The Pass was also the site of a massacre. Ten Jasadi families fleeing capture in Omal found themselves trapped inside the Meridian Pass by Omal guards on one side, Nizahl soldiers on the other. They had met a grisly end.
Most of the Champions leaving the Banquet would take the route merchants used to travel between Lukub and Orban. Arin did not want to chance the Urabi or Mufsids whisking me away in the crush of carriages, so we would be the lone contingent going through the Meridian Pass.
I was about to ask Arin whether we’d be riding in the same carriage again when an orange cat strolled over the hand I’d pressed against the ground. I recoiled, crushing three flowers in my haste. Stray cats were a common sight in Lukub, I’d heard. It seemed even the Ivory Palace could not keep them out. A kitten swatted at my dress, swishing its gray tail in a pile of ruby petals. A presumptious older cat plopped itself onto Arin’s lap, glaring down at me from his knee. Idly scratching its ears, Arin said, “Allow the attendants to help you. The guards search anyone who enters your room, so the servants are secure. It reflects poorly on Vaida’s service for your attendants to wander around.”
We resumed our walk once the cats scurried away. “Do you allow your attendants to help you bathe and disrobe?” I challenged. I flushed as soon as I finished, already regretting the question. I couldn’t imagine Arin permitting anyone to push his coat off his shoulders or undo the tight straps from his uniform. Would he level his steady gaze on them while their trembling fingers disrobed him? Or stare at the far wall in blank indifference, unyielding in body and manner?
I turned a fierce scowl inward. The Sultana’s nonsense about lovers had clearly scrambled my senses. Arin was attractive—it was as obvious and indisputable as the sun. But I had spent nearly twenty-one years capable of acknowledging attractiveness without being attracted myself. I had never wanted anyone, never yearned for the physical relationships Marek chased.
I finally empathized with the girls in the keep. Especially Gana. The fanciful ward used to dress in Raya’s finest gowns every week, sing warbling ballads while dabbing fragrances on her wrists and behind her ear.
“There is power in conquering the unconquerable,” Gana had said one year, after rejecting yet another fellow’s advances. The keep had gone to Zeila’s for celebratory tea and ahwa after a successful market. Zeila laid reed rugs on the floor, and we sat on beaded cushions, a wooden table wobbling at our feet.
I’d been a few cushions down with Sefa and Marek, sipping my bitter ahwa from a chipped cup. Gana’s conversation with Daleel had reached my ears. “Men don’t see women, dear Daleel. They see power. Which one of us has more of it, and how easily they can drain it out of her.”
Apparently, this wasn’t a trait reserved for men, because a dark thrill raced through me at the thought of conquering the Nizahl Heir. Stealing a piece of Arin’s power in the surrender.
The breeze ruffled Arin’s hair. He chuckled, drawing me back to the present. “No attendants are permitted in my quarters. Vaida has long resigned herself to my eccentricities.”
Disturbed at the ghoulish direction of my thoughts, I moved away from him. “I should get ready for the banquet.”
Without looking back, I walked through the shadow of a Ruby Hound protruding from the buttress and hurried into the palace.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Without the necessary exhaustion, my body rebelled against sleep in a strange place. I circled my room, opening drawers and laying out my gown for the Banquet. The night grew deeper, and still, sleep evaded me. I exchanged my bedgown for loose linen pants and a neat tunic. If I wanted any hope of sleeping tonight, I needed to walk.
Ren startled when I pulled open the door. He looked over my clothing and frowned. “No.”
“I need the washroom,” I said.
“I will accompany you.”
“That hardly seems appropriate.”
Bending Ren to my will was easier than I anticipated. His antipathy for me was the boring kind—not as powerful as Vaun’s, nor as malleable as Wes’s. After a few minutes of arguing how insulting Vaida would find it if I felt unsafe enough to take a guard to the bathroom, Ren stepped aside, his unhappiness clear in the rigid lines of his shoulders. “Make haste.”
In the hush of darkness, the eyes of the Ivory Palace followed me as I walked across the hall. Usr Jasad had also been large, with separate wings and plenty of unexplored rooms to tantalize a bored child. But it had always been a home first, a palace second. Menace and magnificence beat as one in the Ivory Palace. Sultana Vaida’s palace reflected a clear message: beware beauty’s embrace, for its guts are greedy and its teeth are sharp.
Then again, perhaps Usr Jasad had represented the same. The only common ground I had unearthed between Nizahlans and Jasadis was their hatred for my grandparents.
I rounded the bend and paused at a tapestry of Baira. The Lukub Awala lounged in her throne, a scantily clad human male kneeling at her feet. Dozens of Ruby Hounds surrounded her. Baira had her hand on a snarling hound’s head, her fingers luminescent with magic against its bloodred coat. I shuddered at the look of sheer desperation in the kneeling man’s eyes. To be a mortal in the time of the Awaleen—I could not imagine a greater curse.
The scene unraveled along the hall. My footfalls were silent against the rug. The man kneeling at Baira’s feet stood, shifting across the tapestry. He clutched his head, mouth falling open in a scream as a weeping woman reached for him. Their hands connected. The colors in the tapestry shifted as the man fell to the ground, dead, and the weeping woman dissipated in the air. An illusion.
The hall curved again, and this side revealed an ambush. Baira had her arms wrapped around Rovial’s chest, restraining him. Dania drew runes on his forehead while Kapastra raised glowing palms in his direction. They stood on Sirauk Bridge. Clouds roiled beneath the bridge, reacting to the magic pouring from the Awaleen. Their power had collapsed the very sky.
“The entombment,” came a dulcet voice. I whirled, reaching for a dagger I didn’t have. Sultana Vaida raised her arms in a soothing gesture. “There, there. Did I startle you?”
It was a stupid question, so I gave a stupider answer. “No.”
“Are you worried about Felix? The Omal contingent sleeps in the north wing.” At my deadpan gaze, Vaida touched one of the red crystals dangling from her ears. She winked. “News travels quickly, darling. Drat Felix and his foul temper. Such a terrible fate he dealt that little girl.”
“The entombment?” I repeated, electing not to satisfy her curiosity. I motioned toward the tapestry. An enormous amount of detail had gone into weaving Sirauk. The cursed bridge plunged into white mist behind the struggling siblings. Rovial’s eyes were wide and wild. Magic-mad.