Gifting Fire, Alina Boyden [books to read for self improvement .txt] 📗

“I don’t know,” I murmured, studying them carefully, watching the way they flew. They were too far away to really make out properly, but more and more I didn’t think they were any zahhaks I knew. “I don’t think that’s Padmini. I told Arjun to stay away until I sent for him. He wouldn’t just show up here, not without a very good reason.”

“Then maybe Mahisagar has fire zahhaks now,” Hina muttered, her face darkening.

I shook my head. “Where would they find them?”

“I don’t know, your highness,” she replied. “I only know what my eyes are showing me.”

As if to prove her right, a pair of acid zahhaks swooped down and joined the fire zahhaks in a single formation for a short time, the riders chatting with one another cheerfully, before they broke apart, orbiting Kadiro’s harbor in opposite directions. They were definitely patrolling together. However unlikely it may have been, Karim had gotten his hands on fire zahhaks.

I sighed, wondering just how many animals they had now. With twelve acid zahhaks, and at least two fire zahhaks, their numbers stood at fourteen. If I could convince Sikander to fight alongside me, which was no certain thing, then I’d have just six zahhaks with which to oppose Karim, maybe as many as twelve or fourteen if Arjun was very successful at recruiting his fellow Registani princes to his side. But fighting a battle with even odds wasn’t the cleverest of strategies, and I thought everyone would balk at the prospect. Zahhaks were rare and expensive and represented every kingdom’s wealth and prestige and power. To wager all that on a hijra was asking too much. I needed some way of tipping the balance of power in my favor, or there would be no battle, regardless of how many messages I sent.

Haider and Tamara might be able to help me, but I didn’t know how many zahhaks they would bring, or if I would be inviting disaster by asking for Safavian and Khevsurian assistance here. What if they just decided to take Zindh for themselves? I didn’t think Haider or Tamara would do that to me, not when we’d been such close friends as children, but Shah Ismail was a different matter. He was a man cut from the same cloth as my father. If he saw an opportunity to grow his empire, he wouldn’t care who it hurt.

“Razia, are you ready yet?” Karim called from just outside my chambers.

“I am, your highness,” I replied, forcing myself to smile as I said those words, because I knew that would help to disguise the dread in my voice. I glanced over at Hina, who gave me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, her hazel eyes betraying a sentiment that I could only describe as “better you than me.”

I hurried from my chambers, joining Karim in the hallway. He looked me over and nodded his approval, which annoyed me a little, as I certainly hadn’t asked for it, but I knew better than to make a scene. I was going to have to accept these patronizing gestures from him for the time being. I had learned patience as a courtesan, and though I’d been spoiled by Arjun ever since I’d met him, I hadn’t forgotten what it was like to put my desires aside in the moment in order to gain what I wanted long-term. That was the game I had to play with Karim, and it meant not antagonizing him or giving him any signs that I despised him. I didn’t have to look happy to see him, not yet—that would have made him suspicious—but I couldn’t look completely miserable either.

I settled on a cautious smile, as if I was hoping that I would meet his approval but was still worried and frightened nonetheless. It seemed to be the right note to strike, because it was met at once by a smirk on Karim’s part.

“You look very beautiful this morning,” he informed me as we walked toward the sandstone stairwell that led down to the gardens.

“Thank you, your highness,” I replied, bowing my head demurely.

I was fortunate that the gardens were relatively close by, so I didn’t have to make any more small talk with Karim before arriving at the pavilion where Ahmed Shah was taking his breakfast at the head of a large rectangular cloth. He was sitting cross-legged on a silk cushion, flanked by his wife, with spaces open beside them for Karim and myself. My sisters were already seated in their own places, along with a man I didn’t recognize. He looked vaguely like Karim, though he was somewhat darker skinned and stockier of build, and he wore a beard that was fuller, less carefully trimmed.

“Good morning, dear,” Asma said as I sat with Karim on our cushions beside hers.

“Good morning, mother-in-law,” I replied, keeping my eyes properly downcast, my hands folded neatly in my lap. I knew that she was watching my every move carefully, and I didn’t want to give her the least cause for complaint. I wasn’t sure how much power Asma held here, but I knew that the primary wife could often be the tyrant of the zenana in any royal family. She would have more cause to interact with me than any of the men. She would see more of my behavior than they would, and one word from her could curtail my freedoms in an instant.

“You look like a proper Nizami princess,” she observed, taking in my thunder zahhak jewelry, and my clothes, which shared those animals’ coloration. “We’ll have to have new clothes made for you now that you are to be wed to my Karim. I think it’s only fitting for a new bride to wear the clothing of her husband’s people, don’t you?”

I noted that she was wearing a turquoise chaniya choli, the blouse and skirt festooned with tiny green-tinted mirrors that served as the scales of embroidered acid zahhaks writhing their way across the surface of the fabric.