The Hour of the Crow

Chapter 30: The Seeds of an Uprising

Majidah narrowed her eyes. She glimpsed at Arran from the corner of her eye. "You vouch for her?" He nodded, and she scoffed. "Do I even want to know how you met the goddamn crown princess? Did you try to raid the palace or something?"

Arran crossed his arms. "No, but I'm going to. Now, if you agree to let the princess deliver her speech, I'll bring you a souvenir," he added with a wink.

A shark-like grin spread across the woman's face. Her snake-like eyes burned with greed. "I don't believe you." She licked her lips, then gestured at Inna. "All right. But if they turn this place to chaos to rip you to pieces, I'll send the bill for the repairs to your father along with your head."

Inna arched a brow, unimpressed, yet Majidah had already turned on her heel to clamber onto the table. The supervisor cleared her throat. "Hear ye, hear ye, people of Primsharah! We have a very special guest at our market today who would like to have a word with all of you." Customers gathered around Majidah to listen, while the merchants leaned against their rickety stalls, wary to abandon their goods. Probably a smart move, considering the number of thieves and pickpockets that roamed the market.

Majidah rubbed her palms together, her face alight with the excitement of being the center of attention. "Allow me to present to you Serafina Adelhari, First Daughter to our beloved Shah and heir to the throne."

The palm of her hand was slippery with sweat while she helped Inna up the table. From up close, the two women were almost of the same height. Inna thanked her with a brief smile. Her heart pounding in her ears, she inhaled deeply. Arran and Adira gave encouraging nods, their resemblance to each other so strong in that movement that Inna had to stifle a laugh. Zazi rested her head between Arran's wild curls; Inna missed her familiar closeness, but the snake's presence might have unnerved her audience even more than already was the case.

"I know many of you distrust the royals," she began, "a distrust not only caused by recent events, but by many years of neglect on the palace's part. My father, and several generations of Shahs before him, have allowed this part of the city, your part of the city, to wither for much too long. And now, to top it all off, foreigners pace our streets and impose senseless rules to restrict your freedom." A mutter of cautious agreement rose from the assembled crowd. "These foreigners have polluted our city with foul magic. They have smelled the weakness in my father's mind and exploit it for their own interests. There is a prince among them, a prince who cannot be a Shah in his own nation. He was welcomed into the palace as my suitor and now seeks to conquer it for himself."

The clamor grew louder. "More royals to spoil our lives," one man with a long, black beard spat. Several people raised their voices in agreement.

Inna grimaced. Not for the first time she wondered whether she was doing the right thing. What if their anger extended toward the entirety of the royal family after they had banned the Cult from Primsharahn soil?

"SILENCE!" Adira bellowed. A startled quiet followed in the wake of her command. That was a strong noise coming from such a small girl.

Inna shot her an appreciative glance. "Now," she continued, "I don't want this coup to proceed as much as you do. This prince thinks it is his rightful place to rule over others, as a high-born noble, as a sorcerer." She paused to let that last word sink in. The change in atmosphere, propelled by the sudden severity of the situation, descended onto the crowd like a veil dipped in poison. "We all know what damage the self-righteous ideologies of men with magic in their blood can inflict."

"Is your own bloodline not defined by magic, then?" an elderly woman spoke up.

"Have we ever used it to exert control over others?" Inna countered. "There are countless sorcerers in Primsharah. They fight as your soldiers, they trade as your merchants, and they steal from the rich as your thieves." She thought she heard Arran's chuckle mingle with the onlookers' doubtful grunts. "They are among you now, as your neighbors, coworkers or friends. They are good people. But this prince, Prince Rabyatt of Rasir, is not a good man. The signs are everywhere." She spread her arms to encompass the tunnel's width. With her words, she had spun a web of truths and lies that trapped her audience in a single state of mind: rebellion.