Meet Sehdra, a new point-of-view character in The Crown of Fire & Fury (Chapter 1)

I have another preview of The Crown of Fire & Fury for you this week! See below for Chapter 1, which is from the perspective of a new point-of-view character, Sehdra. Read on to learn about her and what’s going on in Ha-Sypt, the other side of the burgeoning war…

CHAPTER 1: THE JACKAL KING

We are endless and We are ceaseless

We are many and We are One

For Our children, We splinter

We fall, Stars to the Ocean

To you, We give a piece of Our Heart

A Sliver of the Sun

To you, We give the Karah

A god born of your own

- Words in the Sand, refrain 12;57-58

Sehdra smelled the giantess even before she entered the throne room.

She hesitated at the arched opening as the stench filled her nostrils. The trace of sulfur made her stomach turn, and not only from the stink itself. Sehdra had always tried to make of herself a shadow, one that might disappear into an alcove or corner as soon as she entered a chamber. Most of the servants, slaves, and ministers in the palace aided her in it, wanting to see her as little as she wanted to be seen.

But her brother had always delighted in pulling her back into the light.

"Royal Sister?" a voice spoke by her side. "Sehdra, are you well?"

She produced a smile as she turned to Teti. In her people's eyes, the man was her slave, one of the servants castrated to serve the women of the royal family. But it had been a long time since she had seen him that way. In the twenty-one floods since he was assigned to her, when she was a girl only just receiving her womanly cycle, Teti had become the brother she had never had.

Or, she mused, at least the brother Physt could never be.

Sehdra smiled at Teti, not wishing to worry him. Yet she wondered how ugly she must look as the deformed side of her face crinkled. Teti never seemed to mind. He returned the smile, saying with his eyes what it would be dangerous to utter with his mouth. 

He will not lay hands on you. He will not spill royal blood. He will not tarnish the image of the karah.

Neither were fooled. She knew as well as he that her brother had many ways to harm beyond words.

She had been summoned by the karah, and could not delay entering. Drawing in a breath, Sehdra summoned her courage and, with Teti a step behind, walked inside. 

No matter how many times she visited it, the karah's throne chamber awed her. Golden morning light streamed in through triangular windows lining the walls. Columns framed the wine-hued carpet that bisected the room. Braziers blazed between the columns, making shadows dance and the murals, expertly brushed onto the walls and columns, come alive. 

Sehdra knew every story depicted in those paintings. The hunt of Yeshept and Pawura. The creation of the world by Wise Qa'a. The struggles between Red Bek, White Aya, and Black Gazabe. All the ordeals of the Divine were drawn along these stones, each a reminder of the insignificance of mortal striving.

The room had been designed to draw the eyes toward a single point at the far end. The Ascendant Throne possessed the same angularity as the rest of the room, the seat as bluff and strong as the power it conferred. Gold and silver lined the stone, and emeralds splayed across the top in a crown. Yet it did not detract from the man who sat upon it, cushioned from its hard surface by pillows, but added to his mystique.

Sehdra's eyes did not rest on the karah. Inevitably, her gaze rose to the dark alcove behind the throne. There loomed a greater shadow, hidden but for the occasional glint of jewels and precious metals, silent but for a heavy, thrumming respiration that filled the air with its bitter scent.

Do not look, Sehdra cautioned herself. Do not draw attention.

It took an impossible effort, like looking away from a stalking lion, but Sehdra managed it. She continued forward, tottering and wincing each time she put weight on her withered leg.

No sooner had she entered sunlight than did her brother call to her. "Sehdra Ohkweht!" crooned Hephystus, his voice pitched high in mockery. "Come here, sister. I wish to look upon beauty this day!"

As he laughed, the others in attendance followed suit. You are cold, Sehdra told herself as her face burned. You are ice. She felt every lancing gaze from the guards, servants, and ministers who swayed to their karah's every cruel whim. Shadowed behind the columns, they seemed like the interred bodies of the dead risen at their descendant's behest, come to join in the debasement of his own blood. 

But she knew the only bystanders of any importance were the two men to either side of the throne. On her brother's right was his vizier, Zosar of White Aya, the enactor of the karah's will and his principal councilor. Zosar carried himself like a cat through an adoring crowd, every part of him oozing self-satisfaction. His clothes were rich and sun-bright, as if in defiance of the dust that covered the city below. The largest opal Sehdra had ever seen sparkled in the center of his headwrap. He kept a short scepter tucked into his wide belt, shaped like the cobra god he professed to serve.

To the left of the chair stood a man opposite of the vizier in every way. Known only as the Ibis, he was a Suncoaster, and his strange ornamentation showed it. Though the throne room bore a morning chill, he wore no shirt, putting on display the bones woven into his ebon skin, which formed a pattern like a pair of elephant's tusks. A short skirt tucked around his waist, ostrich feathers its only decoration. He held his chin low, like a boar preparing to charge. His cobalt eyes betrayed nothing of the intentions beneath.

Sehdra kept her gaze locked on her brother. She knew how mottled the cursed flesh became when she flushed. Scaled and puckered, color only worsened the look of the birth defect. She had hidden it for most of her life under an assortment of extravagant masks, hoping it added an air of mystery rather than appearing as ornate bandages, as it often felt. But since her brother's crowning, he had forbidden her from wearing masks in his presence. And the karah's word, as all knew in the Ascendant Empire, was absolute.

Yet she was protected even without them. Long ago, she had learned to make a mask of her flesh. Her face showed no emotion. Only her cursed skin might betray her.

Sehdra limped forward and conjured a respectful smile. Nothing in the way she carried herself could be worthy of reprimand. Yet still, her brother found ill with her. 

"You must walk as befits the ohkweht." Familiar ridges appeared above his nose, a foretelling of the morning's tidings. "You make it seem as if I keep a court of aberrations and invalids."

It was another of the legacies of her unfortunate birth, that twisted foot and leg. It pained Sehdra to walk on it, ground her joints together, and made her look ridiculous.

"My deepest apologies, Divine One." Sehdra spoke without irony. Her brother had keen ears for ridicule, being seasoned in it himself, and mocking a god had dire consequences.

The karah watched her in disapproving silence as she stopped at the appropriate distance before the throne, then bowed, descending to her knees and prostrating herself before him. She breathed in the musk of the red carpet, already showing enough wear to soon be replaced, and waited for his dismissal. Her withered limb screamed in protest.

It felt an eternity before he spoke. "Look at me, dear sister."

Sehdra rose, repressed a wince as her leg throbbed, and met her brother's stare. Karah Hephystus the Third had grown into his role as the ruler of Ha-Sypt over the past five years. When he had first ascended at sixteen floods, he had too much resembled a boy playing a man's role. 

Now, the royal trappings fit him. The leopard skin draped over his narrow shoulders did not swallow him, but signified the power and authority he possessed, even over those deadly and majestic creatures. The lion's tail that hung from his belt showed no beast could compare to Physt's prowess.

The Ascendant Crown, too, accentuated his appearance. It was a work of beauty, constructed of fiber at the beginning of his reign and stiffened into its symbolic shapes. The conical base was painted black in honor of Gazabe the Jealous, the god Physt had taken as his Inspiration. The wings flanking it represented the ears of Red Bek. Last rose White Aya, curling out in a deadly leer from Hephystus's forehead.

The karah was held as a god among men. Though Sehdra had always struggled to accept that, her brother at least looked the part. Yet, no matter what the gods conveyed through the sands, she had to look no further than his eyes to see the mortal she knew so well. They burned with the same casual cruelty he had always fostered.

As Hephystus beheld Sehdra, his expression spasmed. "Your face repulses me, Royal Sister. Had I not something you must witness this day, I would command you stay to the shadows. At least you must turn that beetle-flesh away from me."

Sehdra obeyed at once. His insults slid off her like water over oiled leather. "Of course, Divine One."

"Of course," he mocked. Then, abruptly wearying of the torment, her brother leaned back and dismissed her with a casual wave of his hand. Already, his cold eyes had flickered up to the chamber's entrance. Sehdra bowed again and scurried out of the way before looking around. Once sheltered behind the columns, relief flooded through her. She tried not to appear as if she hid, but maintained the regal posture worthy of the Royal Sister. Her stomach twisted, wondering what spectacle her brother had planned this morn. That Teti slipped up next to her brought only marginal comfort.

The vizier roused, clapping his hands once. "Bring him in!"

Sehdra understood her brother's game as soon as she recognized the man who was dragged forth and thrown to the ground. Raneb, high chanter to Wise Qa'a, had never more resembled his deity than on his hands and knees. His black robes and headdress, stiffened into the mandibles of the beetle god, made him seem as if he were a scarab searching for scat.

Not likely to find any on Physt's floor, Sehdra thought, though there is plenty in his words.

"Raneb Nautjer!" sneered Vizier Zosar. "You are accused of a most grievous crime. You have been found stealing from the Holy Karah himself."

Raneb remained on his knees, but rose to clasp his hands before him. "Please, Divine One," the high chanter begged, ignoring the vizier. "Please, spare me. Show the Wise Scarab's mercy. I have done Qa'a's will all my life. I only needed coin for a short time, then I would—"

"Silence!" roared Zosar. He approached the prostrating priest and, withdrawing the scepter from his belt, whipped it across the man's face. Flecks of blood caught in the sunbeams as the bronze cracked across Raneb's jaw. Sehdra barely flinched. She had come expecting violence.

"Enough, Zosar."

At the karah's command, the vizier backed away. Sehdra's brother smiled. His eyes were bright with more than the wine he so often drank now. 

"Zosar says you have been skimming the top of the temple coffers. Is this true, Raneb? Answer yes or no only, or I will take your tongue."

Raneb remained on his knees, though he drew upright. Still, he visibly trembled as he whispered, "Yes."

"And from these coins, you are to cede your seasonal tithe to me, your karah. Yet, if some are missing, you will not pay the full amount — is that not so?"

"Yes."

Hephystus leaned forward in his throne. His smile reminded Sehdra of a jackal slavering over a fresh carcass. "I am your god, Raneb. I am the first of your gods, ahead of your beetle, ahead of any others. I am the first!" His voice rose to a shout, then lowered as he continued. "I am the god who is here before you, priest. And so I am the last god you should steal from."

Sehdra's every muscle was taut as she watched the drama play out. Like a scene from a slave play. Yet this was no act. Her brother embodied this reality and ruled it. 

She knew the scene's inevitable conclusion.

Physt leaned back. The smile had faded and malaise returned as he waved a hand. "Take his head."

Raneb all but squealed then. "Please, Empyrean Soul! You are first among the Divine, of course you are first! I repent — I will pay back every coin, every last one, even if it paupers me. But only spare me, I beg of you—"

Guards stepped up to either side and seized the high chanter's arms, wrenching them back and drawing short his pleas. A third guard drew his khopesh, the curve in the blade settling lightly on the back of Raneb's neck. Sehdra's pulse raced. She found her hand reaching behind her to grip Teti's, sharing their horror.

I should speak. I should stop them. She was only the ohkweht, sister to divinity. She had not the authority to defy the karah's will.

Yet neither could she let a man die because of her.

As the guard's arm drew back to swing, Sehdra lurched free of the shadows. "Divine One, wait!"

The guard, seeing who had spoken, hesitated and looked at the throne. Physt looked annoyed, while the vizier smiled. The Ibis's expression did not shift, nor did his stance.

"Speak quickly, sister," her brother grated. "The apostate's head must roll!"

"You know Qa'a is the god to which I am devoted." She hesitated, swallowing the next words she had been about to say. While their mother had often said it was Qa'a who blessed Sehdra at birth, and not cursed her with deformities, her brother had never shared the opinion. But, conscious of the blade waiting for the high chanter's neck, she rushed on. "Seeing as such, I request that you allow me to inquire into his reasons for taking from you." 

Physt's eyes narrowed. "I cannot refuse a humble request from such a beauty. Very well, Sehdra. Ask."

She bowed, pretending he had graced her rather than delivered the same stale insult, then looked back to Raneb. "I put my question to you, Raneb Nautjer. Why did you do as you say?"

The high chanter's head raised just enough to look at her. "The widows, Royal Sister, and the orphans. With the recent riots, there are more than usual requesting food and fewer offerings made. I thought to borrow what they needed from the temple."

Sehdra's heart cried out for the man. That he possessed a kind spirit had seemed clear to her every time she had visited his temple before. She was certain it was the truth. All knew of the unrest among the population under her brother's harsh rule.

Physt barked a laugh. "Do you believe your god and king soft-headed, priest? Surely, you can lie better! Men who rise as high as you do not risk death for widows and orphans. I have heard enough."

Her brother waved a hand again, and Sehdra's hopes plunged. Yet she remained where she was, even though she would be splashed by the beheading. 

If all I can do is wear a good man's blood, then I must.

But a sudden rumble, like the groan of the shifting earth, stiffened everyone in place.

"Wait!" cried the Ibis in his shrill voice. He skittered forward on legs that bowed outward, making him seem more like the bird for which he was named. "Great Oyaoan speaks!" 

On the spot, the Suncoaster spun around and bent down on one knee. Sehdra followed the Ibis's prostrations to the source of the rumble. She did not want to look; she could not help but look. As the shadows roiled behind the throne, a monstrous shape took form. 

She rose four times the height of the tallest man Sehdra had ever seen. Her tusks came into the light first, yellow as picked-over bones, and glittering with the jewels that hung from them. The macabre necklace came next, swinging with each heavy step, the skulls making a chilling, rattling sound. Then came the dozens of clinging bracelets, made of gold, bronze, silver, and copper, catching the light as one arm, then the other, came into view. Her skin was gray and rough and seemed to defy illumination. Her eyes, dark as an oasis pool on a moonless night, seemed to absorb the scene before her. A trunk, writhing like a viper, hung down the front of her face, and wide ears, heavy with rings, framed it.

Sehdra's withered leg felt as if it would lose what little strength it possessed and send her sprawling to the ground. No matter how many times she stood before Oyaoan, she never grew used to it. Her brother was supposed to be a god, but as he sat with the huamek's shadow cast over him, she could only see him as a man with a god's crown.

Oyaoan rumbled again. Though Sehdra knew it to be speech, none but her translator, the Ibis, understood what she said.

"Great Oyaoan speaks!" the Suncoaster shouted from the floor. "The beetle priest is to pay his debts, then return to his duties. There is need for him soon, and Great Oyaoan does not throw away lives. Great Oyaoan has spoken!"

The giantess stood not a dozen paces from Sehdra. She longed to bolt, though she made for a poor runner. By an effort she had thought beyond her, she remained where she was as Oyaoan stretched one gargantuan hand toward the high chanter. Sehdra's nose detected a whiff of urine as the thick, gray fingers grasped Raneb's shoulder and wondered if it came from the priest. Despite what the Ibis had declared, the high chanter shuddered violently under the huamek's touch. Tears streamed down his face.

As easily as Sehdra might lift a knife, Oyaoan hoisted Raneb and set him on his wobbling legs. Then she rumbled in her foreign tongue again.

"Great Oyaoan speaks!" the Ibis said, still bowed. "She is merciful and wise. She will not waste good hearts. She bids the high chanter, Raneb, to remember her graciousness in the seasons to come. Great Oyaoan has spoken!"

With that, the giantess turned and lumbered back into the darkness behind the throne.

Only once the huamek returned to the shadows did Sehdra suck in a ragged breath. Her gaze traveled first to Raneb, who swayed as if he would faint, then to her brother. Hephystus leaned forward on his throne, hands clenched into fists. Rage was written in every crease of his face.

"Get out!" he screamed. "Leave, you blighted worms, or I'll tear off your heads myself!"

As her brother reached for his goblet and drained it, Sehdra felt a hand on her elbow. "We should go, Royal Sister," Teti murmured in her ear as he led her to the door.

She did not resist, but let her friend sweep her along. The occupants of the throne chamber thronged the door, frantic to obey their karah, but none impeded her passage. No one wished their head to be the next to roll, and offense given to the ohkweht might be all the provocation Physt needed just then.

But as pain stabbed up her twisted leg, Sehdra knew it would not be long before the sword fell on someone's neck.