Page 27

“You know,” Balkazar murmured, folding his hands before him, “you don’t have to do this at all. You can simply name a regent of Tengit and⁠—”

“No.” The prince shook away the nerves. “No half measures. Tengit must fly the Karahmet colors. Her citizens claimed for the sultanate.”

Nodding, Balkazar’s chin dipped. And, once more donning the cloak of trusted servant, Balkazar pressed his hand to his heart and held the door for his prince.

Tengit was a badly organized mess of intersecting streets and alleys, but the trip to the city square was a short one. Her citizens gathered as witness, their faces uplifted not in fear, but in hope.

A pyre built and ready to light, they waited for a glimpse of their new ruler.

Their conqueror.

Liberator.

Sinadim stepped into the masses. Fearless to stand among them. Eager to dismantle this last piece of the Zaganos rule, he stood for a moment before them. A part of them. Cloaked in sunlight, his mane a bristling halo of righteous, blond fury. Tail standing stiff as his new citizens reached to touch the Firstborn prince of the Karahmet line.

“Yesterday,” he began, letting his voice carry, “you were starving for opportunity that would never come. Desperate and desolate, trapped under the greedy thumb of an Alpha who locked himself away in the dark while this once-glorious city of yours fell in a day. Veli Zaganos did nothing. And now,” Sinadim crooned, spreading his arms wide, “now he is nothing. His name shall be stricken from the histories, his line culled before that poison can be allowed to spread. Exterminated. Today I claim you!” he shouted, and at his back, the flag bearing the Zaganos coat of arms was torn down. Replaced by Karahmet colors to a chorus of unfettered elation.

“Today,” he said again, grinning at the upturned faces staring back at him, “you are welcomed citizens of the Sultanate.”

They roared.

An ocean of sound and grinning faces, and when he flung the Zaganos colors into the masses, they used it to light the pyre.

For a moment, he was swallowed by the beat of the crowd. Enthralled by his sweeping victory, he basked in their attention.

And then, a chant was born from the lips of the legion.

“Long live Rusteem! Long live the Sultan!”

Bile splashed at the back of Sinadim’s throat. Nausea that saw his beaming smile freeze in place. Pinned to cheeks growing brittle with the effort to maintain the lie.

“Tap the casks,” he said, forcing the command through thin lips and clenched teeth. Watching when casks of wine were rolled into the city square—the best of Veli’s cellars emptied to celebrate a false victory.

One claimed not by him… but the Sultan.

He stayed until his cheeks ached. Knocking back too many flavorless goblets, stone-cold sober despite the Nine themselves howling for vengeance between his ears. In his heart.

Hours later, when he slipped into the shadows, it was without a sound. Refusing to vent this new petty rage, he took to the halls of this stolen palace, found Balkazar deep in his cups, and caught the war chief by the edge of his cloak.

“Gather the Razie,” Sinadim snapped, muscles shivering beneath overheated skin. “We leave by the light of the moons.”

Rather than argue, Balkazar’s icy blue eyes sparkled with the lust for carnage. “Varjim,” he murmured, and that was all. Not a question. Not a refusal.

Sinadim nodded anyway. “We go into the desert. Tonight.”

Falling into step when the prince spun on his heel, Balkazar finished his mug in a single gulp, tossed it carelessly behind him, and said, “And the Silver City? Shall we await their orders?”

“My orders are already given,” Sinadim snapped. “The bulk of my forces shall stay here and ensure Tengit remains under Karahmet rule, that she prospers while we cleanse every drop of Zaganos blood from this realm.”

Trembling with a fury he’d thought already quenched, Sinadim sailed through the halls with the winds of death hot on his tail.

He already knew what the Sultan would command him to do.

“You shall spend these months making amends with our Zaganos kin. By any means necessary…”

Snarling at phantoms, Sinadim lashed out and decapitated a statue as he raged.

“And in your absence, sweet Teliah’s womb shall be claimed for the Karahmet throne… such a good girl… so much to learn…”