"Your father?"Borji asked.
"Dead."
“I’m sorry.”
He wasn’t sorry for the dead man, but he was sorry the prince had to be the one to end his own father.The prince moved to stand beside him, leaning against the balcony railing.
"I'm grateful your sister sent you."
Borji's lips pursed.He hated how gullible he'd been, how much she had planned for him.Truly, if not for Azul, he would've died because of Chukwuemeka's schemes that night.But upon Chukwuemeka leaving, the General had let him go, knowing he would recover, knowing he was a Djinn.Her schemes ran deeper than he could comprehend, her mind faster than he could keep up with.From the very start, they had never been equals.
He was unworthy.His heart was like a stone sinking through his body into a void.Deeply unworthy.
"I didn't expect a Djinn."The prince's voice was dry, almost amused."But I suppose I should have."
“What did she tell you?”Borji asked quietly.“In the letter.”
The prince laughed, the recollection amusing him as the day he read it.
“She asked me, do you want to be king?”
He turned to look at Borji, and the Djinn’s eyes seemed to pierce through the man’s very soul.“What did you reply?”
“Of course, I said yes.Whether or not it was a trap, I was already a walking corpse in this place.”He raised a hand to his lips, contemplating."I should ask for her hand."
Borji raised a brow.“Do you want to die?”
The prince laughed nervously.“Why?Will she kill me?”
"You'd have to get in line," he said."The Great Khan of the Valthorne has already staked his claim."
"The Great Khan."The prince's eyebrows rose."The one they call the Punishment of Ukhel?"
"The same."
The prince's expression sobered."Then we shouldn’t linger here; we have to prepare for your ascension."
Chapter 31
Thenightwasmadefor monsters, and Nyraxa Varkesh had always counted herself among their number.
She moved through the darkness like mist, her dark clothing rendering her all but invisible against the moonless sky.Behind her, strung out in a line that would be undetectable to anyone not trained to see it, her girls followed—Zara, Yelena, and little Amara with her braids tied tight and her knife already warm in her hand.
Orda Naiman's camp sprawled before them, ten thousand men dreaming of conquest while death crept through their shadows.
Nyraxa's lips curved.
The mission was simple: steal a scout.Preferably more than one.Figure out when they planned to move, what they knew about the Borjigin defences, and most importantly—to confirm who their informant in the palace really was.The viper who signed her letters with a serpent's mark.
Obiageli, Chidinma, or Azul?
She signalled to her girls—three fingers raised, then two, then one—and they melted into the camp like water into sand.
The scout tents were on the eastern perimeter, close enough to the picket lines to hear the horses, far enough from the command centre to be lightly guarded.Orda's men were confident—too confident.They had the numbers and they had the experience, not to mention the traitor in the enemy palace feeding them information like grain to fattened geese.
But they did not have Nyraxa Varkesh.
She found her first target outside the latrine trench, fumbling with his trousers, alone and unsuspecting.He never saw her coming.One moment he was relieving himself against a tree; the next, he was on his knees with a blade at his throat and a hand over his mouth.
