Chapter 1 Under cover of darkness, leagues east of Sharakhai, three women navigated the endless dunes of the Great Shangazi. ,eda led the way on her zilij, a skimwood board that hissed as she rode it. Like the runners of sandships, the board had been painstakingly treated with a special wax which, coupled with the qualities of the wood itself, allowed it to glide slick as a lemon seed over the desert''s surface. Melis and SYmeya, wearing their old uniforms, their Maiden''s black, rode just behind her on zilijs of their own, and while they might not be as deft as ,eda, they were passable and they made good time toward their destination: the blooming fields. Golden Rhia and silver Tulathan hung high overhead, pendants in a star-swept sky shedding light on the spindrift that lifted from the dunes like smoke on the wind. Both moons were full. Beht Zha''ir had returned to the desert, which partly explained why, despite the night''s heat, all three women wore battle dresses. Melis and SYmeya''s were well worn and made from black cloth, while ,eda''s was newly sewn and dyed in rich amber hues, colors more typical of the desert tribes.
Hanging easily from ,eda''s belt were her mother''s knife and her shamshir, River''s Daughter: the ebon steel blade that had once felt so foreign, a sign of the Kings'' oppression, but was now her truest, most trusted friend. The weapons gave comfort against the boneyard chill trying to seep its way into her heart, but did nothing to prevent the whispers of doubt. Turn back, the whispers said. There''s no hope in this. The Kings will sense you. They were echoes from the asirim, those pitiable souls who lived beneath the twisted trees. The words were meant to discourage, but served only to harden ,eda''s resolve. What she was about to do was necessary-for the good of the asirim, for the good of her tribe, for the good of the desert-and it was long past due.
After following the crest of a dune, ,eda leaned into the downward slope, built speed toward and through the trough, then kicked along the incline with full-body strokes of her leg. Melis and SYmeya followed suit, and when they reached the peak, all three of them stomped the end of their zilijs, flipping them over to prevent them from sliding away. "Breath of the desert," SYmeya said, "it feels like years since we were here." "Like another life," ,eda replied. So much had happened since then: their flight into the desert, their meeting with the thirteenth tribe, the battle against King Onur and his tribe built through conquest, then the larger battle where the other Sharakhani Kings and the royal navy joined in. It had all begun here, when ,eda, hoping to reveal the truth to SYmeya and Melis, had chosen a family of asirim to speak with. They''d told their story, but King Husamett''n had dominated them immediately after and forced them to do his will. Only with the help of Dardzada, the old apothecary, had they managed to escape Husamett''n and his Blade Maidens, and even then it had been a near thing.
The sand was soft beneath ,eda''s callused hands as she crouched and studied the blooming fields. Today might be a different day, she thought, but it''s every bit as dangerous. From their distant vantage, the long line of trees looked harmless, a line of ink spilled across a rolling piece of parchment. To the careful observer, however, more was revealed. The branches of the adichara trees swayed, their night blooms open, each a pale, blue-white flame, brighter than the reflected light of the moons could account for. Like a river of souls, ,eda mused, searching for the farther fields. She studied the shadows beneath the trees and the gaps between the groves for any telltale signs of soldiers. She spread her awareness outward, wary of spikes of emotion from the asirim that might indicate the presence of one of the Kings.
She had once needed an adichara petal to do such things. Not so now, especially this close to the blooming fields. It was a miracle of sorts, a power that flowed from the old wound in the meat of her right thumb, a wound she''d given herself to prove once and for all that she was a daughter of a Sharakhani King. Through the poison that still resided there she could feel the trees and the asirim. The tattoo around it, given to her by the Matron Za*de, had saved her life. It helped to hem the pain in, but it could only do so much. This close to the blooming fields the wound was a fount of anger and vengeance. She''d learned that she could draw upon that anger so long as she didn''t let it overwhelm her.
She did so now, squeezing her hand until the pain sharpened. Her sense of the blooming fields sharpened with it. "Well?" Melis said gruffly. ,eda ignored the note of impatience in her voice, completing her inspection with care. "There''s nothing," she replied when she was done. "We''re safe for now." Melis stood and stomped on her zilij to flip it back over. "Then let''s get bloody moving.
" With one hard kick, she slid into motion. ,eda and SYmeya shared a look. Melis had been acting like this more often of late, but now was hardly the time to discuss it. They followed and had just reached the peak of the next dune when a lonely wail swept like cold rain over the desert. ,eda shivered from it. The sorrow in that call stemmed from the asir''s pain, its helplessness to stand against the voices of the gods that whispered in their minds: Go to Sharakhai. Take tribute. Kill for us.
,eda had once viewed the asirim as ruthless monsters. Now she saw them for what they truly were. Slaves. Slaves to the gods'' decree. Slaves to the will of the Kings. On this holy night, they would go to Sharakhai and kill the ones King Sukru had marked, then return to the blooming fields with their tributes, where the bodies would be tossed into the arms of the adichara to be torn limb from limb, their blood feeding the roots of the twisted trees. It was all still so daunting, her mission to destroy the Kings, but she couldn''t forget how far she''d come. Six Kings lay dead or powerless.
Azad had been felled by ,eda''s mother, Ahya. KYlaan, Mesut, and Onur were dead by ,eda''s hand. Yusam''s death was still a mystery, though ,eda wouldn''t be surprised to learn that one of his brother Kings, Ihsan being the most likely, had done it. And then there was Zeheb, the Whisper King, driven mad by his own power. As she reached the edge of the grove, more and more of the blooming fields were opened to her. More of the asirim were as well. She felt so much pure need in them it was nearly overwhelming, but she suppressed those gnawing feelings as best she could, concentrating solely on the grove that lay before her. As she, SYmeya, and Melis entered it along a tunnel-like path, the adichara branches moved snakelike, rubbing against one another, the sound of it like twigs breaking underfoot.
Beneath the light of the blue-white blooms, an arsenal of thorns stood out starkly along the branches. They made their way to a clearing where they''d first met the asir named Mavra, a matriarch who had somehow managed to keep her family together over four terrible centuries of enslavement. As had been true the last time she''d come, ,eda felt not only Mavra, but her kin as well: the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Most were asleep, caught in the spell that kept them in place until called upon by Sukru and his infernal whip, or pressed into service by one of the other Kings. "Rise, Mavra," ,eda said aloud. "Rise and wake your children." Like moonlight rippling over a pond, Mavra''s will spread amongst the others. They roused, and their anger flared.
Emaciated hands broke the sandy surface beneath the trees. Their ceaseless hunger gnawed at them as they crawled like termites from rotted wood. A dozen cadaverous shapes lifted from the ground, their blackened skin shriveled, tight against their bones. More followed, and more still, until they all stood trembling, mouths agape as their eyes swallowed the light of the adichara blooms. Only Mavra remained in her grave. Come grandmother. Leave the roots behind. A few paces from where ,eda stood, an ungainly form broke the surface and pulled herself tall.
Mavra was large, with broad shoulders and pendulous breasts. Lank hair hung before her face in dust-ridden strands. Her whole body quivered, making her look fragile, as if she were standing through sheer will alone. Only in her flinty stare could ,eda see some glimmer of her former, awesome strength. "Threeee of mine died when last you came," she said in a reedy whisper. "What happened was a tragedy," ,eda said. "But the Kings caused it. Surely you see this.
" "Haaaaddd you not coooome"-her voice had grown stronger, her sorrow palpable-"they would still be aliiive." Her brood were becoming more animated. Sedef, the most overprotective of her sons, crept closer on all fours. His limbs were long and lanky, his thoughts dark, echoing the murderous look in his eyes. The others parted as he came. "You''re right to be angry," ,eda said, keeping one eye on Sedef, "but direct that anger against King Husamett''n, who has hidden the truth for four hundred years. Direct it against King Sukru, who summons you to Sharakhai. Direct it against King Kiral, who rules them all.
Not against me, nor my sisters, who have come to see you freed." ,eda could feel Mavr.