7
In the early dusk, as the emperor tests my resistance to the poisons of aži creatures, my fingers brush against Eliyas’s letter, tucked in my waist-sash.
‘Three poisons conquered in only two weeks,’ the emperor murmurs, as if to himself. If only he knew of how I trained by myself to master them. A coldness seeps into his onyx eyes. ‘But I need more.’
‘More?’ My voice scrapes through a dry, swollen tongue.
‘Do you doubt me?’
I sit on my folded legs, pressing the ivory blade to my forehead, and bow. ‘Never.’
His smile is a scar in the dwindling firelight. ‘Rise, young Zahr. Your sacrifices will be rewarded.’ His next words stun me. ‘I’ve decided... you will be named.’
I drop the blade. It clatters once and falls silent.
‘A name,’ I breathe.
‘There was an Eajiz whom the Adamic legends tell of, for she met the firebird, the third bird who flew above Nuh’s ark but never landed, choosing to never interfere directly in mankind’s affairs. At the height of the Jinn Wars, she ventured to the Mist Mountains to tame the wild wisdom of the Heavenly Simorgh, returning alive at black winter to tell the tale. For your loyalty, you will bear her name. At dawn, you are born anew, and I will be your master.’
The shadow behind the emperor seems to leer at me. The letter burns against my ribs.Loyalty.If I do not tell the emperor about Eliyas, will I lose my name, my clan – another home?
I stoop so low, my back curves as a babe tucked in the womb. To serve as though I’m laid under the executioner’s blade, squealing like abald rooster stripped of its feathers beneath a butcher. My life is simply a mistake in the cosmos. It was made for sacrifice.
In the monks’ teachings, they say prayers make everything better, they make the bad go away. But as I recite prayers, I only feel sick. Those prayers are for a girl with dreams.
But I can have none of those.
As the emperor opens his mouth to announce my name, I croak out, ‘Wait.’
His brows bunch together.
My hands lift, grazing the gifted earrings. An heirloom of this clan. I remind myself that Eliyas is the emperor’s favoured son. The clan would not kill him. I see it in the softness of our emperor’s eyes; in the way he addresses him. Even when Eliyas left the clan, the emperor was lenient in maintaining his son’s courtly status.
Yes. I must do this. Slowly, I retrieve the letter from my waist-sash.
I tell him about Eliyas’s betrayal.
I cannot wear the emperor’s new name as a liar.
When I am done, the emperor’s silence is long, heavy, until I tremble beneath its weight.
‘Khamilla Nur-e-Sûltana,’ he rasps before reaching out and taking the tremoring letter. ‘That is the name of the warrior which belongs to you. I do not know who to trust. But you... you have proven that you are an emperor’s sword.’
My gaze flits up; his voice is grief-stricken before he blinks hard. He stands, crumpling the letter. As he takes a step forward, a breathless Yun barrels into the apothecary.
My brother grasps my shoulder before yanking his hand back. ‘You’re burning in fever!’
‘Emperor,’ Hyat Uncle says from behind him. ‘A page from the winter palace has arrived.’
With their gazes as bleak as midwinter, I ask, ‘What is it?’
Now Hyat’s words tumble over one another. ‘Yalon is lost. Sajamistan took advantage of the dissenting warlords and invaded. Yalon’s prefect allied to Sajamistan, allowing their army to reconquer over half of the winter capital. And then the Arsduq prefecture was next. Our informants informed me that last eve, Sajamistani garrisons broke in and started a melee against Arsduq, wounding your daughter. I do not know if Governess Bavsag is alive.’
I’m reeling from Hyat’s words, barely able to take in the disarray of his robes, the wild sheen in his eyes.
‘How?’ I sputter. ‘The winter capital is gone?’
‘It’s that bastard,’ Yun says, seething. ‘I advised against the prisoner exchange. It was part of Warlord Akashun’s strategy. He used Sajamistan’s delegation to covertly negotiate and cut a deal, encouraging them to invade Yalon, while our warlords turned against the Zahrs, undermining your rule, Dada.’
