A Thousand and One Daggers - Chapter 1 - The King and the Storyteller

First section of the first chapter of my adult fantasy novel. This is told from two different perspectives. Here is Shaed's. Hope you enjoy. 

Chapter 1: The King and the Storyteller

Shaed

The Blue Palace glistened like a glass figurine in the swollen moon. Shaed imagined taking it into the palm of her hand and closing her fingers around it. If she succeeded tonight, it would be hers.

As the palanquin drew to a stop at the gates, Father touched her shoulder, drawing her attention away from the palace. She let the silk curtain fall and turned to him.

He watched her with a shrewd flicker in his dark eyes. Dressed for the celebration, he wore a green, long-sleeved pirahan under a kandys of black and silver brocade. His hair was wrapped in a black tulband with an onyx jewel glimmering in the center. A beard and mustache as black as night framed his lips.

He lay a hand on hers, and the yellow gem of his ring gleamed like the eye of a Basilisk. A gift from Jahandir Khatan himself, the mark of the Basili—the Shah’s inner circle. Only someone like Father could have finagled it—twenty years was a long time to feign a friendship.

“You must tread carefully,” he said to her. “One word out of place and…”

“I know, Father.” Shaed answered. One misstep and she’d meet a fate like Ana Ikana’s. It wasn’t the first warning he’d ever given her. He feared her failure more than he feared for her life. But his fear was unnecessary. She would conquer the creature—there was no other option.

In the dim light of the palanquin, Father’s lips curled up in a crescent of shadow. “I shouldn’t doubt you.” As one of the porters made his way to the doorside, he leaned close to her. “I can only bring you to the foot of Jahandir’s throne. The rest of the night shall fall to you.”

Shaed couldn’t hold back her own smile—the graveness of his words amused her. “And fall it shall.”

The chill of an autumn night poured into the palanquin when the porter drew open the door. Shaed gave him her hand and stepped out, pulling her silver velvet senel tighter around her shoulders. Moonlight glinted off her turquoise sea silk gown like a liquid mirror. She’d altered the fabric of the skirts to emulate ocean waves. Less a dress and more a sculpture, it was her own work of art, and she was sure it would garner the attention she needed.

Father escorted her across a vaulted arcade and into a central courtyard. The faint scent of jasmine incense and salt from the sea coated her tongue. The royal guards watched closely as they stopped at a pool in the center. Shaed and Father had already made their ablutions at the estate, but they were made to do them again. It was forbidden to step into the House of Khoza’s Chosen in an impure state.

Lavender saffron flowers drifted on the glassy surface and filled the air with their sweet fragrance. They dipped their hands in and performed the ritual wash—a quick swipe across the face and the forearms. Shaed was careful not to wash away any of the poppy dust she’d coated on the sleeves of her gown.

Drops of saffron-water fell on her tongue, raw and sweet. They patted themselves dry with silk handkerchiefs. Satisfied, the guards escorted them to the pishtaq, where the entryway was barreled in a vault of walls carved with hollows resembling that of a honeycomb. An arched doorway was banned with lustre tiles as blue as midnight, which were ribboned in exaggerated white calligraphy.

Shaed recognized the words from the Sacred Verses. It was a line from the Verse of the Basilisk—a verse meant to protect and preserve one’s image. She found herself whispering the words to Khoza the All Mighty as they crossed the threshold.

Her heart beat faster with every step, her breath stolen by the size and masterwork of the halls they turned through. Intricate, hand-embroidered rugs covered the floors. Enameled silver and gold vines webbed blue-tiled walls. She could see her own reflection in the mirrored ceilings where chandeliers hung like tapestries of crystalized tears.

Father had spent so much time here that he knew every hallway by memory. Whenever he came back to Lozwood, he’d bring her trinkets and jewels from the palace, promising that one day it would belong to her.

And now, here she was.

They were brought to a set of latticed double-doors that lead out to an interior courtyard. The servants took her senel and Father’s kandys. She straightened her shoulders as she smoothed out the front of her dress. This night was going to change her life forever.

“I’ve made no secret of being an ambitious man,” Father whispered to her as the guards dragged the doors apart. “Eyes linger on me every moment I breathe. But tonight, they will be on you.”

“Not to worry, Father. The center of attention is where I thrive.”

He chuckled in amusement. “Your beauty will carry you far, my love. Your confidence, even farther. But the Shah is a dangerous man. Remember that.”

With this, he extended a hand to her. She took it, and they crossed the threshold together.

Stars and firelight illuminated a lush garden. Flowers and incense perfumed the night. The moon was a glowing teardrop in a haze of silver-threaded clouds. Blue marbled paths had been polished to a near-blinding gleam. Red dahlias snaked around the arched pillars of the arcade and crowned the top of a fountain in the center of the courtyard. Languid notes of a strumming qanun danced with the sound of rushing water.

Father guided them through, greeting many of the guests. As soon as they came near the fountain, a man in an embroidered gold pirahan and a feathered black tulband approached. His bearded smile struck Shaed as cat-like.

“Prince Reza, you have returned.” He clapped Father’s shoulder, and Shaed caught the glimmer of the yellow jewel on his finger. Another Basili.

“Only gone four months!” he exclaimed. “You hardly left enough time for your presence to be missed!”

Father smiled with ease. “Indeed, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Except with regards to you, Prince Nasser. I don’t think his Majesty has ever endured a distance from your companionship.”

Nasser let out a laugh so throaty it was almost convincing. His tight gaze pulled away from Father and landed on Shaed, where it remained.

He paused, and then said, “Your daughter?”

She smiled and bestowed him with her hand. “Shaed.”

Prince Nasser grasped her palm and kissed the turquoise ring on her middle finger. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“An honor, Princess. Reza has kept you from the Blue Palace for so long.” His gaze glinted down the length of her before flicking back to Father. “Such beauty must be preserved for the presence of kings, it seems.”

Shaed’s blood cooled. She immediately pulled her hand back.

Father gave Nasser a tight-lipped smile. “Lozwood Province is a two month journey from the Capital. I didn’t see any reason for my girls to travel for so long before finishing their schooling.”

“Ah, of course. And where is your other daughter, the one born from your Brute wife? Dunyah.”

“Indisposed. The healer advised her not to travel,” Father said without batting an eye. “A shame, truly. She would have loved to see the Blue Palace.”

Shaed reigned in a laugh. Dunyah despised Nasibi gatherings, and Shaed didn’t blame her. Even if she wasn’t on her way out of the country, Shaed wouldn’t want her sister to endure the stares and the whispers.

“A shame. Well, I won’t let you tarry any longer. His Majesty awaits.” Nasser bowed. He gave Shaed another heavy look, and then reluctantly retreated to mingle with other guests.

“Big balls for a sycophant,” Shaed muttered when Nasser was out of earshot.

“Consider that a prelude to the rest of the night.” Father smirked. “Evade the snake tongues, dear—there are many.”

He took her by the elbow and led her away. As they walked along a rose-hedged path, Shaed scanned the guests for competition. She knew almost everyone here, with the exception of a few people she from Daari country. She spotted Sahrnia and Leyali, but she knew they wouldn’t try the Moon Dance. If they were afraid of ghost stories, they wouldn’t dare rival a venomous snake.

They walked up a set of grand steps on the other side of the courtyard. The Shah’s high guards flanked the stairs, clad in the green, scale-patterned silk of the royal house. Father greeted them with the familiarity of a friend, and they nodded respectfully in return.

At last, they reached the top of the steps. There, the Shah sat on a throne made of gold, flanked on either side by all twelve of his wives.

An elegant man with eyes the color of chestnut hearts, he wore a long qaba of ivory lampas. The fabric was embroidered in golden scale pattern and sashed at the waist with a bronze sal. A light beard shadowed his smooth, satin-brown skin. He was a man of forty years, youthful in the face and aged in the eyes. His crown was a white tulband at the center of which rested a diamond the size of an egg.

Shaed’s heart thudded in her chest. The image of herself wearing the tulband of the Shah flooded into her mind without invitation. She had no right to imagine herself on the throne. When she killed Jahandir, her Father would be Shah, and she would rule alongside him. This had always been the agreement.

And yet, she suddenly dreamed.

She smiled and tried to repress the image, turning toward Ullah the First, who sat beside Jahandir. A diamond taj rested on her dark hair and clipped a sheer red veil that fell down her back. Though pearls and gold bangles adorned her neck and wrists, her crimson gown was conservative, and she wore it well. Her presence was so commanding that Shaed hardly noticed the eleven others.

What she did notice was the ornate, domed cage that sat on a golden table between her and Jahandir. Within the bronze bars rested Jahandir’s pet snake—a bright green python, its head hidden in the rope-like pile of its body.

Shaed’s blood quickened. So this was Baen. Her rival for the evening.

As she and her Father sank to their knees, Ullah watched her with sharp speculation. Shaed drew her eyes from the snake and pinned them to the clawed feet of the throne.

“Majesty,” Father rumbled to Jahandir. “Please forgive the slight delay.”

“Reza.” Jahandir held out his hand. A garnet glimmered from his pointer. “Friend. You are far too penitent for one so loyal.”

Father took Jahandir’s hand and kissed the ring. Pleased, Jahandir smiled. And then he turned to Shaed.

A chill seized her heart in the moment his eyes rested on her. They were the eyes of a murderer, lifeless and dulled by the passing of decades. Holding his gaze gave her the sensation of being trapped inside of a tomb, but she did not break it. He offered his hand, and she pressed her lips to his ring. She suppressed the shiver that ran through her—his touch felt colder than his eyes.

“Princess Shaed.” Jahandir’s voice wrapped around her name like a slithering serpent. “I have long anticipated meeting you.”

“Majesty, I am humbled by your welcome. It is the honor of my life to be in the presence of Khoza’s Chosen.”

Jahandir gave her a listless smile. “A humble man, your father. Never once has he boasted of your beauty. Now, I see the reason.” His gaze roved to his first wife. “There are no words, are there, my love?”

Ullah’s eyes lanced through her like blades of obsidian. “One word comes rather sharply to mind: ambitious.”

Shaed deflected her piercing stare by bowing her head with respect. She was more than willing to pander to her and Jahandir—they’d both be dead soon.

“Majesty the First, you are just as shrewd has Father told me. I can’t deny your perception of me—I am the fruit of Adani blood, afterall.”

Father trumbled a short laugh. “Fruit of my blood indeed.”

Ullah did not retract her gaze. “I know what you want.”

Shaed slowly raised her head. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jahandir lean his head into a bejeweled fist, one finger resting against his temple. Amused, the phantom of a smile made the corner of his mouth twitch.

Ullah glanced at the bell-shaped cage, where Baen’s sinewy body began to writhe awake. She turned back to Shaed, measuring her from head to foot. “You wish to attempt the Moon Dance.”

Shaed did not blink. This was no secret. “Your words strike true once more, Majesty.”

“A dauntless endeavor for one so young.” Ullah tilted her head and raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing would give me greater honor than proving my loyalty to you, my lady and my liege.’

At this, Ullah’s eyes grew threateningly wide. “Rather certain of ourselves, are we?”

You’re a suspicious one, aren’t you, Ullah? But of course, she was right on the mark. Father had warned her about this. Shaed was careful to keep her face earnest.

“Of my devotion to Khoza’s Chosen, I am certain.” She drew away from Ullah’s eyes to meet Jahandir’s. “My only wish is to serve you and her Majesty the First, my liege. But I cannot say what the All Mighty Khoza has written for me. Only His divine eye can see into my heart. I am ready to accept whatever outcome He chooses. ”

A wave of silence met her bold declaration. Either she would finish the dance, or Baen would kill her.

She did not waver under the weight of Jahandir’s stare. The aged copper coins of his eyes betrayed nothing. Twelve streams of searing fire burned into her—the gazes of the Shahbanar. Even Father stared at her. And still she did not waver.

Other than Ana Ikana, these were the only twelve women in the last twenty years who had survived the Moon Dance. Shaed intended to join them or die.

After an infinity of silence, Jahandir looked to Father. “What do you make of this, Reza?”

Reza pressed his lips together. “I’m unsurprised, my liege. As she says, she is the fruit of my blood.”

Jahandir raised a brow. “You allow her to risk her life this way?”

“To hold her back would be to admit doubt. And I do not doubt her sincerity. If she succeeds, nothing would make me happier. If she fails, I shall retreat to the shadows of shame for the rest of my days.”

Jahandir looked between the two of them, his expression unreadable. Another pause had Shaed holding her breath. She didn’t dare give Ullah a second glance.

Abruptly, the Shah reached for a silver bell resting on the table beside Baen’s cage. He rang it once, and a servant swept up the stairs within seconds. He bent the knee one step below Shaed and Father.

“Tell the musician to change the music. Something to dance to,” Jahandir ordered.

Shaed looked at Father with surprise. Already? But she kept her face composed—Ullah was still watching her, her dark brows veiling her eyes.

“Majesty!” The servant boy rushed away to carry out orders.

Jahandir turned his attention back on Shaed and Father. “Your daughter knows how to talk, Reza. Let’s see if she knows how to move.” He looked at her expectantly. “Are you familiar with the dance of the Magi?”

Shaed’s smile came naturally. “Of course, Majesty. I learned when I was very little.”

“Then you will join me.” Jahandir rose to his feet and extended his hands. “Rise, friends.”

Shaed and Father stood. Jahandir took Ullah’s hand as she rose elegantly from her throne.

“Reza, you will couple with Her Majesty the First,” Jahandir commanded, passing Ullah’s hand to Father.

Father took Ullah’s hand and kissed her emerald ring. “My honor, your Grace.”

Ullah hardly acknowledged Father—her gaze was still locked on Shaed. As Jahandir extended his hand to her, Shaed kept Ullah within her periphery.

Jahandir took Shaed’s hand and escorted her down the steps. His fingers were like cold reeds brushing her knuckles, and the softness of his grip surprised her. His lips, pink like the tongue of a serpent, curled upward.

“You have competition tonight,” he said as they descended. “Does that worry you?”

“I try not to measure my faith against others, Majesty. I look forward to the dance in itself.”

“Wise words for one so young,” Jahandir said. He sounded almost bored. “May the All Mighty Khoza rule in your favor.”

“Thank you, my liege.”

When they stepped onto the sprawling floor of the courtyard, the music quickened to a lively rhythm of qanun strings and jingling tambourines. The guests scattered to give them a wide berth, and the dance began.

Jahandir was as light on his feet as a gazelle. Following his sure and graceful lead, Shaed had no trouble recalling the steps to the dance. Despite his haunting gaze, having him touch her didn’t feel terrible. His hands, once she got used to the chill, were soft and small, his fingers light and nimble. As their bodies came together and apart, she found herself wondering what it would be like to sleep with him. If she didn’t look too deeply into his eyes, it wouldn’t be that bad. She might even enjoy it.

They strutted and bent and whirled together, joined on the floor by Ullah and Father. Soon, the rest of Jahandir’s Shahbanar joined them one by one, descending with the men of the Basili, followed by the guests. In minutes, the courtyard turned to a kaleidoscope of swirling color under the light of the full moon.

Jahandir looked intently at Shaed as they whirled into a bow, facing each other with one hand held over their hearts. “In all truth, Princess, the name Shaed is unique to me. Where does it come from?”

Straightening, Shaed held her forearm upright and pressed her palm to Jahandir’s. They rotated like the shadow of a sun clock, holding each other’s eyes.

“My mother and father drew inspiration from an old myth,” she told him. “A tale told in the times before Maymun the Beloved revealed the Path of Mahmadism. Have you heard of the Andazian King and the Storyteller?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t.”

They spun on the tips of their toes and met again with one palm raised to the other. Shaed half-smiled. “In olden times, there was a powerful king named Shahryar, who ruled over the land now known as the Empire of Maymun. One day, Shahryar discovered that his wife had committed infidelity with one of his servants.”

Locked under Jahandir’s plagued gaze, Shaed’s smile slowly faded. As the dance called on them to stop and face each other for a breath, she gauged the temperature of his reaction. Though his jaw tightened, he simply waited.

“In the anguish of her betrayal,” she went on. “Shahryar killed her and the man she lie with. Grieving and angry, he decided that all women were deceitful. And so he began to marry a new woman each night only to have her killed at dawn before she could dishonor him.”

Jahandir’s silence was a gale riddled with ice needles. He narrowed his eyes, and her blood froze over. She should have considered the obvious parallels in the story before she began to tell it. But she couldn’t stop now. He waited for her to continue.

“A number of years passed, and this cycle of vengeance continued. Shahryar slaughtered at least a thousand women,” she continued. “In fear, people began to flee Andazia to protect their sisters and their daughters. Even as the number of women dwindled, the slaughterings continued.

“One day, the daughter of Shahryar’s closest companion offered herself as the next bride. Her name was Shahrazad, and she had a plan to put a stop to the killings. On the night of their wedding, she spun a tale so riveting that it kept Shahryar up all night, but she did not end it. Curious to hear the conclusion of the story, Shahryar postponed killing her.

“But the next night, as soon as Shahrazad completed the tale, she began another one. Shahryar, eager to listen to the ending of that story as well, refrained from her killing again. This went on for at least a thousand nights.

“The years went on, and Shahrazad wove a new tale each night. And then—”

Jahandir raised a brow expectantly as they pirouetted around each other. “Well?”

“This is where the narrative splits into two versions, I’m afraid,” she told him, gliding to the fast-paced notes of the qanun. “The common myth says that Shahryar grew to love and trust Shahrazad and the killings stopped at last. That she bore him many children and they lived happily for the rest of their days. But some say—”

Jahandir’s eyes cut into her. “Some say what?”

The song was drawing to an end. Shaed’s breath came quick as they dipped into the last bow, hand over heart, his face just inches away from her.

She did not avert her eyes from his cold red gaze. “Some say she killed him.”

The conclusion of her story hung between them like a long-forgotten corpse. Jahandir peered back at her, a man struggling to solve a complex puzzle. For a moment, Shaed could have sworn she glimpsed the face of Ana Ikana drowning in the black pools of his pupils.

Still watching her, Jahandir rose from the bow, and Shaed followed suit. She could not read Jahandir’s face. In the wake of the music, she could hear nothing but the steady beating of her heart, waiting for him to say something.

At last, he smirked, but his eyes remained guarded. “Your own tongue weaves power. That is not a tale I’m likely to forget, Shahrazad.”

The music faded out, and the dancers whirled to a stop. Shaed extended her hands and bowed one last time. Jahandir reciprocated.

“A word of warning: Baen is not as cooperative a dancer as I,” he told her with a glint in his eye. “I look forward to your performance. For now, please enjoy the refreshments.”

He glided away from Shaed to talk to Ullah and Father, both of whom she’d felt watching her throughout the dance. As she considered Jahandir’s last words, she wondered whether it was really a warning, or a threat.