Page 80 of The King of Koraha
The woman met Shyla’s gaze with an intensity that surprised her. It was either hate or jealousy. However, the name Vilma rang with strong familiarity. Yet when she tried to recall the situation where she might have met her before, it slipped away and Shyla no longer cared why.
“Report,” Xerxes said to his soldiers.
“The Water Prince has not responded to any of our requests for an audience,” Vilma said. “You’re going to have to go in person andconvincethe receptionist to get us an appointment. Although, I’ve heard he’s pretty stubborn and might not agree. We’ve also determined which of his people is the captain of the guard and will try to bribe her to get us an appointment.”
Captain of the guard. A sudden warmth flowed through her. It was mixed with love and desire, therefore the goddess didn’t take it from Shyla. She clutched it to her chest, keeping it all to herself.
“We no longer have to worry about getting an audience.” Xerxes raised Shyla’s arm and exposed the King’s sigil to everyone in the room. “This is our ticket in. And once Little One makes eye contact, the prince will be ours. No pendant needed.”
“Are you sure?” Vilma asked, eyeing Shyla as if she’d like to punch her.
“Yes. She converted an entire monastery in two days without using a single pendant.” Xerxes let that sink in. “We do have two fugitives from the Lyons monastery. They are probably heading to the Monks of Grane near Haiya. Vilma, assign a team to catch up with them and see that they don’t reach it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Worry and fear for those monks flared. Guilt rose as well, but all those emotions disappeared as fast as they’d appeared like a strange unsettling tug of war. It was as if she was trapped in sluff sand, sinking faster the more she struggled to find firm ground.
“Zahoor, keep working on creating a good reason for the prince to hire us. Even with Little One’s powers, the citizens and the Heliacal Priest need to see that we’re vital to the city.”
“Yes, sir,” Zahoor said. He wore a sleeveless training tunic and loose pants. Scars marked his muscular arms.
“At angle zero we’ll visit the Water Prince,” Xerxes said to his team. “Vilma and Zahoor will accompany me and Little One.” Then Xerxes gazed at Shyla. “A monk’s tunic is not suitable for the King’s emissary. Dayana, take her to the market and buy her clothing that is suitable for someone of her station.” He handed the woman a small pouch of coins.
“Yes, sir.” A short but powerful-looking woman, Dayana eyed Shyla like she was appraising a haunch of gamelu meat. “Do you want to hide the fact she’s sun-kissed? Rumors have been swirling about a sun-kissed who overthrew and killed Zirdai’s Water Prince.”
“I didn’t kill him,” Shyla said. “The Heliacal Priestess slit his throat before she committed suicide.” That memory was clear. So why couldn’t she recall why she shouldn’t…no, sheshouldbe here listening to Xerxes.
Dayana raised a slender eyebrow. Everyone stared at Shyla with a variety of expressions from impressed to worried. Only Vilma’s glare hadn’t changed.
“Yes, hire a beautician to dye her hair, eyebrows and eyelashes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You have your orders. You’re dismissed.” Xerxes strode from the room.
Dayana sighed. “Do I look like a fashion expert?” she asked Zahoor in a low whisper.
“You’re a fashion disaster,” Zahoor teased. “Just find a merchant that has fancy clothes and have her do all the work.”
Another huff, but Dayana headed for the door. “Come on, Little One.”
Shyla hesitated. Xerxes hadn’t ordered her to go, but he’d be pleased if she looked more like an emissary. She hurried after the woman.
When she caught up, she tried to introduce herself. It didn’t feel right for anyone to call her Little One except Xerxes.
“I don’t want to know,” Dayana said, interrupting her. “You wear a pendant so we call you the name Xerxes gives you. Soon you won’t remember your real name.”
Alarm pierced her like the sharp blade of a knife. She stumbled to a stop, panting. Her harsh breaths echoed in her ears as she struggled to regain her independence. A defiantI’m Shylabroke through before her rebelliousness was tugged away. Her real name was… Her real name was…was…not important.
They went to the main market in the shaft. Druks and trol lanterns lit the cavernous space. The roar of the waterfall echoed and at times drowned out the buzz of shoppers. Business was brisk. Dayana wove through the stands until she found one selling silk tunics for women.
The merchant was more than happy to help dress Shyla. She picked a beautiful pale gray fabric that had small clusters of orange and green shapes that resembled flowers. Then the woman matched a solid light orange skirt to wear with it.
“Skirts are more refined for the professional woman,” the merchant said.
The skirt almost reached the ground. “I can’t fight in this,” Shyla said.
“Doesn’t matter,” Dayana said. “Your job isn’t to fight. That’s what we’re for.”
