I close my eyes and tune out the other people in the room, pulling apart the riddle in my brain.It is soundless, unseen, tasteless, untouchable, and odorless. It is present at the start and appears after the close. It delves into hollow spaces, burrows below mountains, and cradles the moon and the stars. It destroys joy, breaks realms.
Is death the answer?
I open my mouth, the reply on the tip of my tongue, and snap my lips shut. Death fits all the boxes except one: it isn’t present at the start. Birth is. But what’s the one thing that’s even more insidious than death? I suppress a shiver, recalling the multilayered voice in the alley behind the Saab Inn when I’d been trying to convince myself I wasn’t afraid...
“Darkness,” I say. But my voice is unsteady.
The servant bows and signals for my attendant, who resumes his place to escort me into the dining room. Relief fills me, though dread also wriggles like sandworms in my veins.
Everything is not as it seems here, and I have to remind myself of that... just like my father had warned.
***
Dinner is an extravagant affair. Beautifully decorated round tables dot the opulent banquet hall, while the royal family sits on a raised dais at the far end of the room. I’ve been relegated to a distant side table, which suits me fine. The farther away, the better. Some of my companions look crestfallen at our location, but I’ve garnered enough notice from the royal family today to last me a lifetime. I smile at the women flanking me, but neither of them seems inclined to reciprocate, so I resign myself to eating my meal in silence.
As expected, the food is divine: trenches of thick soups, herb-infused savory goat and lamb stews, salted rice, and steaming flatbread stuffed with spiced potatoes. Mounds of ripe apricots, eggplant, and sweet dates crowd the tabletop. I savor each succulent morsel, committing the flavors to memory so that I can share them with Amma. She would love this, even though in my humble opinion, the palacecooks don’t hold a candle to her. I lick the tips of my fingers behind my napkin, sighing with exquisite pleasure at the lingering taste of saffron and cardamom.
“This is delicious,” I remark to no one in particular, and reach for more. I don’t care that my stomach is filled to bursting or that it’s most likely rude to eat second helpings. I’ve already embarrassed myself, so I might as well enjoy the little that’s left of my stay. For someone who adores good food as much as I do, this is a more than worthy consolation prize.
As I lift the next bite to my lips, I feel the weight of someone staring at me. I look up, only to catch the familiar, amused gaze of the aggravating gardener once more. Only he is not perched indolently atop a garden wall. Instead, my vexing nemesis is seated at the end of the royal table nearest my side of the room.
My enjoyment dies a slow, agonizing death.
Because that’s theroyaltable.
My fingers freeze halfway between my plate and my mouth. A smile tugs on the corners of his lips at my justifiably horrified expression. Jaw agape, I scan the faces at his table before returning to him, but there’s no escaping my sudden, alarming, and much-too-late conclusion about who he must be: Prince Roshan Acharia, the king’s second son, rumored to be illegitimate and the child of his father’s mistress. Despite being born on the wrong side of the blanket, he’s still a member of the royal family, hence his presence at court.
He’s not wearing simple brown and navy clothes now. No, the shameless, posturing jackass is dressed in rich ceremonial garments, looking every inch like the royal he is. And so obviouslynota gardener.
Sands on fucking fire.
I resist the urge to slide beneath the tablecloth. My neck grows hot at the memory of our conversation, of my utterinsolence. As if he can read my thoughts, Prince Roshan tips his goblet toward me. I wrench my eyes away. He’d been so maddening that it hadn’t evenoccurred to me he’d be anyone other than a grunt working in the palace. And what in the fiery pits of Droon was he doing on top of that wall anyway? He could have snapped his precious royal neck, and what a tragedy that would have been!
In the unforgiving glare of hindsight, I also belatedly understand that all the other people in the courtyard, especially the palace guards, had probably been watchinghimas well as me. If I truly had been an assassin, I could have taken out one of the royal family with ease. Internally, I curse myself with every foul word I know and push my plate aside, unable to enjoy the sumptuous meal any longer.
I desperately want to flee. But drawingmorenotice by leaving before the royal family does would not be wise. So, I keep my eyes focused on the table despite feeling the pressure of the prince’s stare a few times over the remaining courses. By the time dessert comes, including one of my favorites—ginger-spiced hard fried dough that I can barely taste—I feel like screaming.
Finally, the king departs, signaling that we are free to go. I’m one of the first to sneak past the attendants.
I consider trying to find Clem but discard the idea. I’d only get hopelessly lost and bumble into some other embarrassing situation. In despair, I end up retreating to the safety and solitude of my chamber, staying there for the duration of the evening after dismissing my horrified handmaids. They’re adamant that I’m making an egregious faux pas, but I’m positive no one will notice my absence.
I’m not usually a coward. But insulting not one but technically three members of the Imperial House makes me less resilient than usual. Lying back on the satiny bedding, I close my eyes and wish that Laleh were here with me. She’d know what to do. In all honesty, she’d probably tell me not to be a quitter.
Stop being such a baby,she’d scold.So what that you chased a headpiece? And so what that you were rude to the obnoxious son of the king?Hewas rude toyou. Don’t let him or anyone else stop you fromhaving the time of your life. Go have your adventure. Get lost in the palace forge. Isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t that why you’rethere?
Invisible Laleh makes an excellent point.
I’m in Kaldari, the sandsdamned capital city. A place I’ve dreamed of for years. And instead of exploring and making the most of the occasion, I’m holed up in my room with my head buried in my pillows like a sad wallflower.
I sigh and make myself a promise. Tomorrow is another day, and one I won’t squander.
Chapter Six
Shadowy tendrils glide sensuously down my ribs, the cool touches featherlight and teasing. Ashes below, they even know what I like... and how I like it. They’ve memorized every inch of me and mapped my body like uncharted territory they plan on conquering.
And conquer they have...
My wrists are tethered above my head and smoky tendrils ease my legs apart, shackling them to the bedposts like some kind of carnal offering to their god and master. And suddenly, I can sense him standing there—my faceless shadow lord—always watching, a voyeur who can’t help himself.
