“So I was supposed to just let him rape me?” she screams.
“You put yourself in that position!” Aldrik retorts. “And sometimes, sacrifices need to be made!” He steps closer. “Next time you’re that stupid, you lie on your back and take what’s coming to you.”
“I would rather die first,” she spits.
“That may very well happen.”
Nazirah stalks out, fuming. She ignores Solomon calling after her. Safely in her room, she hunches against the door, breathing hard. Standing up, she rips off Adamek’s clothes, practically running into the bathroom. Right now, all she wants to do is get under a scalding shower and wash the memories from the last few days away.
All of them.
Nazirah scrubs herself raw, humiliated, infuriated, and entirely confused. Standing before the bathroom mirror, she wipes away the condensation droplets and stares at her battered self. Her limbs resemble a morose watercolor painting. Her face is a portrait of abuse. It won’t inspire thousands of intermix to join the rebellion. If anything, it will send them running for the hills. She feels no physical pain, as promised. But there are some aches so deep, not even MEDIcine can cure them.
Nazirah groans in resignation. She dresses in a long sleeve shirt and dark jeans, covering what bruises she can. Just as she finishes lacing up her boots, Nazirah hears a soft rapping at her door. From the politeness of the knock, she knows it is Solomon. As soon as she lets him in, he wraps his small frame around hers. Nazirah immediately bursts into tears. She collapses onto the plush rug, sobbing into his arms.
“This is my fault, Miss Nation,” Solomon says, eyes glistening. Dark circles frame his eyes. “I invited Khanto’s extended family. I should have known better. I am truly sorry.”
Nazirah gently takes his hands. “I don’t accept your apology, Solomon,” she says, “Because you have nothing to apologize for. You’ve been a true friend … my only friend, lately. I won’t let you blame yourself.”
Solomon shakes his head sadly. “I thank you for that,” he says. “But it is a kindness I do not deserve. I was there during the final battle between Mr. Morgen and the overlord. I heard his last wish. I should have realized his son would try to honor it.”
“Wait,” she says. “The Khan’s last wish was his dying wish?” Nazirah remembers Khanto hovering over Adamek, speaking quietly, sadistic fire in his eyes. Those words sparked something inside Adamek, making him finally fight back. That was considered the Khan’s last wish? Why hadn’t Adamek told her that last night?
“Yes, Miss Nation,” Solomon murmurs. “As I said before, there are men of honor and there are honorable men. In those final moments, the Khan was neither.”
“What exactly did he say?”
“Very bad things,” Solomon whispers. “You must understand. The Khan was not evil, but his desire for vengeance locked evil inside his heart. So his final words were rife with hatred, tarnished by rage.”
“And they were?” Nazirah presses.
Solomon clears his throat. “I believe it was something along the lines of ‘Victoria is a pretty whore. I will spend the rest of my life hunting down everyone you care for and making pretty whores out of them. Starting with your intermix bitch.’”
Nazirah is appalled. “The Khan said that?”
“He did,” Solomon replies. “I do not believe it was Khanto’s true intention, but his eldest boy took those words quite literally.”
“You think?” she asks, giving a teary laugh. Even Solomon chuckles, just a little.
#
They depart after breakfast, silent and quick. Solomon gives Nazirah a lengthy, sniffling goodbye. Even Olag embraces her gruffly at the door. Solomon assures Nazirah that their friendship is only beginning, that they will see each other again. She hopes he is right.
They travel north by train for several hours to the furthest reaches of Solomon’s influence, exiting at the last stop before crossing the Ziman border. Nazirah looks around the platform, dropping her luggage in surprise.
This is still the Red West?
Rubiyat was chimerical, strange and fabulous and wild. This landscape is barren, desolate, and empty. There is no warmth, no dust, no snow, no spice or song, no life. It is not quite the Deathlands, but not quite Zima either. Nazirah thinks it is a transition area, unable to make up its mind, lacking an identity of its own.
“Intermix,” she whispers. Nazirah wraps her arms around her body, shivering, hopping from foot to foot. A bitter chill hangs in the air, warning them of what lies ahead.
Aldrik marches up to her, fidgeting uncharacteristically. He twirls his beard nervously and licks his palm, slicking back his straggly hair. “It’s not that cold, Nation,” he scoffs, glancing around.
Nazirah’s chattering teeth disagree. “You’re from Zima,” she snaps, not wanting to talk to him at all. “You’re used to this weather.”
“This isn’t even Zima,” he says, readjusting his eye patch. “Let alone NoZima. It’s about to get a whole lot colder.”
Nazirah only huffs in response, watching her breath condense before her. She blows again, fascinated, but stops when she notices Adamek staring at her in amusement. She forgot he’s trained in Zima too.
A wiry woman, wearing a fur pelt and tall boots, strolls up to them. Her hair is bone white, skin translucent, eyes liquid silver. She appears harsh, with deep angles, emaciated. Nazirah cannot tell if she is twenty or sixty.
The woman circles Nazirah slowly, inspecting her face, all visible bruises. “Weak,” she says.
“What was that?” Nazirah asks, offended.
She stops directly in front of Nazirah, sterling stare. “I said … you are weak.”
“I’m not weak,” she snaps.
The woman harshly grabs Nazirah’s chin, running a pallid finger over the bruise on her cheek. She releases her, looking at Aldrik. “This is the face of our rebellion?”
“Luka, relax,” Aldrik says gruffly. “It’s been a trying few days.”
“Okay,” Luka says. “I’ll relax.” She walks up to Aldrik, inhaling deeply and spitting on the ground. “You stink, Aldrik. I do not know which foul odor is worse … the slut or the cheap wine.”
Nazirah glances questioningly at Adamek, who watches their interaction in uncontained amusement. “Nation,” Aldrik mutters, coughing, “This is Luka, Lady of Shizar … my wife.”
“Wife?” she asks, bewildered.
“Estranged wife,” Luka corrects. She unstraps her pelt, dropping it onto Nazirah, who struggles to hold it up. “You are a tiny thing, aren’t you?”
Nazirah’s eyes narrow. She already loathes this woman. “I’m big enough.”
“We will find out, won’t we?”
“Yes, you will.”
Luka ignores Nazirah. “Hello, ‘Renatus,’” she says in a mocking tone. “I can’t say I am pleased to see you, either.”
Adamek nods stiffly. “Luka.”
Luka leads the three of them to a large white truck. It has fluorescent headlights, black windows, and huge snow tires. She nods at Nazirah. “Southies first,” she says.
Nazirah scrambles inside the truck, which she guesses will lead them safely through Zima and into Shizar. She never imagined that the Lord of Shizar would be a Lady, much less Aldrik’s wife. And Luka is so incredibly unpleasant. She and Aldrik make a perfect couple.
Nazirah wraps the pelt around herself tightly. Adamek get in beside her, while Luka and Aldrik speak outside. “What’s her problem?” Nazirah asks quietly.
“Many things,” Adamek responds, “Chiefly, her husband’s philandering ways.”
“She knows?”
Adamek nods. “How do you think he lost that eye?”
“Are you serious?” she whispers, perplexed.
“As a slum fire,” he says. “Don’t worry too much about Luka. She truly cares about her people, but she’s a complete witch.”
“Yeah,” Nazirah mutters. “With a capital ‘B.’” Adamek snorts. “So,” she asks, “Aldrik is Lord of Shizar?”