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

Zindh are an order of magnitude more complicated. For centuries it was ruled by—”

“—its own royal family,” I interrupted, finishing his sentence for him, enjoying the look of irritation that flickered across his face. “The Talpur dynasty, the members of which have long served as the—”

“—jams of Zindh,” he said, speaking over me. “And many people in Zindh are still loyal to the members of their royal family and will stop at nothing to see its rule restored.”

I frowned at that. “Restored? I thought you had every Talpur killed seven years ago for supporting Uncle Azam’s rebellion.”

“I killed Rustam Talpur, their precious emperor,” my father grumbled, “but his sons escaped. I kept it quiet, but now the elder of the two boys, Ali, has reclaimed Kadiro, Zindh’s only port city.”

“Which means our trade revenues will be crippled until he’s dealt with,” I concluded, seeing then why my father had been so annoyed with me for focusing on the palace.

“Correct. But it’s worse than that.”

I didn’t need him to spell it out for me. I could see the picture developing in my mind’s eye, even without the scouting reports. “With Javed Khorasani dead, and his men gone, Ali Talpur’s rebels will have their run of the province.”

“And it will be your job to pull them out, root and stem, and restore order to this place,” he concluded.

I frowned as I mulled over the magnitude of the task before me. Even with my zahhaks, I’d need an army to defeat Ali Talpur’s men, maybe more than one, to say nothing of artillery, ammunition, food, and supplies. At present, I had none of those things.

“How many zahhaks does Ali Talpur have?” I asked, as that was the most pressing issue. With just two or three fire zahhaks or acid zahhaks at his disposal, he might make retaking Kadiro nearly impossible.

“More than thirty,” my father replied, “but they’re all river zahhaks.” He gave a dismissive gesture with his hand.

River zahhaks. Of course. My eyes flickered to the slender, colorful animals decorating the marble throne. River zahhaks were a peculiar species native to Zindh. They lived here in such large numbers that even ordinary noblemen were expected to learn to ride them, but where most zahhaks spat fire or acid or lightning, river zahhaks possessed no breath at all, making them virtually useless in warfare outside of scouting and messaging duties. It was one fewer thing for me to worry over anyway.

“And how many men are you leaving me?” I asked.

“You think I’m leaving soldiers for you after what you did?” my father asked, his voice mild, his expression anything but.

“I think that if you expect me to fight a war without soldiers then you have a higher opinion of me than I ever imagined possible,” I retorted.

“I can spare you five hundred men,” he said, his words sounding strangely flat without their usual undercurrent of scorn.

“Five hundred men?” I gasped. That was what he was leaving me? Not in my worst nightmares had I ever imagined it would be this bad. I forgot our sparring match, our anger at each other, and I asked, with genuine concern in my voice, “Are there no levies left under our control at all?”

“This province has always been difficult to hold together,” my father told me. I didn’t know if it was a response to my sudden display of worry, or some long-buried instinct, but he wasn’t yelling at me like usual. He was explaining things the way he had when I was little and he’d still wanted me to take the throne. “The local emirs, their petty lords, hate interlopers, they still worship their infernal king, and they and their levies are loyal to him.”

I looked out at the nearly empty inner courtyard of the palace. There should have been courtiers, there should have been servants, there should have been more guards. I understood now why there weren’t. “There’s nobody left in this province but rebellious lords and resentful nobles.”

I wasn’t the subahdar of Zindh, I saw that clearly. I had five hundred men and six zahhaks with which to fight Ali Talpur, the rightful king of Zindh, and to quell a populace numbering in the hundreds of thousands. It was impossible. I’d be dead before the week was out.

“My father can send men, Razia,” Arjun said. I didn’t miss the urgency in his voice, the fear for my safety. “And I have friends I can contact, young princes of Registan who are bored sitting at home in peace, and who might enjoy an adventure in an exotic new land. They could bring fire zahhaks—at least three or four.”

“Thank you, my prince,” I said, though I thought we both knew that it wouldn’t be nearly enough. And anyway, if Ali Talpur’s men commanded the forts on the border with Registan, which I had no doubt they did, then the Registani soldiers would never be able to get through.

“We can ask Prince Karim for help, Akka,” said Lakshmi, with far too much hope in her voice. It broke my heart. I’d promised her a new home, and I’d brought her to a tomb. But the pain in my heart didn’t change how I felt about Karim Shah. I wouldn’t ask him for his help if he were the last man in Daryastan.

“Prince Karim and the Mahisagaris have their own worries now,” my father said, more to me than to Lakshmi. “The Safavians have won their war with Tarkiva. The Safavian shah, Ismail, is preparing his victorious armies for new campaigns. He wants to enlarge his territory, and for the first time in a decade, he has the freedom to do it. Karim and his father will be too worried about that to help you here.”

I swallowed hard against the lump of fear hardening in my throat. I hadn’t counted on a threat from Safavia. They were a larger empire even than Nizam, with massive armies and hordes of zahhaks. If they turned their sights eastward, Zindh would be