—Excerpt from a letter from Zimran Nazir to Mahira Nazir, contained in Mahira Nazir’s journal
Yaseema
When the fae male left me, I had a chance to peruse the room I’d been given. It was bigger than my entire cottage with Nani and Safiyya.
A bath stood in the center of the room and was already filled with steaming hot water. Alongside it sat a plate of food on a small table.
I rushed over to the food, not caring that I was still covered in the filth from the dungeon and gulped down water from a red crystal on the table. It had been hours since I’d eaten or drunk anything, and drinking the cool water felt like gulping air. Then I stuffed my face with the food on the plate—dates, flatbread, spicy cold chickpeas. Once I had eaten as much as I could I pressed my forehead to my hands, trying to still my heartbeat.
I still had access to the map and the book.
That was all that mattered.
Even though I didn’t have it in my hands, I knew where it was. I was the Viceroy’s prisoner, but at the very least I still had access to the relic. This was no different from working for the Citadel, I just needed to find a way out.
The stink of the prison filled my new room, and I looked down at myself—the general’s blood still crusted my clothes and skin, looking like streaks of red earth. My already wild hair was a cloud of curls behind me. I must have looked half crazed when the Viceroy made his deal with me.
When hishunting doghad made his assessment of me.
Peeling off my clothes took some effort, as the fabric was stiff and stained. I dipped my hands into the bath to test the water, and sighed happily.
I’d seen cook heat her cooking water often with a muttered word and a wave of her hand, much like the silver-haired fae had unlocked the door to my cell. I stepped into the bath, feeling the grime melt from my skin as I slid under the water, sinking beneath the surface until everything around me was muted and I could finally think.
My satchel, was still tucked away in my old room. They had removed everything from me when they’d arrested me, including my mother’s bangles. I wanted them back so badly I hadn’t realized that they’d almost felt like another limb until they’d been taken from me.
I wish I had the book and the map on me. Then I wouldn’t be beholden to a Viceroy who threatened to torture me if I didn’t agree, or a silver-haired peri who looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole.
If you ever try to escape, I will find you.
When all the air had left my lungs, I sat up from the water.
And let out a piercing scream at the face peering down at me.
An older woman stood over me, her dark hair streaked with gray and pinned back against her neck. Her ears had the telltale point of the peris, and her eyes had a catlike quality.
“Good. You’ve already found the bath. I heard you needed it.”
She poured some rose-smelling goop over my head before I could utter a response and I sat in the bath gaping at her. But when the lather turned the water pink with old blood, I was glad of the soap. Relief coursed through me at the general’s blood being washed away.
“Are you meant to be washing my hair right now?” I gritted out after a few minutes of her rinsing the soap out from my wild strands. It felt good to be clean, but I still had no idea who she was.
“I should hope so. We need to make you presentable.”
“For...?”
“For the Viceroy! You think you can just recline all day eating honeycomb in your room? You have work to do. And so do I if you want to look like you belong here.”
She pulled out a deep red frock with bell sleeves and matching trousers underneath, embroidered with tiny gold beads. It was undoubtedly expensive, but not ostentatious—a far cry from the beige kitchen smock I’d worn every day here and even from my brown canvas skirt and white blouse that had been my standard clothing at the Citadel.
I got out of the bath and she noted the color of the water with disgust, as if she imagined that my killing a man and then sitting in a stinking prison for a night meant I wouldn’t get a speck of dirt on me. But based on her immaculate appearance, it was likely that the filth from the prison wouldn’t touch her. She wrapped me in a large towel that was incredibly soft, and I curled into the fabric.
“I should probably know your name if you’re going to be helping me dress.”
She paused as she lifted the dress and huffed out a breath. “Gul,” she said, begrudgingly.
I smiled. She reminded me of my grandmother, gruff and efficient, but not unkind. “I’m Yaseema.”
“I know.” Her words were clipped. “You swindled your way into the kitchens and infiltrated the palace. And now the Viceroyfavorsyou.”
