Dark Djinn (The Darkness of Djinn Book 1) by Tia Reed

Author:Tia Reed [Reed, Tia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-04-16T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty

Dawn broke with amazing speed, an explosion of red that, were Kordahla to believe the tales, portended an ill-fated day. The horse was dragging its dusty hooves after hours of travel on the straight, southbound road. In front of her, Timak dozed, his fragile body sagging against her. Yawning, she glanced over her shoulder as she had done with constant fear throughout the night. They were in plain view of farmers beginning their daily toil in burgeoning fields of wheat. Catching sight of her black robe, the peasants downed their tools and dropped to one knee. Kordahla lowered her hooded head, drew the cloak across her shoulders and forced herself to ride a dirt road towards a ramshackle cottage. The arrogant mahktashaan would have done no less. She clenched her jaw as a worn woman emerged, her young ones clinging to her skirt while she deposited a small loaf of bread and hunk of cheese in their path. With a wary nod, she backed into the house.

Kordahla reined in the horse and nudged Timak awake. “Go get it,” she said.

The boy slid off, collected the meal, and allowed her to lift him back up. Unwilling to tarry, she kicked the horse on, careful to allow the sleeve of her robe to cover her delicate hands. If this was how the populace revered the mahktashaan, starvation would be the least of their problems. The poor might suffer a pang of hunger for their generosity– she could bear the twinge of guilt when she was in direr straights than they. Out of sight of the cottage, Kordahla turned the horse into grass long enough to obscure them if they lay. The horse needed to rest and graze, and sleep pulled at her heavy eyes. They tucked into the crude breakfast on horseback, guarding it from the fat crows strutting to peck the falling crumbs. Timak slid off as soon as he had licked his fingers, and she followed. One hand yet on the roan horse’s withers, she looked up and down the road. The hard ground was no bed for a princess, and a traveller would investigate a bridled mount. There were brigands, too; she had heard Father rant of the horrors they perpetrated on the unwary. Beside her, Timak folded to the ground and curled up unconcerned. Despite the burning heat on the back of her hand, Kordahla rubbed her arms. On a sharp intake of breath, she shuddered.

“You can rest,” Timak murmured. “Genie will keep watch.” He was asleep within seconds.

After a final, fleeting scan of the bare horizon, Kordahla braved the coarse grass. She ran a dry blade through her fingers. A day ago, she would never have sat on earth without a servant spreading a thick rug for her. Had she really dared to run away? To take her life into her own hands, she corrected. One thing was sure: she could never go back. Honour would see her imprisoned in the tower under constant guard. If Father allowed her to live.

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