It blazed in the palace's inner courtyard, far from the celebration, far from the wine and laughter and Somadina's grasping hands.Chidinma watched the bundles of Mal-kai burn.She turned to see her father standing in the shadows, his face half-lit by the fire's glow.He looked old.Tired.But his eyes were sharp, and they fixed on her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
"The fire is lit," he said.“There’s no going back.”
"Yes."
"You've done well."
Chidinma said nothing.She had not done this for him.
Chukwuemeka stepped closer, his voice dropping."When this is over—when the city falls and the Valthorne are dealt with—you'll have your place and take the power we’ve always deserved."
In the firelight, her face was unreadable.
She found it hilarious, how he thought they were scheming against Somadina together.
Azul's eyes opened to darkness.
For a moment, she didn't know where she was.That was until she remembered the sedative she was forced to inhale.She glanced around; she was in a bed, a large, soft, comfortable bed.
She tried to move but found that she couldn't.The drug still held her.She could feel everything—the warmth of the furs, the ache in her limbs, the slow crawl of time—but she couldn’t move even a finger.
A door opened somewhere in the room and heavy footsteps approached her.
Altansarnai appeared at the edge of her vision, flushed with wine.He looked down at her—at the way she lay helpless on his bed—and a grin settled on his face.
His hand found her hair, stroking it.
"Don't worry," he murmured."I'll be gentle.For now."
His hand traced down her cheek.Her throat.The edge of her robe.
Move.She commanded herself.
Move.Move.Move!
His fingers found the tie at her shoulder and pulled.The fabric slipped, baring her skin to the candlelight.
"Beautiful," he breathed."No wonder the Khan became such a blubbering fool."
His hand moved lower.
Her fingers twitched.
Altansarnai didn't notice.
Her hand closed around something cold and sharp that had dislodged from her hair—her hairpin, the same one she had used to stay conscious, to mark her own skin, and to fight.
She gathered herself and waited for him to lean closer, let his guard drop, let his mouth find her throat—
Altansarnai stopped.
His eyes, wine-glazed but still sharp, caught the glint of metal between her fingers.The candlelight flickered across the hairpin's pointed end, and something in his expression shifted.
"What's this?"He reached down and plucked the pin from her unresisting fingers.The drug still held her; she could not fight the theft.He turned it over in his palm, studying the delicate craftsmanship and the sharpened tip."A woman who comes to a general's bed prepared for war."His grin widened."I like you more and more."
Azul's jaw tightened.The drug was fading, but slowly—too slowly.She could move her fingers now, barely.Her toes.Not enough.
Altansarnai settled back against the cushions, still holding her hairpin, apparently in no hurry.He looked at her with the lazy interest of a cat watching a mouse that had briefly amused him.
