Page 27 of The Stolen Throne
And I can’t even crow to Cain and Reven and Achlys about how I was right. Not without losing more ground.
The first familiar face my gaze picks out from among the crowd is the last one I want to see. Cain’s sister, Pella, stands apart.
A true Wanderer, her midnight hair hangs in a thick plait over one shoulder, contrasting with the oatmeal shade of her clothes. She’s the zariph’s only daughter, and he dotes on her like a proud papa should. Only, she’s not some pampered princess—she’s an incredible horsewoman, deadly with a bow and arrow and a staff, and she knows these deserts like the land is close family.
It doesn’t help that she’s also one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, which is saying something. Or she would be if she weren’t always snarling. I’m sad to say her father’s indulgence has turned her into, well, a bitch.
What Pella wants, Pella gets.
Usually, what Pella wants is me out of her brother’s life, never to return to their zariphate. Not this time, though. This time, she’s not the zariph’s daughter looking down on poor Meren from Enora. She’s the zariph’s daughter who must bow to Mereneith Evangeline XII, Princess and acting Queen of Aryd.
I’m looking directly at her when the zariph booms out, “Our long-lost daughter has returned!”
Mighty Cainis holds his hands high in the air in a gesture of celebration and welcome. Daughter? Really? A few months ago, when I was merely “Cain’s little friend” to this man, I probably would’ve fallen off my horse at that greeting. Who does he think he’s fooling? Before this, he pretty much pretended I didn’t exist.
Pella’s lips twist like she sucked on the bitterest of lemons. Years of dealing with her antagonism all pile up, and I can’t resist. Holding her gaze, I tip my head ever so slightly and smile. Yes, a smug one.
Her brows snap down so low over her dark eyes, she looks like she’s squinting, and that only makes my smile widen. Especially when I deliberately turn my gaze away, effectively dismissing her.
I aim my most dazzling royal smile at the zariph instead.
A mountain of a man, but so leanly muscled he reminds me of the half-starved coyotes that scrounge around near the rivers in Aryd—whip-smart, deceptively strong, and mean. Their leanness makes them meaner. Even after all these years, I haven’t made up my mind if the same is true of the zariph.
Here’s the tricky thing with this man—he is an Enfernae, and his power is subtle and important to be aware of. He can tell when someone is lying. Not omitting, but when their actual words are not true.
A tremor of apprehension chases its tail down my spine as my imagination brings up images of the fourth hell, where all the souls of liars are bound in eternal silence. I am a liar. I was born to be a liar. Hopefully that hell is not the fate awaiting me at the end of all this, but I’ve wondered ever since I was a little girl. I asked Omma once. She can see what level of the hells a soul will end up in, but she refused to tell me my fate.
Regardless, I’m going to have to be careful with what I say to this man if I have a chance of pulling this off.
“Mighty Cainis!” I greet him loudly so that those toward the back of the gathering can hear.
According to etiquette, I’m supposed to thank him for his hospitality and give a small bow of my head, the most a queen would do for a zariph…but I’m not a queen. And while, other than Cain, I wasn’t entirely welcomed warmly by this group of people, they were still my refuge from my life. My only source of happiness. They have also risked their own lives and changed their ways to protect Tabra, Reven, and the people of the Vanished who I sent to them.
I dismount in a smooth motion, dropping lightly to the ground. The tiny jewels sewn into my robes tinkle as I move toward him. Arguments fill my head. Words exchanged earlier with Cain and Reven and Achlys about the best way to approach this.
I ignore everything we agreed on.
“As the current ruling Queen of Aryd, I know the protocol,” I say, again loudly. “What I should say and do in this moment, but I owe you and your son and your people a great debt. I come to you only with the clothes on my back, our kingdom in the hands of a shared enemy, asking for your continued help and protection.”
Cain, standing slightly behind his father, is shaking his head no.
Too late to stop now. “There is nothing I can give to show my appreciation but this.” I drop to one knee before the zariph.
I can’t tell if the shocked gasp that travels through the crowd is good or bad. Queens don’t kneel to anyone.
The zariph’s head snaps back like I surprised him, only for him to smile again, even broader. The man isn’t a natural smiler, and the expression sits uneasily on his face.
A sensation moves through my scars across my belly, in the shadows that connect us. What I wouldn’t give to see Reven’s reaction.
“Finally!” the zariph says warmly. “A queen who intimately knows and appreciates the Wanderer peoples. A ruler we’ve been waiting for.”
Wait. What? Open arms is not what I expected.
“One we might call ‘domina.’”
My lips part on a silent gasp. For a Wanderer to call the ruler of Aryd that is true honor.
Then again, he said might.
