Gaping at the smashed bodies, Nelay sank to her knees and vomited. Soldiers scattered, cursing under their breath. When Nelay was finished, Jezzel handed her a handkerchief. She wiped her mouth and nose, determined not to feel humiliated, and only halfway succeeding. Yavish rolled her eyes and ordered one of the men to dump dirt on the vomit and sweep the mess up.
“The sand is ready,” Kidin called from below. Nelay’s Redeemed opened the doors and began easing out an enormous clay pot.
“Raise our flag,” Yavish called.
An orange flag came up. Nelay swung her telescope around and checked the catapult flags within her range. As she watched, two more were raised.
They were all watching the palace tower when it flashed in a rainbow of colors. “Luminash,” Yavish ordered.
Dozens of men gently set dozens of smaller clay pots in the catapult’s cup. Some of the pots were dark with age—obviously they’d been used for years by families who’d given them up the night before. Others had the dusty look of freshly potted clay. When Yavish deemed the cup full enough, she ordered everyone back. When they were clear, she cried, “Launch!”
Even as the clay pots spun through the air, the catapult crew was already twisting the catapult and cranking the arm back down. The unwieldy pots dropped first, while the slimmer ones flew farther out. The pots shattered on impact and the tavo caught the luminash powder, spreading it out like fine dust. Clansmen were already crying out, for while luminash was harmless when handled, it burned the eyes.
Horses twisted the catapult, moving it to the side. Another round of luminash went flying. Like the first round, these pots spun and dipped and careened until they crashed into the Clansmen, who must have known what was coming, for they turned and ran. By now, Nelay could smell the powder, and though most people found the scent sharp and unpleasant, it reminded her fondly of her time as an acolyte.
One more time, the catapult launched the luminash. And then Kidin was ready with piping hot sand in an enormous pot, which, judging by the soil clinging to the bottom, had been used for some kind of potted tree. As soon as the crew had moved out of the way, Yavish ordered the launch. The pot didn’t make it much farther than the city wall before shattering in a plume of red hot sand that lit the luminash, which had thoroughly coated the Clansmen.
Now it flashed hot and bright, nearly pure white. Nelay’s eyes were stained with the afterimage of living pyres, but she forced herself to watch, glad she’d already emptied her stomach.
All the Clansmen who could walk retreated immediately, obviously assuming more was coming. The catapult was cranked back again, this time with smaller pots of sand pulled directly from the kilns and settled in the cup. These pots went farther. The Immortals sent a barrage of fire arrows which went farther still. More luminash caught fire, until Nelay worried her plan had worked too well, for the fire soon spread to the base of the city walls.
“They won’t burn,” Jezzel assured her. Still, Nelay watched them carefully.
Unnoticed by the dying Clansmen, and even by most of the Immortals, an Idaran slipped out the main door, sprinting into the burned-out fields. He was dressed as a Clansmen. Nelay had watched as his hair was painted and his skin smeared with ash to hide his dark skin. In the deepening twilight, she knew if her telescope slipped off him for even a moment, she would never find him again. He made for a gap in the Clansmen’s lines. He darted between two soldiers and then was lost to her. No matter how hard she looked, she could not find him again.
But she did find something else. A man, his face contorted in a scream she could not hear. It was one of the men who’d captured her. Memories tore through her—Harrow’s many kindnesses culminating in him risking his life to free her. Surely there were others out there just like him. And Nelay had killed them, by the thousands. She felt something inside her crack, breaking off and leaving jagged edges that cut her with every breath. Her heart pumped erratically in her chest, and she couldn’t seem to get enough air.
Jezzel was suddenly before her, her voice sounding far away and muffled. “Nelay? What is it?”
She couldn’t answer.
“Hazar, Ahzem, help me!” Jezzel cried.
They converged on Nelay. Hazar lifted her into his arms. They carried her back to the palace, where Maran closed all the drapes and set a sleeping Concon on the bed beside her before helping Nelay out of her clothes. She lay in bed with Maran running a cool cloth over her skin, while Jezzel stood in the doorway. Nelay closed her eyes and breathed in Concon’s sweet baby smell as Maran hummed something soothing and rubbed her back.
Eventually, Jezzel climbed into the bed as well, lying in front of Nelay, the baby between them. Nelay thought of Rycus then—of all the times he had helped her simply by telling a story. And she realized Jezzel, her dearest friend, didn’t even know Nelay was in love. “Jez, do you remember Rycus?”
“The smuggler?” Jezzel said softly.
Nelay smiled, remembering all the times she’d mocked him with that name, all the times he’d mocked her by calling her high priestess. And somehow, the mocking had been replaced with teasing, and then tenderness. “He’s more than that.”
They whispered together, sharing it like a secret. And they giggled and got a little bawdy.
Concon had eventually fallen asleep on his mother’s chest. Maran played with his tiny fingers. “Nelay?” she said hesitantly, then wet her lips nervously. “I thought about what you said. About liking myself. I realized you were right. I don’t like myself.” She trailed off into silence. “I know it’s not important. All of Idara is falling apart, and it’s just my silly—”
Nelay reached out and snatched her hand. “You’re important. And that’s the first thing you must begin to change—knowing you’re worth kindness, and always demanding respect.”
Maran nodded. “I . . . thank you.”
Jezzel took Nelay’s other hand. “Love is important. Friends are important. More now than ever.”
Later, Nelay was aware of someone coming in, but she wasn’t sure who until he spoke. “The Clansmen have all retreated,” Nashur said. “They’ve stopped their assault. And I do not believe they are stupid enough to try it again.”
When Nelay didn’t answer, he leaned down and rested a heavy hand on her shoulder. “You were wrong, my queen. I’m not the most brilliant tactician alive. You are.”
With the tavo brisk and cool against her left side, Nelay stood at the top of the observation tower, the smell of burning all around her. Five days had passed. Days that began with death and ended in fire and ashes.
The Clansmen had learned the tavo and ovat well, and they now attacked only when the wind was in their favor. But with the gates sealed shut, each attack cost them much and Nelay little.
Nashur rubbed his hands along the thin bristling of hair on his scalp. The fact that it wasn’t perfectly shaved revealed how exhausted the commander was. “Our food stores are holding out, but the luminash won’t last forever,” he said. “Though I suspect that fool high priestess is hiding more somewhere.”
“Our man got through,” Jezzel reminded him.
Nashur turned his full focus on Nelay. “Have you considered what you’ll do if the Tribesmen won’t heed your summons?”
“They will heed it,” she said simply, because if they didn’t, the game was over. The Clansmen would win. The fairies would win. And Nelay was determined to be the victor here.
“They didn’t heed Zatal’s summons, and he was half Tribesman himself.” Nashur’s gaze narrowed. “What did you promise the desert tribes that has you so sure they will join in this war?”
“I didn’t promise them anything. Zatal did,” Nelay responded bitterly. Looking through a telescope, she scanned the horizon toward the Adrack Desert, as she had for days, only leaving when she could no longer stay awake.
Nashur made a sound low in his throat and walked away.
When Jezzel burst into the queen’s bedroom just before dawn, Nelay was sound asleep. “Th
e Tribesmen have been spotted.”
Nelay jumped to her feet and buckled on her weapons—she’d taken to sleeping fully clothed—and sprinted to the observation tower. Her two guards, Jezzel, and a shiny new messenger trailed behind them.
By the time Nelay climbed the last stair, she was out of breath and dizzy. She snatched the nearest telescope from the table.
“Clear that blasted gate!” Nashur shouted to one of his men. It was the one gate he had refused to block off, even after she’d harassed him about it numerous times. Instead, he’d had the ironworkers build in a portcullis and an enormous gate studded with sharp points.
Even with the rays of the rising sun in her eyes, Nelay could tell Tribesmen were everywhere, attacking Clansmen who’d been asleep in their tents.
“Look toward the desert,” Nashur said.
She swung her telescope to where he pointed. There the Tribesmen were thickest, thousands of them fighting like lions. A group of a few hundred had broken off and were battling toward the gate Nashur had refused to block off. Behind a few hundred mounted cavalry, there appeared to be hundreds of wagons.
The gates finally swung open and the Immortal cavalry shot out, clearing a path for the Tribesmen. The two groups met in the middle and then punched their way back to the city, the Immortal archers providing cover from above.
Jezzel crowed in delight, and bursts of applause and congratulations spread through the commanders.
Nelay handed her telescope to Nashur. “See that their delegation is brought to the palace with as much pomp as you can manage.” She turned and headed for the stairs, Jezzel and Hazar talking animatedly behind her.
“My queen,” Nashur said, hurrying after her. “What did Zatal promise them?”
She paused before saying so softly only he could hear. “Idara.”
He let out all his breath at once. “What?”
She turned to see his shocked expression. “My marriage to the king shifts to the nearest male relative.” She’d asked around, and apparently, it was an old man—an uncle or something.
Nelay battled back against her frustration and helplessness. “Zatal was right. It is best for Idara, so we we will honor that contract.”
The high commander halved the short distance between them. “But you are queen.”
“And I will be queen still. After all, you and your Immortals are loyal to me, not some unknown Tribesman.”
“Yes. But we need them, not the other way around,” he said slowly.
She blew out. “I know.”
“As king, he will outrank you. You will only have the power he gives to you.”
“I know!” Nelay turned and pounded down the steps, her head aching from lack of sleep. When they’d reached the empty corridor that led to Nelay’s rooms, Jezzel trotted to catch up and walk beside her. “Burn it, Nelay, they can’t keep marrying you off like this.”
“Shut it, Jez.”
Nelay was suddenly against the wall, Jezzel’s arm across her collarbone. “I have done everything you have asked me, and more. I have been there for you through all of this. So stop snapping at me!”
Nelay thought of a dozen different ways she could break her friend’s hold. She did none of them. “It’s not you the fairies, the Tribesmen, and Idara are all piling pressure on—it’s me! And it’s not you who’s to blame if Suka is right and everyone’s deaths are on me.”
Jezzel backed away. “We can beat this on our own. You know we can.”
Nelay rubbed at her headache. “I’m not so sure anymore.”
“We’re going to the healers to get you a sleeping draft. That or I’ll knock you out.”
Nelay smiled a little. “I’ll take the draft.” She knew from experience how hard her friend could hit.
Grumbling, Jezzel took up the lead. When they entered Nelay’s chambers, Maran straightened from where she’d been playing with Concon on the floor. “My queen?”
Nelay scooped the child up and held him so his head rested on her shoulder. He squirmed and settled his face into the crook of her neck. Nelay pressed her nose to his forehead, breathing in his sweet smell. When had she become so attached? “He’s the only one who doesn’t care that I’m queen,” she murmured. “The only one who doesn’t want anything from me.”
She glanced up as Maran gave Jezzel a concerned look. Jezzel rolled her eyes. “She’s forcing herself to marry another old man. She’s touchy and weepy, and I’m probably going to kick her teeth in before the day is through.”
Maran’s mouth came open. “Have you considered showing her some kindness?”
Jezzel shrugged out of her baldrics and dropped down on a rug, then rolled her neck until it popped. “That’s your job—you’re the nice friend. I’m the one who makes her laugh and tells her she’s an idiot.” Jezzel stayed on the rug, stretching her back and legs.
Tears sprang to Nelay’s eyes. She loved both of these women so much. She cleared her throat, hoping Jezzel wouldn’t notice how emotional she was. “I need to look like a queen, Maran. And quickly.”
“I’ll lay out your clothes.” The girl disappeared into the other room and Nelay heard the water running.
“She’s not so bad.” Jezzel chuckled quietly. “She was scary-fierce the day I lost it. Wouldn’t let me go. Helped me get myself together.” Jezzel glanced up. “I wasn’t very nice to her.”
“She’s forgiving. Perhaps too forgiving.”
Jezzel studied Nelay. “I’m sorry. This isn’t fair.”
“I know.”
“Well, I’d better go get myself cleaned up too. Be back soon.”
Maran appeared at the doorway. Nelay reluctantly handed over Concon, who fit himself to his mother’s arms and stuck a fist in his mouth.
Nelay disappeared inside the bathroom. The water was cool, just as she liked it. She scrubbed herself twice and let the oils soak into her hair. Maran entered and her clothes over the sink. Nelay stepped out of the water and toweled herself off. She slipped into her fanciest clothing—bell-shaped trousers and a fitted bodice that bared her stomach. Coins hung from every hem, and the color went from pale blue at her shoulders to midnight below her ankles.
She stepped outside and Maran fastened the bodice. Then Nelay sat on a chair as one of the servants from the temple shaved the sides of her scalp and styled her hair to show off her tattoos. They painted her skin with gold markings and bedecked her in so much jewelry she couldn’t move without something clanking or tinkling—including gold chains across her stomach.
Last, they rested the golden phoenix mantle across her collarbone. She stared at the phoenix for a moment, wishing she didn’t have to leave this room of friends to face one of strangers. Wishing it was Rycus she was going to. What she would pay to see him again, even for a moment.
Maran handed Nelay the veil, which she draped over her head. Jezzel returned, and the two of them left her rooms without looking back. Nelay descended the beautiful staircase to the throne room. Waiting for her was a group of Tribesmen—an even mix of men and women. Their swords were gone, though their veils were still up.
Her parents, Panar, and now Rycus. A pang shot through Nelay’s chest, longing wrapped in the beginnings of bitterness. Would she always be fighting for the people she could never have anyway?
Nashur was already beside the throne, most of the commanding Immortals spread out behind him. He gave Nelay a nearly imperceptible nod. Everyone turned to watch her as she crossed the room, so she was very careful not to trip. She stood before the throne, deciding not to sit in it.
The man at the head of the Tribesmen unfastened his veil, revealing a face weathered by decades of wind and sun. He gave a short bow. “Queen Nelay, I am Bathzar, a chieftain of the desert tribes and Zatal’s uncle.”
So this was the man she was to marry. Nelay bowed back, steeling her face to remain expressionless. “I watched your attack on the Clansmen earlier, Bathzar. It was very well executed.”
He tipped his head in acknowledgement. “Do you
often watch the battles?”
“Sometimes she leads them,” Jezzel reported.
Bathzar blinked at Jezzel before he looked back at Nelay. “How so?”
“It was her idea to use luminash to light their armies on fire,” Nashur said.
The corners of Bathzar’s mouth turned up. “Ah, a brilliant move. They will hesitate to attack your walls again. And I see you have the loyalty of those under your command. That speaks to your leadership.”
An involuntary sigh left Nelay’s mouth. “But the Clansmen haven’t given up yet.”
“Which is why you agreed to marry a Tribesman,” Bathzar said.
Nelay forced herself not to wince. “Which is why I agreed to marry you.”
He bowed. “It is a fine offer, one that affords many benefits, but I am afraid I must refuse.”
Nelay stood in stunned silence, humiliation sliding from the top of her head down her whole body. “Why?”
“Because I am already a powerful leader of the tribes, and I will not leave my position or my people to be trapped within these walls. Also, my wife is rather fierce. Only a fool would cross her, and I am no fool.”
“Then why did you come?” Nashur asked.
“Because my nephew has no such compunction. And as the contract shifts to the closest kin at my refusal, it is his to refuse or accept.”
Another veiled man stepped up beside Bathzar. Nelay recognized those eyes. But her mind would not believe, even as he lowered his veil. “Rycus?”
It took every bit of self-control she’d learned in the temple to keep from running into his arms.
He gazed at her with a smoldering expression. She took in the men around him and realized one wore an eye patch. “Scand?” She shook her head, desperately trying to dislodge a thought or two.
Four more men unfastened their veils: Cinab, Bahar, Ashar, and Delir. Tears sprang to Nelay’s eyes. She blinked rapidly in an effort to disperse them before they betrayed her. “And the boy and the others you went back for?”
“All safely in the Adrack,” Delir answered.