Page 28
Sweat dripped down his spine, and Sinadim choked on the flames burning in his mind. Retching at the thought of Teliah, his last glimpse of a proud, impressive warrior one of tucked tail and downcast eyes.
The female that was to be his most prized possession knotted by his own blood. Bred by the Sultan, by the very male tasked to remake the world in the Karahmet image. If she wasn’t already pregnant, she would be by the time Sinadim was permitted to return to the Silver City.
Acid burned in his heart, and he staggered. Enough that Balkazar caught his elbow. Steadying him.
Sinadim barely noticed. His mind plagued with another thought. Something far more… insidious…
A whisper that, at first, was little more than a nuisance spoken in Veli’s disembodied voice.
“She will plead for you to save her… But her sons… they will never be yours…”
Panting, Sinadim collapsed. Braced on hands and knees, sweat dripping from his brow in this putrid humidity where it splattered on the tiles.
“Rusteem makes them beg before he ruins them… for the poison runs thickest in Karahmet blood, sweet prince…”
It was tradition.
That the females fought for position, for the right to court the most desirable males. Displaying their prowess in battle to prove they would breed sons worthy of one day challenging their fathers. That their daughters might rise through the ranks to claim husbands that would fill them with powerful babes the Nine themselves would bless as divine.
“To the desert,” Sinadim gasped, swallowing back a clotted lump of disgust. Praying that his wild revelations were fueled by wine and paranoia. Pretending himself immune to the ache of Veli’s second blade twisting deeper with every lurching beat of his heart. “I can’t take another instant of his fetid humidity.”
Somber, ignoring the prince’s moment of weakness, Balkazar made a sound at the back of his throat, and said, “At once, my prince. The Razie will escort you while I gather supplies for our hunt.”
Stealing into the night, Sinadim was silent as they moved. Consumed by vile thoughts, surrounded by the very best of his forces, he let his guard down while his mind drifted. Lost in that fucking reliquary, nine months before his birth.
To seek the Sultan’s permission once the sands had been wetted by first blood and last? It was honored tradition.
His mother had always told him so.
Cooing over Sinadim and his siblings as she regaled them with tales of her own victory in the sands that had made her a queen, for Samina herself had once gone to her knees before the Sultan. Forehead pressed to the tile, tail tucked. Eyes downcast. Kneeling as his father had begged permission to add her blood to the Karahmet line.
Samina had always bragged that Sinadim was descended of greatness…
… but only where his father couldn’t hear.
Gagging, Sinadim felt Veli’s ghostly blade spin behind his ribs.
And when he fell again, the Razie merely stepped into a defensive halo around him. Guarding their prince as he emptied himself of sour wine and repulsive revelations against the desert sands.
Puking himself sober.
Twisting, he flopped on his back and lay in the sands. Staring at the triplet moons, his arms spread wide. As if he might simply take wing and be lifted into the night. As if freedom was truly close enough to touch.
He stayed until the hiss of boots on sand disturbed him.
Because he knew.
He understood just how the Zaganos patriarch could mock him, even separated from his cock, even as bile gushed through his innards. Sinadim knew what Veli meant when he hinted at how deep the poison ran through Sinadim’s line…
… and why they all needed permission from the Sultan to take a wife.
For only Rusteem Karahmet knew how gnarled the branches of their family tree had grown…
9
They left before the moons reached their pinnacle. Before they were at their brightest. Watched by that triplet lunar gaze, they took to the desert. Cloaked in arid heat, the only sounds were the hissing whisper of their boots on the sand and the dry, desert wind.
Two days they traveled like this. Flying through the night, only to hunker down and sleep through the day. Sheltering from the worst of the afternoon heat inside a clutch of ultra-light tents that blended seamlessly with the sands.
