Like A Horse
Lord Ashezama Davani is the wealthiest man in the Golden Empire
Daena looked upon the walls of Tel Kellah as dawn spread its rosy fingers over the city. The sunrise brought with it a sense of unease. Her shoulders were tense, heavy with the weight of the responsibility she carried. Could she successfully convince Provost Jaffar to side with them?
The Queen had only been to Gen once in the decade since the Long War. Though the smoky remnants of that conflict had faded into whisper, the scars it left behind were far more durable. Nevertheless, an uneasy peace had remained in place for those ten years, a peace that the Scarlet Kingdom’s disturbing move threatened to disrupt.
It still didn’t make sense. Why would the Scarlet Kingdom’s leaders allow Vahid to flee with Ariana, knowing a war with the Golden Empire was all but guaranteed? She couldn’t help wondering whether they even knew what he had done. What if the Scarlet prince had acted on his own? Ariana had acted of her own volition. Was it so much of a stretch to imagine that Vahid had, as well?
Daena anxiously glanced to her left, watching as servants carried supplies and other essentials to the wagons that would be going on her journey. The royal caravan was flanked by rows of guards standing at attention, armed with spears and scimitars. Morning light refracted off of their red and gold armor.
Next to them a handful of women stood chatting amongst themselves. They were dressed in glistening white shirts, different from the typical hard and cold metal plates that covered the bodies of average soldiers. These were more akin to jeweled silk, each shirt a cascade of luminous threads shimmering like a winter's morning.
Having grown up as a scion of Tel Kellah’s wealthiest house, Daena knew mithril when she saw it. Lighter than air and yet sturdier than any other metal, it held a kind of enchanting beauty, a deceptive allure that concealed the lethal protection it offered.
The female warriors all bore complex networks of tattoos extending all the way to their faces. The tattoos varied among the women except for a specific marking each kept beneath her left eye: a clover with six leaves - the mark of a one who bore the title Arash Shara; Executioner’s mark. These were no ordinary women. They were Executioner’s special unit, the Shikari warriors.
Daena experienced a degree of relief upon seeing them with the rest of her guards. Each had been personally chosen and trained by Executioner herself. Their skill was legendary, comparable, it was said, to many of the great warriors of history. Executioner herself, however, was noticeably absent. Did that mean Ardeshir had been unable to secure her accompaniment to Gen? Daena had thought Executioner would still be in the palace or in the city somewhere, given the Shah had refused her request to be sent after Ariana and Vahid, but perhaps the Shah had reconsidered.
As Daena watched the servants streaming from out of the palace, a figure followed them into the burgeoning daylight. She turned to the newcomer. “Father,” she greeted.
“Daughter,” Ashezama returned the greeting. He gestured toward the caravan. “You’ll be departing soon.” It wasn’t a question.
“We leave within the hour,” she replied anyway. She kept her voice neutral, hands clasped behind her back in an effort to conceal her nervous anticipation.
Ashezama nodded. Despite being raised by the man, Daena couldn’t get used to the way he looked at her, looked at everyone, really - that piercing, avian gaze of his, the way he seemed to blink only half as much as anyone else.
“Kazem is quite unhappy,” she said, changing the subject. She crossed her arms, mirroring her father’s detached demeanor. “He thinks you should have sent him after Ariana and Vahid.”
Ashezama scowled. “Sending Kazem would be stupid.”
Daena twisted a loose strand of hair around her finger, her brows furrowing in thought. “He has a point, you know.”
“And what point is that?”
“He is one of the few warriors out there capable of defeating Vahid in combat.”
Ashezama folded his arms and locked eyes with his daughter. His mouth formed a thin line before he responded. “Surely you don’t believe that this situation with the Scarlet Kingdom will be resolved by a mere duel. I had thought you more clever than that.”
“Of course not. I only meant that-”
“Kazem is also the Lord Commander of our military,” Ashezama interjected, tapping his foot impatiently. “The youngest in history to ever hold that position. A great deal of effort went into making that happen, effort that would be undone if he were to leave Tel Kellah on the eve of war.”
Daena’s eyes fell to her feet. “Of course.”
“The Shah has sent Azadeh Atlasi to retrieve the crown princess. A Paladin should be more than sufficient for the task, wouldn’t you agree?”
Daena nodded, unable to find her voice beneath the withering glare he was giving her.
“Now,” Ashezama continued. “We will speak no more of this. We’ve other matters to discuss before you leave.”
Daena clenched her jaw, infuriated by the dismissal. “Yes father,” she hissed through gritted teeth.
“I don’t need to tell you how disastrous a situation we are in,” Ashezama said.
“No.”
Her father’s scowl deepened. “Years of planning, potentially foiled by the whims of a stupid, adolescent girl.”
“I don’t understand what the Scarlets have to gain from this,” Daena said. “Why risk war with us over one girl?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Ashezama waved his hand dismissively.
“You aren’t the least bit curious?”
“As I said, it doesn’t matter. If Ariana marries the usurper’s son, the Shah will disinherit her, and she will forfeit all claim to the throne. Prince Zakaria will become the Shah’s heir, and he is betrothed to Sima Rahbar. I can think of no worse situation for our house than a Rahbar on the throne.”
“I would have thought you’d have a contingency plan for that.”
Ashezama’s lip curled. “Is that supposed to be funny?”
“Not at all.” Daena took a few steps back in the direction of the palace. “Though, imagine if Queen Atossa’s second child had been a daughter instead,” she mused. “We could have betrothed Kazra to her. Then I could have been mother-in-law to both of my brothers.”
“Make all the jokes you want,” Ashezama said. “In a few years, I’ll be dead. The governing god will see if you’re still laughing when I’m no longer here to look out for you.”
“Perhaps I would make fewer jokes if you took what I said more seriously,” she suggested.
He turned more fully in her direction. “You want to be taken more seriously.” His cold expression told her that wasn’t a question either.
Now it was Daena’s turn to scowl. “And why shouldn’t I? Of all your children I’m the most talented with magic, the most politically astute. Surely you’ve realized by now that I’m the only one who actually pays attention to all your lessons. Kazem is too busy playing warrior, and Kazra...” She trailed off.
“What’s your point?”
“My point is I’m not just some piece for you to move on a shatranj board.”
“You’re a Davani,” her father admonished. “You’ll do your duty, no matter how unglamorous it may seem to you.”
“I accept my duty,” Daena hissed. “But I should be more than just someone you order around! By the wisdom of Mithra, I’m your daughter! And I’m the only one who listens to you. You should be treating me like a partner, someone who actually contributes to this family.”
Ashezama’s eyes bore into her like ashen coals. “Why do you think I married you to the Shah and made you Queen?”
Daena pursed her lips. “How exactly is selling me off like a horse treating me as a partner?” For a moment her eyes again found the long, stone bridge. She would never admit it aloud, but she understood why Ariana had fled. She understood the fear and desperation that must have driven the crown princess, the sense of helplessness and lack of control over her own destiny.
“In making you Queen, I’ve given you real authority,” Ashezama replied, almost too quickly. “For all the good you’ve done with it...”
Daena opened her mouth to reply when a resounding crash reverberated through the air, startling her. Both of them turned in the direction of the noise. A crate, filled to the brim with precious cargo, had slipped from the grasp of two nervous servants, scattering its contents across the stone-paved ground.
"Careless fools!" roared a gruff voice, cutting through the commotion. The supervisor, a stout man with a beet-red face, emerged from the crowd, his eyes blazing. "Do you think you’re handling sacks of hay?!”
"We-we're sorry, sir," one of the trembling servants stammered, hastily gathering the spilled contents. His cheeks flushed in embarrassment.
"Aye, 'sorry' is all you ever are!" the supervisor spat, his voice echoing through the courtyard. "Do you think 'sorry' will cover the cost of these goods? This is the Queen's property, not some roadside junk!"
"It slipped, it was an accident," the second servant mumbled under her breath.
"'Accident' or not, you've got hands, don't you?” Both servants nodded. “Then use them properly, or I'll have you scrubbing the castle's latrines for a month!"
The two servants nodded again, their faces as pale as fresh milk. “Y-Yes sir!”
Ashezama turned back toward Daena. “Enough of this. There’s work to be done. You say you want to be taken more seriously. Do your job in Gen, prove you can handle that kind of responsibility.”
She bit down on her lower lip to stop herself from lashing out. The arrogance of him, treating her like some lowly subordinate. Daena’s fists clenched at her side. “Yes, father.”
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