Imperial

5. Roshani

Roshani ran her fingers over the sleek, metal blade, testing its sharpness. The bright metal seemed to glow in the dim sunlight streaming in from the veranda of her chambers.

It was a beautiful sword, not that she much cared. Esfandar had been the one always so particular about his weapons, from the decoration on its pommel to the weight of it in his hands. Roshani, though- as long as the weapon could kill, she didn't see why there was a need to fuss about anything else.

This weapon, for example, had killed a shah- the shah. Roshani had held the blade herself, walked up the stone steps to the throne, and plunged it through her father's heart.

Roshani was no warrior. She'd never practiced swordplay in her life, nor did she have any affinity for martial arts. She had killed with this sword all the same. It only proved definitively what Roshani had always known: it didn't make a difference who wielded the weapon. All that mattered was the sharpness of the blade.

She carefully placed the sword upon the table, making sure it lined up exactly horizontally. It bothered her when things were out of their place. Esfandar and Soraya used to tease her for it.

Roshani shook her head quickly, walking away from the sword towards the other side of the room. She shouldn't keep thinking of them like this, as if they were still her brother and sister. They were dead to her now, traitors and betrayers who would kill her in an instant. She clenched her fists at her sides. They were nothing more than enemies.

At the thought of enemies, the events of the last council meeting rushed back to her. Princess Farah's arrival and Goshtab's impossible demands. All of the nobles of the different houses vying for her favor, the delicate balance she was keeping by playing them off one another. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. It gave her a headache just thinking about it.

Roshani flattened the skirts of her dress and sat on a square cushion placed before a low desk. She flattened out a new scroll and picked up the stylus delicately.

The nobles of House Suhren were nervous in their written replies to her. They feared Esfandar's armies, so close to their borders, and they doubted her capability to rule. It caused a flare of anger to burn in her stomach at the thought. Because her rule was still insecure, they thought to disrespect her.

Droplets of ink splattered across the scroll as Roshani hastily wrote an appropriate reply. She restrained herself from making any overt threats in her message. This was House Suhren after all, an essential ally who dominated the central plains of Sazia. A stern but forgiving scolding would serve her purpose well enough.

A sharp knock sounded upon the doors, echoing in the wide chamber. Roshani looked up from her letter.

"Enter."

A pair of servants dressed in dark red kaftans pushed open the doors, then bowed low and stepped to the side as Grand Minister Youtab made his entrance. The aging man had his hands tucked into the folds of a flowing robe the color of saffron, the draping sleeves decorated with patterns of the sun and moon. His pace was hurried, even as he bowed to her. The lines of his face creased in worry and beads of sweat broke out on his brow.

Roshani frowned and placed her stylus carefully onto the desk, turning to Youtab. It was a rare thing for him to be so concerned. Youtab was a man who foresaw anything unpleasant well in advance and took whatever steps he needed to avoid it. After all, he'd hardly been reluctant in helping Roshani to organize her coup- he'd been downright elated, in fact.

"What is it, Youtab?" she asked.

"Your highness," he said, his words fast. "Lady Homeira..." He gulped. "Lady Homeira is not in her chambers."