Crystal Doors #3: Sky Realm (No. 3) by Kevin J. Anderson, Rebecca Moesta

and, although it was still dark in the drifting city, she was instantly alert. “What’s wrong? Is he hurt?” Automatically following the Vizier’s lead, she kept her voice low as she threw off the silken coverlet on her cloud-soft bed.
    “Not hurt,” Jabir said. “Merely in need of a friend. His father has taken a turn for the worse.” He turned to glide out of the room. “I will wait for you in the corridor.”
    Having lost both of her own parents, Gwen understood all too well why Sharif would need her support right now. She quickly pulled on a pair of sheer pantaloons and a flowing, gauzy blouse over the brevi-like garment she had worn to sleep in. Careful not to disturb Vic or Lyssandra, whose beds were separated from hers by lightweight silk curtains, Gwen padded barefoot to the door of their chambers where Tiaret stood, walking stick in hand.
    “I heard the Vizier enter and could not sleep,” the other girl explained to Gwen. “I will remain here and keep watch.” Overhead, a lazy fan stirred the warm air in the room. “I perceive no immediate danger.”
    Gwen, feeling reassured to know that her friend was not alarmed by the early morning comings and goings, followed the Vizier down several breezy passageways to the Sultan’s chambers. Inside, past the ornate hangings, Sharif sat at his father’s bedside, his face etched with worry. An old serving woman dipped a cloth into a basin of water, wrung it out, and placed it on the Sultan’s forehead.
    The Sultan’s breathing was labored, and perspiration shone on his skin in the light of the oil lamps that lit the room with their soft glow. Sharif’s olive eyes were welcoming and grateful when he looked up at Gwen’s arrival. He motioned toward something his father held in his hands: the bejeweled flute she had seen tied to the Sultan’s sash on several occasions. “He won’t let go of it,” Sharif murmured. “For some reason, it seems to comfort him, although he does not have the strength to play it.”
    At this, the Sultan roused slightly, waved the ornate flute and pointed to Jabir, who stood just behind them.
    “As you wish, Your Majesty.” The Vizier took a vial from the polished marble table near the Sultan’s bed and poured a few drops of potion onto the ruler’s lips. “There is not much left. In one of their raids, the terodax destroyed theingredients I had collected for another batch. You have three, perhaps four, doses — enough to last a few weeks at most.” Jabir sighed. “Each time, your father waits longer and longer before taking the potion. Twice he has almost died because he did not wish to waste one moment as leader.”
    The potion seemed to have an almost immediate effect on the dying man. Color seeped back into the Sultan’s cheeks. His eyes flickered open and focused on Sharif and Jabir.
    “Thank you, my friend,” the Sultan said to the Vizier. “I understand that there are limits even to what such a powerful wizard as you can do against this poison.” His gaze lowered to Sharif. “Your time to lead may come sooner than expected, my son. You have much left to learn. If only Hashim were still here. He always knew how to comfort me.” He shook his head sadly. “You have great responsibility, my son, but for now I must speak in private with my Vizier.”
    Gwen could see the pain on Sharif’s face when his father spoke about his murdered son. After she and Sharif waded back through the colorful cloth hangings to the antechamber, Gwen nibbled at the edge of her lower lip and asked a question that had been plaguing her for the past few days. “Are you certain you can trust him? Jabir, I mean. He’s not setting off any of my alarm bells, but you said that years ago Azric disguised himself and managed to weasel his way into your father’s confidence. How can you be sure that Jabir is trustworthy?”
    “He has proved himself often over the past several years. Jabir never set out to find wealth and power. Most of the