Queen of Shifting Sands, page 22
“I must draw attention to the fact that you said ‘we.’” Razhar cleared his throat. “Because while I was spying on your drills from atop the wall, your queen has been watching from the archway for quite some time.”
Stars. Elerek’s chest seized, a jolt of heat enflaming his face and driving away the curse’s numbness. He resisted a glance towards the arch, keeping his posture rigid.
“Oh, now she’s coming this way.” Razhar chuckled. “You’ve still got a bit of purple powder in your hair.”
“Once high summer ends, you’re getting exiled somewhere where they don’t serve dessert,” Elerek muttered, glaring at his friend as he quickly dragged his fingers through his curls.
“Stars above, El. I had no idea you were so invested in impressing your queen.” He winked, a cheeky smile on his face.
Ignoring Razhar, Elerek pivoted his chair again, attempting to block the splat of purple staining the dust. The moment Lystra left the shadows of the archway, the wind caught in her long tresses. She held them back, the sunlight turning her amber gaze to embers forged of starlight themselves.
“Your Highness.” Razhar made a grand show of bowing.
As Lystra’s gaze fell upon Razhar, the embers turned to ashes, smoldering. Elerek frowned, once again caught beneath the heaviness of something he didn’t understand, something that had averted his attention. She looked—almost angry. What could Razhar have done to cause this disturbance?
“Razhar, I see you’re also assisting in the archers’ training.”
Right, she’d seen the entire thing. Elerek huffed. “He makes a splendid target.” He turned a cool expression on his friend. “Would you give us a moment?”
With another bow, Razhar grinned and took a step back. “Glad to be of service!”
Once he was out of earshot, Elerek shook his head, hoping to the heavens that there remained not a speck of purple powder anywhere on his person. “He acts like an attention-starved hound. This is what happens when I don’t spend enough time with him.”
“Mm.” Lystra eyed him from beneath her lashes. “He strikes me as one that ought to be kept a close watch on.”
Her tone surprised him. Did she think Razhar’s antics suspicious? Then again, precious few weeks had passed since their wedding. Each hour of sunlight and starlight held more tasks than they could handle. Little time remained for meals, much less socializing.
Elerek stared down at his hands. Was it permissible to wish for more time with his queen? Get to know her, as he’d been encouraged by his friends? They wouldn’t reign long, their political marriage a short and strange thing.
But perhaps Lystra didn’t want that. The closer they became, the more painful the ending would be. The shattering of the curse. His intended fate to drown. Maybe it was for the best.
“I heard your venture to the market went well.”
Lystra’s gaze returned to him, the light returned to her eyes. “Indeed. I passed through the masonry avenue. Your project at the wall appears to be well underway.”
“For now, it seems so.” Elerek exhaled. “I’m impressed by our efforts, given that it’s only been weeks.”
Weeks to save a kingdom. Was it wrong to be proud? Optimistic even? Though the real test awaited them at summer’s end, when the invaders returned. These hours were a gift, one they could not squander.
A small smile glowed on Lystra’s lips. “We have done well. Your archers are most impressive. And you are an excellent shot.”
Elerek felt the heat at his throat again, and it had nothing to do with the high summer sun beating down upon his shoulders. Or perhaps it was. He glanced down at his arms, bare from his sleeveless tunic, noting that the sun didn’t particularly show kindness to his paler skin. At least, if Lystra noticed his blush, he’d have a valid excuse.
“I see you managed to enlist my cousin.” Lystra’s gaze swept over the ranks. “I trust he’s doing well?”
“Indeed, a model soldier. His house ought to be proud.” Ah, the noble houses. Elerek’s stomach twisted. One particular conversation remained that he had not yet discussed with his queen, and it wouldn’t be nearly as pleasant as this small talk. “Lystra, we’ve drafted soldiers, craftsmen, stoneworkers, archers, we’ve only one thing we haven’t yet drafted.”
She stared at him, a question in her eyes.
“Cardants.”
Blunt, brash, and to the point. As predicted, the queen’s face fell, an army of agonies marching through her gaze.
He rolled his chair closer. Not close enough to spark the panic, the fear of touching another human being and dooming them to drown, but close enough to let his voice be soft, maybe even gentle. “I don’t want to do this, Lystra. I hate the idea of the reptiles being exposed to battle, just as I know that many of the young men standing behind me are going to die when the Jarkins attack. I can’t protect them. I can only teach them the skills necessary to defend our people. Because of their sacrifice, others may live. And you were right, you were always right, cardants are an advantage.”
Stars, he sounded like Cormek, waxing poetically about fortifying the Darcress Kasbah. The strategic partnership of cardants and soldiers, birthed from the clever mind of Instanolde’s future queen. Reptiles trained by her hand, gifted to her kingdom, taken across the desert from her own stables. And now, they might need them more than ever before.
Lystra’s face became a torment. She wrung her hands, the embroidered sleeves of her kaftan fluttering in the wind. “There are so few cardants left,” she whispered. “Most belong to the racing committee.”
“Yes.” Elerek’s throat felt dry, cast in the sands of the desert.
She closed her eyes, her posture rigid, stalwart as the desert mountains themselves. “You want me to go to them.”
Well, yes. These were her associates, men and women who had built a bonded community around the reptiles and the races. Who better than her to give the plea to allow the cardants to aid their country in the hope that they would race again?
However . . . “Only if you feel that you can bear it.”
Opening her eyes, they became sharpened, the pain forged into steel. “I’ve borne much, Elerek. These burdens don’t ask us permission before they’re heaped onto our shoulders. I can only move forward, however slowly.”
Each step that she’d taken had been brave, fierce. Elerek swallowed, wishing he could aspire to just a shimmer of her brilliance, a bit of mirage hovering above the golden sands. “Do you think that you can convince them?”
Lystra shrugged, folding her arms tight against her body. “I’m not sure they’ll comply. Their reptiles are as precious to them as mine were—are—to me.”
Every morning, his queen rose before dawn to spend what cherished hours she could with the monstrous cardant he’d given her. Then, as if blown in by a wild west wind, the queen would enter the council chambers in her riding clothes, her hair tousled, and her boots coated in dust. The sight always made him smile.
Elerek’s hand moved to his chair’s armrest, his fingers tapping upon the polished wood. “You’re sure?”
“One summer to live.” Lystra’s eyes flashed as she spoke the mantra that pounded in his head and heart day after long, hot, summer day. “Forgive my brusqueness, Elerek, but they would hate you. They wouldn’t see our desperate efforts to save our kingdom, but an oppressive king taking away that which they love.”
An oppressive king like his father. Elerek’s fingers stopped tapping. No, he never wanted to be anything like his father, remembered with such scorn and hatred. In fact, he wondered if his short reign would be remembered at all. If history only recalled Lystra, the bold queen, then it would be enough.
Except, she didn’t appear bold right now. No, she looked as lost and lonely as the desolate canyons of the Sancen. A girl soft and vulnerable, sworn to take on a task that would bring her pain.
He didn’t know how to give her starlight in this matter. How could he shoulder her burdens, attempt to align their purposes like the stars in the heavens, if she didn’t let him?
Releasing an exhale, he squared his shoulders. “In that case, Your Highness, they will receive their queen.”
Lystra lifted her eyes, staring afar off at the line of deep blue sky above the courtyard walls. She gave no reply, her expression resembling a noble statue, carved of marble.
Chapter 33
Lystra
Light spilled into the carriage, filtered through the wood lattice window. Lystra shut her eyes against the glow and turned away.
Of course the racing committee had to convene with the sunrise. Lystra despised rising in the pearly predawn to dress in a midnight-blue kaftan with swirls of flowers stitched in gold thread instead of her riding boots. She wondered if Tiniah paced her pen, muttering and stomping and scratching her talons at the dirt, waiting for her to arrive.
When the time came, would she be required to give up her cardant? Hand over the reins to a trained soldier? Would she watch as another reptile that belonged to her fell prey to the Jarkins’ weapons?
Tears sparked in her eyes, but she held them back. No, she’d applied too much kohl around her eyes for tears. She wore it like a mask, as she’d worn the mourning paint, as she arrived at yet another pyre.
A pyre that the king had sent her to.
Lystra clenched a handful of her skirt. No, Elerek didn’t deserve her fury, but the coals stoking in the inner chambers of her heart wanted to strike out and sear someone. Their plans were falling into place. Their city would stand fortified, ready for the Jarkins to break upon them like water upon stone. A chance existed, perhaps even more than a chance, that they might survive.
How could she tell him that this idea was folly? That those among her community who loved their cardants would rather die than give them up for soldiers to ride. Soldiers who hadn’t trained with the reptiles, who had no bond. Lystra had indeed borne many things, as she had told the king, but reliving the attack, watching more cardants fall prey to slaughter was something she could not do.
Her friends and associates, racers and riders—they would blame her.
A sacrifice. Another noble sacrifice, one that a queen would make. Lystra knew these were selfish, bitter thoughts. She ought to be above this. After all, she’d already given herself in marriage for the sake of saving Instanolde.
Grief. Yes, it was only grief. A wound not yet healed. Lystra sniffled and adjusted her skirts, jostled along by the bumpy carriage. Perhaps it was the thought of the races, the cardants, and the host of memories, both the golden and the lackluster, that brought her again to this point. And stars above, how alone it made her feel.
You could have told him. And admit this weakness? That she wasn’t the radiant, bold queen that he wanted her to be? Elerek believed in an idea. A queen like the one Grandmother had painted to stand before the mourning pyre. A construct, something for the people to believe in, a hope to carry them through this night. She’d already disappointed herself; she hardly wanted to disappoint Elerek too.
The carriage lumbered to a stop. Lystra watched the door, waiting for her guards.
How would he have reacted? Would he have chastised her, as he had on the day their marriage was proposed? Shown her grace, as he had on their wedding night? Did they always have to portray strength? To each other? Stalwart, without any shadow of weakness whatsoever?
The guard opened the door. Lystra gathered her skirts and disembarked.
For now, she had to face the racing committee.
They no longer assembled within the confines of a canvas tent. Not now, when training was minimal and few ventured outside the city walls with the impending threat of the Jarkins. Instead, they gathered at the estate of House Pana, in a pavilion draped with silks and trailing vines overlooking their grand grounds—including a fine stable of cardants. Members of the committee, of the great houses and those with riches and influences enough to take part in the yearly races, stood about in bright, colorful robes. They held silver cups of chilled tea or aromatic wines and the tables were laid with dried fruit and nuts. The entire scene seemed so normal, a lavish scene to be painted as the epitome of culture and affluence in Instanolde.
Unperturbed by the threat looming over their heads. In a matter of months, all this could be gone. Their way of life. Their people. The pulse of their heartbeat beneath the desert skies.
And she had come to steal it.
“Her Highness, Queen Lystra of House Karim, daughter of House Arghan, ruler of Instanolde. Fierce as the dawn. Mighty as the constellations.”
Every eye in the room turned on her. Faces filled with recognition, some with smiles and some with scorn. But they all bowed before her.
Lystra kept still, waiting while they resumed their postures. She had friends, partners, rivals in this room, but the crown had cast them all beneath her. Was she worthy of this honor?
Only if I can save them.
She glided through the room, her face clear of emotion. Grandmother had taught her how to handle such interactions, and she knew to seek out her hosts first.
“Brahim of House Pana, thank you for allowing this council to take place beneath your roof.” She nodded to the young man, only a few years her senior.
He gave a deep bow, graceful despite his limp and the use of a cane. A racing accident had caused his injury, and ever since, he’d spent the resources of his house devoted to serving the committee and promoting safety in the races.
“Of course, Your Highness.” A slight frown settled upon his features. “Have we reason for concern, that you have called us together?”
A loaded question. Lystra allowed herself a sad smile. “We will see.” She turned away, continuing her orbit of the room, making another dozen or so interactions. All bore the same ominous undertone. That she had come to take what belonged to them.
A tyrant no better than the kings of the generations before. The thought, a brief and fleeting thing, swept through her mind, that perhaps her grandmother’s opinion might have served her here.
“Torra Lys—Your Highness!” Two smiling faces broke through the gloom of her thoughts.
Aham and Ikram. The two young men had ridden on her racing team—when she still had one—but had signed beneath another house when she’d become engaged to Cormek. Together, they had raised and trained many reptiles, and she counted them among her friends.
“It’s good to see you two.” Lystra smiled, thinking of the two reptiles the riders had bonded with. “Tell me, are Hasi and Natalia well?”
“Very well, thank you.” Aham took a step closer, sympathy in his sage eyes. “We are sorry for your many losses.”
She only nodded in response.
“But please.” Ikram folded his arms. “You’ve always been honest with us. Fair and noble. Tell us that nothing has changed.”
Her heart twisted. Yes, she had been all of those things. Was her purpose here fair? Noble? Perhaps in the whole, for the sake of the kingdom. But why must it be so unfair to these individuals? She thought again of Elerek’s archers, the men who were learning a new form of weaponry to stand in the line of fire upon the ramparts. Her cousin was among them. They were making a sacrifice for the sake of their kingdom.
“A sacrifice is a choice, Ikram,” she whispered. “I cannot make that decision for you.”
“Not you, Your Highness.” His tone was bitter. “But the crown well may.”
The crown. The future that had sealed her fate. The fate that became a cage. Lystra knew what the crown demanded of her, and that in the end, she would see the task through.
“I must convene the council.” She grasped their hands, each in turn. “Do not lose hope, my friends.”
The committee officials, led by Brahim, called its members to attention. Many took seats upon large cushions, embroidered and tasseled, gathered about low tables like herds around their shepherds. A few remained standing, stiff arms folded as they watched Lystra move to the front of the room. She kept her hands clasped, fingers interlaced to stem the shaking.
“I stand before you as a duality,” she began. Stars, did they hear how her voice wavered? “Both as an associate of this committee, and as ruler of our kingdom. As you know, I witnessed the brutal attack of the Jarkins at Darcress, the slaughter of a young king, faithful soldiers, and many cardants. This loss represents a tragedy for our entire kingdom and now with this, this one summer to live, our survival depends on our resilience and our ability to come together for the sake of our life here in the desert.”
“Pretty words, Your Highness.” Jabir, head of House Pana and Brahim’s father, cast a sneer beneath his heavy beard. He had never been keen on Lystra’s involvement with the races, and she expected him to cause trouble. “But you chose to take your cardants out there and to hand them over to the royal house.”
“A house, one might add, that has a bloody history of military decisions that have cost this kingdom heavily.” The head of House Tikkal, a close ally of House Pana, shook his head.
Lystra bristled, their words cutting her to the bone. She’d expected this. Feared this. Here, in this room, one that she’d spent years working to earn a place within, she was not the kingdom’s Malikaa. No, merely an ambitious girl who had married into a notorious house.
“Watch your tone.” Yusef of House Himmel rose to his feet, glaring at the other two men. “She is your queen!”
At this rally cry, Lystra’s guards each took a step closer, flanking her in a show of strength. But one look in the eyes of these men told her that her authority as queen meant nothing. No, she could only approach them as an equal.
“I am also one of you. And the Jarkins certainly won’t care for our house affiliations or who has sided with whom.”
“But you have sided, Your Highness,” Jabir said with a hooded gaze. “That crown upon your pretty brow is proof enough. House Karim will seize our property and our sons to fight another war. Is that not why you are here? To beg our cardants from us so they may be slaughtered too?”
