“Indeed. Breakfast is served in an hour on the terrace. May I suggest a bath and perhaps some more . . . appropriate clothes?”
My hand fell from my hair as my eyes hardened once more.
“You’re quite brazen for a servant.”
Her spine stiffened slightly as she lifted her chin.
“Not all of us are meek, Prince,” she practically hissed.
I barked a laugh before retreating into my room once more.
“You will fetch me in an hour,” I stated, leaving no room for discussion. The small woman curtsied once more before fleeing down the hall at a clipped pace.
Bizarre.
The thoughts of the strange servant were quickly replaced by the impending conversation with the Chief Vizier. I could only hope the same man occupied the position now as when I left Iluul. He, at least, knew me from when I came screaming from my mother’s womb. Helped my father raise me when my mother passed, and understood me at a deeper level than most. If he were still in power, I had no doubt he would follow my father’s wishes and grant me access to ships and an army.
But something about that felt off, wrong. My father’s earlier words aboutlegacy and gilded shrines echoed in my mind as the warm water of the tub enveloped my skin and washed the grime of my travels from my flesh.
A little less thanan hour later, that near-silent knock sounded once more. This time, I was ready for the servant’s presence, and I immediately opened the door. If she was shocked, she hid it well.
Her light-brown eyes coasted from my feet to my head and back down again before I noticed a gleam of approval. After my quick, thought-provoking soak, I’d thrown open the heavy mahogany wardrobe doors to find two solitary outfits hanging side-by-side. A quick glance showed both were tailored to fit me, which only raised more questions. At first, I’d reached for the trousers and tunics I was so accustomed to wearing. In the end, though, something had stayed my hand. Whether it was nostalgia for my former palatial home or a power play, I cared not. A tingle erupted in my hand and trailed up my arm the minute my fingers brushed the soft evergreen silk. I was enthralled by the garment; transfixed that something could hold so much regal authority yet be so beautiful with its ornate metal-wrapped gold stitching.
I’d delicately peeled back the kaftan from its hanger, letting it rest on the bed while I dressed in the layers that hung beneath. Golmek and salvar fit like a second skin, the soft, pale fabrics molding to my body in a way that northern attire never could. I took my time dressing, relishing the familiarity as I donned each layer, knowing deep within my soul, this was the last time I would wear the clothing of my people. I carefully tied the wide sash around my waist, taking the time to properly place the adornments.
It was an emotional, nearly religious experience, as I plucked the floor-length kaftan from where it rested on the bed and slid my arms into each of its voluminous sleeves. The sides were left loose, keeping the just as ornate clothing I wore beneath the brocaded green fabric visible. I’d even slicked my hair back beneath a kavuk, the physical and symbolic weight of it heavy on my shoulders.
There would be no questioning my identity when I traversed through the palace this morning. Every person—servant, guard, and vizier—would know that the Prince of Iluul had returned.
Judging by the gleam of approval in the enigmatic servant’s eyes, it was the right choice.
“Prince.” She curtsied low. “The Chief Vizier awaits.”
I hummed as I stepped into the hall, the clicking of my boots muffled by the heavy weight of the kaftan just brushing the floor. The door shut quietly behind me, and I stood frozen in the hallway, studying the servant.
“You were Ellowyn’s maid in Hestin,” I said, the realization dawning suddenly before it was swallowed by confusion. My eyebrows drew downward as I tried to piece everything together.
“Pip. My name is Pip.” The servant smiled wryly at me before winking once as she drew the sleeve of her dress up to expose her inner right elbow. There, barely visible even in the bright light of the hallway, were the faint lines of a rune.
“I don’t understand,” I said with a slight shake of my head.
Pip sighed before pushing her sleeve back down.
“It’s a rune of Fate, Torin d’Eshu,” she said tiredly, all previous pretenses fading. “We all have our part to play in this mess.”
I frowned slightly but clasped my hands behind my back and followed Pip through the twisting tiled hallways of the palace.
We passed few people as we silently descended the ornately decorated staircase that led into the main antechamber—the one decorated in remembrance of my mother and dominated by the skeleton of an ancient beast hanging from the ceiling’s highest point. Lapis lazuli trickled across the floor in a dazzling array of blue hues from navy so deep it was nearly black to blue so bright and pale it was nearly white. The tiling crawled up the walls and archways that surrounded the open main floor, the blues drawing ever closer to white, before encasing the ceiling completely. Bright sunlight shone through a spattering of circular windows high in the ceiling and reflected off the opal tiles above before scattering sparkling light to the ground below.
I paused at the top step, hands gripping the stone railing, as I committed each inch of the shrine to memory. My mother was so present here, and it was difficult to separate her spirit from Iluul; even more difficult to think of legacy in my father’s terms rather than through the displays I found so readily in the palace.
Each Pasha before him for centuries had left their mark on the palace, choosing to immortalize themselves in a way that ensured their progeny would have no option but to remember them and their deeds. My father was the first to buck that tradition, choosing instead to adorn the palace with the memory of my mother, of the colors in her eyes. It was his wish that I shuck that shackle completely and leave no mark here whatsoever.
What business do I even have attempting to alter the palace to fit my whims and fancy? I’ve been gone for so long, called so many other places home.
“Prince?” Pip asked, quietly and politely jarring me from my musings. A small crowd had gathered in the antechamber, all dressed in kaftans, but none nearly as ornate as mine. Some stood with mouths agape, doing nothing to avert their stares, while others flicked their eyes hesitantly from me and back to one another, their mouths set in grim lines.
I raised one palm in a gesture of greeting before quickly descending the stairs.I strode across the antechamber amid muted whispers of “Prince” and hastily given bows.
