“My father is Kerem, the Pasha of Iluul. Take me to him or bring someone out here who actually knows the rulers of Iluul,” I hissed. The mare shifted beneath me in response to the animosity and fury emanating in palpable waves.
Vizier Emin’s beady brown eyes flicked to the agitated horse before focusing on me once more, no trace of emotion flitting across his face.
“The pasha is unwell. If you are as you say you are, I think that is something you would have known. The Chief Vizier rules in his stead, in the absence of the pasha’s true son.”
The weight of his statement sank like a stone in my gut.
“My father is sick?” I hated how weak my voice sounded.
Again, the vizier’s face showed nothing.
“Hmm. Interesting that that is news to you.” One large hand came above his head, and I tensed, readying myself to dodge the arrows that would inevitably rain down upon me. Instead of giving the signal to attack, Vizier Emin snapped his fingers.
My gaze tore from the pudgy man impersonating a vizier to focus once again on the small door in the side of the wall. Four men emerged from the doorway, each dressed in blue kaftans and caksir that identified them as janissaries—my father’s personal guard.
Fuck.
They were proficient and deadly, and I was certain that even with my magical abilities, the minute I reached for my powers, I’d find two arrows in my head and two more in my heart.
“Surely you understand that in times such as these, one cannot be too careful with . . . visitors. Or boys claiming to be the lost Prince of Iluul.” The vizier gave me a mockingly sympathetic smile before turning on his heel and striding back toward the wall.
The janissaries were younger than I anticipated, none of them from my father’s guard before I left.
“Dismount and hold your hands in front of you,” one of the janissaries barked. He was roughly my age, but the deep wrinkles on his face from constant exposure to the sun made him seem much older.
I did as they said, dismounting from my mare with a heavy sigh. My bootsthunkedto the sand, sending dust clouds up to coat both me and the four warriors that surrounded me. Without a fight or fuss, I proffered my hands, wincing as rune-enhanced shackles encased both wrists, dulling my magic, but not completely. It was still there, still accessible, if I reached hard enough for it.
Hopefully I won’t need to.
“Where are your crystals?” another janissary asked.
“I don’t have any,” I bit out with a shake of my head.
The janissaries, unlike Vizier Emin, showed their surprise in raised brows that were quickly schooled once more.
“We are to escort you to the zindan beneath the palace until such a time that the Chief Vizier can speak with you. If you try to access your magic or resist us in any way, we will use whatever force necessary to protect our city and our people. Do you understand?”
I nodded my head curtly.
Without another word, two janissaries flanked my front while the two remaining stood at my back, forming a small protective square. They moved in sync, marching me quickly across the packed sand to the still-open door. Thankfully, one of the men at the back grabbed the reins of my mare, ushering her along with us.
“She will need food and water as well as a stable for the night. If Hisan is still in the royal stables, please give her to him. I will need her before I leave,” I said, steel underlying my words. I caught the edge of a frown on the janissary to my front left, clearly recognizing the name of the stable master and wondering why I would know of him.
Good. Maybe they’ll question it enough to let me go.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Torin
Frog-marched under janissary escort to the zindan beneath the palace was not how I envisioned returning home.
All previous hope of recognition was dashed the farther we wound through the streets of Iluul. My guard was quiet, watchful, tense in a way that made me believe they expected me to attempt escape at any point during our journey. While I once knew these streets better than anyone else, it had been nearly two decades since I’d left Iluul to follow Matamuri on her quest for vengeance. Judging by the massive changes in my father’s small council, I didn’t trust the city to look the same as when I’d left.
Besides, I felt no need to risk death or dismemberment by the entirely capable janissaries. While this wasn’t the ideal way to re-enter the palace, at least I was heading in the correct direction. Once inside the zindan, it’d be easier to escape my cell and traverse through the palace via the passageways hidden within the walls.
So, instead of plotting ways to circumvent my guards, I simply basked in my return home. The sounds of merchants haggling with customers, braying donkeys, and playing children echoed through the streets while the scents of herbs and spices mixed with meat fat sizzling over an open flame. More than once, I closed my eyes and let my other senses take over, enjoying the sense of nostalgia that tickled my consciousness.
What would it have been like if I had never left? Would I appreciate the culture in the same way, or would it have lost its luster as I grew older and more jaded? Would I have married a merchant’s or vizier’s daughter? Produced heirs?
