Page 5 of Wild Flame (Wild Bond #2)

Chapter Five

S everal hours later I was seated inside the palace banquet hall on a large, surprisingly comfortable cushion. The room was nearly as grand as the throne room. This palace was absolutely massive. I would have gotten lost on my way here had Ambassador Nilfren not been escorting me. Several long, low tables lined the hall, and our party had been assigned seats at the future king’s table.

Prince Malik wasn’t sitting directly across from me, but rather down a few places. Even though I knew I was supposed to be putting myself in his path, I couldn’t help but feel relieved that he had plenty of others trying to engage him in conversation. Of course, that hadn’t stopped Nilfren from trying to garner the prince’s attention at every opportunity, but I tried to ignore his attempts as best I could.

The Zehvitian lord and lady seated near me hadn’t spoken to me beyond a cursory greeting at the start of the meal, and I was fine with that. The only person I was really interested in talking to was Leif, but he was seated several seats down the table from me. Not that Leif was a man of many words, but at least he was familiar.

So instead of conversation, I focused on the food that was set before me. Many of the dishes consisted of spices and flavors I wasn’t accustomed to. Nothing like what we favored back in Halmar. Some of the meats were the same but were served in colorful sauces and savory pastries. The vegetables were often spiced as well, and more than once I found myself reaching for my glass in order to quell the heat in my mouth. The milder fare, such as the flavored rice and flat breads, were more to my liking. The wine was exceptionally delicious.

I had just decided to give up on trying more of the strange food when a thread of conversation further down the table caught my attention.

“. . . he attacked the town. Just let his dragon blast several buildings to cinders. And the old fool claims he doesn’t remember doing it. Claims he wasn’t himself.” The man speaking was one of the younger territory leaders.

“Lying to save his own skin, no doubt,” another Rajar grumbled. Several of the others murmured in agreement.

Then Harun, the Fangdar member I had noticed earlier, spoke up. “We can’t be so sure.” He stroked his pointed beard. “It does seem out of character for him. He may be aging, but Rishaan still has his wits. At least, he did the last time I spoke with him. What could his reason possibly be for attacking the town? And one so close to his own home?”

“While I see your point,” Prince Amir’s speculative tone allowed from where he sat next to Malik, “he still has no plausible reason for his actions. People will say anything to avoid facing punishment.”

There were several nods and murmurs of agreement.

Then why wouldn’t he flee? I couldn’t help but think. If this rider had done what they claimed—nearly burned down and destroyed a whole town—why would he stay? Zehvitians were known for their severe punishments for any infraction. I couldn’t help but think on how strange a thing it all was. For a dragon rider to commit such a crime and hurt so many innocent people, not to mention risking his own standing, and he and his dragon’s very lives . . . It didn’t make any sense.

“The world has gone mad, it would seem,” a man with a leanly muscled build and a scar over his right eye spoke up for the first time. He had arrived late to the banquet, and Prince Malik had introduced him as Tajan Markis, his spymaster and another member of his Fangdar. “The city Nest was vandalized last night. Apparently, the criminals broke in and destroyed part of the obsidian flooring. Shattered it to pieces in several places. I’ve already talked with several craftsmen and stonemasons, and they say they should be able to repair it if additional stones can be flown in from the mines, but there are still no leads on who did it.”

Shock rippled through me. There was a Nest in every major city in Palasia. They were the sacred sites where the dragon Bonding Celebrations took place each year. Their floors were made of precious obsidian. To wreck one in such a way was akin to defacing one of the Nines’ temples.

“Is nothing sacred?” Rajar Salim grated. “The Nest is vandalized, riders going mad, and nobles being killed in their beds.”

“What are you talking about, Father?” Priya, Malik’s would-be betrothed, asked from where she sat next to her parent.

Salim took a drink of his wine before leaning back, and explained, “A Zehvitian noble in my territory, Amal Uden, was murdered in his bed the night before last.”

Priya put a hand to her mouth. “But . . . how?”

Prince Malik, who was leaning partially back on his seat cushion, was the one who finally answered. “Poison,” he said. That chiseled jaw clenched. “He died in his sleep, with a single cut on his thigh.”

His words made my blood run cold, and a sense of foreboding began to worm its way through me.

“Why do you think it was poison?” Priya asked.

“The healers believed so,” Salim explained. “There was evidence of foaming at the mouth and his lips and face turned blue. Though they admitted the symptoms did not match up with any poison they were familiar with.”

“Who could be responsible?” she asked.

But I barely heard the question. Shock had frozen me in place. Nakki venom. The poison my order used caused those exact symptoms . . . and the single cut to administer it . . . But—it couldn’t be. Our order didn’t operate outside of Halmar. My mission was the exception. At least, that was what I had believed. Once again, doubt began to creep in. I had to be wrong. It had to be someone else.

“Uden was always one of the strongest advocates for stopping the war. One of your father’s more unpopular decisions,” Salim said to Malik, bringing me out of my stupor. “Perhaps someone in Baldor wanted—”

“Careful,” Prince Malik cautioned darkly. “We are no longer at war with Baldor, and I would remind you of where you are and who else presently sits at this table.” He glanced pointedly at the Baldorian delegation just out of earshot.

The territory leader flushed. “I merely meant . . . that is . . . I did not intend to imply—”

“We will speak no more of it,” the prince interrupted his response. “We have as yet found no evidence of who is involved, so there is no use speculating.”

Silence fell at our portion of the long table. I simply stared at my plate, my mind swirling with too many thoughts.

“Are we boring you, princess?” Prince Malik’s voice suddenly cut through the quiet.

I glanced up to find that he was staring at me, as was much of the table, though it still took several seconds for his words to even register in my jumbled thoughts.

I swallowed, trying and failing to keep the rising blush from my cheeks. I met the prince’s challenging stare, not a hint of my present turmoil in my voice as I answered, “No, Your Majesty. I simply have no stomach for such topics.”

If he only knew.

Suddenly feeling like I couldn’t sit there a moment longer, especially not with his eyes on me, I rose to my feet. Feeling flustered and hating it, I dipped into a perfect curtsy even my exacting mother would be proud of and turned to leave. As soon as my back was to the table, several gasps and disapproving murmurs sounded from behind me. Everyone in the banquet hall turned to stare, and I realized I had just committed another grievous blunder. Although, this time, it hadn’t been on purpose.

The etiquette for banquets and dinners in Zehvi was lax by Halmarish standards. Other than it being an honor to be asked to dine at the monarch’s table, people generally sat and interacted how they wished. One of the few rules was that no one left their table before its highest-ranking member, unless they asked permission. In this case, Prince Malik. I may be a princess, but we were in Zehvi, and he was a king in all but name.

And I had just insulted him.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and forced myself to turn back, very aware of all the stares on me. “My apologies, Your Majesty,” I stated clearly as I executed another curtsy. “I meant no offense.” I absolutely refused to meet Malik’s eyes as I said this, no matter how much of a coward that made me. “May I be excused?”

When he nodded, I bid them all a good evening and turned and fled the hall.

I had spent most of the previous night tossing and turning fitfully in my unfamiliar bed and the oppressive heat. Thoughts of all that had happened that day, including my reintroduction to Malik and my two gaffes, intentional and not, had plagued my mind and made it hard to relax.

My clothing clung to my sticky skin, and I eventually kicked off my sheets and removed my nightgown altogether to sleep in only my shift. It had felt odd to sleep with my scars exposed. I rarely ever had them uncovered, apart from when I bathed or when Hilde applied my weekly salve. And for good reason. I thought of Astrid’s reaction to them, but then pushed that memory aside as I rolled over to my stomach and tried to will myself to sleep.

It had taken a while, but eventually I had finally succumbed.

The effects from my lack of sleep still lingered the following morning as I sat in another stuffy, long-sleeved, impractical dress of pale blue. I was seated on a backless chair, or rather more of a stool, in front of a highly decorative—as I was finding most things in Ashar Palace to be—table.

Breakfast that morning consisted of honey yogurt and a medley of strange, colorful fruits that I had never seen before. Everything was delicious and served with a uniquely spiced tea that I was pleased to find I liked even more.

My breakfast table had been set across from my chamber’s open balcony doors, and I contemplated the lovely view of the extensive gardens outside.

Until the banquet tonight, at which my presence was required, I was free to spend my time as I wished. My mind contemplated what I could do in this large palace. The idea of exploring the gardens and the rest of the palace held merit, but after yesterday’s blunders, the thought of seeing other people didn’t appeal.

I wondered if this massive place housed a library. Unbidden, I heard my mother’s voice in my head. As if these barbarians read. But I hoped there was one, because I could think of nothing better than getting lost in a book for hours.

Across the room, Hilde was critiquing Astrid on how to properly fold my clothing and hang my gowns when an unexpected knock sounded at the door.

One of my guards stepped inside and explained a woman was here to see me. “She introduced herself only as Shalla, my lady,” the guard said.

Not recognizing the name, I motioned for him to let her in as curiosity overcame me.

He opened the door, and a Zehvitian woman who was maybe a decade my senior stepped in and halted a few feet inside. She wore the colorful, yet more subdued styles of a palace servant, with her long dark hair twisted in a low bun at her nape. A collection of gold bracelets tinkled at her wrists and ankles. She was rather beautiful, and though she kept her eyes down and head bowed, she carried herself with confidence.

“Pardon the interruption, Your Highness,” the woman said as she straightened and the guard stepped out, closing the door. “My name is Shalla. I am one of Her Majesty’s servants. Queen Vashti has asked that I invite you to attend tea with her and her ladies this morning, along with some of the other visiting guests.”

Her eyes sparkled with humor as she noted the cup of tea I currently had in my hand.

Setting said cup down, I contemplated the offer. The invitation wasn’t unexpected, but I was surprised at its swiftness. Meeting the servant’s eye, I nodded. “Tell Her Majesty I would be delighted to accept the invitation.”

The woman smiled, her teeth bright against her copper skin. “I shall tell my queen.” With another small bow, she turned and left.

“My lady, might you want to change beforehand?” Hilde suggested with a pointed look at my gown.

Though the dress I wore was, in my mind at least, perfectly acceptable for tea, she clearly thought otherwise, and it wouldn’t be worth the fight if I refused. Forcing down my annoyance with my old maid, I nodded.

It was close to an hour later when I entered the small, private courtyard with a tinkling fountain at its center. Of course, small was a relative term in this place. Stone tables and benches littered the grassy expanse surrounded by delicate trees. I caught sight of a monkey climbing in one, its large eyes staring curiously out at me. Even a few birds wandered the space, one a long-legged white crane, and another I had never seen before with a fan of emerald and turquoise feathers.

Women filled the courtyard, all of them talking or laughing or helping themselves to a small service of tea and fruit laid out on a side table. I had to assume most of them were Zehvitian nobility. Though I did catch sight of Councilor Zadeth, a member of the Baldorian delegation sent here for the celebrations. I didn’t know much about her except that she was one of the three leaders of the Dragon Rider Council of Baldor. The older woman stood off to the side, her gray dragon on her shoulder as she discussed something with another dragon rider wearing sandstone riding leathers.

My eyes scanned the crowd and immediately found Queen Vashti holding court at one of the tables, surrounded by other women. They looked like a dazzling rainbow in their brightly colored finery next to the queen’s stark mourning white, though some of the ladies had worn a white sash or bracelet in honor of their late king.

The subdued blue color of my own gown felt dull in comparison as I began walking toward them. Now was as good a time as any to pay my respects. Shalla, who stood just behind the queen, saw me coming and bent down and said something in her mistress’s ear. The queen’s eyes came to me and a smile lit her face as I paused before her.

“Princess Leida, welcome. And welcome to our court.” The other ladies around us fell quiet as she spoke. “How was your journey here?”

“Uneventful, Your Majesty,” I lied, though it was mostly true. “Thank you for the invitation.” I was sure the queen had only invited me here out of courtesy for my position, but then she nodded and smiled again, and I was struck by how genuine and warm it seemed. So maybe I was wrong. I found myself wondering, much like I had with Malik last night, if the queen truly mourned her husband. Had she loved him? Or had their marriage been more for political purposes like my own parents? She had been King Nazeem’s second wife, after all. His first had died giving birth to Prince Malik.

“This all must be very different from what you are used to,” Queen Vashti said, “but I hope you enjoy your time with us.”

I inclined my head slightly. “I’m sure I will, Your Majesty.”

Stepping back so another lady could greet the queen, I moved toward the refreshment table. The sun bore down on me, and I sighed. At least there was a light breeze today to alleviate some of the heat.

I nodded to a few of the other ladies whom I vaguely recognized from the banquet last night as I took the proffered cup of tea from a servant. I then moved to a shaded spot in the corner of the courtyard and sat on the stone lip of a small clear fountain. I would stay for half an hour so as not to be rude and then I would discreetly make my exit. And if I could survive this event without having to speak to anyone else, that would be ideal.

Taking a sip of my tea, I let myself enjoy the burbling sound of the water and the soft breeze as my eyes traveled over the rest of those gathered. Priya sat amongst a group of other young women close to where the queen herself held court. She looked just as beautiful as before and appeared to be telling a story to those around her, though I couldn’t hear what was said. Princess Zara sat beside her, and it was clear the younger girl felt out of sorts, eager to be included in the conversation but not quite sure how. I recognized the look.

A fresh wave of guilt washed over me once more as I watched her. At the thought of what I had almost done to her . . .

Princess Zara looked over. The girl’s expression turned all too curious when she found me staring. I glanced away quickly. I took a sip of my tea and wasn’t at all surprised when, a few moments later, a voice interrupted me.

“May I sit with you, Your Highness?”

I looked up. Zara stood there, her expression hopeful and somehow wary all at once, as if she thought I would reject her request.

“Of course,” I replied, gesturing to the seat next to me, knowing there was no way I could politely refuse.

Zara’s smile brightened as she sat down immediately. “I’m so glad we finally get a chance to speak. I’ve been dying to meet you ever since your introduction.”

I blinked in surprise. “You have?” I couldn’t remember the last time someone other than Helene had sought out my company specifically.

“Yes! I’ve always wanted to meet you. So mysterious. No one knows anything about you, and of course you are from Halmar, and I’ve always wanted to travel there. Actually, I’d love to go anywhere that isn’t here. I’ve never been outside of Zehvi, and I’ve honestly barely left Taveran. My mother and Malik are paranoid because . . .” She shook her head. “Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s really because they just don’t think I’m old enough.” She rolled her eyes. “But I’m seventeen. Malik and Amir were fighting in a war when they were my age. It’s hardly fair.” She finally paused her tirade and looked at me expectantly.

Realms! Did she expect me to respond? The girl had barely taken a breath. “Uh,” I began, really not sure what to say. All I could think was that she was older than I had first thought.

Thankfully, at that moment, a small violet dragon the size of a large kitten popped its head out from the curtain of Zara’s dark hair and crawled down from her shoulder. Then she climbed right into my lap and stared up at me with curious yellow eyes.

I froze, startled. It was considered the height of rudeness to touch a rider’s dragon without permission, but I wasn’t sure what the protocol was for a dragon touching me. My only real interaction with dragons was with Nova—but that was different. She was my sister’s dragon.

“Mesmera!” Zara scolded in exasperation, pulling the dragon from my lap. “I’m sorry. I’ve been curious about you, so naturally she is, too.”

“It’s all right,” I assured her. “Dragons don’t bother me.” Their painful, fiery breath, however . . . but she didn’t need to know that. “My twin is a dragon rider, after all.”

Zara’s eyes widened. “Oh, I know!” she exclaimed, her voice once again bubbling with excitement. “Is she really as fierce as they say?”

“More so, Your Highness.”

“Ugh, please call me Zara. I hate formalities.” Mesmera moved to curl up in her lap, and Zara absently began stroking her back.

A familiar pang of longing filled me at seeing their closeness. Clearing my throat, I replied, “I would like that. Please call me Leida.”

Zara beamed at my ready agreement, and I couldn’t help but be a little surprised at myself. It wasn’t like me to be so . . . agreeable. But something about this girl made me feel like I didn’t have to be quite so guarded around her.

“You remind me of Helene a bit, actually,” I found myself admitting. They had the same boundless energy and unending enthusiasm that bowled you over.

Zara’s face lit up even more. “Really?”

“You mean she talks too much and is as stubborn as a mule?” another voice interjected.

I turned my head to see the dragon rider in sandstone leathers I had noticed earlier had moved to stand before us. Her build was stocky but fit, and I was surprised to see she now carried a baby on her hip. The little girl couldn’t have been more than a year old.

Zara glared at the woman. “Maybe I wouldn’t talk so much if your husband would actually say something once in a while, other than to give me orders. I’m starved for conversation.”

The woman gave Zara an exasperated look, but I relaxed a little when I glimpsed the genuine affection there. “He is there to teach you, Zara. Not gossip.”

Zara reached out her hands for the little one, and the woman gave the child over without hesitation. Mesmera moved out of Zara’s lap without a fuss and settled at her side as her rider cuddled the little girl close.

Zara noticed me watching and finally remembered herself. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She motioned to the woman who was now regarding me. “Leida, this is Sura, one of my brother’s Fangdar. Her husband, Ramin, is also a member of the Fangdar, and one of my trainers. And this,” Zara nuzzled the babe’s neck until she giggled uncontrollably, “is Nalia. And she is the sweetest girl in the Nine Realms! Aren’t you?”

Sura looked to the heavens with a sigh. “If only that were true. She was giving her nursemaid fits, which is why she brought her to me.” The rider met my eyes and bowed her head. “A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.”

I nodded. “You as well.” I studied the woman and couldn’t help but ask, “Are you really a member of the prince’s Fangdar?”

Sura’s brows furrowed. “Yes, I am.”

“Remarkable,” I murmured.

“Why is that remarkable?” Her tone was slightly guarded.

Zara was now giving me an odd look as well. Quickly realizing how the women might perceive my remark, I clarified, “In Halmar, a woman would never be allowed to hold such a prominent position.”

The two women shared a glance. “Not even your female riders?” Sura asked.

Something in my stomach rolled at the look they shared. Feeling slightly defensive now for some reason, I shrugged. “Female riders are the exception. Outside of that, women do not hold political or military positions. Not that many want to.” Though admittedly that could be because they were not given the opportunity to try.

“That’s horrible,” Zara said. “Why should they be treated any differently? Men and women are different from each other, yes. But why should that be a negative thing? It does not make one lesser. Those differences should be celebrated, and they should be given the same opportunities.”

“If only it were that simple,” I said. My reply probably came out more stiffly than I had meant it to, but the truth in her words made me feel slightly uncomfortable.

Zara hastily backtracked. “My apologies, Leida, I did not mean to offend. I—ah—”

“It’s fine,” I interrupted her, putting her out of her misery. “Our societies are different, that’s all.”

“That is true enough,” Sura agreed, her dark eyes contemplating me closely.

“What about your sister?” Zara asked, more hesitantly this time. “Is she not a part of your father’s inner circle? She is his heir.”

“Zara!” Sura admonished her sharply.

I held up a hand before Zara could apologize. “It’s fine.” I shifted and the scars on my back pulled, making the skin there feel too tight. I might have to finally cave tonight and ask Hilde to rub the healing salve into them. She hadn’t done it since before we’d arrived, but I hated asking her to, especially when I could feel her distaste for the task the whole time she was doing it. But if I let it go too long, the discomfort became unbearable.

Realizing I had been quiet for too long, I answered, “Helene is his heir, but only because my father had no sons. And because he squelched any dissent or grumblings about her being a female a long time ago.” I still didn’t know what my father had done to threaten the nobles who had spoken out against Helene being named heir. I had been too young at the time. All I knew was that everyone in our court was still too terrified of him to speak of it or voice further protest. “Now they are all too focused on trying to become her king consort to care,” I told them. Helene loved the attention and played them all against each other like she was conducting a symphony.

The babe began to fuss, and Zara handed her back to her mother. I used the interruption and stood.

“If you will excuse me, I think I will retire for the afternoon.” My smile was only slightly forced as I looked to both of them. “It was nice speaking with you.”