Seas of Crimson Silk (Burning Empire Book 1) Page 2

  Not as a meal.

  Her words thickened in her throat. “I take you as my husband—”

  A whistling sound interrupted her, followed by a quiet thud, and then the drums silenced. The faint crackle of the bonfire snapped, and the quivering fletching of the arrow embedded in Dalvin’s throat sang a quiet dirge.

  He let out a quiet, choked sound. His hands lifted, bringing hers with them, as he tried to stop the blood from spilling out of the wound, soaking his soft, white tunic.

  Sigrid ghosted her fingers over the wound and stared at the red smear on her fingertips. She knew it would smell metallic, but the mask hid the scent. She lifted her gaze to his shocked expression as more arrows whistled through the air.

  Three struck him in the back, sending him reeling into her. Sigrid held her ground. He sagged, tilting his head back to look up once more, and the life drain slowly from his eyes.

  Sparkling laughter disappeared forever as war cries filled the glade.

  Heat filled her body, embers sparking to life. Sigrid lifted her head as brightly colored warriors raced towards them. Shrieks echoed from the crowd that spun and ran like the cowards they were.

  “Sigrid!” Camilla shouted.

  There were no words between them, for they were warriors at heart. She spun towards her sister and held out her hands still bound to Dalvin's limp ones. A blade arced and sliced through the bindings. The hand-fasting was not yet finished, but she still sent a prayer to the gods for their forgiveness.

  “Here,” Camilla thrust another blade towards her, small but enough to injure.

  Jewels encrusted the hilt and Sigrid wrapped her hands around it, strong and firm. The metal was flimsy and would break if she pushed too hard.

  “I’m sorry,” Camilla started, “it’s your wedding day—”

  Sigrid held up a hand for silence. “It's the gods will that I fight.”

  Another arrow flew, pinging off the edge of her armored corset. She spun on her heel toward the advancing warriors and let out a war cry of her own. The sound carried, echoing through her mask and out into the glade until it reached the armored men. The first few faltered when the piercing sound echoed.

  She traced her fingertips at the edge of the mask until Camilla’s voice cut through the haze of rage covering her vision.

  “Sigrid, no. Not now.”

  “The dragon has awakened.”

  “And she will remain enchained. Fight as a woman, not a Beastkin.”

  Sigrid bared her teeth in a grimace no one could see, but her hands fell away from the clasps at the edge of her mask. If her sister wished her to fight as a woman, then so be it. These warriors did not know what they were attacking.

  The first man reached her. She struck his shoulder hard, grasping the leather strappings of his arm and whipping him towards Camilla who sank her blade between the plates of his armor. He froze, let out a dying gasp, and dropped his sword into her sister’s waiting hands.

  A curved blade. Earthen men carried broadswords, their heavy hands and strong bodies capable of swinging a deadly blow. At the least, they carried a short sword. But never one like this.

  Camilla glanced up, shifting the blade from hand to hand. “Bymerian.”

  “They haven’t attacked in months. Why now?”

  “Perhaps their boy king grows too comfortable upon his new throne.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Footsteps slammed into the ground near her and she spun to stare down the soldier leaping toward her. Their armor was strange, leather instead of metal. It allowed for smoother movements, but still they did not know how to fight a woman in a dress.

  The warrior hesitated for the briefest moment, and she saw her opening. Sigrid darted forward and slid her blade across his throat. The spurt of blood sprayed across her dress, but they could never use the fabric again. Death had already marked it.

  Wildfire raged through her veins. The boy king would dare attack her wedding? He would dare kill a groom who had almost become a husband?

  She stepped over Dalvin’s body and let out a scream of rage. More warriors attacked. She did not count their numbers in men, but in deaths. Each garbled word, each gasp for breath, became a chanting call to the beast inside her.

  Camilla stayed close. She was a whirling arc of movement, the curved blade lifting above her head and glinting in the moonlight.

  The jeweled hilt glimmered in Sigrid’s hand, blood dripping down the crystals and pooling in her palm. She held a man close to her chest, arms trembling as she kept the blade still inside his heart.

  Their gazes met. His eyes were brown and yellowed at the edges. Long lashes framed them and he stared at her in fear.

  “You've heard the rumors of Earthen women?” she asked. “How the blood of animals runs in our veins?”

  He nodded, blood trickling from his lips.

  “All these rumors, and more, are true.” Heat burned the backs of her eyes, a sign the dragon looked out at him. “Consider yourself lucky, warrior. You met the woman when you might have met the beast.”

  She drew the blade from his chest and allowed his lifeblood to seep from his veins and douse the earth with his essence. Someday, a tree would grow where he died. Wildewyn took what she wanted from men and women alike. Their souls sank into the ground and grew branches.

  Screams echoed from above, and birds descended upon the remaining warriors. Some remained hawks and eagles, their silver talons digging into eyes and soft skin. Others transformed in the air. Nude women fell from the skies and landed upon soldiers who did not have time to make ready their weapons.

  Sigrid let loose a shrill whistle, ordering her sisters to free a single man. He could leave, racing from the glade with fear nipping at his heels. She let him return to his master with stories to tell. Creatures, the likes of which Bymerians could never understand, protected the Earthen folk.

  Soon, blood saturated the glade. Dying men gasped their last breath, others groaned as their lives ended with the swift swing of a blade.

  None would live without Sigrid's permission.

  She stood alone, the bonfire heating her back, and stared at the surrounding carnage. This was a hand-fasting. Happiness and the bright promise of the future should glimmer in the air like torchlight.

  Had she brought this upon herself? Had her dark thoughts somehow traveled to Bymere and incited their boy king to send yet another attack to plague her people?

  “Sigrid?” Camilla called out. Blood dripped from her blade to her fingertips. “Do we return to the enclave or follow the man you released?”

  Sigrid looked out over the crowd of her people. Some stared at her with apprehension, others with gladness that she would still be with them for a little longer.

  The leader of their tribe was always the most powerful. The strongest, the matron who would take care of them all. Sigrid was the last dragon. She would always be their matriarch, regardless of their age.

  “Send a sparrow,” she replied. “But keep it quiet. I don’t trust the Earthen folk to tell Beastkin the whole truth.”

  “They said the war with Bymere was over.”

  "They were wrong." She held out a hand for a sparrow to land on, human eyes staring back at her. “I want to know what the boy king plans to do. Bring me his words, little sparrow, and keep yourself hidden from sight.”

  Nadir

  The roar of the crowd crashed down from the sky, rolling over the advancing royals. Poppies rained down upon them and coated the streets in a perfume so intoxicating it made many stumble as they made their way towards the coronation.

  Nadir liked to pretend they cheered for him, but he knew who they really reached out for.

  His older brother was a man unlike any other. He stood a head taller than the crowd and just a few steps ahead of Nadir, but he was easy to pick out no matter where he was.

  Shoulders broad enough to carry the world parted the teeming masses like a wave and his long, ebony hair swung free to his waist. Crimson fabric spill
ed from his form and slid through the poppies like a snake.

  The people were blessed to be in his presence. Hakim, the golden prince who would soon be emperor.

  Nadir watched as hands reached out for his brother, their fingertips stained red with clay, and gold bangles dancing in the light. Delicate, like a dancer, they would touch the edges of his sleeves, then retreat as though the rare moment was a gift.

  And was it not? How many could say they had touched the blessed sultan?

  They reached the dais where the advisors waited for them. Each was more honored than the last, but it was Saafiya who captured Nadir's attention. No other woman could ever hold a candle to her beauty.

  Her caramel skin was burnished gold in the sunlight, dark kohl rimmed her large eyes, and she batted her lashes at his brother with a spark of mischief that promised adventure. Henna tattooed her hands in swirls and dots that told a story, but he wouldn’t be able to focus on the words if she told him. She was too pretty, her dark eyes too powerful for him focus.

  An arm hooked around his shoulders, shaking him firmly.

  “My brother, pay attention. It’s an important day for both of us.”

  “For you,” Nadir replied, shaking himself free from Hakim’s grasp. “You’re the one who will be the sultan.”

  “And your brother will be the most powerful man in all Bymere. You should be happy.”

  “I am.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  Nadir shrugged, but stared off into the crowd. His golden eyes flicked towards their home. The red palace loomed over everything and could be seen for miles. Crimson stones made the towers and the circular peaks look more sinister than he could ever recall his home being.

  “Nadir,” Hakim growled. “The coronation?”

  “I’m here with you.”

  “Smile a little more. The people want to think you're happy for me, not jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous,” he answered honestly. Nadir had never wanted to be sultan. Instead, he wanted to fight in battles, wield the deadly scimitar, travel the sands, and find new lands. Sitting on a throne whilst listening to other people complain held little appeal.

  “Then smile.”

  He forced a grin and turned towards the crowd as another cheer rose into the air. He reached for his brother’s arm and lifted it high above their heads.

  There, they stood at the bottom of the dais where their lives would forever change.

  “A sultan,” he muttered and shook his head. “Of all things, did you ever expect to become this?”

  Hakim arched a dark brow. “We’ve been princes our entire life.”

  “But I never saw us here.”

  “Premonitions? I thought you renounced all magic.”

  Nadir shook his head again, then turned them both towards their advisors. “Just go to the top and become sultan, would you? We both know your ego could use the favor.”

  “You’ll stand beside me?”

  “Without question.” He nudged his brother forward. “I’ll always be beside you brother, no matter how bad a sultan you are.”

  They teased, but Nadir was immensely proud of Hakim. They had grown up in the palace where every desire was met without question. While Nadir took advantage of such a lavish childhood, Hakim had worked every moment of his life to be a good king.

  Being an older brother was not an easy job, especially when Nadir was such a troublesome eight-year old. He had a lot of responsibility on his shoulders, and not many people saw beyond the stern exterior. Hakim would be a sultan that would go down in history for making his people happy, his kingdom rich, and the land would prosper every moment he was on the throne.

  Nadir puffed out his chest with pride and remained at the bottom of the stairs. Tomorrow, he would begin his training as the captain of the guard. It would be his duty to ensure Hakim stayed alive.

  It wouldn’t be a hard job. Who would ever want to kill his brother?

  Hakim lifted a hand and smacked it against his neck. The bugs this year were horrible, worse than years prior. Nadir already knew the advisors would send him to the outer province where the beasts were devouring cattle. The promise of adventure sang through his veins until his leg bounced.

  Soon, he would leave. Soon, his life would start anew. No longer a prince, no longer protected. Just a boy with nothing but the sand to keep him company.

  Hakim stumbled. He righted himself, although it must have been embarrassing. A sultan never stumbled.

  A frown wrinkled Nadir's forehead as his brother did it again. Yet another trip sent him to his knee on the steps.

  “Hakim?” he called out.

  “I’m fine.” But his voice was weak. “I’m fine, I just—”

  The breath in Nadir’s lungs rushed from him as Hakim fell against the steps and did not rise. Time seemed to slow as he raced towards his brother, touching a hand to his back and rolling him onto his side.

  White foam collected in the corners of Hakim’s dark lips. His eyes rolled back in his head even as Nadir shook him.

  “Brother,” he frantically called out. “What is wrong? What dark magic is this?”

  Hands pulled him away from the would-be king, and he fought for all he was worth. He might be young, but his body was made for war. Nadir struggled until the aged captain of the guard pinned his arms against his sides.

  All he could do was watch the advisors gather around his elder brother, his last remaining family, and try to still the seizure that spasmed through Hakim’s body, sucking the life from him.

  The dream melted away as Nadir lurched forward in his bed. Dark locks of hair fell in front of his eyes, still sticky from the sweat clinging to him.

  Such memories had not plagued him for years. What had changed?

  Nadir pushed back the mass of his long hair and attempted to ground himself in the present. He was not on the dais watching his brother die. He was in his bedroom in the Red Palace.

  Gauze fabric hung from the ceiling, obscuring his vision of the room beyond. Embroidered pillows surrounded him, each more opulent than the last. His pale, tunic was tangled around his form. It was no wonder he had overheated. The damned material was enough to smother him in his sleep.

  He pushed aside the curtains and stumbled away from the bed. The braziers still burned with red coals that winked at him, the promise of pain almost too tempting to ignore.

  Cold marble soothed the soles of his bare feet. He padded through his room, pushed open his door made of solid gold, and rushed into the private hall just outside his rooms.

  Here was sanctuary. The polished, white marble floor looked like a mirror. Columns from floor to ceiling were the only embellishment to the entire room, and they touched the edge of the palace that fell hundreds of feet towards the ground. Starlight reflected across the floor, and the sliver of the moon danced at the tips of his toes.

  He smoothed a hand over his slick chest, the tunic parting to reveal the broad planes of his body. His fingers came away gritty with the remains of henna which stained his skin from collarbone to hips.

  One of his concubines had thought it was entertaining to mark him, and he’d been half drunk on spiced mead and her beauty, so he had let her.

  Nadir made a face when he saw the patterns in the meager light. What had he been thinking? His advisors would never let him live that down, no matter how few people saw it. His guard would think him foolish.

  Perhaps, he was.

  He stepped forward, tugging a curtain from the wall and flinging it over his head. Though it was not as warm, nor as soft, as a blanket from his bed, it was comfortable enough. The pale orange fabric gave him a sense of security as he leaned against a column.

  He flirted with the edge of the stone, toes barely hanging on to the edge of the mirror floor, the gulf of a dark abyss just beyond. He leaned against the column and breathed out a sigh of relief.

  Life coursed through his veins. He had survived, although he would never know why the assassin had killed
Hakim and left him alive. If their purpose was to kill the royal family, then they had failed. Nadir was nineteen years of age and his lungs still drew breath.

  But what if they had intended something else?

  Such thoughts would plague him for as long as he existed. Nadir had never believed the assassin had left his kingdom. It was too simple. Killing two princes should have been just as easy as killing one.

  He pressed a hand to his forehead.

  Dwelling on such thoughts would only send him into another spiral. He could hardly think straight. Too many drinks, far too many herbs, and a night with too many women made his head spin.

  And that dream.

  That nightmare.

  He wouldn’t sleep tonight, knowing what waited in the realm of sleep. Hakim would stare back at him, slowly withering away until he was nothing more than a corpse.

  His brother had always been determined. In those last moments, he had refused to die. It had only prolonged his pain in the end.

  Sixteen days of suffering. Sixteen days of unimaginable agony as his body ate itself alive until he heaved his last breath in Nadir’s arms, while staring at the sun.

  A shiver skittered down his spine. Death had always seemed so implausible when they were younger. Nadir had been just a boy back then, dreaming of becoming a captain of the guard. If only he had known all those years ago that he would become sultan instead.

  Would he have prepared better? Would he have listened to all the tutoring that his brother had so diligently mastered?

  Likely not. Nadir could hardly stand still now, let alone when he was younger. It would have been an impossible task to still the inferno of his mind.

  “Your Majesty?” A deep voice sliced through the darkness. “Your advisors wish to speak with you.”

  “It’s the middle of the night, Raheem.”

  “And still, they have requested I bring you to them.”

  He turned towards the one man he might call a friend. Raheem had appeared out of the darkness one night. Nadir had only been sultan for a few moons and had yet to choose the one person who would protect him.

  There had been no choice when Raheem had offered the boy king his own sword, placed it against his throat, and requested Nadir either kill him or take him into his guard.