Gifting Fire Alina Boyden (romantic story to read .txt) 📖

wasn’t so far from Kadiro. He could have been here days ago. Why hadn’t he been?

“And matters in Jesera, my prince?”

“Settled,” Arjun assured me. “Jesera agrees to be your protectorate in exchange for peace, and in exchange for your guarantee of their borders against any assault from the other Yaruban emirs. The merchants there have named you emira officially, though they rule the city among themselves.”

It was a good arrangement. It would bring us money, and the investment was light enough—zahhaks and ships. Those had come from Hina and Viputeshwar. Four cannon zahhaks now flew over Jesera, along with a pair of fire zahhaks. It wasn’t nearly the force they had lost in the battle, but that couldn’t be helped. And anyway, I’d taken two of their zahhaks and given them to Bikampur in thanks for Udai’s assistance, and to strengthen my alliance with Registan. That was more important at the moment than the fate of Jesera.

Last of all, I looked to Haider, who was seated with Tamara on a dais to my left. “Has your father accepted the gift of Ahura in exchange for peace?”

“He has,” Haider agreed. “The messenger arrived this morning. He is honored by the gift, and by the letter you sent him, and will always consider himself a second father to the princess of Nizam.”

I raised an eyebrow, while Tamara suppressed snickers. “He didn’t really say all that, did he?”

“He did, actually,” Haider replied, which shocked me, because his father was cut from much the same cloth as my own. “He may not accept a hijra in his own household, but he knows how to play the game of politics as well as anyone, and so long as you’re gifting him islands, he will be happy to send you pretty gowns and call you a princess.”

“Well, I regret that I have no more islands to gift him,” I quipped. To Tamara, I said, “And I regret even more that I have nothing substantial with which to honor Khevsuria’s support beyond my eternal gratitude.”

“Razia, it was a joy to help you,” Tamara said, “if only so I could see Sultana carrying you eighty miles in her mouth.”

I gave my zahhak some very fond pats as everyone laughed. Sultana seemed to know we were talking about her, because she cracked open an eye and swiveled it lazily around the rooftop before deciding that whatever it was, it wasn’t worth getting up for when she was lying so comfortably in the shade. She settled back down with a snort through her nostrils and curled a little more tightly against me.

“Is that it, then?” I asked, scarcely believing that both of my provinces were under control, that my borders were secure, and that I had a wealthy merchant protectorate across the ocean that had agreed to my terms. There was no crisis left to stamp out? God, whatever would I do with myself?

A trumpet blared high above us, stirring me from my self-congratulatory thoughts. Sultana’s head perked up. She recognized the call as a sighting of unknown zahhaks approaching. We both waited for the type and the number, and when I heard it called out, I knew who it was. Sixteen thunder—my father and his entourage had arrived.

“Hina, have the patrols maintain their altitude and keep their distance. They will permit my father to land here in the middle courtyard,” I ordered.

“Yes, your highness,” she agreed, but she didn’t actually lift a finger. She relayed the order to a cela, who used her trumpet to send the message.

“Is there anything we can do, Razia?” Sakshi asked. She had been sitting patiently with Lakshmi, though she had already given me her reports on my household, which had become her responsibility.

“Have refreshments brought, please,” I said. “My father will be hungry and thirsty and so will his men. If I want him to approve of this marriage, it’ll be better if he’s in a good mood.”

“I’ll have the servants bring food and drink at once.” She stood up, tugging Lakshmi to her feet too. “Come on, let’s make sure that Razia’s father has enough nimbu pani that he’s friendly.”

“I don’t think we have that much, Akka,” Lakshmi said in a voice that was so serious it earned laughs all around the pavilion.

“Sikander, have you kept my father apprised of all of these developments?” I asked.

“I have, your highness,” he assured me. “I presume he left Nizam this morning. If that’s the case, then he would have received all the information covered today, less the news from the Safavian messenger.”

“Good,” I murmured, as that was less that I would have to explain. “I suppose we should go and greet him, then. It wouldn’t do for a daughter to force her father to come to her like a supplicant.”

I stood with a grimace, my back aching fiercely. I wondered if that would ever go away. I knew it hadn’t been that long since the injury, and the doctor said the prognosis was good, but there was a part of me that worried I’d never be able to climb again, never be able to fly a zahhak again. The pressures on the spine in a dogfight were immense. If I’d tried it just then, I’d probably have ended up crippled for life. And that was to say nothing of the pain in my arm, or my groin. I was lucky the wounds had both hit bone, and hadn’t hit any organs or ligaments, but they still stung.

Arjun took my arm and helped me down the stairs, toward the courtyard, where my father’s zahhaks were landing in neat rows. I was surprised when I was met on the bottom step by Sultana, who had leapt off the roof, landing in the courtyard in front of me. The poor thing was so worried about me these days. Keeping a firm grip on Arjun with one hand, I used the other to stroke Sultana’s snout. “I’ll be all right, girl.”

“You really shouldn’t be walking,” Sikander muttered, standing