House of Badawi

CHAPTER ONE

It was far too easy to attract the attention of the lord of the Badawi House.

The woman rose from the water like a nymph, her bare flesh dripping and her dark tresses slick. Her calculated gaze flickered to the man at the dais, at his crooked smile and nod of approval. She bowed her head slightly as the gong rang from behind. This scene had haunted her dreams for years. The water was so icy that she had to clench her teeth to keep them from chattering. But with the luxury that lay ahead, the cold did not matter. This was it, the moment she had been born for—the reason many of the women around her had been bred. But not her, she had chosen this. It was her ticket to a different life.

The woman lifted her legs from the ceremonial fountain with ease and measure, her reflection shimmering against the marble walls and candlelight. Every delicate tick of time seemed to stretch on the ivory clock ahead. She was not used to this, the attention. She had spent years hiding from the eyes of Court and sneaking away among the shadows. But Valxina did not permit signs of her discomfort to the surface—she locked it in, showcasing nothing but her fire within.

The scrolls of Roseau described the keeper’s ceremony as one of the most primitive and principal protocols of the land. Whispers spread that women had drowned on the spot. The gods were fastidious when it came to the blessing of the keepers—they made their feelings clear, no matter how brutish the outcome.

Valxina had prepared for this night for years. She was convinced they would find her worthy—they had to. When the Court members shoved her head beneath the fountain waters, she did not struggle or spar with the burst of liquid. Like an old friend, she welcomed it. When she climbed to the top of the fountain ledge, her mouth lifted into a victorious and broad grin. Not only had she performed the task, not only had the gods deemed her worthy, but also had she been restrained longer than the others. It hadn’t surprised her. The other daughters of the Court had pined over the position as long as she had. So, when they had the opportunity to possibly drown the woman they deemed unworthy in the ceremonial fountain, they had blood on their minds, or in this case, water.

Valxina lifted her chin and glanced around the room. Court members, the wealthy of the island, stood in their most formal attire, gowns, kurtas, and kaftans of threaded gold. They lifted their drinks into the air and shared delighted glances. Beads of sweat dripped down their temples, a consequence of the packed room and absence of windows. The onlookers laughed and smiled as they clapped. While other candidates spent years hunting for such applause, it unsettled Valxina. But the woman did not cower from the attention, no matter how much she wished to. They could not see her afraid. Instead, she lifted her chin higher. The attention, the applause, welcomed her in a soft embrace.

“Our new keeper, Valxina Kulrani—Protector of The Spring,” the lord’s adviser, Eno, announced. His voice, thick in his Qeshm accent, vibrated with such vigor the gods must have heard him. And if so, they now knew her name.

Valxina Kulrani—Protector of The Spring.

Valxina stood, bewildered. She had completed the oath and test; she would be a new keeper of The Spring . . . the very water that turned the king and her lord immortal. Pride seeped its way across her features. Her dark eyes widened, and her brows, thick and full, lifted with joy. Valxina now held one of the most respected positions in Court. She had been elevated for all of Qeshm to see. The waters blessed her with new status, and she now held a responsibility to the king himself. She was a protector—a defender of The Spring against enemy kingdoms and leaders, like Queen Chantara to the east.

Valxina felt exhilarated, until she remembered the brand came next. Valxina liked to believe she had a high tolerance for pain—especially after everything she had gone through to get here. The women of the Court had made sure she could bear pain—building up her tolerance in the name of the ritual. But she could not allow them to see her falter, no matter how much the hot steel approaching made her wince.

Valxina held her breath as the other women turned her body, moving her back to the crowd. The air kissed her exposed skin. The scent of burning incense and aromas of sandalwood wafted in the air. She tilted up her chin and thought of her future—of the privileges that would accompany her new life. She thought about the water, of the way it would feel against her skin. But no amount of daydreaming could save her from the burn—from the smell of her cooking flesh or the throbbing at her lower back.

Grimacing at the contact, she balled her hands into fists at her side in attempt to smother the scream that raced up her throat. She had never been more thankful for being drenched; onlookers would not be able to decipher her tears from the streams of water. She bit at the inner flesh of her cheek, allowing the bitter taste of blood to trickle down onto her tongue. The fire tore at her brown skin as the women pressed the metal against her harder. Fire to brand her to the water—an emblem of Lord Zessfar to identify her forever. Her heart banged against her chest in an attempt to break free. She did not dare protest the prolonged act, to tarnish her reputation before her responsibilities even began. She knew why they were doing this. A small part of her could not blame them. Valxina only turned her head to look at the lord. Her eyes did not plead, nor did they beg for an ending. Instead, she challenged him—she beseeched him for more. Spectators flashed their eyes about, hushed words traveling between them.

“What is she doing?” Valxina could make out the words of a man in the crowd.

“Is she allowed to look at my lord?” a woman questioned from the balcony.

Valxina lifted her chin at the chatter. She had never looked at the man—the immortal lord who ruled over their Court and island—not truly. Up until now, she had been forbidden to do so. Servants were not permitted to gaze upon the bonnie face of the sun-kissed man.

The look from the woman at the fountain either excited or chilled the man above. But Lord Zessfar only raised his hand in command. “Enough.” His voice vibrated through the room with authority, sharp enough to cut through glass and steel.

The gentlest of the keeper candidates wrapped a delicate silk robe around Valxina. In the candlelight, she glimmered like a flowing stream herself. It was mere seconds before Valxina was ushered out of the chamber with the other triumphed keeper candidates. She tried to steady her breath as she walked down the hallway, into the catacombs of winding passages. But the skin on her back cried against the touch of her robe. The new keeper struggled to keep consciousness. Her bare feet left a wet trail behind her, from the darkness of her past to the light of her future.

Or so Valxina believed.

CHAPTER TWO

Valxina’s belongings had already been packed. Two boxes sat on her now-stripped bed in the room she had shared with the five other women. She was only a girl when she was brought to this room and introduced to them—all daughters of the Court from high-ranking families. Valxina had been brought to the former lord, Orin, at the age of six. But she hadn’t entered this room until she was eighteen. She was four years into her twenties now. And in those years spent in this room, all she had collected were two boxes of belongings.

She grimaced at the sight of them and the women around her. Unlike the other women, she had not been selected from a family of wealth. Instead, her family had won a game of chance. The wording of the practice had always made Valxina scoff. On the island of Qeshm, each family was expected to enter their child into the lord’s lotto. With the passing of each year, the House of Badawi blindly selected a new name from the lot, a new child to be brought to the Court and employed as a servant. If the child proved themselves worthy and passed a series of tests, they were considered for a variety of different appointments in the Court. Some strived to be a part of the Badawi House guards or an advisory role, while others hoped to catch the lord’s eye for consideration as a lover. And while the former lord had many lovers they weren’t what his son coveted most. It’s the keepers, a select group of women who protected his most prized possession. A keeper from the child lottery had never emerged, not ever . . . not until today. And as Valxina reflected on the milestone, she toggled between disgust and gratitude. Where would she be now if she was never taken as a child? Would she be as safe as she was to be now?

Not all six women who entered had achieved protector of The Spring status. Valxina looked over at the three empty beds. The belongings of the failed candidates had not been packed neatly away. Her lips pressed together in a thin line as she studied the way their belongings had been tossed into the corner. Three women had drowned or forfeited during the ceremony. Drowned or forfeited—they were both the same, as those who forfeited were deemed a shame to the House of Badawi and the king himself and were drowned by the end of the night. The thought of dying in that bitter cold water caused Valxina to shudder. How many souls had been lost there? Richelle, Shanice, and Kadejah.Those were the names of the three who had not made it out of the chamber. All that would remain of them were their scattered belongings in the corner—an array of fine dresses, books, and some elaborately dressed dolls. The dolls always rang a cord with her. The wealthy women of the Court were allowed to hold on to childhood naivety. That innocence had been beaten out of Valxina years ago.

“Valxina?” A stern voice broke her daze.

A woman hovered in the doorway. She was dressed in a robe of the keeper’s color, a mix of cerulean and the blue that glistened on a freshly torn berry. Images of waves in motion were sewn onto the woman’s robe. While Valxina’s robe seemed to be intended more for display, the woman’s clenched cloth was made for utility. It was equipped with fasteners and buttons that would keep her secure even in combat. She wore her hair, black as night, in thick tight locs that twisted and collected together at the top of her head—her very own crown. She was santu—a keeper so holy she had been allowed past the crypt and to The Spring itself. A transparent veil in keeper blue draped across the lower half of her face and lay atop her dark brown skin and full lips. But the true evidence of the woman’s santu status displayed in her eyes. Where the brown of her irises should have met white, they clashed against cerulean. The water from The Spring had been injected into her sclera. Valxina had never seen anyone like her before. But she had heard of her kind—the children of Qeshm were told stories of them, of their relentless dedication to protecting The Spring.

“Valxina?” the woman repeated.

“Yes? That’s me.” Valxina lowered her eyes to prevent herself from staring.

“Of course you are she.” The woman laughed, her voice rising and falling with the cadence of a true Qeshmian. It was always easy to identify the people of their island—they spoke as if in song. Beats and rhythm formed along with their words. “I heard about the dark-haired enchantress who drew blood with her eyes. Of course,” she added as she looked around the room, “that would be you. Now bring your things and follow me.”

Valxina lifted her boxes and followed. “You mean you were not in attendance?” she asked as the woman hurried her through the corridors.

The woman’s features widened as if amused the words. “No. I have no interest in theater.”

Theater. The word lingered between them like a held breath. Valxina made no effort to respond as she moved into the courtyard. Her wet hair danced against the wind under the shadows of the moon. Palm trees swayed in the light breeze, and the salt of the sea air whisked around her. Valxina noted the way others mumbled quiet remarks to one another, their eyes sharp as darts. Gossips. This Court was filled with them. She reminded herself of her new status. Life as a keeper would attract more attention than the life Valxina led as a fire-keep or kitchen servant. Now, everyone knew her name—no matter her birth. There would be no hiding in the shadows or cowering from crowds.

When they slowed at the tower, Valxina’s feet scuffed. She had seen the tower before and had spent many hours studying the guards who protected the entry point. But Valxina had never come this close to entering through the doors. She had only watched from afar. Her breathing quickened, and her hands, still grasping the boxes, grew slick with sweat. The tower guards were a breed of their own, distinctive from the Badawi House guards. They were faster, deadlier—indestructible.

She watched as a man moved forward from the sea of tower guards behind him, his hand on his scabbard. Valxina stilled. She knew him as Ky—the man who trained with her in combat since she was eighteen. The moonlight glistened against his skin, dark and rich. He was wearing his uniform, an all-black kaftan threaded with Badawi blue, indicating his status as commander. Commander. As Ky approached, Valxina stiffened and wondered, am I expected to address him as so?

She knew this moment would come and yet she found herself ill-prepared. Nights had been spent devising the right plan, the precise words she would use when she saw him. She had planned to say hello—to reach out and let the memories of their past drift away. After all, her new status meant things could be different between them. But now, with the man towering over her, Valxina’s mind wiped itself clear. Her thought-out sentences and witty greetings eluded her. She bit her lip as she looked up. The stars shimmered within his dark eyes.

“Sera,” Ky said, making eye contact with the other woman. His voice was deep, his words clear. As he flickered his gaze to Valxina, she lifted her chin. “Who is this?” he asked.

Valxina’s eyes widened. It took everything in Valxina to contain her bark. She gritted her teeth at the words. Ever since he achieved the status of commander, he seemed to forget them—Valxina stopped at the thought. No, ever since he achieved the status of commander, Ky seemed to forget her. But then again, she knew the reason behind his drift.

“This,” Sera answered, “is Valxina Kulrani—Protector of The Spring.”

The words sent lightning up Valxina’s spine. She gritted her teeth in pain at the sensation of the fresh brand. She watched as the commander raised his brow. Was he surprised? Had he expected Valxina to fail in the tests that led up to the ceremony, or worse, did he expect the gods to deem her unworthy on this night?

With his free hand, Ky scratched at his beard. “She looks like a mouse,” he said with a cocky laugh and the bow of his head.

A mouse. He used to call her that during their training with late Commander Hu. But besides the use of the familiar name, he did not show that he recognized her. “Keeper Mouse?” he said with a sly grin.

Beside Valxina, Sera sucked her teeth. “Absolutely not.”

Ky laughed. “Keeper Val?”

Sera rolled her eyes before turning to Valxina. It seemed the woman had learned to illustrate a multitude of emotions with just her glare. “Commander Kyrad seems to have difficulty with our full names. Thank the gods we keep him around for his brute nature and not his brain.”

Ky lifted a hand to his chest as if wounded by the woman’s words. “Is that what you think of me?”

Sera rolled her eyes and continued, “He likes to call us as he wishes, but do not let his familiarity cloud your judgment. He and the rest of the tower guards are here for the same reason you and I are—to protect what calls this tower home.”

Valxina nodded as they walked past Ky. Nothing could cloud her judgment here, not after she had spent years dreaming of this moment.

Each step the women took echoed in the stairwell. They seemed to climb to the heavens before they finally stopped at a wooden door marked with a “K1.” Valxina glanced into the common room as the door opened. Books lined the walls, without a spare inch of blank space. They were holy volumes with legends as old as The Spring itself. Leather sofas were arranged in a circle around a stone fireplace in the center of the room.

Sera led her into the room before halting at a door with no markings. She turned its knob and pushed it wide, unveiling the small bedroom. Valxina had never had a room to herself—not even as a young child before coming to Court. She heard rumors that the keepers had the luxury of privacy, but she could not believe it—not even now as she looked it straight in the face. She took a silent step inside before turning to Sera in the doorway, her brow lifted.

“Yes, this one is yours,” Sera answered. “Dry yourself and settle in. I will see you and the others in the common room in an hour.” She placed an hourglass at a desk near the armoire. The woman’s brown hands turned it, allowing the bits of sand to collide. They trickled toward the bottom of the glass like beads of sweat.

Sera reached for the door to close it. But her arm lingered, leaving it cracked for a moment. Valxina watched the way the light cast itself in from the common room. She could not see Sera’s face, but she knew she was there. Valxina could sense her presence.

“Valxina,” she said from behind the door, “I would leave the fire from the ceremony behind. This is no place for flames.” And with those parting words, she shut the door.