My knees shake. I fall over.
‘Emperor!’ Uma shrieks. The chatter of the hall dampens. The emperor stands and servants rush forward.
My head lolls backwards on the felt mats. Cries erupt around me. I stare unblinkingly at the lucent domed ceiling. The carving of a hunched crane seems to smile lovingly down at me. My hands convulse, and I raise them. A spiderweb of blue spreads between my fingers. I wheeze, but my throat constricts. Something grows at the base of my mouth, like a stubborn rock. I squeeze and scratch at my own throat, nails tearing into thin skin. The thing in my mouth grows, blocking any air and my eyes widen. I need to breathe.
Servants flip me on to my side, pounding my back.
The emperor stands above me, a grave frown stitched across his lips. I expect anything but the utter mortification spreading across his person. He is embarrassed.
The daughter he proudly introduced to his imperial court – to his clan – was dressed like a barbarian, was poisoned easily, was dead before she finished her first meal, I imagine Dunya exclaiming.
Tears press at my eyes. Time seems to still. I feel, in horror, my heart ebbing.
A dark shadow emerges from my chest, spilling on to the carpet, the same milky apparition I saw on the night of my tribe’s slaughter. Theshadow’s face is featureless, save for its eye: white and forlorn like a full moon. It points at my heart.I want to live, I scream, but in this odd in-between state of life and death, I am soundless.
The dark shadow dives back into my chest. A warmth spreads through my limbs and air slowly trickles back into my mouth. My senses return briefly.
Servants are carrying me into the apothecary quarters. I am laid on a floor-bed. The emperor speaks to a healer but I cannot make out the words.
The emperor shoves two fingers into my mouth. Something black and chalky, like the clay dumplings I would scavenge and boil in hunger, makes its way down my throat. My eyes twitch and images float before me.
I am no longer in the apothecary. I lie in a felt yurt, shivering in front of a circular hearth, a warm hand against my temple. From the flames, long shadows dance against the woollen mats beneath me.
Hope is its own sustenance, little warrior. A voice echoes, belonging to a young woman with grey eyes and a sharp tongue.Live to tell our hopes, folkteller.
My tribe is alive. They are nursing me to health.
‘I will,’ I vow to her.
‘You will what?’ a harsh voice breaks the poison-induced imaginings.
I blink hard and return to the cold chambers of the apothecary, the stinging scent of herbs in my nose and the pale gold arches above me crawling with vines.
The emperor swims before my vision. His back is turned to me. ‘You were poisoned by someone in my court. You will have more such enemies,’ he explains calmly. ‘I thought you were clever. I even trained you in poisons in private.’
‘But... we trained for only three days,’ I stammer out. I wish he would face me – embrace me like a dada should.
‘Repeat this.’ He turns, and what I thought would be concern is in fact a stewing anger. ‘Three days? Three days is enough time to be clever. I trained you myself. I warned you of our customs. And still you fell for an obvious trick before my entire court. My other children are not so foolish to trust a stranger’s hand that feeds them. They self-study; they anticipate their enemies. In Azadniabad, we are the deception of theHeavenly Crane, mastering nature’s offerings in healing, and weapons through itspoisons.’
I try to sit up and grasp his hand, but the emperor moves back.
‘You’ve mortified me. You are no Zahr-zad. I took pity on you because you are an Eajiz who defended our borderlands against the Sajamistan Empire. My mistake. I cannot promise you more of my attention, nor training. I have warlords who pay fealty; petitioners, notables and prefectures to keep in check. You will leave at once and reside in my eastern garrison until you are older, wiser.’ His words crawl into my fears.
We both know who poisoned me, I wish to scream. Instead, the charcoal makes me vomit into my own lap.
‘M-mercy, my Emperor,’ I wheeze out.
His smile is a knife edge. ‘The charcoal and clay suction I fed you will not be enough for such a fast-acting poison.’ The emperor lifts a stub of arak root and begins chewing on it. ‘In a few minutes’ time, your limbs will be paralysed. Try moving now, daughter. You cannot.’
His hand reaches beneath his velvet waist-sash, and retrieves a small pot, dangling it. ‘Fortunately, the apothecarist examined your food dish and identified the poison. This pot is the antidote.’
‘Antidote,’ I repeat, willing my fingers to grab it, but my senses do not obey. I want Uma here but I am alone. There is only the emperor and his will. ‘Please, Dada.’ My eyes reach toward him. He is my dada, for that I trust him. He will save me. He will not inflict pain—
‘Strength,’ he says quietly. ‘You ache for the balm? You must know the poison. You have three tries to guess how you were poisoned.’ His eyes reflect the night. Sweat dampens his forehead. He wipes it. ‘I warned you, daughter. I told you to forget, to destroy your past life and make yourself anew, for me. For the clan. Yet you presented yourself to my court like... like the barbarians who know not structure, order. Our way of living. And despite our poison training, you’ve fallen to its weapon so quickly.’
In my panic, I swallow my saliva instead of regurgitating it, choking again. But the emperor simply stands and watches, chewing on an arak root dangling crookedly from his mouth, hardly concerned that his child is being strangled by the poison below him, clawing at her neck, begging for the balm.
Think.I recall the smell from my plate, of apricot and...Why hadn’t I connected it?
