The Sultan and the Storyteller by Lichelle Slater

Fifteen

When I entered the dimly lit study, I anticipated seeing artifacts piled on shelves or tables, tomes of darkness covered in stained leather, jars of potions—sands, I even expected to see the shadow creature itself! Instead, I found myself terribly underwhelmed. The room was unimpressively small with a single window offering all the light. Three bookshelves stood against the wall across from the door and a desk sat in the center of the room. To my left were what appeared to be old wine barrels stuffed with scrolls.

There were no obvious signs that my father could have been doing anything beyond the ordinary duties of a vizier. There wasn’t even a ward on the door to keep me from entering.

Drawing a breath to steady my nerves, I started rummaging through the papers on the desk first. There was a map of Sheblom, a second map showing Sheblom as a tiny cluster of islands compared to the surrounding countries, and parchments with writing. But I knew my father was smart and cunning, and if he had any sort of plan, he wouldn’t leave it out in the open.

I shifted my attention to the bookshelves. “This would go a lot faster with help,” I muttered to myself as I started with the books on the top left corner of the first shelf. I took down every single book and opened them to see the contents before replacing them carefully. I didn’t trust the titles on the spines, and the smaller books had no description at all.

The groan of hinges echoed up from the main door downstairs and my blood ran cold. There was absolutely nowhere to hide in the study. I rushed to the window and unlatched it to heave it open, only to immediately regret it as heat blasted into the room. I had hoped there would be a ledge I could possibly shimmy out on, but the walls were smooth the entire forty feet down to the roof.

I gulped when I heard footsteps walking up the stairs.

I was stuck and I was about to be caught.

With nothing to do, I turned and faced the door, gripping the book in my hand tight enough I was certain my nails were leaving imprints on the cover. I sucked in a breath and held it, as if that would help me blend into the room I very clearly didn’t belong in.

The door opened and Kiara stepped in.

Relief washed over me and I leaned my hand on the ledge of the window to catch my breath. “You scared me half to death! What are you doing here?”

Kiara smiled. “My tea told me to come today, and then Sultan Zayne said there was something I could help you with and brought me here. He was very secretive about it. What is this place?”

“Father’s study.”

Kiara’s smile dropped and she turned in a circle as she took in the room. “That explains why the sultan was acting so nervous.”

“Zayne and I had a breakthrough last night,” I said in a low voice. It felt as if someone was watching, though we were alone.

Kiara set her hands on her hips. “Have you confirmed Father is controlling that creature?”

I hesitated to answer. Kiara and I had never talked about our childhood, or what we remembered of our father or his abuse. I didn’t know if she remembered how awful our father could be, since I tried to protect her. I didn’t want to be the one responsible for destroying any good memories she might have.

“Shahira?” she pressed.

“Not yet. That’s why I’m here,” I admitted. “The first morning I saw him, he didn’t seem surprised to find me alive. In fact, he seemed annoyed. I haven’t seen Father much since I’ve been here, but he has never greeted me with joy. The day I took Zayne to see you in the shop, Father demanded to know if I had used my magic to help Zayne sleep. I don't know how he knew.”

Kiara’s eyes widened. “Please tell me you stood up to him.”

“Certainly. I am the queen, after all.” I gave her a weak smile.

Kiara grinned. “Good for you.” She turned to the bookshelf. “Where do you want me to start and what are you looking for?”

“To be honest, I don’t really know what I’m looking for. Anything with symbols of dark magic, with spells or information about demons?”

“Ifrits? Why them specific—ohhh, the shadows.” Kiara tapped the tip of her nose, then walked over and pulled a book off the shelf without further prompting.

I felt relieved to have Kiara at my side.

Only a few minutes later, Kiara suddenly said, “Books on philosophy, enchantment, potions . . . Shahira, I think all of these books are those that have been confiscated over the years.”

“That would make sense.” I glanced at the title of the book I had in my hands, The Power of the Mystical Realm. “But why would he need all of this?”

“What if Father didn’t come up with a curse on his own?”

I lifted my gaze to her. “Go on.”

Kiara sat on the middle of the floor with the books separated into piles or stacked back on the shelves where they belonged. “Father’s staff is magical. There is an ifrit that visits you each night. What if the ifrit is using Father to get its own needs met? Maybe Father has to kill the women to satiate the demon?”

I frowned and dusted my hands on my pants. “If that were the case, how would he have made an alliance with it? More importantly, why?”

“Perhaps Father gets something in return.” Kiara rose to her feet, stretched her back, and walked to the desk.

A similar thought to the one I’d had earlier resurfaced—if Father was doing this willingly, he would want to hide it. I’d already searched the wine barrels with scrolls and we’d gone through half of the first bookshelf. And then a chest caught my eye. An inconspicuous, rusty-hinged chest sitting on the second to bottom shelf on the last bookcase.

With Kiara still riffling through pages and documents I’d already searched, I abandoned the work we’d spent all morning on and I went to the chest. I set it on the floor and lifted the lid.

Inside were parchments with writing scrawled on them. I removed the pages one at a time—a sketch of a gemstone with our father’s handwriting: Purest. No blemishes. Must be at least 100 mm in size. I furrowed my brow and looked at the gemstone again. It looked like it could fit inside Father’s staff. I flipped through the pages, most of which were scrawlings of details I didn’t understand, such as locations, different spells, or other things. I reached back into the chest and felt a sudden sting on my finger as if I’d been stung. I recoiled and looked inside. At the bottom lay an old, thick book with a black cover. And when I looked at it, I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Ancient lettering in a language I thought had been lost to time was embossed in its cover. This language had been found inside the Dragon’s Lair Cave, inside of sand-claimed cities in the desert, and on artifacts washed up from the ocean floor.

Open it, the voice breathed in my ear. I whipped my head around but no one was there. Kiara remained at the other side of the room.

But the voice wasn’t cold. And the hair on my neck didn’t prickle.

No, it felt warm.

Drawing a breath and summoning courage, I picked up the book. Just touching it made my fingertips burn and I dropped it on the floor in front of my knees. But I had to know what was inside. I gripped the bottom corner of the cover and flung it open. As soon as it was parted from its closed position, the pages moved with an unseen wind until it halted on a particular page.

Leaning forward, my eyes widened as the words shifted on the page before me until they formed words I recognized.

I gasped. “Kiara!”

“Don’t startle me like that! You nearly made my heart stop.” She rushed over. “What is it?”

“I found this book at the bottom of that crate. Look at what it says!” I leaned away so she could get a better look as she leaned closer in the dim light.

Kiara lowered herself to her knees beside me and her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“It talks about how to take the power from another person.” I pointed to the third line in the book.

“Shahira, it’s not in our language.”

I turned my gaze to her. “You can’t read it?”

She shook her head. “It must have something to do with your magic. What does it say?”

“It talks about . . .” I traced my finger quickly down the page. “It’s like a list. A ruby a hundred millimeters in size.” I grabbed the page with my father’s drawing and handed it to Kiara. “And then it mentions the Staff of Maar. I wonder if that’s Father’s staff.”

Kiara examined the parchment in her hands. “What does it matter?”

The words at the bottom of the page took shape. “To bind the ifrit to the Staff of Marr, go to the edge of the Maelstrom of the Fallen and speak the words . . .” It felt wrong to say the words aloud, so I skimmed over the words, turned the page, and then picked up again. “Kiara, this explains how to bind the ifrit and control it.”

“Father is the one behind all of this death after all,” Kiara said in a soft voice. She shook her head and gripped my arm. “Why would he do such a thing?”

I shook my head. “Once he completed the ritual and bound the ifrit, it appears he uses the ifrit to kill the victims. All he has to do is speak their names. And when the women die, the ruby he put inside the staff collects their power. Once forty women die, he can use magic himself.” When I looked at Kiara, her face was pale.

“He . . . he only needs one more.” Her voice was tight. She shook her head and tilted the chest. Her brow furrowed. “What is this?” she asked, lifting something from the inside.

My breath caught.

It was Zayne’s griffin amulet of protection.