Kingdom of Souls. Rena Barron
Vizier is the right hand of the Almighty One. He governs the Kingdom. As head of the Almighty Temple, my mother is the voice of the orishas. It’s said that Re’Mec himself visits the seers on occasion – when the mood strikes – but Arti never speaks of it. Because the seers come from the tribes, she also oversees trade with the tribal lands. Relations with all other countries, such as Estheria, Yöom, and the North, fall under the Vizier’s domain.
‘Two can play Suran’s game,’ Arti says. ‘You will attend the assembly with me.’
‘But why?’ I swallow the bitter taste on my tongue. It goes without saying that I have no place or reason to be there. I’ve never dreamed of being Ka-Priestess one day. Even so, it hurts knowing that without magic I’d never even be considered.
The Almighty One hand-picks the Vizier and Ka-Priestess. The title of Vizier always falls to an Omari, close cousins of the royal family. As for the Ka-Priest or Ka-Priestess, the Almighty One chooses the most powerful of the seers. It’s a small mercy that my mother’s position isn’t a birthright, or I’d be an embarrassing end to our family legacy. ‘We will make a statement of our own,’ Arti says on her way out. ‘Be ready at half bell to ten.’
‘But …’ I protest.
My mother pauses in the doorway with her back to me. ‘Did you say something, Arrah?’
What’s one more slight to add to a treasure trove of them? ‘No, Mother.’
Once a month, the leaders of the Kingdom meet to debate taxes and tariffs and new decrees. The Almighty One and his two sons, Crown Prince Darnek and his younger brother, Tyrek, the Vizier and his four guildmasters, and my mother with the four other seers from the Temple. When I go to the assembly with Essnai and Sukar, it’s fun, but I dread attending with my mother.
With Arti gone, I slip into the sheath, admiring the splash of bright beads that run from the neckline to the hem. It’s fitted through the hips, flaring just below my knees. I loop the belt low around my waist and toe on the sandals. Although it’s quite pretty, I prefer my trousers. They have pockets.
While I’m adjusting the sheath in the mirror, Terra strolls into my room with a jewelled box tucked under her arm. She smiles, her freckles standing out against her tan skin. She looks regal with her golden hair done up in braids. It’s nice to have someone my age in the villa. There’s never a dull moment with her. She collects gossip like some people collect figurines.
‘I bet Ty gave you a scare,’ Terra says, her voice bright and musical.
‘You could’ve warned me,’ I grumble. ‘She was in a mood this morning.’
At that, Terra descends upon me with a little too much gleam in her eyes, like I’m a plaything to mould to her wishes. She massages oil into my scalp before twisting my braids into an elaborate crown with strings of pearls woven between the strands. While I can’t deny it’s beautiful, it’s also very heavy. Terra spends what feels like forever powdering my face in shades of golds and silvers. When she’s done, she grins at her handiwork and rushes me outside. Nezi has already opened the gate, and the litter waits in front of it. Eight men stand with their eyes downcast, the sun glistening off their brown skin.
The red curtains are half-drawn, and my mother waits inside. I swallow hard and join her. The compartment is cool and smells of wood polish laced with her sweet perfume. We sit facing each other, but Arti doesn’t see me. Her eyes are vacant as she stares into a corner. She’s so lost in thought that she doesn’t stir when Nezi commands the labourers to proceed.
‘Get going now,’ our porter yells, ‘and take care with them.’ There’s a subtle ‘or else’ in Nezi’s voice, a warning. I wouldn’t put it past her, if an accident were to befall us, to personally seek retribution.
The men lift on three, and we’re on our way. Our villa sits on the north edge of the district, among other fine estates owned by families of import in Tamar. I steal glimpses of the city between the curtains, soaking in the bright colours. We travel down back roads to avoid the crowds of the West Market. Most people will go about their regular business today. It’s only those with influence that attend the assembly. My father never comes, citing his allergy to politics.
After a long silence between us, Arti says, voice low and calculating, ‘When we arrive, follow my lead. Do not speak, do not smile, do not sit until after I’ve taken my place on the first tier. Do you understand?’
I startle at the sudden fire in her words.
‘Yes,’ I say, knitting my fingers together.
Long before we reach the coliseum, we hear the roar of the crowd. Towering orisha statues stand in a row guarding the most prominent families of the city. Soon the crowd is as thick as bees, as scholars, scribes, and heads of families clamber into the coliseum. The building is a honeycomb-shaped mammoth with doors large enough to accommodate giants. When people see our litter, they slink to the side, the labourers never slowing.
Tenth morning bells strike when we are mere moments from entering the dome, which means we’re late. There’s no mistaking that my mother’s up to something.
She’s got a scheme brewing in her eyes.
A gong echoes in the West Market, marking the start of the assembly. If my mother’s even a bit mad about being late, she hides it well. The look of disinterest never slips from her face.
The crowd on the streets hushes and the Vizier’s words fill the silence.
‘You honour us with your presence, Almighty One, Crown Prince Darnek, and Second Son Tyrek.’ His voice blasts in the West Market. ‘May your wisdom guide our hearts and minds. May our orisha lords look upon the Kingdom favourably for as long as your great family reigns.’
The Vizier pauses a heartbeat. ‘If the public will allow me a small indulgence, I would like my son, Rudjek Omari, to join me on the first tier.’
My stomach sinks. I hope Rudjek isn’t as caught off guard as I was this morning. In the new silence, I imagine him weaving through people and climbing the steps to reach his father.
I hold my breath as we draw closer to the coliseum. I expect the labourers to stop at the giant doors, but they rush us straight into the heart of the assembly. The crowd gasps, drowning out the Vizier’s next words. When the labourers set the litter down, Arti gives me a meaningful glance. Follow my lead, or else.
As she descends from the litter, her head held high, triumph flashes in her amber eyes. The pieces fall into place. She wanted to be late so that she could interrupt the Vizier as he introduced Rudjek as his heir.
The voices fall silent upon seeing the Ka-Priestess. I follow my mother, resisting the urge to shrink beneath hundreds of stares. The Vizier stands on the first tier of the raised platform, shiny shotels sheathed on either side of his waist. His swords look like they belong in a museum, not like they’ve ever seen a day of battle.
My eyes find Rudjek, and when his dark gaze meets mine, my stomach flutters. I hold back a smile. He stands beside his father, clad in a purple elara to the Vizier’s white and gold. The handles of his half-moon swords are dull and well-worn. His face is angular and lean, and recently met with a sharp razor. There’s a shadow of a bruise under his right eye, no doubt from a fight in the arena. I should’ve known he couldn’t stay out of trouble while I was gone.
He doesn’t have his father’s rich brown skin, but they share the same lush eyebrows and chiselled jawline. His colouring is between his father’s shade and his Northern mother’s paler, diaphanous skin. His hair is a mess of tangled black curls. I soak up everything about his face, as if we haven’t seen each other in ages when it’s been mere weeks.
He and his father both wear a craven-bone crest pinned to their collar,