Ounyal’am was deeply troubled that religion should even be an issue, as he believed it had no place in government. A’Yamin—and his father—looked to the ancient ways of the “old gods.” In a forgotten time, one of those was said to have sought dominion over the world. The emperor and his counselor believed that time would come again.
They pined and planned for it and would seek favor and power through it.
Ounyal’am did not believe in any deities, though he kept this also to himself.
He barely tolerated the priests who the counselor allowed at court in favor of even the ones who served the newer gods. A theocracy in serving any gods, new or long forgotten and dead, was abhorrent. He had felt so since youth and the day of blood on his shoes, but before that time, the old religion had seemed little more than a dark fantasy.
Then Ounyal’am had met Domin Ghassan il’Sänke.
Somehow the dark-robed domin had entered this very garden to wait for him. Somehow, it happened on one of the rare days he wanted desperately to be alone and had forced Nazhif and the bodyguards to give him some peace in privacy. At first, he had not known all that this sudden appearance had meant or what—rather than who—the domin truly was.
Other secrets—other confidants among a sect of metaologers—had come much later. Perhaps the domin had taken those years to be certain that a young prince was worthy of such trust.
Ghassan il’Sänke expressed concern about “old and potent ones” who had brought about the downfall of the nations before a unifying empire had risen from such ruin. That lost era, for the few who knew of it by scattered legends, was often called the “burning time.” The domin and his sect feared that such a time was coming once more, but a young prince had been able to do little so long as his father lived. In his youth, he had quietly attempted to hamper efforts by any faction to turn back the empire to an ill-fated past. Thankfully, even in his naïveté, he had somehow not bungled into affairs he did not understand.
Later, under the domin’s tutelage, he came to understand a great deal.
Counselor a’Yamin was no fool.
Over the years, a not so young prince of the empire had fewer and fewer allies. There were always reasons for such people to disappear: other duties, a mission ... a fateful mishap. And now all that was left to him were a small contingent of private guards and an outcast domin of an exposed and eradicated sect.
“Are you ... unwell, Highness?”
In a sudden flinch, he glanced down and found A’ish’ah watching him. At that, she too flinched, which caused him to feel more guilt. Perhaps his nervousness and hers shook words from her before he could speak.
“I am ... sorry ... about my father.” She swallowed. “I know what this looks to you, Highness, but he ... he forced me to come ... again.”
Ounyal’am came to a stop and stared at her.
“And I know ...” she whispered, even more quietly while staring down at the path, “I am ... not the one you want.”
All those at court “talked” but so rarely said anything, let alone the truth as they saw it. Truth was vulnerability or a weapon to keep hidden for a fatal strike. He was now stunned by how wrong—and right—she was in her openness.
“You have no wish to be empress, first or otherwise?” he asked, thinking she might shrink away even more at his own honesty. Her black hair shimmered like polished obsidian in sunlight sneaking through the branches above. She was so small and delicate standing there that he almost wished she would never answer ... never put him in a position to hurt her in the slightest way.
“I have no wish to insult you, Highness,” she whispered. “Not with false reasons for being here. Not ever ... my prince.”
He was struck mute amid a growing but complicated need to protect her. That had started in her first visit with her father. She had not spoken to him even once at that time, but he had watched her too much. Over all subsequent visits, she became the only one he wanted ...
Because of this, he would never marry her.
His father and a’Yamin had turned the court into a deep pit of vipers preying upon one another, and this would worsen for years to come after the emperor’s death. When Ounyal’am could no longer forestall taking a wife—and only one, if he could avoid others—it would be someone cold, ambitious, heartless ... and worthy of this court. One more viper cast into the pit—and it must be someone who deserved it.
He could never do this to A’ish’ah. Even if she were willing, he would not let her follow him into that pit.
A strange and sudden warmth grew upon his sternum beneath his shirt. He held back a sigh of frustration and turned down the path. In only a few steps, he spotted the aging but talented master gardener ahead, and with a pause he glanced back toward Nazhif.
“Remain here,” he instructed his guard. And then to A’ish’ah, more gently, “I will return in a moment.”
He hurried away before either could answer, as Nazhif never liked for his prince to step too far out of reach. With his back to them, and only halfway to the old gardener still shearing an herbal bed, Ounyal’am reached inside his shirt and gripped the copper medallion he always wore. As he had been taught, he formed a message clearly in his mind.
Not now, Ghassan. After sunset, I will find a way to be alone.
He released the medallion before any answer entered his thoughts, though he knew the domin would not contact him at midday unless it was important.
Ounyal’am needed at least one moment of peace with the woman who would remain his dream and nothing more.
After the domin left the hideaway for his errand, Osha stood in a patch of sunlight coming through the strange window. And that window was exactly like the false one he had seen in the outer corridor. To see the same view through this window made him question whether it was as false as the other one had been ... just before il’Sänke had opened the “door” into this hidden sanctuary.
But suddenly, he became sharply aware that—with the exception of Shade—he was finally alone with Wynn again.
The undead Chane lay still as death in the back sleeping chamber.
This was nothing new. That thing always fell dormant the instant the sun rose.
Osha had become accustomed to that, though not comfortable with it. On the voyage to this strange hot and dry land, it had bothered—no, disturbed—him that Wynn treated their upside-down routine as normal. For the entire journey down the coast, she had inverted her days and nights to be up while Chane was awake and then to sleep much of the days. If and when she was awake in daylight, she had remained on the busy deck while that thing was still dormant.
As Osha turned, he could not remember the last time the two of them had been alone together.
Wynn was crouched in the cushioned sitting area nearby, trying to unfasten her pack’s flap. Her wispy light brown hair was unbound, and she kept pushing it back. This morning, she had not yet donned her midnight blue short-robe and wore a loose, spare shirt over the top of her pants.
Shade pressed in against Wynn with a grumble, which usually meant the majay-hì wished to communicate something. Wynn lost her balance and, with an exasperated sigh, turned toward the dog.
“Yes, I know!” she said, and then stroked Shade’s head. “Just give me a moment.”
By way of answer, Shade tried to shove her nose under the pack’s buckled flap.
“Stop that!” Wynn pushed Shade’s head away. “We’ll find something to eat soon. You’re getting as bad as your father.”