The Tower of Bashan Read Free Page B

“Leave here. Now.”
    Andrasta frowned. “But—”
    “My daughter is dead. She died the day I was forced by my sovereign king to marry her to Kanu to secure peace. I choose to remember her the way she was before she was defiled. I am not interested in the abomination of such a union, some tainted half-blood.” He eyed her up and down. “Granddaughter? More like grandson the way you’re dressed.” He spun his horse around, calling out over his shoulder. “Captain, see that she is on her way by the count of ten. If not, have your crossbowmen loose their weapons.”
    “Yes, my lord.”
    Andrasta’s mouth hung open. Every childhood story of her grandfather all seemed a lie. She knew she didn’t fit the typical granddaughter mold, but she hoped to at least catch a glimpse of the warmth, kindness, and love her mother had spoken of. Her mother believed that Dacey would have loved Andrasta, often begging Kanu for permission to present Andrasta to him. Kanu always refused.
    A blessing in disguise. Mother would be crushed at such a reaction.
    “Four,” a voice called, jarring Andrasta.
    She looked to her left and saw that the captain had been counting. She jumped on her mount and spat in the direction of Dacey’s trailing back before spinning her horse and kicking it into a gallop. Wind whipped her face. Her mother’s land no longer seemed beautiful. In fact, she couldn’t wait to leave it behind.
    Why did I come here? I didn’t want money or titles, or even a place in his household. Just knowledge that I mattered to someone.
    She rode north in the midday sun. The sooner she reached and stole the infamous Jewel of Bashan, the sooner she could return to Juntark.
    Perhaps then, she might prove herself worthy enough to be wanted.

CHAPTER 1
    Tiny streams of sweat ran down Lela’s armpits as she leaned against a wall of smooth red sandstone. Coupled with the dirty rags she wore, the sweat urged her to claw at her skin. She refrained. People already looked at her with crinkled noses like some rodent that had crawled out of a sewer drain.
    No need to act like one.
    The closest thing she had recently to a bath was a month ago. Admittedly, that had occurred by accident, falling into the dockside waters. Her little fists tightened as she recalled the laughs of nearby fishermen while scrambling ashore.
    They could use a bath themselves. Smelling like fish guts.
    She squinted into the midday sunlight. An overweight merchant dressed in brown churidars—trousers usually worn loose at the hips and thighs while tight at the ankles—stood near the entrance to one of many banks on the busy street. On the merchant, the churidars were tight all over.
    He also wore a traditional sherwani. The coat extended to the man’s knees. Even in its plainest form, a sherwani signified wealth and status. Green in color, she thought the merchant resembled one of the large bushes that stood outside the palace’s walls. If she wasn’t so nervous, she might have laughed.
    A hand rested on her boney shoulder and squeezed. “Remember what I told you.”
    She flicked her gaze back to Chand. The wide-shouldered man appeared disinterested in all around him, yet she knew better. She had seen him work many times over the last few weeks. His rise in Beladeva’s organization had just as much to do with his wit as it did with his size and demeanor.
    He is not another dumb thug. Remember that.
    “I’ve done this before,” she answered, more sharply than intended.
    Dark eyes met hers. They dominated a massive head that sat on a neck fit for an elephant. “No two targets are the same. No two situations are the same. You have stolen before, but you have not stolen under these circumstances. Remember that, Little One.”
    Little One. At eleven, she could easily pass for seven, so the moniker did make sense. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. She fought her natural inclination to remind him of her name. The phantom pain in her jaw from the last time