Scheherazade and the King Ch. 10

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Arossa's falcon arrived with the grey dawn on its wings. It circled overhead, screaming out its arrival so that its target could make herself known. A whistle sounded and the bird dove, swooping through the acrid smoke that mingled with the early morning fog. It came to rest on Kolete's outstretched arm with a gently rustling of feathers.

Yanamari followed her as she took it to a nearby perch, cooing at it softly and ruffling its down as if it were a kitten.

"What does it say?"

"Hold on, hold on," she said, scrounging around the tent for a piece of dried meat. "This little guy has had a long journey, he's starving. Aren't you? What a brave, little mezulari you are. Yes you are."

The furrows in Yanamari's brow softened and she could not keep a smile from curling her lips to see the hardened warrior fussing over her bird as if it were a pet.

Kolete released the parchment from its leg and unrolled the tiny scroll. The effect the message had was clear.

"It's them, isn't it?" Yanamari asked.

"Yes, Arossa says they are sailing to Areetan."

Yanamari breathed a sigh of relief. No matter how she might feel about seeing Shariyar again, the Persians would be their allies inside the palace. She could trust Shahzaman and Jafar at least.

"Printzesa," Kolete said softly.

"What? Is there something else?"

Kolete scanned the paper again and then shook her head: "No, that's all. She says Shahzaman and Jafar are there too. She will stay with them posed as a servant girl."

Yanamari nodded: "Good, we will need their help once we make it inside the castle."

Kolete watched as Yanamari ducked out of the tent and then unrolled the scroll again. There was one line she had not read aloud: Cas is alive.

Though she had not put words to her emotions, the way Yanamari had spoken about the soldier had made her feelings plain. Arossa had seen it too. But they could not afford for the printzesa to be distracted. Not now, when there was so much at stake.

Kolete crumpled the paper in her hands and set it alight at the nearest lantern, stomping the burned remains into the muddy ground before following on Yanamari's heel.

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After the sun set and the night watch came on deck, Cas finally quit his post at the helm and headed back to the cabin. He let the door swing closed behind him, already tugging his shirt off. Not bothering to light a lantern, he tossed the sweat-soaked garment to the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed, letting his head fall into his hands. He was exhausted, salt-covered and sun-burnt, and, though he was starving, he could not imagine eating anything. Every part of him ached, not just for what he had been through, but what he was missing. He groaned aloud in frustration and fell back on the bed.

That's when Shariyar's low voice came from the shadows: "You fucked her didn't you?"

Cas started and sat up, quickly finding Shariyar's glaring eyes in the moonlight streaming in through the cabin window.

"What the hell are you doing in here?"

"Did you fuck her?"

"Get out." Weariness and disgust competed in his tone.

"Answer me."

"You are not my king, Shariyar. I'm not bound to your orders."

"Yes you fucking are."

"Get out," he said again, slumping back onto the bed. "I'm too fucking tired to deal with your shit right now."

"You dare to speak to me that way?" The king growled, standing up.

Cas lifted his head and eyed the king almost idly: "If it's a fight you want, Shariyar, I'll give it to you. But I'll beat you as soundly as I did when you tried to take me on in the barracks twenty years ago."

"Answer the question, you piece of shit. I want to know if that slut whored herself out to every sailor on that ship or just you."

In a flash, Cas abandoned any trace of exhaustion. Before Shariyar could defend himself, Cas was before him, his hands gripping his collar.

"Don't you ever fucking speak about her that way again!"

Shariyar broke free from the soldier's grasp and launched a kick at his stomach, sending him reeling backwards. The next thing he knew, his forearm was against Cas' throat, pinning him against the cabin door.

"Who the fuck do you think you are? You're no one! Nothing! If that whore was stupid enough to let you inside her cunt then I hope Ekaitz tears her a new one!"

Cas roared in anger and threw Shariyar off of him, launching a fist at his face that instantly cracked the king's nose —

— Except none of it happened. As soon as the first question left Shariyar's mouth he regretted it and his anger faltered.

"No — I — I'm sorry, that's not what I meant."

"Well what did you fucking mean?" Cas glowered.

"I just want to know — did you..."

"Do what you did to her?" The soldier's jaw hardened. "No, I did not. I don't rape women, Shariyar."

He continued: "Though I suppose you treated her the way you believed you could."

"It's no excuse — had I treated her like a human being none of this would have happened. But I can't change what I did. I know I hurt her. I also saved her. For whatever it's worth I was trying to do the right thing in the end. But I made a mistake in taking Ekaitz at his word and now I might finally have done what I swore I would do the day I met her — killed her."

The cabin rocked in silence.

"If we make it through this, the first thing I will do is release her from her betrothal," Shariyar continued. "She is not mine. She never was."

Cas rested his forearms on his knees and looked at the king: "What do you want to get out of all of this?"

"Redemption, in a word," he said, surprising himself a little with his honesty towards the soldier. "I want to help an enslaved princess get her throne back. I want to get my brother and my best friend back. I want to get myself back. Though, I suppose, that's not possible considering all I have done."

"No," Cas murmured. "But you might find a better man in his place."

They sat in silence a while longer before Shariyar spoke again: "You don't hide your emotions well. I can see how you feel about her."

"It doesn't matter what I feel."

"Does she love you too?"

Cas looked at the ground.

"If, by some miracle, we do manage to pull this off, I don't expect anything from her. That's all you need to know."

Cas lay back down on the bed heavily and buried his head in his hands.

"I just hope she's alright," he murmured.

Had he been watching, Cas would have seen a solitary tear make its way down Shariyar's cheek. The king got up and made to leave the room but paused on the threshold.

"You're a good man, Cas. My brother was right."

And then, barely above a whisper: "She deserves a good man."

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The soldiers guarding the city ramparts watched as the caravan wound its way to the gates, growing nearer and nearer as the sun climbed into the sky. Something was amiss. They flexed gloved fingers around their bows and spears, waiting for the solitary figure leading the convoy to sharpen into focus.

She wore no armour. She carried no weapons. Her feet were bare and she was clothed in peasant garb. But the sleeves of her blouse had been cut off and her arms were covered in strange markings that seemed to glint in the morning sun.

Above her head, she held aloft a white flag of surrender. And, behind her, she dragged twelve, blood-stained helmets, their inky plumes now a dusty brown.

Trumpets sounded a warning. There was a flurry of activity as the guards, crowded over the stone parapets, resumed their posts and drew their bows, training gleaming arrowheads on the leader of the procession.

But the order to fire never came and, when the convoy reached the gates, they passed silently and sombrely into the city.

Yanamari knew where she was going. Her bare feet knew the way and she let them lead her along cobbled streets and stone stairs.

Along the way, the caravan swelled, bolstered by crowds from the city's keep who had heard the rumours from the outer-lands and knew at a glance there was only one person this barefoot flag-bearer could be. The hushed crowd followed the stolen princess until they reached the palace gates.

At least thirty guards stood before the gates, the sun sparking their steely armour.

"Stop there," the captain of the guard commanded, his hand on his sword. "State your name and your purpose."

"I am Yanamari, princess of Irlazken," she said, lifting her voice so that it would carry through the gathered crowds. "I was kidnapped by pirates, sold into slavery, and held prisoner by a king. And now I am come home."

The captain shifted uncomfortably: "I am under orders to arrest the traitor Yanamari on sight."

Angry mutters ran through the crowd behind her.

"I am no traitor," she said. "I have come in peace to speak with Ekaitz. Will he hear me?"

"I am the shield of the king."

Yanamari grimaced at the refrain and flung the bloody helmets to the ground between them. The clattering of metal against stone echoed through the courtyard as the empty armour rolled across the ground.

"I am the shield of the people," she said. "I will protect them against any cost. Will Ekaitz hear me?"

The captain ignored her: "By order of King Ekaitz, I place you under arrest."

Two soldiers swiftly broke formation to tear the white flag from her hand and lock iron chains around her wrists. The crowd began to boo and hiss as the guards hauled her towards the palace.

She wrenched at the hands holding her and flung a cry over her shoulder: "Revenge! Justice!"

And, as the doors were barricaded behind them, she heard all hell broke loose.

"Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen!"

The guards tied a gag across her mouth and shrouded her face with a sackcloth before leading her through the palace. She could feel the sun-warmed cobblestones give way to cool flagstones, and then to cold, slick marble. They passed through door after door until she could no longer hear the shouts of the mob outside.

The hands at her arms pulled her to an abrupt stop and a knock sounded up ahead. A muffled word, and then the creaking of heavy wood.

She was yanked roughly inside the room and marched several paces before being thrown to her knees. She felt her legs sink into something soft, like fur. The guards now gripped her shoulders, pinning her down as the doors closed with a thud behind them.

"Where did you find her?"

The low voice that rumbled from above could only belong to King Ekaitz.

"She surrendered, sire," came a voice from beside her.

The king chuckled: "Surrendered? Well, that makes our lives easier, doesn't it?"

The pause after the king's question lasted just a second too long.

"There — there is a mob outside the palace gates. They are demanding justice."

"And we shall give it to them," he said, the smugness in his voice audible. "She will be hanged within the week."

Another beat of uncomfortable silence followed.

"No, sire, they are demanding justice for her. They are chanting 'Long live the Queen'."

Beneath the hood, Yanamari's lips twitched in another dark smile.

The king growled, his tone low with impatience: "Then what are you still doing here? Get back out there and quash this insubordination. Immediately."

"Aye, sir."

"And, captain, if you fail, I shall see you hanged instead. Understood?"

A grim silence filled the room for a moment before the soldier replied: "Aye, sir."

"Get out."

"Yes, your highness."

The guards' hands left Yanamari's shoulders and she heard their footsteps retreat behind her. There was silence as the door swung closed and then another set moved towards her with slow, deliberate steps.

Suddenly, the dark cloth bag was pulled from her head. Yanamari's eyes blinked open at the sudden rush of light that greeted her. Her narrowed eyes darted around the room, anxiously taking in her surroundings.

The room was filled with light that came streaming in through a wall of blue glass. Indeed, everything that was not dark wood or golden sandstone or white fur was blue. Dark blue pennants decorated the columns — three dolphins on each one. Standing above her, bathed in blue light, was the king himself. She could tell instantly that he was older than he first appeared: his stoic face betrayed few wrinkles and his sandy hair disguised the flecks of grey and white that peppered it. His broad jaw was covered in a layer of rugged scruff and he was dressed in thick, indigo fabrics and tanned hides.

"Do you know who I am?" The king asked.

She was still for a moment and then gave a short nod.

"Very good," he said, a thin smile on his lips. "Do you know what I intend to do with you?"

The girl was still.

The king stooped down to crouch in front of her and reached around to untie the gag. She steeled herself as he brushed his face against her hair, his breath hot against the back of her neck.

He sat back on his heels, his steely blue eyes glinting like lightning over the sea: "Tell me your name."

"I have gone by several names in my lifetime."

"Don't test my patience, girl. You know which name interests me."

"Yanamari."

"Is that who you are?"

"I don't know."

"Ah, yes, I heard you had a bit of memory loss," he said, idly toying with the strip of fabric in his hands.

He lifted his stormy eyes: "Zigor must have hurt you worse than I thought."

The tone of his voice pricked the hairs on the back of her neck. There was no concern in his words.

"What did he do to you?"

The girl set her jaw and refused to speak.

"I warned you not to test my patience," he said. "Tell me what he did to you."

"Or what?" She snapped defiantly. "I have endured almost every cruelty imaginable in my lifetime. You don't scare me, Ekaitz."

The king smirked: "Is that so?"

"Ekaitz batek du oraindik me konkistatzen," she said, the spark in her eyes mocking. A storm has yet to conquer me.

The smile on Ekaitz's lips faded and he rose to his feet, turning his back on her to resume his position on the throne.

"Let's review, shall we? I have a rebel prisoner at my feet who bears a striking resemblance to the lost printzesa. She has no memories of her past but even she seems to think she could be the rightful heir to the Irlazken throne. And so, the only legitimate threat to my rule that remains, is bound at my feet and entirely at my mercy. I would watch your tone if you want to see out the week."

"The people will demand a trial," She growled.

"And, what, you think I can't rig a jury in my favour? No, printzesa, you will hang."

"I have seen how you rule this kingdom, Ekaitz. My people will not stand for your tyranny much longer."

"Your people?" He asked mockingly.

"My people," she repeated firmly.

"Once upon a time, you might have been a printzesa," the king said. "But, now, you have no throne, no crown, no riches. Those belong to me."

"You sit upon a stolen throne, you wear a stolen crown, and the riches you fritter away rightly belong to the Irlazken people."

Ekaitz leaned forward menacingly: "You don't know when to shut up, do you?"

"You are not the first man to try to silence me. You'll pardon me if I am not overly concerned."

"You should be."

"It doesn't matter what you do to me, Ekaitz. I am still the rightful ruler of this kingdom."

"Mark my words: You will never sit upon this throne."

"And you mark mine: You had better enjoy that throne while you can. Because it will be taken away from you. Soon."

He sat up sharply: "By who? You? The rabble of peasants who followed you here? They are sheep. Easily bought or beaten into submission. They will not turn against me."

"They will. The facade is wearing away, Ekaitz — or whatever it is that your real name is. Even in the short time that I have been here, I have seen enough to know exactly what kind of man you are."

He rose to his feet and walked to stand before her: "And what kind of man is that?"

Yanamari fairly spat her answer: "A coward."

Ekaitz suddenly swung a kick at her. Although she steeled herself for the blow, the force of his boot knocked her to the ground. He kicked her again, his foot meeting with her ribs. She cried out in pain and clenched her eyes tightly shut, trying to firm her muscles against his next assault.

"Say it again," he snarled, circling her.

"Coward!" She cried, propping herself up on her elbow to glare over her shoulder at him.

"You are a fucking fool," he growled.

She rolled onto her back and pushed herself away with the soles of her feet. In a couple strides, however, he was over her again. He stood above her, his feet on each side of her body.

Yanamari glared up at him defiantly: "Do your worst, Ekaitz."

"I promise you, little printzesa, I will."

"Ekaitz batek du oraindik me konkistatzen," she repeated.

He reached down with both hands and pulled her to her feet by the collar of her shirt. He held her close, watching with satisfaction as she tried to pull herself from his grasp.

"You've got spirit," he said, looking her up and down. "I will give you that."

"You killed my family," she hissed.

"Yes, I did," he murmured, his teeth bared in a menacing smile. "Will you send them my regards when you join them?"

With a furious cry, Yanamari thrust the top of her head violently into Ekaitz's smirking face. He reeled backwards, blood spurting from his nose.

Now it was Yanamari's turn to launch a kick at the king, and she aimed her foot squarely at his groin. He fell backwards with a howl of pain and she swung another kick at his face. She heard his nose snap this time and she stepped backwards, pausing her attack to revel in the sight of the king crumpled on the floor.

"Nothing but a fucking coward!" She snarled.

She moved to kick him again but he was ready this time and caught her foot, pulling her down to the floor.

"You stupid bitch," he muttered under his breath, pulling her struggling body towards him so that he could straddle her. His powerful legs pinned her arms in place at her sides.

While she twisted beneath him, he shoved the broken piece of cartilage back into place with a sharp crack, blood dripping down onto her chest.

He looked down at her and laughed, wiping his bloodstained palms against his tunic.

"You are shaping up to be a lot more trouble than you are worth," he said, blood still dripping down his face.

Her lips curved in a thin smile.

"But, before I make up my mind, I want to see exactly what you're made of."