Gifting Fire by Alina Boyden (read my book .TXT) 📕

I took that thought with me into the gardens, where a knot of river zahhaks had gathered together near one of the courtyard’s many empty pits. They seemed to be staring into it with disappointment written on their faces. It was the kind of look Sultana gave me when she saw other zahhaks flying but didn’t get to go up herself.

“What’s going on?” I asked Hina, nodding to the zahhaks.

“All Zindhi palaces have fish ponds and lotus gardens,” she replied. “The river zahhaks are usually left free to wander the inner courtyard, dining at their leisure.”

“Ah . . .” I murmured, understanding dawning at long last. The empty pits were all reflecting pools, fish ponds, aquatic flower gardens. Once upon a time, this courtyard would have been staggeringly beautiful, filled with the splashing of fish, the bubbling of fountains, and the gentle rushing of water through stone channels. I wondered why the palace’s ponds had been left in such poor repair, but only for an instant. The answer presented itself swiftly enough.

“Javed Khorasani let them fall into ruin as an insult to the Zindhi people,” I murmured.

“Just so,” Hina agreed.

“Well, I’ll have them repaired,” I promised her.

She flashed me an encouraging smile, though the gesture didn’t quite reach her eyes, which were still gazing sadly into the empty pits all around us. “I know you will, your highness.”

Arjun and Sikander were waiting for us, just inside the diwan-i-khas. I hurried to them, eager to summon Sunil and Pir Tahir. The sooner I took command of Shikarpur, the sooner I could begin planning for how to deal with Karim.

“You look beautiful,” Arjun said, standing as I entered the marble pavilion.

“The spitting image of Jama Sakina,” Sikander agreed, giving Hina a meaningful look.

“You’ve heard of her?” I asked, surprised by that.

“I may be a soldier,” Sikander admitted, “but I’ve studied history like all generals, and I fought a war against Jam Rustam Talpur, who was Jama Sakina’s grandson.”

“A war,” I murmured, remembering for the first time that Hina’s father had been killed by my own. I couldn’t believe I’d let something like that slip my mind. I supposed we were going to have to talk about it sooner or later.

Arjun tore my mind away from those thoughts with the warmth of his hands on my arms. “Well, I don’t know anything about this Jama Sakina, but if she looked anything like you, then she must have been the most beautiful queen in all of Zindhi history.”

“She was—until I was born, anyway,” Hina answered, flashing us both a lopsided grin as she took her place on one of the cushions beside my marble throne.

Sikander gave a loud snort of disapproval. “If I were in your position, I would not be flaunting my disgrace, boy.”

Hina fixed the old man with a withering glare, and she wasn’t alone. All fifteen of her celas joined in, as well as Sakshi, Lakshmi, and myself. It was Lakshmi who spoke up, before any of the rest of us could. She balled her hands into little fists, stormed over to Sikander, and growled, “We’re not boys!”

For the first time in his life, Sikander was totally outnumbered. Back home in Nizam, when he’d said such things about me, there had always been a dozen male courtiers bobbing their heads right along with his inane insults, but here there were nearly twenty hijras fixing him with eyes alive with anger, to say nothing of Arjun and Arvind and even Shiv, who were joining in. There wasn’t a face beneath the pavilion’s dome that wasn’t betraying its disapproval.

“Don’t waste your breath on him, little sister,” Sakshi advised, snaking an arm across Lakshmi’s shoulders, which were still tense with anger. “Men who like to beat helpless girls don’t have any shame at all, so there’s no sense in reprimanding them.”

Sikander narrowed his eyes, like he intended to challenge that description of himself, but then he glanced to me, and there was a moment of hesitation as he recalled all the times he had beaten me. I could almost see him reevaluating each and every moment, one after the other. I didn’t know if it brought him to the realization that I had been a helpless girl on each and every occasion in the past we’d shared, but at the very least, he seemed to have enough sense to keep his mouth shut, which was better than I’d hoped for.

“It’s all right, Lakshmi,” Hina said from her place on the dais. She kept her expression mild, her hands folded daintily in her lap, her eyes slightly downcast, but her tone cut like Arjun’s mother on a bad day. “Men like him are natural cowards. They can’t help it. They’re so frightened of things they don’t understand that they try to destroy them.”

Sikander’s temples bulged as his jaw clamped down hard, his face darkening with anger. For a man who prided himself on his battlefield prowess, the accusation of cowardice couldn’t have been more carefully calculated to enrage him. “What need have I for lessons in courage from a man in a skirt?” he demanded.

“You think it doesn’t take courage to wear a skirt, Sikander?” I asked him, slipping free of Arjun’s grasp and strutting toward him, the silk of my own skirt swishing as I went.

He gave a toss of his head. “I do not, your highness.”

“Do you think me a coward?” I pressed, looking into his eyes to divine the answer. He’d certainly called me one often enough, but he knew what I had done to steal back my Sultana, and he knew how I’d performed in the battle that had followed.

“No, your highness,” he said, and I knew he wasn’t lying for my benefit. “You show remarkable courage when the situation requires it. Few men would have scaled the cliffs of Shikarpur as you did.”

“Know this, Sikander,” I told him as I took my place on my throne. “Scaling the cliffs of Shikarpur with