Page 1 of None Such as She (The Moroccan Empire #2)

W alking pains me now. The distance to my rooms seems very great, each step jarring in my withered body.

Here and there I pass serving girls and slaves.

They dip their heads in respect as I pass but I do not acknowledge them.

I know as I move on that they make secret signs to themselves that they think I do not see.

The slaves from the Dark Kingdom clutch at their amulets, hidden under their robes.

The Christians make the sign of the cross and touch their crucifixes, amulets all the same.

The others make their own gestures, murmur their own little spells of protection.

They are afraid of me, as they have been these many years passed.

They are so young they cannot even remember a time when I strode rather than shuffled, when my hair rippled down my back and my eyes were bright.

But they have heard enough stories from the older servants, from whispers in the bright gardens and murmurs in the dark streets.

They believe nonsense about me, believe that I command spirits and djinns.

The door to my rooms is protected by guards who spring forward to open it for me as I approach, heaving on the carved expanse of wood.

Servants scatter as I enter and stand, heads bowed, awaiting my orders.

When I tell them to leave, they hurry to do so, for they have already heard the news, already know what has befallen me. The door swings shut behind them.

I trace the lines of my beloved maps with my fingertips. Every line fought for, every city’s name grown great only because of my work and vision.

My legacy, turned to dust.

I open a carved chest that once belonged to Hela. My hands are stiff and pulling the stoppers from the tiny bottles I have chosen is hard.

The mixture smells fetid but I drink it all the same.