his eyes from the designs written upon his brotherâs flesh.
âIâm marked,â said Beyon. âIt began soon after I took the throne. At first I could hide the shapes âthey were small enoughâbut of late, I go to my wives only in total darkness. My body-slavesâ¦â His eyes focused elsewhere for a moment. âI was forced to have them killed. Now I let no one into my rooms.â
âAre you dying?â Something lurked in the pattern: a threat, the language unknown but the tone clear enough.
âI donât think soâmaybe.â Beyon rubbed his chin. âYou are my heir, should I be.â
âSo youâreââ Sarminâs lips trembled around the word. He forced his eyes to the emperorâs face.
âA Carrier? Not that I can tell. Everything I do is of my own will.â Beyon buttoned his tunic.
Sarmin half-opened his mouth to protest as the pattern vanished behind silk. He forced himself to silence.
Beyon flicked his hair out of the way. âThe dreams scare me. In them I do things not of my choosing.â He looked at the stone window. âIn my dreams, my body is not my ownâbut I can run away from the dream if I wish. I ran away when my dream made me threaten the vizier.â
âThe vizier?â Sarmin remembered the vizierâs words: The Carriers become bold, even attacking on palace grounds.
âItâs getting late. Theyâll be looking for me.â
âWho? Who will be looking for you?â Sarminâs throat seized with fear.
âSlaves, administrators, wives, dogs.â Beyon smiled. âThe denizens of the palace.â
Like Tuvaini. Sarmin again considered telling Beyon everything; to confess about his wife, the vizier, and his secret treasure under the pillow. No. I have sworn to my brother, but I wonât let the emperor take what is mine. Not yet.
The emperorâs commanding voice broke through his thoughts. âYou have sworn. You will be summoned when it is time for you to serve.â His brother was gone; the latch clicked.
Sarmin curled against the carpet until full dark, letting Ink and Paper step around him as they came to light his lanterns. Someone placed a tray of food beside his head. He smelled something new: the sour aroma of wine. Beyonâs favor, or Tuvainiâs, or perhaps his motherâs. Whoever sent it did not expect him to wonder. He laughed to himself against the purple threads.
âPrince Sarmin of the Petal Court,â he whispered to himself. âVizier Sarmin.â He thought another moment. âEmperor Sarmin.â
Nobody answered.
He didnât know when Beyon would be back. How long would it take? Longer than a ride from the Felt? Longer than Tuvainiâs trips through the secret passageways? Longer than the reach of their motherâs arms?
Sarmin stood and pulled his knife from beneath his pillow. I will not betray you, brother.
He turned his desk upside down and hunched over it, intent. With fevered concentration he began to work. The point of the dacarba scored the wood time and again as he recreated the pattern: crescent moon, underscore, diamond within diamond, crescent moon, overscore. He missed no detail. Breath escaped him in slow rasps. Thereâs a secret here, for those with eyes to see.
Chapter Ten
E yul woke with a start. The last of the sunâs heat sank through the cloth of his tent.
Something is wrong. He knew it, blood to bone. Sometimes it was like that. He knew better than to startle into action. He lay at rest, straining his senses, reaching for the wrongness. The sand between his fingers felt warm and gritty. Wrong. He sat up and moved to the tent flap. Veins ran across the dune, faint but visible in the low light of the setting sun: lines in the sand, raised little more than the thickness of a coin, no wider than his hand. Hundreds of them were stretching out in geometric profusion, crossing, intersecting,
Kathi Mills-Macias
Echoes in the Mist
Annette Blair
J. L. White
Stephen Maher
Bill O’Reilly
Keith Donohue
James Axler
Liz Lee
Usman Ijaz