The Immortal Queen Tsubame: Awakening (13 page)

“With good reason,” Devdan cut in before Anya could answer MaLeila. “What better way to show the Russian Clan that the council and the western families have the situation under their perfect control than to flaunt how another thorn in their side is under their control because she’s fucking a council representative?”

MaLeila resisted the urge to cringe. So much for Devdan not knowing she’d slept with Marcel after all. Or maybe he was just assuming. Either way, MaLeila hoped she didn’t look as uncomfortable as she suddenly felt.

“That’s certainly not how the magic council sees it,” Anya argued.

Devdan cut her off before she could continue. “Bullshit. Save your fucking noble causes and explanation and so-called change of heart for someone who doesn’t know how you operate.”

“Devdan,” Bastet sighed while rolling her eyes with her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans.

“By all means. Go ahead and give it to Anya politically correct,” Devdan muttered.

“How about you let me hear her out and let me decide for myself before you come to my rescue?” MaLeila asked dryly.

“Not coming to your rescue. Just saving you the trouble of having to decipher what she means so you’re not under any illusions that the Magic Council wants you for your own merits,” Devdan shot back.

MaLeila’s heart began to race in anger, fingers beginning to clench into a fist as she breathed slowly through her mouth and said to Anya, “The council acts like I can just up and leave the country as though I don’t have school for the next six weeks.”

“You’d be compensated,” Anya assured.

“And I’d have to go to summer school. Thanks for the offer, but no thanks, Anya,” MaLeila said with a shrug. “You’ll have to find another way to get the Russian Clan to see that the Magic Council has everything under control.”

Anya regarded her the same way she always did when MaLeila casually disregarded the wishes of the Magic Council or wasn’t willing to bend over backwards to do what they willed like everyone else. It was that cool rage that one day promised to be unleashed on MaLeila if she ever gave the woman a need to unleash it.

When Anya finally turned away from MaLeila, she looked at Marcel and Nika, telling them that the council would want to brief them first before promptly leaving the apartment.

As soon as she was gone, both Bastet and Nika groaned simultaneously and said, “Bitch.”

Both looked at each other and then smirked in approval at each other before Bastet turned to MaLeila and said, “She’s going to come back after you graduate. She’s going to think that you bringing up school as your specific reason means you might be open to going later.”

“Maybe I am open to it,” MaLeila replied coolly.

“You’re kidding, right?” Bastet asked.

“No. I’m not.”

The tension rose in the air once again and for a while no one said anything, not even Marcel and Nika who exchanged a glance as MaLeila stared down Bastet and Devdan as if daring them to contradict her. After a few more tense moments, Bastet said, “You have anywhere we can talk in private, Marcel?”

“The guest room is down the hall,” he replied.

“Thanks,” Bastet said and nodded for both MaLeila and Devdan to follow her.

Once she closed the door behind them and cast a silencing loop on the room, Bastet wasted no time getting to the point.

“I get it,” Bastet began toward MaLeila. “I really do. You’re pissed off at us both. But just because you’re pissed off doesn’t mean you should flirt with the Magic Council to spite us.”

“I’m not doing it to spite you,” MaLeila snapped. “I’m doing it because I want to.”

“For what reason? Because trust me. Being the Magic Council’s bitch is not all the magic council talks it up to be.”

“Maybe I want to find out for myself instead of taking your word for it. Hell, you lied to me about the binding. You’re still lying to me about Claude. Maybe you’re lying to me about how bad the Magic Council is too.”

“They let rogue magic users attack you on a frequent basis,” Bastet deadpanned.

“That’s not the point. The point is I want to explore the magical world for myself, do something for myself without anyone else dictating what I should and shouldn’t do because that’s all I’ve been doing since I got Claude’s old staff and his book when I was twelve,” MaLeila said, voice raising towards the end.

Devdan decided to speak at that point, a mirthless chuckle preceding his comment. “We’re the ones subjugated to you. You can do whatever the hell you want.”

“No. I really can’t. Because no matter what I do, I’d be forcing you and Bastet along the way, whether you want to or not. You’re invested in this because you have to be. Because you all don’t have a choice, and neither do I,” MaLeila snapped and that was when she made her decision, when for the past few days she had been agonizing over it.

“School was only one of the reasons I told her I couldn’t go. But the other reason was you two. I might be mad, but I’m not cruel enough to drag you two across Europe against your will if you don’t really want to go, if there’s no way I can know you really don’t want to go because you’ll be forced to come anyway,” MaLeila muttered and then added, “You’ll come anyway.”

It used to bring her some sense of comfort that these two, even Devdan for all his harshness and sometimes cruelty towards her, would seemingly follow her to hell and back. Now she could only see the magic chains that bound them together and dragged them down with her.

“What are you trying to say girl?” Devdan asked. It was the first time in years that he called her girl. Girl was impersonal. Girl created distance between them and for the first time, it didn’t bother MaLeila.

“I’m going to break the binding.”

14

If there was one thing Tsubame had learned over the years, it was that the surest way to get a man to act irrationally was to get between him and his dick—or more specifically, to interfere with him fucking a woman. They would fight, they would kill, they would revolt, they would risk dying, they would risk everything if it meant the humiliation and the annihilation of the person that got between them and a woman. It never failed. And Fathi had been no exception.

It took no more prompting from Tsubame. Once she had done her initial meddling, all it took was for Fathi’s and Ahmed’s relationship to take the natural course it would have eventually taken once Fathi got tired of owing and being subjected to Ahmed in the next few years. Tsubame didn’t know the entire story, nor did she care to find out even though she could have if she wanted to. All she did know was that after a couple of weeks, Fathi confronted her about the rumors and her answer had been simple. While he favored her and the other soldiers respected him so much that they didn’t seek her comfort, he did not own her and she could still choose to be with whom she wanted, especially when Ahmed was his superior. She had carefully chosen her words, purposely specifying that he didn’t own her instead of saying no one, saying that Ahmed was his superior and not just in ranking, knowing that his inferiority complex would set him off.

Two days later, Ahmed was dead, and the first thing Fathi did, before the body was even cold, was call her to him and inform her that he certainly owned her now. She didn’t argue with him, didn’t even let her body posture or expression show defiance. She did slightly raise her eyebrows and lift the right corner of her lips in a smirk more than a smile, something that Fathi took as a challenge before proceeding to assert his power and prove that he did own her.

Under the threat of death, the news didn’t leave the compound while Fathi asserted his authority and superiority. That was the thing about people with inferiority complexes. Once they made themselves the superior, they became just like if not worse than those that oppressed them. With that in mind, Tsubame contemplated her next movements. The ultimate goal was for her was to publically get the Magic Council involved, even pull in some of the other magic families, force them to get their hands dirty instead of letting pawns do it for them, risk their positions so that when the time was right Tsubame could sweep in and usurp them all. But as long as exactly what was happening was happening, they wouldn’t interfere, even once Fathi revealed that he was in power. They would certainly be concerned and send spies to check on the situation, but once they ascertained that there were still rebels—both non-magical and magical—willing to fight his regime also, they would turn a blind eye yet again. So Tsubame set her tasks to manipulating Fathi into doing something different than his predecessors.

After he killed Ahmed, Fathi relieved her of her duties as a servant and now she mostly spent her days in Fathi’s quarters or in the gardens, pretending to be practicing magic that she no longer had to hide now that she was under his protection, even though there were now new whispers going around that she was a witch. At least when she was a servant, she could be entertained by the other servants’ follies as she planned her ascension to world domination, but there was only so much planning she could do at this stage. So when it came time for her to get him do things differently than Ahmed had, it wasn’t very hard for her to feign wistfulness and restlessness when he came in the room one day. To be honest, she wasn’t feigning but rarely did she ever let herself whine, pout, and complain about things in favor of getting up and doing something.

He called her name and Tsubame pretended not to hear him until the third time when she blinked and turned to look at him from the window.

“Hm?” she asked.

“Why do you seem sad?” he asked, not looking as concerned as he was amused.

“I was just thinking it would be nice to be able to go outside is all.”

“You can go into the gardens.”

Tsubame shook her head. “Into town. To the market.”

“It’s dangerous out there for you.”

“Isn’t there a way it didn’t have to be? Isn’t there something you could do?”

“Only what we’ve been doing.”

“Seems like it’s taking a very long time,” Tsubame pointed out.

Fathi laughed at her and asked, “And what, Nadiyyah, would you do about it?”

Tsubame hadn’t expected him to directly ask her that question. She thought she would have to be more subtle in her maneuvers, but it seemed that her seemingly matter-of-fact and simplistic responses were amusing him so much that he was curious to know what she thought even though he would undoubtedly think she was just being a silly woman.

“I would talk to the rebels, see what they wanted and if we could work out a truce. Maybe even live together peacefully,” she muttered pretending to be absent as she stared out the window.

Predictably, Fathi laughed and said, “Don’t abuse your pretty little head over things you can’t even understand. It makes you look ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Tsubame huffed indignantly.

“It is. You’re saying we shouldn’t fight them, that we should surrender.”

“No,” Tsubame said trying to keep the firmness out her tone at the condescending way he was speaking to her even though she wanted him to see her as petty and flighty even in her bravery. “I just think we’ve been fighting for a long time and it hasn’t worked to defeat the rebels yet.”

“It wouldn’t work.”

“Why?” Tsubame asked feigning genuine curiosity.

Fathi sighed, like a parent would at a child when the parent believed something was too complicated for the child to comprehend.

“We’re just different than them.”

“That’s true,” Tsubame agreed. “But I bet if you asked, they’re just as tired of fighting as you are.”

Fathi laughed. “I never get tired of fighting.”

“I didn’t say you had to. I just want to go to the market and by red silk or satin is all. I want to make a dress,” Tsubame said with her arms crossed over the sill.

Fathi laughed at her again, muttering something about wishing he could be as careless and worried about such trivial things as she was. Still, even if he thought she was ridiculous, she had her red satin three days later, which she used to magically fashion a more modest kimono style wrap dress, one that covered her shoulders and wasn’t so tight on her chest, but that would still distinguish her to the young sorceresses and sorcerer who had seen her on her arrival so they would undoubtedly report her to the Magic Council when pictures of them were leaked.

Despite Fathi’s best efforts to keep Ahmed’s death silent, the news broke out undoubtedly by spies that were in the compound and journalists who somehow managed to get pictures of Fathi at meals with what used to be Ahmed’s inner circle and with her sitting inconspicuously amongst them as she sat next to him on a pillow on the floor like she was a favorite pet. Most of the world would probably ignore her presence in the pictures, but Tsubame was only trying to get the attention of three and there was no way they would miss her.

For a while afterwards, Tsubame did nothing, acting the part of the woman of the compound by directing the servants, befriending the mistresses of Fathi’s closest helpers and even some of the soldiers, keeping note of the ones who were probably spies, while watching Fathi follow in the footsteps of his predecessor, undoubtedly worsened by the meddling of the Magic Council who wanted to make sure that they could keep the various rebel factions at war and indirectly rule over them while also gaining access to their resources.

After a few weeks had passed, exactly what Tsubame was waiting for happened. There was another bombing on the outskirts of Fahti’s territory and in the confusion, the rebels tried to storm the city. They failed miserably and Fathi was ruthless in his retaliation, but his victory was not without losses. He lost a third of his army, used up much of his weapons and infantry, and while he was able to once again secure the perimeter of their borders, he risked a rebellion in his own territory from the civilians he failed to protect. Tsubame doubted Fathi cared about civilian losses, but what she was certain he cared about was risking a rebellion in his own territory and potentially losing the power and superiority he had just gained. To everyone’s surprise except Tsubame’s, Fathi decided to call a temporary ceasefire and meet with at least two of the rebel factions on neutral grounds.

It amused her that humans thought their minds were their own, when everything they did, everything they said, everything they thought was controlled and manipulated by someone else’s whims, by people planting ideas in their brains in passing through things that they didn’t give a second thought to: hand motions, images, sound, words. And then those ideas would fester and grow in the subconscious mind like a seed in the dirt until it sprouted and gave way to conscious thought and action in what humans like to call maturity, changes of heart, growth, whatever they wanted to call it. Rarely was anyone’s idea their own. So while Tsubame had known Fathi would think she was being a ridiculous woman by suggesting they stop fighting and try diplomacy and negotiations, knew he would instantly forget about it and in turn forget that she ever said anything about it, she knew that the right circumstances like the potential decimations of his army and his power would give rise to the idea in his head like it was his own idea. She tried not to roll her eyes as she watched Fathi champion for something that only a few weeks ago he was against, saying that they would only constantly be at war if all they did was continue to retaliate against each other, especially since it had been so long that everyone had forgotten who started fighting first.

“I thought you liked war and fighting?” Tsubame asked him one day.

“I do, when it’s necessary. Believe me Nadiyyah, I’m still fighting. Just in another way.”

It was something the international media would never put on television, something they would never let the masses know was happening because it didn’t fit the narrative they were feeding that these fighting factions were dangerous terrorists that needed to be stopped overseas before they gathered enough technology and weaponry and bombs to fly overseas and bomb their cities, take their way of living from them, and especially their precious democracy or whatever semblance of it a country had. Savages that needed to be controlled and eventually slaughtered. Instead, Tsubame knew once they saw that the different factions were trying to negotiate peace, they would take a bombing that happened weeks ago and put on TV screens across the world, make it seem like recent news, maybe even stage a terrorist attack or two and force Fathi to retaliate. Then the media would claim that it was only a false peace and that the only reason Fathi managed to garner peace was that he was a tyrant that needed to be stopped before he expanded his territory, a propaganda tactic Tsubame had been victim of on her rise to becoming queen the first time around; all because unfortunately, lies and ignorance tended to speak much louder than truth and intelligence.

The negotiations were on neutral ground outside the city and though Fathi had allowed Tsubame to accompany him in order to help quell her restlessness, she wasn’t allowed in the large tent where negotiations for peace would undoubtedly be taking place for weeks. Instead, Tsubame decided to take advantage of her freedom by greeting other women who had accompanied the other factions, many of them little more than sex slaves, some servants, some wives. They had little more to do than to gossip and talk about what they thought would be the outcome of these diplomatic talks. Most of them, particularly a refugee woman named Hajar, were simply looking forward to the fighting being over and being able to settle down and live out the rest of their lives in peace. Tsubame resisted the urge to scoff and tune up her nose at them.

Their expectations marked how different they were from Tsubame. All of them would be content with being able to settle down, maybe get married, have children, or maybe even just living out the rest of their days helping feed less fortunate people in a soup house every day without having to worry about being caught in the middle of a battle or a gun fight or bombs falling. The little things satisfied them. Tsubame on the other hand was not content with the little things. She would never be content being the mistress or even the wife of a powerful leader. She would be one of those making the rules, for now indirectly and later directly. Therefore none of them would be any help to her, she could manipulate none of them to playing the other side of the conflict for her if the peace talks weren’t successful.

Predictably they weren’t.

The first week was peaceful and during that time, Tsubame carefully observed everyone from youngest child to oldest adult to see who might have been planted there by the Magic Council in particular as spies or potential trouble makers. There were many, all close to their respective leaders in some respect or another whether it be a mistress, wife, second, or protégée, slinking around them like snakes in their free time, waiting to bite with the right word. With that many people, there was bound to be sabotage sooner or later. Relationships being tense as they were, it didn’t take much for there to be all out chaos and fighting. All it took was acid in the mattress of one of the delegates for all hell to break loose.

Despite her arguments that she was perfectly able to take care of herself, Fathi had her sent back to the compound where Tsubame waited for two weeks for news of the outcome while openly practicing more powerful types of magic and cultivating the garden. After the first week of waiting, Tsubame heard that Fathi had called his army into the city, but it was the other servants who confirmed her suspicion. With most of the soldiers on the field, there was little for the women in the compound to do besides gather in their favorite gathering place, the kitchen, and gossip. Tsubame made her way to stand next to Saha, who looked at Tsubame with a longsuffering look as she shook her head at the antics of the women around her.