Sultana Vaida’s eyes gleamed as dark as mine. Kitmer eyes, Niphran used to call them. We stood nose to nose; a fact I found unduly vexatious, having grown accustomed to being the tallest woman in a room. “My palace boasts much more than this tapestry. Let me show you.” She dropped her hold on my shoulder, a dazzling smile belying the hardness of her gaze. “I insist.”
She started walking without waiting for an answer. I toyed with the temptation to ignore her and jog directly to my room. I was not her subject, and she had no rights over me.
Arin’s caution stalled my step. Do not challenge her or distinguish yourself in any way.
Vaida had already rounded the bend. Swearing under my breath, I hurried to follow. Lukub’s Sultana strode to the east wing of the Ivory Palace. A row of Ruby Hounds’ heads pushed out from the wall to our right. In place of their teeth were flickering candles, casting long shadows over the hall. Vaida’s jewel-encrusted cerise gown cast patterns in its wake, its lace sleeves trailing behind her.
She turned right, and I nearly tripped over my feet. Dozens of guards lined each side of the corridor. They did not react to my appearance, their attention fixed straight ahead.
I stopped at the head of the hall. “The Heir’s guards will worry at my absence.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Do they fault the security of my palace? The efficacy of my guards?”
“Of course not, but—”
“Then they should have no reason to worry.”
Without turning around, she curled her fingers, beckoning me after her. By Sirauk’s doomed depths, was I about to allow this woman to kill me out of a sense of decorum?
She might have information. Hanim’s presence startled me. She hates Nizahl. It might be useful.
I grimaced. Why couldn’t I have just asked Ren for a sleeping draught?
As soon as I crossed the threshold into the Sultana’s private chambers, the doors closed with a mournful groan. Where Arin’s chambers were an exercise in austerity, Vaida crowded hers with every color in the kingdoms. One wall was a vibrant indigo, another a demure emerald. Lanterns in every shape and size hung from the peaked ceiling, casting the massive room in a warm glow. Her bed stretched wider than Rory’s shop, and quilts of various design and thickness were piled high at the foot. The bizarre blend of chaos and style I’d come to associate with Lukub’s Sultana.
“Why am I here?” I asked, foregoing propriety. The vivacity of Vaida’s chambers was unsettling, more so than if I had entered a room with bloodred drapes and rusted weapons.
“When I heard Arin had chosen an Omalian orphan from a lower village, I did not share in everyone’s surprise,” Vaida said. She picked up a glass doll, adjusting its limbs before setting it back on her bedside table. She tapped its nose with a polished nail. “Arin… he sees through people. Calculates potential and risk the way an architect evaluates promising land. He sees worth where others might see waste. Successfully, too—the Nizahl Champion has succeeded in the last three Alcalahs.”
I pursed my lips, trying to figure out if I had just been insulted or praised.
From the bottom drawer of her bedside table, Vaida withdrew an ornate ring. She cupped it briefly, closing her eyes. “But you, Sylvia. There’s more to why he selected you as Champion.”
My voice could cut steel. “If you are implying I have some sort of amorous arrangement with His Highness—”
Vaida snorted. Her royal airs temporarily vanished, leaving a young woman only a few years my senior. “My dear, if Arin of Nizahl loves you, you can be sure the Alcalah is the least of your worries. Arin is not the kind of man who puts his heart before his head. His enemies are many, and he conceives of every way they can attack him. I’m sure you have seen how still he holds himself, how strong a hand he wields over his temperament. Even if he were capable of caring for someone else, I cannot imagine he would ever be so selfish as to let himself fall in love. He knows his own nature and all the dark places love could steer him.”
The thought bothered me for reasons I couldn’t explain. She had essentially described Arin as a beast with the capacity to become feral at any moment.
“He said you know him well. Clearly, he misspoke.” It came out waspish. “He isn’t… broken. He would love the same as any man.”
“Oh, my sweet Sylvia.” Vaida’s smile was all teeth. “The way most men love is so boring. It is frequent and fickle and altogether unextraordinary. Arin would love to obsession. To madness. But do you want to know the real reason he would never allow himself to love another?” Vaida stepped close, her floral scent tickling my nose. “Arin is consumed by what he loves. If asked, he would get on his knees and let it kill him. He withholds his heart out of self-preservation.”