The Sultan and the Storyteller by Lichelle Slater

Five

My eyes snapped open when I felt the bed shift, and I bolted upright, holding the blanket to my bosom in an instinctive move of modesty despite still being fully dressed in my wedding gown. Zayne sat up and set his feet on the floor. Slowly, he straightened his spine and ran his hand over his hair to smooth the few bits in disarray. He drew a breath and turned to look over his shoulder. The slowness of his movement made me realize this was his morning routine.

When his eyes met mine, they widened. He suddenly blinked and then his gaze darted up and down. “You’re alive,” he blurted.

“Yes. You’re surprised.” I didn’t move. His surprise caught me off guard.

He hesitated and looked around the room. “My wives all die the night of our wedding. You are the first to make it to dawn.”

“Lucky me?” My mind started to race. His wives died at night, but he sounded like he distanced himself from being the killer . . . or didn’t know himself how they died.

His lips relaxed into what I would almost call a smile. “I had a feeling you were different.”

I didn’t know if it was a compliment, but my face reacted with a blush.

Zayne cleared his throat and rose to his feet. “I will have the servants bring in new clothing for you to choose from and then you and I shall eat breakfast.” He looked me up and down. “Unless you want to wear your wedding attire?”

“Not particularly.” I looked down at myself and pushed the blanket aside. “It is a stunning dress and I would hate to spill on it,” I quickly added to avoid offence.

Zayne opened the bedroom door and told someone to fetch Mazzy, then crossed to the open arch that led to the royal bath chambers. He paused in the doorway again, trying unsuccessfully not to look at me.

“You’re afraid to leave me alone,” I observed.

“I admit that I am.” He lifted his gaze to me but this time allowed it to stay. “What did you do last night? Did you drug me?”

“You fell asleep and I went to bed. That is all.”

The edge of his stoic mouth tightened. “It would be in your best interest to tell the truth. I recommend you do not try something that could be so . . . deadly.” The threat made my jaw flex.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said firmly, not breaking eye contact. Kiara could always tell when I lied, and I hoped Zayne couldn’t see through me so easily.

A knock on the chamber doors drew our attention, and Zayne called for them to enter. He nodded his head to me and left now that I wasn’t alone. I scowled behind him and got off the bed.

Mazzy opened the door, a tray with carefully folded clothing resting on her opposite hand, and froze when she saw me. Her eyes flicked to the doorway Zayne had disappeared through and then back to me. Her face brightened and she rushed over.

“I cannot believe you are alive!” she exclaimed in a whisper. “Sultan Zayne always calls for the palace guard in the morning. This is the first time in forty days that someone has survived the night.”

“Why does he kill them?” I asked, hoping someone could tell me.

Mazzy shook her head. “No one knows. But if he didn’t kill you last night . . . there must be something deeply special about you.” She gave a little gasp and stepped back. “Please forgive me for being so informal. I brought three outfits for you to choose from.” She presented me with a green and gold outfit, purple and silver, and white and blue.

I chose the outfit with purple pants with silver ribbon stitched at the ankles and around the waist with the top opposite colors of silver with purple feathers embroidered on it. Mazzy guided me to the stool in front of three curved mirrors where she helped me remove the wedding gown and put on the new clothing.

I ran my fingers over the silky material, but it wasn’t silk. I’d heard of clothing made from salt cotton. One of Mother’s books had images of fields of salt cotton growing on floating patches in inlets from the Colisian Ocean to the east. The cotton was harvested like any other form of cotton, but the salt water it grew in supposedly added cooling qualities to fabric.

I believed it now that I wore fabric made from the rare cotton. I didn’t even want to ask how much it would cost to acquire such a luxurious outfit.

“You look positively stunning,” Mazzy said.

My gaze moved to the reflection of Zayne in the mirror. He wore the same fabric as me in the form of a pale yellow shirt with white stitching that stretched nearly to his knees and white pants.

Our eyes met in the reflection. I turned to face him, but he moved away from me as though to leave, and for a moment my heart stung. However, he paused. Zayne’s eyes darted back to me and his amber eyes returned to mine. My heart skipped like it did whenever Kasim brushed my hand. I thought, perhaps, Zayne might open up to me, that he might confide in me what really happened at night.

Instead, his eyes narrowed, his jaw flexed, and he straightened his spine. “Do you have a preference for breakfast, Shahira? It is Shahira, isn’t it?” He placed his hands behind his back.

My heart sank. It was foolish of me to even imagine he had a glimmer of attractiveness. I nodded. “Yes, my name is Shahira. As for what I enjoy eating, I don’t have a preference.”

Zayne turned to Mazzy. “Have the cooks prepare a feast in celebration.”

Mazzy curtseyed before she left the room.

I caught Zayne glancing at me and that handsome curl of his lip appeared briefly.

I held out my hand to him. “Now that I’ve survived the first hour after dawn, I think it would be good for you to share information with your wife.”

He walked over and took it, helping me step down from the stool. “What sort of information?”

“Well . . .” I sucked in a breath and looked up at him. I kept my voice low, calm. “I know your first wife was unfaithful to you and that is what spurred your hatred toward women.” Before he could respond, I added, “But I don’t understand why you’ve killed everyone else. This morning, you seemed surprised to wake up and find me alive. Is there . . . anything can I do to prevent you from doing the same to me? I deserve to know that much.”

Zayne’s eyes grew cold. It was several seconds before he answered. “Yes, she was unfaithful. But you don’t deserve anything from me.”

I withdrew my hand from his, my stomach knotting instantly.

Zayne glanced at my hand and his brows furrowed in offence.

When someone knocked again, we were both relieved at the interruption.

“You may enter,” Zayne said, placing his had behind his back and stepping away from me as if I had the plague.

The door swung open and Captain Nadeem stepped in, face stern and clearly expecting to haul away another body. He caught sight of me and his eyes widened. “I—I came to see if you needed . . . me and my men. It appears you do not.”

Zayne shook his head. “Not yet, at least.”

My heart skipped. He wasn’t looking at me, so I wasn’t sure if it was a threat.

The captain lowered his voice. “This has never occurred before.”

“I am more than aware,” Zayne answered in an equally low tone. “And I do not know why. But I am pleased.”

“You don’t think . . . she could be the one you’ve sought all this time?”

They spoke as if I weren't in the room, but I was more focused on deciphering their conversation.

Zayne shook his head and adamantly said, “No. How could she be? She may be Khorshid’s daughter, but she’s little more than a commoner.”

Commoner. The way he said the word made me tighten my hands into fists. I wasn’t even worthy to be his wife. In his eyes, I was worth nothing more than the beggars down at the docks. To think just a moment ago, I thought he’d been staring at me because I was attractive.

“We were just going to head for breakfast.” Zayne returned his tone to normal and extended a hand toward me, inviting me to take it.

I refused, but met Captain Nadeem’s gaze and nodded my head. “Captain.”

“Queen Shahira.” He bowed and my heart jumped.

Queen.

I was more than a seller of magical items and potions. Even if Zayne saw me as a commoner, I was now more than the vizier’s daughter. I was the wife of the sultan. Queen of Sheblom. I lingered on the pleasant—and somewhat terrifying—thought while I walked at Zayne’s side down the gilded hall to the dining room.

A beautifully embroidered rectangle cloth—perfectly pressed without a single wrinkle—draped over a short table the length of the room. Already there were serving trays of food waiting, from flat breads, boiled eggs, jars of jellies, to kashkek—a porridge dish made of barley, onion, cinnamon, sugar, and chicken.

“This is a bit excessive, don’t you think?” I asked.

“Why?”

“You and I cannot possibly eat all of this.”

He shook his head and gestured to the servants standing in the hall beyond the doorway we had just entered. “They shall join us. They have been at my side all along and deserve to celebrate with me. It is the day after our wedding, after all, and a traditional breakfast shall be provided.”

I felt excitement radiating off him. “You are feeding your servants?”

“It is tradition to do so.” Zayne directed me to sit on a brightly colored cushion with blues, purples, pinks, silvers, and golds weaved around the padding. He sat on one of gold at the head of the table. “I would like to know more about your family while we eat. I assume the young woman with you last night was your sister?”

I stepped out of my shoes before I sat. “Her name is Kiara, and she’s five years younger than I am.”

Zayne nodded. “Your father has mentioned few things to me about you.”

I did my best to keep a straight face. It didn’t surprise me in the least. Father wasn’t exactly the type to brag about daughters.

He nodded. “Nadeem, fetch Kiara. She should get to enjoy this meal with her sister.”

The captain bowed and left.

I was stunned to silence. In spite of his standoffish nature, and the fact he was a murderer, Zayne was willing to let my sister visit and eat with us? And he was feeding his servants in celebration of our wedding?

Zayne turned back to me. “Your father said you run the apothecary? What does that mean?” He took my bowl and scooped two spoonfuls of kashkek into it.

“We make teas, ointments, and . . . things.” I shrugged dismissively, not wanting to share with him that my wares were infused with magic or used to produce magical enhancements, medicines, and other things. Magic in Sheblom was still feared by most since Zayne’s father had outlawed it. And if Zayne was one of those nonbelievers, I didn’t want to add another reason for him to want me dead.

“Hm. You must be very good at it to run the shop by yourself.” He set the bowl in front of me.

I frowned. “Kiara helps.”

“Yes, but I meant as a single woman.”

I narrowed my eyes. “As I said last night, you will learn women are just as powerful as men. After all, doesn't the sultan himself need a wife to keep the throne?”

Zayne’s lips softened into a smirk. He took his own bowl and served himself. “I am curious why you would run a shop when your father lives here in the palace.”

I shrugged. “Ask him.”

He paused on his second scoop. “We aren’t going to have very meaningful conversations if neither of us is willing to be open.”

“True. But I’m as willing to talk about my relationship with my father as you are to talk about your relationship with your wives.”

His brow twitched. He finished pouring the kashkek then set the bowl in front of him.

I waited for him to signal to me to eat. After all, I didn’t know the rules of the palace.

Zayne lifted his hand and beckoned to the servants in the hallway to enter. They remained silent while they gathered smaller plates piled with food. They introduced themselves to me one at a time with a bow or curtsey before leaving to eat elsewhere. Whether or not the gesture of leaving us alone was tradition of the palace, or they could sense our need to speak privately, I couldn’t tell, but I was grateful for it. I wasn’t in the mood to be overwhelmed by questions and attention.

When we were alone, Zayne began to eat.

He paused on his third bite and pointed his fork at me. “You don’t need to wait for permission.”

“In spite of my father working in the palace, I haven’t been raised to know your etiquette,” I explained, then lifted my fork and stabbed an egg.

Zayne nodded. “Mazzy will teach you the rules.”

“Why can’t it be you?”

He chuckled. “I have responsibilities.”

“What does a sultan do all day?” I bit into a fresh roll, which rivaled those of Tacitus, the local baker.

Zayne licked food from his lip. “I have a lot going on right now. We had an alliance with Kalekair, and they recently sent me a letter revoking that alliance.”

“Why?”

“Their latest correspondence said many of my own people have fled to their lands. They think me unstable,” he said with a sigh. “Why should they want an alliance with such a leader?”

“Word spreads quickly, I’m afraid,” I said.

He narrowed his eyes at me, but resumed eating.

Tension filled the room like a rusty pail slowly filling with water, and we ate in silence for several minutes. I lifted my napkin and dabbed my lips, my plate now empty, but didn’t dare be the first to speak. Relief flooded me when Zayne did.

“Why don’t you live in the palace with your father?” he asked.

I watched him a moment in silence. What did it matter if I told a lie or he knew the truth about my father? I looked down at my plate as heat crawled up the back of my neck. “I didn’t grow up as privileged as you. What few memories I have of my childhood aren’t what one would call delightful. I seem to have locked away anything prior to living in the apothecary with my mother.”

“Hm. That’s most . . . unfortunate. About your childhood, I mean.”

I absently played with the bangles on my wrist. “I do recall my mother wanted us to live normal lives. Even though Father was the vizier, he always told Kiara and me that she insisted we grow up outside the palace walls.” I paused before shifting the subject. “He always spoke highly of your father as a good leader.”

Zane’s brows pinched and his eyes scrunched. “Your father said that about mine?”

I nodded. “Though I rarely trust my father,” I added in a low voice.

“I loved my father and always will, and I respected his judgment as sultan.”

“But?”

Zayne shook his head then stroked his beard. “But I disagreed with him on many policies. There was a group of women, some years back, who were healers. Perhaps you remember stories of them? For some reason I never could grasp, Father felt they were a threat to his throne. I think it really came down to the people turning to the women of the villages instead of the sultan for help, and he felt his power was being usurped.”

I nodded my head slowly. “I remember that. My mother lived in fear that the guards would destroy our shop. Father told us he had spoken with the sultan and as long as we were only making certain things, we would be safe.”

“And did your mother follow those guidelines?”

My lips spread into a smile and I was suddenly grateful my mother was gone so I could proudly say, “To the untrained eye, yes. But she actually made rare and strong potions for a number of ailments.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Zayne grinned a real smile. “You truly remember nothing prior to ten years of age? Did you live anywhere else?”

“I vaguely recall living elsewhere in my childhood, but I can’t remember where. We had a big living space and our own garden. I remember a red door, and we were commanded never to leave through it. I used to tell Kiara it led to a den full of riches protected by a dragon.” I smiled at the memory.

Zayne chewed on his food, watching me silently with his soul-searching eyes.

I flushed under his gaze and poked at my food. “What is my role now?”

He wiped his mouth. “Nothing. I have things to do. I have letters to write, merchants to deliberate with . . . I have responsibilities.”

“Then . . . may I work in my apothecary?”

Zayne laughed, but it quickly died when I didn’t join him. His smile fell. “You’re the queen and you want to work?”

I raised my brow. “Why can’t I?”

Captain Nadeem rounded the corner just then, rescuing Zayne from the pressure of answering me. Kiara stood behind him.

Her face brightened when she spotted me and she pushed past him. “Shahira!”