My princess pointed at the chalice of water. “The Lotus River sustains every single person in Ashorah. It is blessed by my father, Shaya.” My whole body reacted to the mention of the Underworldgod. I stiffened my spine against it as my princess went on. “It is not your bathing tub. It is sacred. And you thought you would just… swim in it.”
In a tiny voice, Nailah said, “It was only five minutes.”
Stupid, stupid girl. My stomach twisted in knots as I mentally braced myself.
Everyone knew the strict rules about using and rationing water. Just sneaking a single extra glass of it from the kitchens led to my princess carving anXover my heart in punishment, a mirror of the injury I’d inflicted on the gods with my insolence. I’d been forbidden from bandaging the wound, and it had gotten infected. Now it was a permanent scar on my chest, a constant reminder of my guilt and shame.
I deserved it.
And Nailah was about to get what she deserved, too.
Princess Amunet sighed. “You spit in the face of the gods and your own people.”
The girl’s eyes drifted closed in defeat.
Princess Amunet set the bread back on the tray and stood. Nailah’s whole frame shook as the Gods-Chosen passed her and came to a stop beside her large brass bathing tub. Flower petals bobbed on the water’s surface. My princess pointed to the floor beside her and ordered, “Kneel.”
Nailah trembled harder as she obeyed, lowering herself so that her chest was parallel to the lip of the tub. I curled my fingers into my palms, resisting the instinct to speak or step forward. This might feel wrong, I reminded myself, but it was for the best. Nailah deserved her punishment as much as I had. It was the only way we’d learn.
Still, nausea built in the back of my throat.
“Five minutes, you said?” Princess Amunet confirmed.
Nailah nodded haltingly.
“That seems fair.” Princess Amunet seized the back of her head and shoved her face into the water.
I steeled myself against my flinch.
Nailah didn’t fight at first, accepting the Gods-Chosen’s punishment. But that only lasted a few moments. Her instincts kicked in, and she splashed up water as she struggled violently, seeking air. Princess Amunet held her down, face blank, regal. She never looked malicious or unkind when carrying out punishments. She was a righteous goddess meting out justice.
Nailah’s movements slowed. Princess Amunet yanked her out of the water. The girl drew in a deep gasp, sputtering, her hair sticking to her face.
“How long was that?” my princess asked.
Tabia replied, “Forty-five seconds, my princess.”
Nailah tried, “Please—”
Princess Amunet dunked her back in the water. Even as it made my stomach turn over and my heart seize, I didn’t look away. None of us did. We weren’t allowed to.
I watched my princess bring the girl to the point of death over and over and then reel her back before she could fall over the edge. As horrible as it was, this was the exact reason all of Ashorah looked to the Gods-Chosen as our salvation.
I’d learned the story my first day in Khada Palace: In times of great strife, the gods smiled upon their people and sent a child of theirs to save us. And Ashorah—as well as the rest of the continent—was indeed desperate after centuries of drought. So desperate, in fact, that King Zaid had decided to brave the Wastelands in search of a legend.
No one ever survived the Wastelands, the terrain of dunes and mountains and blazing climate practically engineered to kill humans. But forty years ago, King Zaid had marched through it in pursuit of a forgotten city, buried beneath miles and miles of sand.
The Buried City was said to be a paradise on earth, where water flowed endlessly, where there was no famine or disease. A thing of myth.
King Zaid’s advisors warned him that these myths were likely fabrications, either conjured by the northern enemy nation known as Kaldfold or spread by the freshly conquered jinn-descended princes.
Though the jinn-descended might have been powerful once, the current four princes didn’t possess even a fraction of the strength their ancestors had, making their defeat an easy one, which they’d resented. And the cannibalistic, shape-shifting Kaldfolk were constantly encroaching on Ashoran territory, forcing us into war often. Neither were to be trusted.
Stories of the Buried City were meant to send the king on a journey, not to a divine water source but to an early grave.
But the Lotus River, the continent’s last remaining water source, had almost entirely dried up. Everyone, from the farthest Ashoran village to Kaldfold in the north, relied on that river. Without it, petty squabbles among principalities and territory disputes with the Kaldfolk would be moot.Allwould perish.
So King Zaid had to try.
