands of Bushra as she orchestrated plates of food to be arranged upon the tables. Laughter rang through the air, clear as tambourines.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Together.”
Chapter 30
Elerek
Even after Elerek entered the circle, surrounded by the merry voices of his friends, sorrow still burdened his shoulders. He watched as Myra faded into the assembly; another face bathed in the sapphire torchlight like a star burning against the blackness. A story that had ended, the last chapter read. Its words lingered, a sorrow in his mind, but there was no more.
He turned his attention to the feast, drinking in its every detail.
They all wore their finest, exquisite silks and colors vibrant enough to complement even Razhar’s wildest attire. They stood about the table, sharing jokes over goblets of mint tea and rich wines.
Elerek backed his chair away from the table as Bushra and a young stable lad named Fin approached, several platters of baklava between them.
Bushra surveyed the table, a smile on her lips, and then looked at him. “The queen is coming, isn’t she?”
“She gave her word.” Elerek blinked at the table, the sharp scent of spices enough to make him dizzy with hunger. Great clay bowls were heated and filled with simmering tagine and flanked with baskets of karahz topped with garlic. “I believe you went overboard.”
“Nonsense,” the baker said with a sniff. She adjusted a garland of greenery surrounding a platter of roast chicken topped with toasted almonds. “We wanted everything to be perfect.”
“And quite the sight it is! Most impressive.” Razhar’s voice rang through the courtyard.
Hearty cheers and raised goblets welcomed Razhar into the circle. He laughed and smiled, at ease as he slipped through the assembly, beckoning greetings and taunts to his friends and conspirators.
Elerek watched as Ishtal filled a goblet with wine and handed it to Razhar, their fingers avoiding one another. Razhar held no fear of the curse, but then again, Razhar feared nothing.
Could it be that they’d really been so careful? All these years? The Kushite orphan who dwelt in the palace without a care in the world who found his friends among the cursed. Not one stray nudge or bump?
Elerek narrowed his eyes. Their companionship ought to be dangerous, a teeter along the edge of a cliff. But he couldn’t get along without Razhar. And strangely enough, it didn’t feel like a risk. A laughable thought, but perhaps Razhar really was as invincible as he believed himself to be.
“All right, El?” Razhar sauntered beside his chair, the torchlight dancing in his eyes.
“Mm, yes.” Elerek forced a small smile. The expression always made his face feel odd. “Long day.”
Razhar wrinkled his nose. “I suppose they’re all to be long now, yes? And I don’t mean because it’s summer.”
Elerek shook his head. “I’m glad you’re here, Razhar.”
“Me too.” He hid his smile behind his goblet as he took a sip.
“Now, don’t laugh at me, but—”
“Nonsense, El. You’re always worth laughing at.”
Stars, someday I may punch you. Elerek tilted his head back to glare at him. “Shut up a moment, will you? Now, I know we’ve arranged that you’ll watch over the queen tonight, but please, watch over yourself too—with the curse.”
Razhar waved him off. “Don’t worry about me, El.”
“I will if I want to.” Elerek lowered his voice. “I don’t think I could stand it if you were also cursed.”
Staring into his wine, Razhar stirred the glass a bit. For a moment, it looked as if he wanted to speak, but didn’t. But then, something else caught his attention. “Oh, stars above.”
As Elerek followed his gaze, the assembly grew silent. Reverent.
The queen had arrived.
Each torch sparking with blue powder seemed to pay homage to her. Lystra wore a striking kaftan of a blue the color of the deepest desert sky. Gold adorned the collar, the belt, and spread like wings across her shoulders. Her hair, loose and long, cascaded behind her.
Once again, Elerek remembered keenly why his brother loved her, why the kingdom had called her Malikaa. And here she came as the exalted queen of Instanolde to share a feast with those doomed to die.
“Welcome, Your Highness,” Elerek said as the members of his cursed tribe all bowed.
A smile spread across Lystra’s face with a radiance all its own. “Thank you. I am honored to be a guest among you.”
The cursed still living. The dying still breathing. Heavy thoughts weighed in his mind, but somehow, Elerek felt as if his soul had been given wings, Lystra’s smile disarming his every doubt. She would see them not as the cursed, but as people—her people.
Elerek signaled Razhar with his eyes. His friend immediately lowered his goblet and fell in step beside the queen.
“I’m to be your escort tonight.” He offered her his arm.
“Of course.” Another gracious smile appeared on her lips as she surveyed the crowd. “You can assist me with names. And if it pleases His Highness, I would enjoy it if we forgo all formalities.”
Elerek didn’t hold back the smile forced from his own face. “I think, Lystra, we can manage that. I doubt anyone here could suffer a formal feast anyways.”
As one, the assembly seemed to relax, again filling their goblets and speaking in cordial tones about the table. Somewhere, someone took an oud and began to strum, a soft, pleasant melody.
“Ah, but I can do more than recite names.” Razhar’s voice took on a whimsical feel, like a storyteller in the market. “I can tell you who is the best player at chemis, who is the worst dancer, and who owes me money.” He gave an exaggerated cough. “Actually, Cole there fits all three of those.”
Cole sent a nasty expression in Razhar’s direction. “It’s because I’m the best at chemis that you owe me, Razhar.”
A chorus of laughter followed.
“Now come! Everything is ready,” Bushra announced, removing the lid from a large, rounded dish of bastille, smelling of orange blossoms and saffron. “El, will you see to the blessing?”
Elerek wheeled his chair just to the left of the only couch in the circle, reserved for Lystra and Razhar to sit slightly distanced from the closely clustered cushions.
He waited till everyone had seated themselves. Lystra perched on the edge of the couch, a bird with blue silk feathers. Then, he bowed his head and gave a short blessing, thanking the Starkindler for the nourishment of both sustenance and company.
As the blessing concluded, the gathering lifted their eyes and began to partake. Elerek surveyed the opulent table, feeling almost guilty for having even agreed to this feast. Food may become scarce, with the overabundance of people crowding the city and trade with the river lodged in such a precarious position.
