Seventeen

We arrived at Casildo's home in all the finery we had, displaying Souma's extravagant wealth to our utmost advantage. Torches were lit all along the house, the trellis patrolled by guards. We were met at the door by his merchant from the bazaar, a broad smile on his face.

"His man must have really told tales about our means," Noor whispered as we walked.

"Then we shall have to live up to them." I pulled my dupatta close, the glittering beadwork chiming together, as if my outfit agreed.

"Welcome to my home." Casildo stood at the entrance, and it took everything in me not to rip the pin securing my dupatta from my hair and slit his throat with it. "Tarfaan has told me of your search, and that you are recently new to the city. It is my pleasure to have you here."

He looked exactly as I remembered, except his dark hair was now graying at the sides, and what once had been a warm smile now felt calculating and oily. I pressed my own mouth into a smile, my hand involuntarily floating toward the dagger strapped to my thigh. I exhaled a slow breath, steadying myself.

Killing him outright was too good for him.

Despite the boiling anger in my veins, a tremor of fear ran down my spine as he took in my face.

Had I changed my appearance enough?

Could Casildo discern who I was despite the djinn magic coursing through me?

He was the first person who had known me before I'd been arrested and I was now testing the experiment firsthand.

But his expression didn't change.

He still had that same smile, as if he were tallying the worth of my kameez. Good thing I'd worn the most expensive one I owned.

Noor was wearing a dark green kurta with fine gold embroidery at the hem. She was still posing as my maid, because she could get places I couldn't and gather information I wouldn't have access to. We would need that if we wanted to get close enough to Casildo.

If I wanted him to suffer, I was going to have to know exactly what he would hate to lose. I toyed with the neckline of my kameez and gave him a pretty smile through gritted teeth as I tried my best to soften the rage sitting in the back of my throat.

"Thank you so much for your welcome, sahib. I am happy to view your collection. Your man was most helpful in recommending your blades to me."

"Those knives were nothing compared to my private stores." Casildo beckoned us inside and we were led through to an open-air courtyard in the center of his home, filled with greenery, giant lotus flowers, and star white dahlias infusing the room with a sickly perfume.

It was a common feature for wealthier homes in the city to have this type of indoor garden, to alleviate some of the heat from the outside. A large fountain in the center took up the majority of the garden. As we moved closer, I realized it was a stone depiction of the mythical battle between the warrior Naveed slaughtering a deadly azi. The dragon's great wings were crushed under Naveed's boots, and its neck pierced by the blade of his scimitar. It was gruesome to behold, but it set the tone of the house.

Here, might and weaponry were prized.

I watched the pained eyes of the azi, who was said to be attacking a local village until Naveed fed it a poisoned goat and slaughtered its drugged body.

Another lesson—treachery wins the day.

My eyes flickered to the rest of the garden. Servants surrounded us, holding various platters with crystal goblets, golden plates, and every type of refreshment.

"Expecting others?" I turned to Casildo.

"A few friends to welcome you into the city. Your arrival has caused quite a stir, especially when you bought out half the bazaar. There are rumors about you all over Basral. I'm thankful you stopped by my bazaar stall."

"I am thankful too, sahib. If only to meet another sword collector."

"Please, call me Casildo."

I inclined my head with a smile and his eyes gleamed. "Your hospitality is most generous."

We were led to platters of roasted lamb, spicy pickles, and fresh roti my teeth were begging to sink into. I had learned since being in prison there wasn't any kind of food I would pass up if given the opportunity. I reached for a roti but Noor made a noise in her throat as I did so. Our eyes met, hers with censure. Noor stepped forward instead and began filling a plate for me.

"Please, eat your fill." Casildo gestured to the food. "Once we share a meal, we can visit the swords you are so interested in."

"I would like that very much." I bit into a piece of tender roast meat in my mouth and chewed it slowly, savoring the taste. "Tell me, where did you acquire your swords? Do you have a supplier?"

My stomach clenched as I prepared for his answer. Perhaps he would give away the entire tale, the history of how he betrayed my father. I was eager to hear him talk about it, eager to stoke the fires of my rage when he bragged about how he owned all his knives.

Will you dare speak about my father, you disgusting coward?

"I used to. But now I mostly collect from my travels. You requested a very specific sword—a pommel carved into a halmasti head?" He made a kissing sound against his teeth. "There are few who have even seen one."

"My nanu would tell me tales of them when I was a girl. I remember seeing the blade and regretting not buying it."

"Did your father not purchase it for you?"

"He had more important things to do with his time besides buying young girls ceremonial blades." I laughed, the sound falling flat to my ears, the lie like ash on my tongue. Of course, my father had gifted me beautiful daggers he'd made since I could walk. But I had to wear the skin of Sanaya Khara now.

"Your family name is an important one in the north, is it not? Quite a powerful warlord's tribe." He leaned back in his chair and studied me. "What are you doing this far from home, in the emperor's city?"

"My father wanted to make treaties and connections without leaving his people. He sent me to Basral in his stead." I scooped up a mouthful of stewed goat, the sharpness of the ginger and green cardamom alighting on my tongue. I took small, dainty bites, instead of shoveling it in my mouth like I wanted to do. "Your food is delicious. Tell me, who is your cook?"

Casildo laughed. "I'll not have you steal her away from me. At least not before you see my blades. Come." He signaled to a servant to pour steaming cups of chai. "Let us take our tea in the gallery."

"The gallery?" I asked, more harshly than I intended. "I didn't come to see paintings and sculpture."

Noor arched her brow from behind Casildo and I nearly gave her a rude gesture. I clasped my hands together, painted a demure smile on my face, and softened my voice. "I would much prefer to see your sword collection."

He gave me a patronizing smile as he patted my shoulder.

I wanted to break each finger.

"I think you shall like this gallery."

Casildo led the way and we followed, walking through the ornate halls of his grand house. When I had known him, he was a simple merchant, with a three-roomed city town house and modest means. There was only one thing that could have changed his wealth and status, and that was the profit he made from betraying my father. I raised my chin, the guilt seeping through my pores threatening to overwhelm me. I hadn't been there to help my father. He'd been alone when his closest friend had betrayed him.

I trailed my hand along a tapestry hanging at the end of the hall, depicting the battle between the former king and Emperor Vahid. On it, Emperor Vahid stood tall and proud, a pile of gleaming djinn seeds in his hand, the old king laid atop a mountain of human bodies.

I thought of the bags of zoraat hidden in our house, the vibrant colors that Noor knew exactly how to blend. If everything went as planned, Vahid's chokehold on the empire would fall, and it would be because of the zoraat he so vigilantly controlled.

"Ah, the battle of Chidkruh. A favorite of mine." Casildo came up beside me, so close I almost snapped my head backward and sent his teeth to the back of his throat. I smiled to myself, imagining it.

"The emperor gifted that to me himself." He returned my smile, as if we were in on the same joke, though he wouldn't have liked my punch line.

"You are an impressive man to be given such a gift by Emperor Vahid." I put on a tone of reverence.

He laughed. "Be careful sahiba, or I'll take your flattery to heart."

My lip curled with disgust involuntarily. Was he flirting with me?

Noor cleared her throat. I met her gaze and she shot me a look that said I wasn't keeping my true emotions out of my expression.

But really, the man was old enough to be my grandfather.

I schooled my features into something resembling a coy glance. Let him think his flirting could get him somewhere. If that helped gain his trust, then I would bat my eyelashes enough to cause a windstorm.

Casildo smiled back, clearly delighted. Revulsion rose in my chest.

Ugh, this was harder than I thought.

"The emperor simply rewarded a good turn I did him."

My ears perked up at that. "A good turn?" I tried to keep my voice curious.

"I told him of a plot against his life and helped him execute a traitor. But things aren't that adventurous these days."

I snorted an amused sound, hoping that it conveyed I was pleased with his joke and not that I didn't trust myself to speak. My hands drifted down again to the dagger strapped to my thigh, snug in its sheath, waiting to be released. The dark need to slit his thick neck and have his blood splash all over the marble floor nearly took over.

I felt the djinn magic answer my rage, simmer in my veins like a low fire.

Blackness darkened the edges of my vision, and a hot tingle ran through my hands. I looked down at my twitching fingers to find a single black vein curling from the tip of my index finger to the knuckle. It looked like a dark vine winding its way under my skin, responding to the unseen magic thrumming through me. I stared at it, more in confusion than anything, then a spike of panic lodged in my throat. Was this a byproduct of the zoraat? I pressed my hand to my side, hiding the black mark.

I widened my stance, planting my feet on the ground—a fighting stance.

Noor nudged me with her shoulder, her mouth pressed into a firm line as she shook her head. Clearly Noor was aware I was about to throw all our plans out the window and commit murder right here in the middle of Casildo's hall. I shot her a venomous look but moved my hand away from my dagger.

She was right. I didn't want to lose my head now, not when we'd come all this way. I curled my fingers in on themselves, making a mental note to ask her about the strange black vein spiraling down my hand. But it wouldn't detract from what we had come here for.

"Revenge."

That same whispered voice shot through me. But I couldn't tell anymore if it was my own.

My father deserved more retribution than Casildo's slit throat. I exhaled a long breath and felt the anger draining out of me, replaced by resolve.

We came to a large room, lit by various torches affixed to the stone wall. Glass cases surrounded us, filigreed gold lining each one, the contents gleaming in the flickering light. The cases were filled not with art, but weapons.

Swords. Daggers. Knives of all kinds.

It was a swordfighter's haven.

I looked from one case to the next, nearly forgetting what I was doing here at the sight of such a magnificent collection of blades.

I stood in front of a large case filled with straight-edged saifs, the intricately notched handles gleaming in the torchlight. Then my eyes flickered to a display of sabers, their lightly curved steel blades beckoning my fingers to pick them up. All around me were jeweled daggers, carved khopeshes, wickedly curved talwars, kirpans sheathed in golden lace—enough knives and swords and daggers that I could take down hundreds of my enemies if I wanted.

I exhaled at the breadth of them.

Then that breath caught in my throat as I turned my head toward the wall at the end of the room. Swords I was familiar with stared back at me, swords that I knew better than my own hands. From floor to ceiling, blades of every type and design filled the space, but all with one thing in common—they had been made by the same swordsmith.

Casildo had an entire wall filled with the weapons he had stolen from my father.

I took a step forward involuntarily, as if I was stepping toward Baba and he was still alive, breathing, smiling, right in front of me. This was his life's work. And it was sitting in the house of the man who had murdered him.

My heart pounded furiously and I pressed my hand hard to my chest as if I could rip it out, as if I could stop the rage and sorrow from threatening to take over.

"I see I have surprised you, sahiba. I thought you might enjoy the collection I have here, being someone with an avid interest in weaponry such as yourself."

"I am speechless," I managed to grit out. I lifted my lips in an attempt at a smile, but I was sure it was a twisted grimace.

Casildo gestured to refill our chai, and more steaming liquid was poured into the tall glass in my hand. Dried rose petals floated to the top, and not even the familiar scent of hot cardamon and crushed pistachio comforted me. My fingers clenched the glass tightly, and I could have shattered it into a thousand pieces if I loosed the rage crackling through me. That black vine on my hand grew thicker and curled down to my wrist. I lifted the glass to my lips, relieved that the liquid remained steady, and I managed to swallow the scalding tea.

The door to the gallery creaked open behind us, but I didn't bother to turn my head. I still stared at the row of immaculately polished blades glistening in the torchlight, wishing that instead of them, I had my father again.

In every knife hilt I saw his weathered hands focused on the detail of his artistry, in the glow of each blade I pictured him bent over his forge, forming the metal with precision. This was him, and it was not. It was everything he valued and worked for, but he wasn't here anymore for it to matter. The only person left that could still stand up for him was me, and I needed to right the wrong that was done to him.

"Ah, you've finally joined us." Casildo greeted someone, and footsteps approached. Still, I didn't turn. If I tried to speak I would not be able to mask the fury blazing inside me.

"Meet Sanaya Khara, daughter of the Khara Chieftain, and new to Basral. Sahiba Khara, please let me introduce you to the Hawk ."

Someone gave a short laugh, and it had the effect of a bucket of ice water being thrown over me.

I knew that laugh.

I remembered that laugh.

I used to take delight in being the one to make it happen.

"Please, I am trying very hard to bury that nickname," a deep voice responded, like the rumble of a boulder falling from a mountain.

It was a distinct voice, the voice of an orator, or politician, smooth and confident, but something about it drew you in, made you feel as though you were trusted, special.

I closed my eyes.

Not him .

I hadn't prepared myself for the sound of his voice yet. Not this soon. I thought I would have time to shore myself up, to steel myself like one of my father's talwars—impenetrable, unbreakable. But every word brought it all back, until I wasn't certain my legs could still hold me up. I could feel it, everything—his touch on my skin. His smile when I called his name.

His expression when he betrayed me.

That one hurt most of all, and instead of me being the impenetrable blade, he was—slicing through my defenses, through my trust, piercing my heart. That calm mask he wore when the guards took me away was the face that haunted me all my days in prison.

"I think it suits you," Casildo continued, oblivious to the storm of emotions raging inside me. "But have it your way. Let me introduce you to Mazin Sial, the emperor's second-in-command. Youngest second there has ever been, in fact."

I felt rather than heard Noor's intake of breath at his name being announced.

But I snuffed every riot of emotion clambering to get out.

I couldn't fall apart. Not now.

Not until it was over.

And I would be damned if he made me fall apart, not after everything he had done. This time, I would be the one in control, I would be the one to watch as his entire life crumbled. I took a moment to center myself before walking off the edge of the cliff, letting a slow breath run through me. Then, I made my expression a pleasant mask.

This was who I would become in front of him. A sweet, beautiful confection.

And when he bit into the honeyed sugar, it would be poison filling his mouth.