“Beautiful, is it not?” asks Solomon happily, standing beside her.
“This is where we’re staying?” she asks, shocked. “How is this still Rubiyat?” It’s such a far cry from the seedy inn, such a far cry from anything she’s ever thought of the Red West, Nazirah needs to pinch herself.
“Yes,” Solomon says proudly, waving his arms around. “Welcome to my riad, my home. You will be safe here for as long as you need to stay in this territory. You deserve a true Deathlandic welcome, Miss Nation, and that is exactly what you shall get!”
“You live here?” she asks in astonishment.
Solomon nods, beckoning for everyone to follow him indoors.
“As if you didn’t know,” says Aldrik, whistling in appreciation. “This is more like it!” He runs a finger over a marble column, leisurely walking through the gated entrance.
Nazirah turns to Adamek. “How well do they pay at the prison?” she asks in a hushed voice.
“Solomon’s not just head of security,” he says. “He comes from one of the wealthiest, oldest, most respected families in all of Renatus. He chooses to spend his days at the prison because that’s what he finds fulfilling, I suppose. My father has tried to win his family’s allegiance for decades, but the Salaahis are famous for their neutrality.”
They walk through the entrance. All around Nazirah are beautiful mosaics, tiles in various shades of blue. Iron lanterns, illuminated by candlelight, hang at varying lengths. Gold leaf flakes the ceiling. Now Nazirah is sure she’s dreaming. “He doesn’t seem very neutral,” she says skeptically.
They stop under an archway. “He’s not,” Adamek says. “But this riad is a longstanding sanctuary of neutrality, which is why we can safely stay here.”
“My friends,” Solomon addresses them, the perfect image of a dapper host. “Olag will show you to your rooms. Please have a restful night. We will discuss more unpleasant matters over breakfast in the morning … a true Red West feast.”
Solomon gives a short bow and departs quickly, leaving the three of them with Olag. They follow him through a stunning courtyard garden, rife with exotic plants and flowers, a huge fountain cascading in the center. Adamek walks behind Nazirah. He gently pulls up her chin and shuts her gaping mouth. “Wouldn’t want the dust to get in,” he says.
Nazirah is confused by his playfulness, until she sees Aldrik nod approvingly at them. Play along, Adamek’s eyes say. Nazirah smiles slightly, trying to ignore the rush she feels at his touch. Olag gives them a curious look, before leading their party indoors again and up a flight of stairs. They walk into an open corridor, constructed of graceful arches that make it seem like they’re still outside. Olag stops in front of a door, nodding at Aldrik. Aldrik doesn’t even look at them before slamming the door shut in their faces. The smell of fried hair and booze lingers in his stead.
Olag leads them a ways down the corridor, pausing in front of another door and inclining his head towards Adamek. Adamek nods at the two of them, wordlessly entering his room. Olag continues walking, stopping before a final door.
“Goodnight, Olag,” Nazirah says. She is about to enter when he hands her a small scroll of paper.
Nazirah unfurls the scroll as she enters her room, inhaling the scents of amber, myrrh, and musk. An iron-framed canopy bed sits atop a large geometric rug. The bed overflows with deep satins, velvets, and gauzy drapes. The room opens onto a small balcony, overlooking the courtyard garden, and is alight with ornate hanging lanterns and waxy candles. Speechless, Nazirah enters the bathroom. It’s covered in mosaic tiles, replete with a sunken tub and open shower.
Nazirah returns to the bedroom, dives onto the bed and rolls around on the silky sheets. She reads the scroll. It’s from Solomon, inviting her to tea tomorrow afternoon. Solomon also tells her that he’s taken the liberty of buying her some clothes as a welcoming gift. Nazirah hops off the bed, walks past her ratty luggage, and opens the armoire. She pulls out designer dress after designer dress. Awestruck, she prances over to the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. One garment is probably worth several months’ work, in Rafu.
Nazirah stops suddenly. Only a few hours ago, she watched the Medis destroy nearly everything the slum dwellers had, including their lives. She thinks of them now, asleep in their huts, every last one of their meager possessions literally inches from their fingertips. She thinks of Cayu, the crashing surf and crying seagulls his lullabies. Nazirah may not have grown up in the slum, but those are her people. That is where she belongs. Not here, with these fancy dresses and quixotic dreams. This is Solomon’s reality, Adamek’s reality, but not Nazirah’s.
Never Nazirah’s.
Nazirah stuffs the dresses back into the armoire and slams the doors shut, ashamed at getting so carried away. She pulls off her clothes, kicks them onto the floor, and scrambles under the covers – ash and all.
Nazirah dreams of monkeys along the coast, beating their chests, screeching as they burn. Sticking her hand in the flaming sand, Nazirah reaches for beach shells, finds only bullet shells.
#
The next morning, Nazirah wears a light, mint green dress. It’s delicate, feminine, and accentuates her slender waist. The dress is one of Solomon’s gifts, because Nazirah doesn’t want to be rude. But it’s the simplest one. It’s also the most beautiful thing she’s ever worn.
She takes her time, walking slowly back towards the entryway. Everything about the riad is more breathtaking in daylight. The colors, muted at night, are suddenly hyper-intense. The smells are richer, the sounds lovelier. Olag meets her near the entrance and they walk together to the dining room. Adamek and Aldrik are unsurprisingly already present, sitting at a long gilt table and talking strategy with Solomon.
“Yes, I have already spoken with them,” Solomon says as Nazirah walks into the room. “The enforcers throughout the prisons are with us. Besides their own personal incentives, they are extremely loyal to me. It is not an issue.” Solomon sees Nazirah and lights up. “Oh, Miss Nation! You are absolutely radiant!” He sighs. “You would make such a lovely Red bride.”
“Good morning, Solomon.” Nazirah greets him awkwardly, sitting across from Adamek. She isn’t usually one to turn down a compliment, but Solomon is downright embarrassing sometimes. She looks up to find Adamek’s eyes lingering on her. She blushes, wondering if it’s still for show.
“You were saying, Salaahi?” Aldrik asks, annoyed. He reaches for some bread and drenches it with honey and oil. True to Solomon’s word, the table is completely loaded with Deathlandic delicacies. There are warm breads, yogurts, sausages, juices, and omelets with spices. Nazirah steers clear of what looks to be a stuffed goat’s head, the centerpiece of their meal. Nazirah hasn’t seen this much food in her life, and for only the four of them! She guiltily fills up her plate, thinking of how many slum dwellers this could feed.
Solomon shovels jasmine rice onto his already heaping plate. “Yes, right,” he continues. “Like I said, Red law enforcers are with us, no questions asked. I have left them in charge of the prison during your stay, so I can focus solely on this. Jasmine is right from the garden,” he says proudly, tucking into his meal.
Aldrik bangs on the table with his fork, trying to hold Solomon’s attention. “And what of the Red Lords?”
Solomon’s face turns serious. “Therein lies the rub,” he says somberly. “Our numbers as enforcers are limited. We need the Lords’ support because they control the vast mercenaries. We have an informal gathering with them here in a few hours. I must confess, though, that I am extremely worried about the outcome.”
Nazirah doesn’t see an insurmountable problem. “So?” she asks. “Why can’t we win them over like we did in Eridies? Bribe them, or show them the Iluxor like we planned? Promise them better access to food and water after we win? Piece of cake.”
“It’s not quite that simple, Nation,” Aldrik snaps. “This isn’t Eridies, where everyone holds hands and skips in the sand.”
Nazirah loo
ks at the three of them. She gets the distinct feeling the joke is on her and no one is letting her in on it. “I don’t understand.” She hesitates. “What am I missing?”
Solomon’s eyes dart around nervously. “It is unfortunately a complicated situation,” he says. “Unlike in Eridies, we are traditional here. The Red Lords do not make their own decisions or accept their own bribes. They only prescribe to the ruling of their overlord, their Khan, Lord Khanto. And he is not exactly pleased with the rebels.”
“Why not?”
She looks at Adamek, who meets her gaze steadily. Nazirah notices for the first time that his plate is empty, utensils untouched. “Lord Bantu was Khanto’s father,” he says expressionlessly. “Up until a few months ago, Bantu was the overlord and one of my father’s harshest critics.”
“Was?” she asks slowly. No one responds. Nazirah stares hard into her plate, realizing. She isn’t hungry anymore. “Oh.”
“So we are in quite a bind, you see,” Solomon says, trying to defuse the tension. “But never fear! We will meet with Lord Khanto soon enough, and convince him to see reason for the sake of his people.”
They finish eating in silence. Nazirah doesn’t look up from her plate again. She can’t blame this overlord if he doesn’t agree to join them. Will Adamek’s wake of destruction never end? There is so much pain, so much devastation tied up in his life. Nazirah wonders how he deals with it all … how he deals with it at all.
She thinks of Victoria, red water in the bathtub; of Aneira, lit red with Bilungi’s candles; of the dead intermix, scorched red in the flames; of Riva and Kasimir, wasted red on the floor.
Nazirah doesn’t cry.
Chapter Nineteen
Nazirah sits in an empty corridor, waiting. She watches from the open archway as black cars line up in the driveway. The Lords that exit are completely unlike their Eridian counterparts. They’re heavily armed, surrounded by bodyguards, and menacing. Nazirah rises to go find Solomon and the others, reminding herself that she is not in Eridies anymore.
She walks back to the main entryway, from which Olag leads her into the library. It’s small but lavish, lined with bookcases, with an ornate wooden table in the center. Nazirah takes a seat next to Aldrik, near the head, as the Lords file inside. Nazirah counts a dozen in total, far more than in Eridies, a much smaller territory. Each Lord sits at the table; at least two bodyguards armed with assault rifles stationed behind him. Nazirah wrings her hands in her lap, wishing Solomon hadn’t convinced Aldrik her presence here would be a good idea. Adamek is unusually late.
Solomon sits down at the head of the table, bolstered by several plush cushions, as a man enters the room. Nazirah knows instantly that this is the Khan. He has skin dark as night, sinewy muscles riddled with thick, cobwebbed veins. His ebony mane glistens, oiled and coarse. It’s knotted into a long braid that falls down his back. Khanto wears a vest of bullets and a necklace strung with human teeth, his own “scratches.”
The Khan sits down across from Nazirah. He looks around for Adamek and then focuses on her. “Nazirah Nation,” he says, voice rolling like thunder. “I am shocked to see you here, considering the company you keep. Yet I admire your effort to uphold the honor of your bloodline, misguided as you are. It’s unfortunate the tapestries of our lives share this common weave, but it is a pleasure to meet you nonetheless.”
“Er, you as well sir,” she responds stiffly, unsure if Khanto is complimenting or insulting her.
Adamek enters the library, silver briefcase in hand. He takes the only unoccupied seat at the table, to the right of Nazirah. Any warmth immediately vanishes from Khanto’s eyes. Adamek doesn’t flinch when the Khan’s bodyguards aim their guns at him, even though he’s clearly unarmed. The Khan, not taking his eyes off Adamek, slowly motions for the guards to settle down. They lower their weapons, but the tension remains.
Solomon claps his hands together. “Right,” he says. “Now that we are all here and settled, let us begin.”
Aldrik talks for several uninterrupted minutes. He outlines the goals of the rebellion, what the insurgents hope to achieve, and what they’re offering in return for allegiance. Solomon translates every word, since the majority of Red Lords do not speak the common tongue. Adamek then gives a brief demonstration of the Iluxor, showing the Red Lords a pre-selected memory from Solomon’s childhood. The Red Lords are completely mesmerized by the device, and rapidly ask Solomon questions in Deathlandic, fighting to be heard through the escalating din.
“Enough.”
The room goes silent.
“Lord Khanto?” questions Solomon.
The Khan addresses Aldrik. “I thank you for bringing this appalling disparity to our attention, my friend. The desires of the rebellion indeed parallel our own in the Deathlands. We suffer here, while the capital indulges. We send them our mercenaries, our spices, our gold for nothing. You are a good man, Aldrik.”
Aldrik is wary, and Nazirah senses it too. He says, “But …”
“But,” Khanto says quietly, “I am afraid that I am not so good a man. I cannot simply agree to these terms.”
“And what, my friend,” Aldrik grumbles, “do you want?”
Khanto looks at Adamek. He says, “You must pay the price.”
“What price?” Aldrik asks.
The Khan addresses Adamek in Deathlandic. Nazirah and Aldrik both look at Solomon, hopelessly lost, but his face is grave and he has stopped translating. To Nazirah’s complete shock, Adamek responds to Khanto fluently and without hesitation. Their voices are even, devoid of anger or other emotion. The men reach across the table and shake hands firmly.
“Thank you,” Khanto says. Adamek nods once. Khanto rises from his seat and the entire party of Lords and guards leave without another word.
“Would someone like to tell me what the hell just happened?” growls Aldrik.
Adamek shrugs wordlessly. He gets up, walks casually out of the library. Nazirah looks at Solomon, bewildered. Aldrik appears ready to explode.
“This is bad news,” Solomon says, shaking his head despondently. “This is very bad news indeed. Although not entirely unexpected.”
“Solomon,” Nazirah commands, “talk.”
“The Khan has agreed to ally with the rebellion, along with all of the remaining Red Lords, their servants and mercenaries –”
“But that’s good news, isn’t it?” she interrupts.
Aldrik raises an agitated hand and Solomon continues. “Under the condition that he and Mr. Morgen settle their feud the traditional way, within a fortnight’s time.”
“Which is?” asks Aldrik suspiciously.
Solomon glances worriedly at Nazirah. He squeaks, “A battle to the death.”
#
Later that afternoon, Nazirah ventures into the conservatory to meet Solomon. She doesn’t really want tea, but won’t cancel their plans, not when Solomon has been so gracious. Nazirah thinks about the overlord, about his necklace of canines and incisors. Will Adamek become the newest addition?
“Hey, Solomon.”
Nazirah spots him alone, sitting at a small table in the corner. None of the windows in the riad contain any glass. Nazirah always feels like she’s outside, even when there’s a roof above her head. She takes a seat beside him.
“Miss Nation,” Solomon greets her, gesturing to a nearby servant. “I am pleased you decided to join me, even after the unpleasant business of this morning.” The servant holds a golden kettle high. He pours the tea into small glasses from several feet in the air with perfect precision. Nazirah inhales the fragrant, minty water.
“Sugar?” Solomon asks, offering her a small jar.
“Thanks,” she says, dropping a cube into her glass. “And thank you for inviting me, and for the clothes, and for letting us stay here. I don’t think I can ever thank you enough, really. Everything here is so beautiful.”
Solomon looks around, smiling. “I am particularly fond of this old family relic,” he says, patting a wall. “Tho
ugh I must confess, Miss Nation, I often feel entirely unworthy of living here. Especially in light of the insoluble hardship my territory faces.”
“Solomon,” she says gently, “you can call me Nazirah.”
“You are far too kind, Miss Nation,” he says, politely ignoring her request.
“I’m a lot of things, Solomon,” she says honestly. “But kind isn’t one of them.”
“You are also far too hard on yourself, as is often the case.” Solomon pauses for a moment before continuing. “Unfortunate circumstances today,” he says slowly, gauging her reaction. “I was hoping the Khan would see reason.” He looks at her searchingly. “But it appears his desire for vengeance has gotten the best of him.”
“I’m still not exactly sure what happened in there,” she says quickly, distinctly uncomfortable.
Solomon sets down his glass. “The Khan is a man of honor,” he says. “As is Mr. Morgen, each in his own way. They both have codes they live by, rules they follow. Khanto believes Mr. Morgen has disgraced his name and bloodline by killing his father. This is how men settle disputes in the Red West.”
“Does Morgen realize what he’s agreed to?”
“Of course he does!” exclaims Solomon. “Mr. Morgen speaks Deathlandic better than most natives. And he, like the Chancellor and other members of government, is well acquainted with the various customs and traditions each race follows. I would go so far as to say he expected this.”
Nazirah is nonplussed. “But if he expected it, why not avoid the Red Lords all together? Why not go directly to intermix for support, like we tried to do in Eridies?”