I opened my mouth to question further, but he shushed me with a flap of his fingers.
“It’d be best if they found you in the cells again in the morning. I have no doubt the janissaries knew your identity immediately, but they, like me and you, are forced to play a game of power and riddles right now.”
With that, the old man closed his eyes, effectively dismissing me in favor of sleep.
I smiled slightly as I watched the rhythmic fall and rise of his chest propped up at an angle by a mountain of pillows. He was fading before my eyes, but even in death, the man held his emotions close to his chest.
“Goodbye, Father,” I whispered into the room, silent except for the gentle wind that rustled the gossamer curtains. With a gentle kiss to his brow—one I never would have bestowed if he were awake—I turned to leave.
“You are so like your mother; emotional to a fault,” he rasped, affection and exhaustion lacing every word. “I love you, Torin. Goodbye, son.”
A sob caught in my chest with his declaration of love—the only time he’d said it to me—and the finality in his tone.
This would be the last time I saw my father, I knew it in my soul. The ether would call for him tonight, and he’d gladly answer, his purpose in life fulfilled.
“I’ll see you in the ether,” I mumbled as I straddled the parapet. I took one last look at my father in his bed and swore I saw a smile stretch across his normally reticent face. With that image burned in my memory, I let my Air Magic loose into the still and cool night. It cradled me in its embrace, slowly lifting me from the balcony before sweeping me through the purple-black sky as if it were flying me adjacent to my father’s soul.
I stayed suspended in the dark night air until deep purple bled to lilac, the sign of the sun rising behind the palace. Iluul would always hold a piece of me, bound to the memories of my parents in this sandstone kingdom. But, like my father said, their legacy wasn’t limited to a room in a palace or even to a singular city. Their souls were infinite, their reach vast.
Iluul was no longer home, no longer a place I had any allegiance to beyond what they could offer in our fight against the gods.
I closed my eyes and tipped my head to the sky, letting the warmth of the impending day wash over me as I took one last breath of the briny Iluulian air. I let it fill my lungs, let it cleanse me once more before I guided myself back into the confines of the zindan, ready to face the newest would-be Pasha, ready to relinquish whatever necessary in order to keep Ellowyn and Elyria safe.
Chapter Sixty-One
Torin
The palace was somber the next morning, as if even the stones that built this place mourned the passing of its pasha. True to his speculation, the janissaries from the night previousdidultimately recognize that I was the Prince of Iluul, and I was quickly ushered to a set of rooms traditionally used for guests.
The room was well-apportioned and decorated in the same style as the rest of the palace. Beautiful mosaics in a myriad of jewel tones ran across the walls and floors before collapsing at a point in the ceiling where light streamed in from a small window.
I woke a few hours later, face down on the bed with my clothes from the day before still on, to a soft tapping on my door.
Groaning and stretching, I slid from the mattress, grateful I’d at least had the wherewithal to remove my travel-worn and dust-coated boots.
The rap sounded again against the wood of the door, more insistent this time, which only exacerbated the pounding headache from lack of sleep and a million unresolved thoughts.
“Coming, coming,” I grumbled as I rubbed sleep from my eyes and pulled my disheveled hair back from my forehead. I wrinkled my nose at the feeling of caked grime in my dark blond tresses, resolving to bathe as soon as I had the opportunity.
Perhaps I should change into an outfit more befitting of the Prince of Iluul, I thought as I brushed wayward dust and debris from my shirt and pants. There was nofixing the wrinkles from days of wear, nor the dried dirt that seemed permanently embedded in the fibers at this point.
I reached the door, pulling it open abruptly, just as the third most demanding knock sounded.
A small servant stood on the opposite side; her mouse-brown hair was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, and I squinted in vague recognition. She certainly was too young to have been a servant when I lived in the palace, and her skin tone was all wrong. While Iluul was a cultural mecca, the majority of our citizens had darker, tanned skin. Even mine, though I was half-Northern, held the deep tan indicative of a native Iluulian. This girl’s skin was pale white, almost alabaster, and certainly had not seen the sun in quite some time.
“Prince,” she said quietly with a curtsey.
I raised an eyebrow at her, intrigued that she curtseyed in the northern fashion.
“Who are you?” I bit out and watched in fascination as her doe eyes widened a fraction before she schooled her expression once more.
“A simple servant, Prince. Nothing more.”
I harrumphed once, dropping the subject in favor of her next words.
“The Chief Vizier has requested your attendance at breakfast this morning.”
“He’s sending for me that soon, hmm?” I muttered to myself as I combed my fingers roughly through my dirty hair once more. The servant tracked the motion with a slight wrinkle of her button nose.
