The royal selection ball and the Dahaka attack on the palace were not so long ago, and yet the capital city is once again a shining beacon of prosperity and wealth. All the ruined buildings have been repaired, and the streets are thronged with townspeople in brightly colored clothing. Rose petals cover the cobblestones. It looks nothing like the desolate, burning metropolis Roshan and I had escaped. Then again, it’s astonishing what stolen money and hoarded wealth can do.
The engagement parade in honor of King Javed and his new bride-to-be is a spectacle. Ugly, garish, and unnecessary. I want no part of it, though of course, I have little choice but to suffer the king’s whims. Decorated horses, fire-eaters, belly dancers, smartly attired soldiers, and elephants pave the way for servants bearing baskets full of gold coins, which are showered upon the adoring citizens. I feel sick at this empty display of excess when I think about the refugees in Nyriell and those who are starving to death in poorer quadrants of the kingdom. But mostly, I’m sick about the reasons for the celebration and the fact that everyone here has no inkling of what their king has planned.
Javed is a fucking monster.
Since our arrival at the palace, hope has eluded me at every turn, despair weighing on my soul like a stone. Amma, Laleh, Roshan,Aran, and my father, wherever he is—their lives all depend on my choices. While the thought of marrying Javed is sickening, it’s the only way I can protect them. And as for Aran’s prophecy and my perplexing visions of Vena, I’ve no time for that. For now, it’s all I can do to keep my cursed magic under wraps and my loved ones alive.
Which means marrying the tyrant cantering beside me, who is all regal benevolence, while sitting upon his throne of blood and lies. The clear half of his face is bronzed with gold powder, and his eyes are heavily lined with kohl. A jeweled mask covers his burned cheek, the high collar of his coat hiding the rest of the scarring. Apparently, it was the best his royal healers could do.
Clad head to toe in purple threaded with gold—a far cry from the rags he’d worn at the Scav garrison—Javed is every inch the king of Oryndhr. An embroidered headdress rests on his forehead, the priceless sapphire in the middle surrounded by azure plumes. He rides a massive stallion, a smile on his face and his back perfectly erect, waving charmingly to his people—the head of the Imperial House... the consummate royal.
The consummate starsdamnedliar.
His gloved fingers rest on his mount’s jeweled pommel, a sword sheathed in the scabbard at his belt. My jadu dagger is also tucked into his belt like some kind of symbolic prize. My fingers itch to grab it, but I remain still, outwardly calm. Because lives depend on it.
As part of the charade, we have been dressed to match, only my outfit reveals much more than it covers. My fingers wind viciously in the fine gold silk of my skirts, threatening to rip the costly fabric to shreds. As is Kaldarian custom, I am covered from crown to heel in a filmy veil, a strand of jeweled coins falling across my forehead, with only my eyes visible through a slit cut in the material. My mass of hair has been brushed to a mirror shine, the glossy curls wound with ropes of sapphires and hanging halfway down my back. In all honesty, when I’d looked at myself earlier, I hadn’t recognized thewoman in the mirrored glass. She’d stared back at me just as confused, as if she hadn’t known me, either.
I’d rather walk through the streets of the capital naked than wear any of it.
A heavy jeweled belt rides on my hips, the sheath for its matching dagger conspicuously absent. Probably because Javed knows that if I had access to a blade, I’d stab him in the testicles.
With violent pleasure.
I don’t even get to ride as he does; instead, I’m confined to a raised silver-and-gold litter hefted by six bearers. The king’s glacial eyes flick to mine. Strange how I’d once thought them beautiful. But the rotting soul inside has tainted them. “Are you displeased?” he asks.
“No.” I clear my throat and choke out the address. “Your Majesty.”
“I would hope not.” His gaze insolently inspects my person. My skin crawls at the lust and possession sparking there. “You look like the wife of a king.”
The wordsnot yetspring to my lips, and I strangle them. Instead, I lower my eyes demurely and pretend not to want to raze him to ash and spit on his fucking embers.
Upon our return to Kaldari, I’d racked my brains to come up with a solution that did not end with me bound to a despot for the rest of my life, but Javed holds all the cards. I can’t run away—he’ll punish those I leave behind. I can’t kill him. Such an act of treason would be an instant death sentence for my entire family and Queen Morvarid would not hesitate to enact it.
In a surprising gesture of “benevolence,” Javed had allowed Laleh to serve as my personal handmaiden. I’m certain the act had nothing to do with pleasing me and was entirely about suiting his ends. The king isn’t stupid—he wants me agreeable, but he also wants to taunt me and remind me who has the power to kill my loved ones.
Earlier that morning, Laleh and I had managed to sneak some time together while I was in my bath. I’d dismissed all the servants, aware itwould get back to Javed, but I hadn’t cared. I had to take the chance of punishment to have a few private minutes with my best friend.
“Did he hurt you?” I’d whispered over the loud gush of water from the taps.
“Define hurt.” She’d shrugged at my expression. “Don’t worry, I survived, even when he tortured my parents in front of me. Your instincts were right about him.”
I clasped her hand, tears forming. “Oh, Laleh, I’m so sorry. Are they... alive?” She’d nodded, thankfully, but the pain in her eyes for what her parents suffered had made me ache for her. “I’m so fucking sorry. Sands, I hate him! I want to tear him apart.” We’d cried for a moment, holding each other. But time was too short to sit with any grief.
“Did any others escape?”
“Some.” She sent me a sidelong glance. “It was a bloodbath. The king was in a rage when he couldn’t find you or your father.” She took a breath. “Suraya, people are saying things about you.”
“What things?”
“That you’re some kind of sorceress. That you can kill with your bare hands.”
My smile was a grimace. “Everyone can do that.”
“They say you were born with... raw magic.”
I’d debated not telling her for her own safety, but then something inside me had snapped. Laleh was my closest friend, had been my best friend my entire life. She deserved the truth, even if she chose to run in terror from me. But she hadn’t, not even when I’d let the pearly, luminous radiance of the Starkeeper magic overtake my skin and the rush of light from the shimmering runes along my arms bathe the room in an otherworldly glow.
“Holy flaming sands,” she whispered.
