The Sultan and the Storyteller by Lichelle Slater

Twelve

During breakfast the next day, Gerard said, “I’m sorry to have to leave so soon after arriving, but we will set sail late this afternoon.” He was looking at me.

“Why so soon?” I asked. “You only just arrived and we haven’t even had a chance to show you Zunbar.”

“We didn’t have plans to stay long in the first place.”

“Or an invitation to,” Zayne added. “Especially now the mirror is destroyed. We wanted them to teach us how to use it.”

I licked jam from my thumb. “So, because he ruined the mirror, you’re sending them both back?”

Gerard shook his head. “No, we received a summons to return home. More things disrupting at home.”

Ismae shrugged. “That just means you’ll have to come visit us next!”

I smiled at her. “At least let me show you the library before you go.”

Ismae’s entire face lit up and she looked at Zayne. “Oh, may I please see your library?”

“You are two of a kind.” Zayne smiled and looked from Ismae to me. “Enjoy your time with each other. I’ll spend some time with Gerard. I’ve got questions anyway.”

After breakfast, I took Ismae to the library. All morning I’d been pondering Zayne and the shadow. The shadow, whatever it was, was likely summoned and no tea or herbal remedy I concocted would send it away. As soon as I opened the doors to the library, Ismae brushed past me, her eyes wide, and she clutched her hands together as she turned in a circle, absorbing the beauty of the room.

“My goodness! This is positively . . . there are no words!” Ismae skipped around the room.

I recalled what Telama had told me about finding the right story, and there was no better place to look for a story than in a library.

Leaving Ismae, I found my way over to the small books on the bottom shelf and knelt to look through them one by one. My instincts had been right—they were well-loved children’s stories with hand-drawn pictures and words a little worn.

I could imagine Zayne as a child, lying on his stomach in front of the fireplace, kicking his feet in the air while his mother sat on the violet pillow and read to him. He sat with his chin in his hands, his black hair up in a bun hardly intact due to his rough play that day, and his eyes alight as he soaked up the words his mother spoke.

I blinked and the vision was gone.

When I opened the cover of the next book, it barely hung in place by a thread at the top. It used to be red, and the edges of the pages were dented and torn. It must have been Zayne’s favorite book.

Zainullahwas scrawled in child’s writing across the front page, and I couldn’t help but run my fingers across the dull ink. When I opened the pages, I scanned the fading words, but they blurred quickly and my head suddenly felt like it would explode as the book dragged me in.

I slammed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose, gasping a breath before letting it out through my nose as slowly as possible. My mother had taught me to do so whenever the books tried to take me.

However, I couldn’t free myself from this book’s grip.

My heart pounded and I opened my eyes.

But the room was different.

Children’s toys lay in front of the fireplace, the library door was wide open, and children’s laughter floated in to me with the rush of soft but quick footsteps. A young boy with wild black hair sprinted into the room with a little girl hot on his heels. She wore a dress, but held it up while she chased him around the couch.

“Ulley, give it back! Kiara isn’t going to be able to nap!” she shouted.

She was me when I was perhaps eight years of age. My hair was braided with a strand was wrapped in blue and purple beads. I still had those beads but had made them into the bracelet I now wore on my wrist.

Ulley, probably ten years old, stopped behind the couch and peered over it, a bright grin on his face. “Come and get it.”

My eyes narrowed in a glare and I put my fists on my hips—I saw my mother in myself in that moment. “Zainullah, just because you’re the prince doesn’t mean you can tease.”

“My father says you’re not even supposed to be out of your room,” he countered.

I scoffed. “Like that’s ever stopped us from playing, you wartdrake. But this isn’t a game! Kiara needs her tiger to nap. Please give it to me” I dropped my arms and jutted my bottom lip out, summoning tears in an instant.

Ulley rolled his eyes and threw the stuffed tiger at my feet. “Fine. I only wanted to play with you.”

I snatched up the tiger, my tears instantly gone, and I grinned at him. “Then let’s play a game called Sleeping Tiger. You pretend to be asleep, and I try to touch you, and if I can touch you before you open your eyes, I win.”

Ulley smirked. “That’s so easy.” He hopped over the back of the couch and laid his head on one of the pillows. “Oh, I’m such a sleepy tiger!”

Little me tip-toed away and out the door, leaving Ulley behind on the couch, unsuspecting that the game had been twisted in my favor.

When I blinked, I was back in the library, on my hands and knees gasping for breath. My chest ached. I looked over at the couch across from me, where the little boy had just been sleeping.

“Shahira, are you okay?” Ismae asked.

Ulley.

Zainullah.

Zayne.

Ulley, the boy who had saved Kiara from drowning, the boy I had known as a child, was the prince and now sultan of Sheblom. He was my husband.

“Do you need me to fetch Sultan Zayne for you?” Ismae touched my face.

“My father says you’re not even supposed to be out of your room.”Zayne’s voice echoed in my mind.

Our room.

Not our home in the city.

Standing up, I took the book with me and hugged it to my chest. “I’m fine,” I said, finally answering Ismae. “Just a vision. They happen to me sometimes.”

Ismae rested her hand on my back. “You’re certain you’re okay?”

I nodded.

I’d known Zayne as a child. I’d lived here in the palace as a child. Something was definitely amiss, and I was determined to discover what secrets had been hidden behind lies. Something told me my father had to be behind it all, even if Zayne trusted the vizier with his life.

“Was this vision a good thing?” Ismae asked.

I finally looked at Ismae when the tingling in my arms faded. “I knew Zayne when we were children. I lived here in the palace at the time.”

“And you’d forgotten?”

I nodded, feeling numb.

Ismae frowned. “Could it be possible someone made you forget?”

Initially, I shook my head, but then I stopped. My mind went to my father. “It is possible. My father . . . his staff could be more powerful than I first thought. But why would he make me forget my past?”

“Maybe there’s something he doesn’t want you to remember? Do you think Zayne recognizes you?”

“Not that way, I don’t think.” I looked down at the book in my hands. “I need your help finding a story that you think could help him. Something about shadows or wives or darkness being dispersed.”

“You sit on the couch and recover yourself for a few minutes.” Ismae immediately went to the shelves.

But I couldn’t just sit and watch her. Who knew how much time I had? I’d been lucky the last couple of nights, but I didn’t know how this shadow creature worked, and I had to find the story before it managed to get its claws into Zayne and control him again.

Unfortunately, the day passed quickly. Ismae and I couldn’t find a single book that even hinted at an answer.

It was Zayne who found us in the library. “Still in here? What are you looking for?” he asked, noticing a pile of books at my side.

I looked up from another book I was scanning before setting it on the second pile of books I’d already looked through.

“Do you have any books about creatures of darkness?” Ismae asked. “Gerard loves furthering his knowledge.”

Zayne studied me with pursed his lips as if wondering if I’d told his secret to a stranger. “I believe Vizier Khorshid would have those sorts of things in his study. But it is time for lunch, and then you will be leaving.”

Ismae heaved a sigh and closed her book. “I’m sad to leave so soon.”

“Are you certain they cannot stay? Not even one more day?” I asked Zayne, softening my eyes and pouting ever so slightly. The look had worked countless times on my mother, and back when we were kids. Perhaps the look would spark a memory of us?

He blinked at me. “I’m . . . sorry. No.”

I turned to Ismae and sighed. “Did you find a book or two you might want to take with you?”

Ismae brightened instantly. “Oh, yes!” She held up two books and hugged them to her chest. “If that’s okay.”

Before I could respond, Zayne said, “You may take them.”

I slipped Zayne’s childhood book into my pocket as I walked to him and wrapped my arms around his waist. “Thank you. I had a lot of fun looking through your books and spending time with Ismae.”

“Did you find anything about my . . .” He glanced at Ismae.

She took the hint and slipped out the door.

“Not yet. But I have a feeling it’s not herbs or poisons, as I first believed. I definitely believe it’s related to magic.”

He nodded. “What does that mean?”

“That means things are a little more complicated than I hoped.”

Zayne ran his fingers through his hair as disappointment wrinkled his forehead. “Let’s take our guests down to the docks. I spoke with Gerard. He agrees with you—he feels there is magic amiss.”

I was grateful I got to point out a few things in Zunbar as Zayne and I took Gerard and Ismae down to the docks in our carriage. I pointed out my apothecary, the bakery, the still-rather-abandoned bazaar, and Jade’s tailor shop. And then we reached the docks.

“It was lovely meeting you,” Ismae said as she hugged me. “Please come and visit us in Fidsa.”

“As soon as we can,” I replied and we parted.

Gerard shook my hand. “Good luck with everything. I hope it all works out for you both. Be on your guard.”

“Thank you for your help. I’m sorry I couldn’t convince him to let you stay.”

“When times are better, perhaps we’ll return.” Gerard smiled.

Zayne put his arm around my shoulders and watched them walk up the gangplank. “You know, I found my old tar . . . I would like to play it for you.”

Caught by surprise, I looked up at him.

He smiled, and for a moment I saw a glimpse of the playful boy I once knew. “But you must promise not to laugh at me. It’s been a long time since I’ve played for anyone.”

I chuckled. “I promise, but I think you’re going to perform a lot better than you think. I have something I want to talk with you about too.”

When we reached our room, Zayne sat down on the pillows under the window and held the tar. The tar was an hourglass shaped string instrument with the front covered in stretched lamb skin and three pairs of strings which Zayne strummed. He played a song that reminded me of days cool enough to play outside. I sat beside him, humming along with the melody that I distantly knew, then start singing when I remembered words from the chorus.

Zayne sang the words I couldn’t remember.

He finished the song laughing. “I messed up the fingering on that part.” He tried it again. When he looked back at me, the same connection I’d felt earlier burned between us.

I pressed up against his side. “Play another song for me.”

“Hm. You might like this one.” His fingers began to strum a more upbeat song.

As he started to play, I got up and began to dance. If Zayne was going to try and make our relationship work, then I needed to also. I rolled my hips and twisted my hands in the air above my head. As I watched him watch me, I found myself enjoying his attention, even wanting more. I liked the way he watched me.

I moved closer and stroked my hand under his chin.

Zayne stopped playing and rose to his feet. Silently, he slid one arm around my back and the other behind my head and pulled me into him. His lips caressed mine. Unlike our first kiss, which had been done with nothing but duty to seal our marriage, this one sent sparks through my body.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and held my body against his to feel every inch of his muscles.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered against my lips.

“I think you do.” I pulled back enough to look up at his eyes. “I think I am meant to be here, Zayne.”

Zayne kissed my neck, stepping forward to guide me back to our bed. I tilted my head to give him more space and closed my eyes. His hands slid up the back of my shirt, over my bare skin, and goosebumps spread across my body.

For the first time, I dared to trust a man. I felt down to my core that Zayne would take care of me. He would keep me safe.

He sat down on the bed and grabbed my hips, pulling me toward him.

“Shahira,” he whispered and ran his fingers into my hair.

I was falling in love with my husband.

After years of keeping my heart buried in the sands of pain and distrust, Zayne had uncovered it, dusted it off, and embraced it. And maybe, just maybe, our love could be raw and passionate as it was in this moment.

* * *

We weresound asleep after our first night of intimacy when my eyes flew open. It was as if the sun had never risen—the room was cold and the familiar sensation of darkness enveloped me.

I bolted upright and yelled, “Ishta’il!”

All lamps lit under my command, only to reveal the shadow in a form I’d never seen: two long arms with claws as long as daggers, and horns on its head. Its form still wasn’t solid like a human, but it had shape. At the same instant I shook Zayne awake, the creature scrambled onto his back and gripped onto his wrists before attempting to lower itself into Zayne’s body.

“No!” I jumped from the bed and snatched the griffin necklace from the floor where it had dropped when I took off Zayne’s shirt. Before the ifrit could fully possess Zayne, I pressed the charm into Zayne’s hand.

The creature screamed as it flew back, as if dragged away by an unseen force.

Zayne sat up and gripped my arms. “What is it?”

I could only point.

Zayne’s muscles tensed, but he was on his feet in an instant, looking around for a weapon.

Maybe my magic was similar to Ismae’s. Maybe I could do what she did and command the demon to leave us. I had to try. Swallowing in an attempt to wet my parched mouth, I stood.

“I banish you!” I said with all the strength I could summon forth. “You shall not enter this room tonight!”

The shadow creature screamed and flew at me but exploded against the rays of light from the nearest lamp.

Trembling, I sat down on the bed.

Zayne wrapped his arms around me, then sat at my side and drew me onto his lap. “What was that thing?”

“I—I believe it was an ifrit.”

“You think the ifrit is why I’ve been killing?”

I nodded.

Zayne was so silent, I lifted my head to look at him. His skin was pale and his eyes were distant.

“Zayne? What are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. Either I summoned the ifrit to me because I killed my wife, or . . . or the Sorceresses of the Sand have returned and want their power. This must be a political move.”

I sat up. “I don’t think—”

“I must speak with your father.” He let go, practically pushing me from his lap.

“Zayne, you will sleep all night, and when you wake you won’t remember the ifrit.” I didn’t know what else to do, but I knew the women in my city shouldn’t be blamed for this. We’d already gone through so much.

Zayne stumbled back onto our bed and collapsed in a heap.

My breath caught. I hadn’t even embedded the command within a story. Like Ismae’s magic, I’d just spoken it and it happened. If I wasn’t careful, I could be dangerous.

But I needed answers.

I needed Kiara to tell me how the shadow was possessing Zayne. Even more importantly, who was controlling it.