Page 13 of Kiss of Ice

Self-consciously, she looked down at herself. She was wearing her favourite dress, the loosest and most shapeless one in her wardrobe. Even so, it strained across her chest.

Her father was right. She should eat less. When the maid brought the main course, she waved it away.

“Father, I noticed the shaitun quarters were empty,” she said, changing the subject. “Where are they all? Have you sent them out on jobs?”

“I got rid of them. They’ve been discorporated.”

“Allof them?” Ren was astonished. “Even Ravij?”

“I grew weary of them. They were becoming complacent. Lazy.”

“But father, some of them have been with this family for decades. Ravij has served you forcenturies.”

“And he disappointed me. It is of no consequence. I’ll create new ones when I have need of them.”

Ren was at a loss. She found the whole notion of owning shaitun abhorrent. She knew they weren’t living beings, as such. They were a type of lower-class demon, created from the ether solely to serve their masters.

But they were sentient. They learned, they grew. Some had even been granted their freedom and lived just like any other inhabitant of Nush’aldaam. To simply return them to the ether after long years of servitude seemed unnecessarily cruel.

“Couldn’t you have just let them go free?” she asked cautiously. “Did you have to discorporate them?”

“They were belongings, Morenna. Not people. Now please drop the subject.” He returned to his papers and she lapsed into silence.

There was a sudden commotion at the door. The butler rushed in, bearing an envelope on a silver tray. He looked excited and worried, both at the same time. Salaq gave him a cursory glance.

“What is it, Tarek?”

“A letter from the Emperor, my Lord.”

The colour drained from Ren’s face. He’d found her. Somehow, he had recognised her despite the robe and hood. He’d changed his mind about letting her go and was informing her that she was to be arrested and incarcerated in the palace dungeon.

What, and he wrote you a note?

Well, okay. That was ridiculous. But why else would he contact her?

“Let me see,” she demanded. But Tarek was handing the letter to her father.

“It’s for Lord Salaq, my Lady,” he said. “The Emperor has written a personal message to him.”

Both she and the butler waited for Salaq to finish reading, the pair of them almost vibrating with anticipation. He looked up, his cold grey eyes inscrutable.

“You may go, Tarek. I will summon you when I am ready to send a reply.”

Tarek scuttled away, disappointed. Salaq turned to his only daughter and examined her critically.

She was tall, like him. Too tall for a woman but not freakishly so. Not if she didn’t wear heels. And she had his eyes. But that’s where the similarity stopped.

Her hair was more grey than white, a clear sign of whatever throwback gene had rendered her a weft without the normal Marid powers. It might have been attractive if she ever brushed it, but she kept it in a braid which hung lifelessly down her back.

And she did not have his lithe build or his grace. She was too large, too clumsy. Her shoulders were too broad, her hips too wide. It didn’t help that she rarely wore make-up and chose ill-fitting clothes.

Perhaps all of that could have been forgiven had she shared even the tiniest fraction of his own assertiveness and self-esteem. Instead, she carried herself apologetically. As though she were trying to fade into the background.

Even now, she was slumping despite the fact that he’d commanded her a million times to sit up straight. She’d told him once she disliked towering over people. But whyshouldn’tshe stand above them? She was a high-born jinn of one of the oldest families in the realm and, in lieu of a son, heir to Valkar and all its territory.

She fidgeted under his cold stare, knowing instinctively her father was, as always, disappointed in her.

“What is it?” she asked eventually. “What does the Emperor want?”

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