The winter sun as infirm as her stomach. It withered into her room with fleeting warmth. Rotten yellow coloured her room from the open balcony, but Nadiyya’s attention was far from the weather. She paced before opening the shutters, enjoying the cool air washing over her. Ringing her hands together while her mind struggled with Cha’Ath Nawal’s words. Pride lounged before her bed; a picture far removed from her own mood. His deep, slow breathing calmed her, but for once she yearned for his intrusion.

Nadiyya stopped and watched the overgrown Sinha. Nothing. Perhaps for the best. There was no telling what madness he had for her.

Pride’s amusement whispered through their bond.

Flashes of Zaki filled her mind. Fear soiled her chest at his defiance. His scent gave away his guilt at least, that he was uneasy with recent events was a small comfort.

What is this hidden ability he’s discovered? That accusation!

Nadiyya shuddered. Her control had vanished. Hopefully Khadim would have answers, a hint at least.

She snatched a half-filled decanter and eyed the dark liquid within, then stopped herself. A head shake later she placed it back down, much to Pride’s quiet approval. Wine would only worsen this.

Gawahir, I need Gawahir.

He would be enough. How lucky was she that his mood lifted at the right moment?

Pride’s ears pricked up, seconds later an overwhelming scent of anxiety surged into her nose. Khadim’s approaching slippers followed. The man appeared at her open doors, head bowed and shoulders hunched.

“Please Khadim, there is nothing to fear,” Nadiyya said, trying her best to show her warmest mile. It certainly suppressed her own fears, or so she hoped.

Khadim lingered at her door, unmoved.

“You may enter Khadim. Please close the door behind you.”

His obedience unsettled her somewhat, quiet and small he remained. Khadim’s Tamed remained outside.

“Please no,” Nadiyya rushed to end his bow before it began. “I won’t be long.”

“I’m yours to command pharaoh,” he said. The man was much taller than her, most were, but he did his best to shrink.

“When I sent the prince to you, what skills did he display?”

“I… I uh…” Khadim reeked now.

“Please be as honest as you can, this is important.”

“It’s difficult to judge whether someone possess healing hands after one attempt pharaoh,”

“Not that.” Her patience ran thin with this pitiful grovelling. “I’m asking if he displayed anything more, something else you might have caught?”

His head rose, and the fear vanished, to be replaced by confusion. She craned her neck up at his frowning face.

“I’ll take that as a no then,” she sighed.

“Forgive me if I have,”

“No, no, no, you may go, that’s all I needed,” Nadiyya smiled, but his frown lingered. He bowed low and rushed away, shutting the doors.

Pride lifted his golden gaze at her while she pinched the bridge of her nose. Nothing, absolutely nothing. She slapped her thigh.

“The archives await,” Pride said.

“Was hoping to avoid that.”

“There is also the choice to do nothing, girl.”

Tempting, Pride knew it. It seemed wisdom to her, but the Sinha had his bouts of laziness.

“If it was laziness, I would linger here and leave you to your own devices.” Pride grumbled at her. “You are persuading yourself to panic girl. Leave it be. Accept what happens.”

It was a knife to her back in some ways. She would wait for Gawahir’s return for now. Pride snorted at her then dropped his head back down.

The wait wasn’t long, though she didn’t know how to feel about it. Gawahir arrived as the sun rusted Bil’Faridh. It eked into her room with the cool wind. His smile was warmth and comfort, all she wanted. But it faded the longer he watched her, frozen at the doors. He opened his mouth, then closed it and shut the doors behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Is it so obviously written on my face?” She laughed, hoping to throw him off. Instead, his concern deepened.

“Cha’Ath’s reaction was far better than what we could have hoped for, unless I’m missing something?”

“Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, I’m sure.”

“I think she knows.” She met his gaze now. “Not with any help from me, before you throttle me. I wouldn’t have blamed her anger, but the words she preached. It was fervour, I’m sure of it.”

“Not exactly a good thing for Lions,” Nadiyya strode to the open balcony. The rising cold simmered her warming panic.

“Is it so terrible? What if it aids,”

“Don’t finish that!” She spun back towards him. “You of all people, Gawahir, your family almost ended because of that fervour.”

“One doesn’t require the other. My ancestors, our ancestors, lost their morals. It wasn’t the Age of Heresy for nothing, but it wasn’t entirely devoid of sense. We might learn from it.”

“What did Cha’Ath say to you?” Nadiyya tittered when he remained serious. “Gawahir, you were the one who preached the madness of the Age to me for so long. Now you’ve changed your mind on it?”

“It’s a suggestion,” Gawahir shrugged, but she smelled dishonesty. Fleeting, so brief that she convinced herself she was mistaken. Nadiyya forced a smile to her lips to match Gawahir’s humour and left it at that.

She awoke to darkness, not in dream. Hints of the venison they supped on wafted into her nose. The wind picked up, creaking everything loose, battering trees outside. Nadiyya turned to face Gawahir’s back and watched the slow heave of his torso. Calm and oblivious to the racket outside.

Stolen story; please report.

Tossing and turning a few times didn’t latch her back onto sleep, freshness refused to relinquish its hold on her. It was too dark for her to have slept longer than a couple of hours. Gawahir moaned a few times. She half hoped he would wake up as well. Pharaoh Nadiyya sighed and eased her way out from under the thickened blankets.

A chill hung in the air, one that made her wrap her gown tight. The briskness forced its way through her silk slippers and no amount of toe wiggling kept them warm. She caressed Pride’s mane at the foot of her bed on her way to the table. Nadiyya snatched the square crystal decanter and filled a glass with sweet, dark brown liquid. Those Lynxes in the far north were geniuses, concocting a spirit for warmth. No doubt the snows at the foot of the Mahn’Parvat demanded it.

She swirled the brandy and enjoyed the sharp warmth soothing her throat. Her chest warmed after she drained it all in one go, then refilled it and inhaled a second. The sweetness clung to her tongue and made her teeth sticky. Nadiyya shuddered, but the nightly chill couldn’t touch her any longer.

“I worry for you, drunkard,” Pride yawned. Nadiyya ignored him and clung to her internal warmth. It wouldn’t last, though a quick glance at her khopesh told her to keep it.

“Alcohol addled and rusty. This will make for fine viewing.”

Her Tamed Sinha stretched before rising while she hurried to dress in something appropriate. By the time she tightened the strap of her khopesh on her waist, the cold seeped through the cracks of her brandy induced warmth.

Nadiyya’s strides were wide and swift along the passageways. There was the odd servant scurrying back and forth, heeding the nocturnal needs within the palace. The painted and stitched eyes of the Atum Ras followed her as she sped past them.

She made quick work of the decorated lion section, risked a jog past many gardens of Sanctuary. It was quiet, despite the weather. Winter usually filled the gardens with those wishing to keep each other warm. Now there was only the biting wind.

Her boots echoed as she slowed to a stroll through the great hall. The marble glowed under the silver-grey moonlight, which belied the need for flickering torchlight on every second column. At least to her eyes. Palace guards in black armour nodded at her when she neared.

Winter’s bite nibbled at her cheeks when she departed the palace. The full force of the night came over her, but her warmth kept the worst of it at bay. She rushed towards the fighting rings while her braid danced behind her. The thought of bringing a blade to all those years of growth still made her squirm.

Steel clashed from the largest ring; the wind carried over the sourness of exertion to her nose. Nadiyya glimpsed a pair of fighters dancing around each other in the centre. Their lean torsos were exposed. Drenched in sweat from their heads down to their shoulders. A Cituva with pale yellow fur, and orange and black circles, watched from the stone benches. Its orange gold gaze fell upon her for a moment, then turned back to the fighting.

Kumkani Lihle danced around his handsome paramour, Master Sinalo. Sinalo’s buckler was a mess of scratches and dents on his off arm. Opposite that, he gripped a wonderfully ornate blacksteel akrafena. The bulbous guard and pommel were script strengthened gold. There was a clear winner to her eyes already, even while they circled each other. Lihle danced around and slapped away Sinalo’s attacks, with a smirk on his lips.

Lihle began slapping Sinalo’s legs and torso, flashing faster than she had ever seen him move before. Sinalo grunted after every blow. It made the Leopard erratic, leaving him open for more slaps from the flat sides of the kumkani’s blades. The slaps sounded like thunder, frequent and stinging. Lihle was relentless. There was only so much Sinalo could do to defend. Slap after cracking slap, Sinalo soon dropped to his knee, both the buckler and akrafena were raised to block.

The kumkani hesitated for a moment, but neither of them appeared ready for the fight to end. A half-hearted attack followed. Sinalo roared in reply, surging back to his feet. Knocking away a billao with the buckler before slicing at Lihle, opening a gash from sternum to left shoulder.

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry,” Sinalo tossed aside his blade and buckler and rushed towards the wide eyed Lihle. He wiped his hands on his pants before rushing them onto the weeping wound on the kumkani’s chest. Sinalo’s apologies continued as he ran his hands along the reddened, dark umber skin.

“It’s fine,” Lihle muttered, the shock drained from his face. He grimaced when his flesh stitched itself back together beneath Sinalo’s hands. A pale line remained when Sinalo stepped back.

Lihle waved away his paramour’s continued efforts to clean his wound. The Master Tamer rushed to recover his abandoned weapon and shield. They shared a look that was indecipherable to her eyes, and Sinalo skipped over the low wall.

“Pharaoh,” he muttered before bowing, then stomped away with his Tamed Cituva in tow.

“That is why I do not fight with Gawahir,” Nadiyya said as Lihle sauntered towards her. Sheathing his short swords and dabbing away at the blood on his chest with a shred of cloth. His eyebrow rose at her, and she smelled honeyweed on him. “I’ve always suspected were he a Tamer, he would have no trouble dispatching me.”

“You do yourself a disservice,” Lihle sighed. The kumkani noticed his own dour, then cleared his throat and wore a vest.

“Please, there is no need to be modest for me.”

“I do it for your husband. Can’t imagine anyone able to stand before my half nakedness and not throw themselves at me.”

Nadiyya laughed, ignoring Pride’s snarling through their bond. The cold was a distant thought now, despite her brandy shield fading.

“Anything I might help with?” She asked after sitting beside him, sensing his tightness growing. Nadiyya looked away while he searched for the words, keeping his fingers busy as he fumbled around himself.

“The words escape me.”

“I didn’t realise he possessed healing hands.”

“Amongst other abilities, I wonder if it is more a curse that he does.”

“How so?”

“I forget myself, trusting he will do what needs to be done when I go too far.”

“The woes of a dual wielder,” Nadiyya whistled. “Ever unmatched, a desolate crown.”

“You’re in a strange mood, pharaoh.”

“I’m rarely awake during these hours.”

“Stressful times, so I hear.”

Nadiyya frowned at Lihle. He did a poor job of hiding secrets with her.

“Of course, you’ve heard,” she sighed. “Granted, it would have been difficult not to hear about such a thing.”

“It’s not an ability I would lose sleep over, nor is he one to worry for.”

Nadiyya glared at him, killing the beginnings of his grin.

“Then again, I’m no mother, how could I truly understand?”

“Better.”

“I don’t know anything about it.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I assume you’re here for information on immolation, other than denying me the opportunity to spar with you.”

“A small hope, one that came to me the moment I glimpsed you.”

“It wounds me to disappoint you, pharaoh, though I am surprised. You’re much… you are more experienced than I am. Your knowledge should hold more than my own.”

“You mean I’m much older than you.”

Lihle didn’t hold back his laughter. His cackling almost wounded her, but when he turned back to her, she couldn’t resist smiling.

“Most of us aren’t talented like you, dual wielder.”

“Talent,” Lihle scoffed.

“I was grateful to be a Tamer. Everything that followed more than I could dream of.”

“You did yourself a disservice.”

“I plan on doing myself another,” Nadiyya grunted and drew her khopesh. She took a few steps towards the ring, then turned back towards the still seated Lihle. “Well?”

“An invitation? Finally!”

“I do want to hit you now, there won’t be any healing hands to save you.”

“A threat that might have worried me if your hair struggled to reach your shoulders. At least there is no one to watch.”

Nadiyya snarled. Watching the kumkani follow her into the ring, massaging his wrists, lumped her throat. Her heart wobbled when he stood across from her. She wished for a shield. With the khopesh in both hands, she steadied herself, waiting for Lihle to charge. In a blink he was already a slap on her thigh ahead, jumping back before she countered.