The Battle Drum by Saara El-Arifi

Author:Saara El-Arifi [El-Arifi, Saara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Worlds
Published: 2023-05-23T00:00:00+00:00

Inquisitor Abena circled the weapons store. She needed a weapon that would kill someone quickly. Silently.

She spotted the bow and arrow. Such a death would be neither quick nor silent.

Maybe that would do…

—“A Crime, Committed” from The Tales of Inquisitor Abena, featured in The People’s Gazette

Anoor rocked back and forth on her heels. The dressing room had no window, just a low hanging runelight that never turned off. She reached up and tapped the glass globe, her nail making a satisfying clink on the lamp as it began to swing backward and forward, lighting up the corners of the room with red flourishes. The friction caused by the runes blurred the light ever so slightly, the shadows quivering.

Two weeks she’d been investigating her mother’s murder. She’d followed up on every single person who’d entered the Keep, but they all had alibis. It should have delighted her to discover all the sordid affairs that had been accruing under the Keep’s roof, but her mind was too occupied to enjoy gossip. Two weeks and she still had nothing.

Anoor moved into Nuba formation three. The exercise based on strict movements tested a person’s mental and physical capabilities. Anoor slipped into the state of battle wrath and let anger fuel her movements. She thrust her hands upward to the ceiling, her right leg flexing in a half-twist behind her.

She breathed in and out, trying to retain focus. Anger is a tool, anger is a tool. The problem was, she had so much of it. It filled her up, flecks of it flashing behind her eyelids as it boiled beneath her skin.

“Arrrgh.” The scream tore through her, leaving her a quaking, crumpled heap. She let the sobs out.

“Sylah, I wish you were here,” Anoor whimpered. But as she said the words she wondered if they were true. “No, I don’t want you to see me fail so completely.”

Sylah didn’t fail, and if she did it was because she chose to. There was nothing her lover didn’t do out of choice.

Lover.

The word was a gentle caress in her mind, like the unfurling of fingers in the softest part of her.

Anoor closed her eyes, her hands slipping beneath her trousers to feel the heat that had pooled there. The tears on her cheeks turned to sweat as she explored the warmth.

Sylah’s form moved through her mind in rhythm with her movements. She imagined Sylah’s hand curving over her breasts as she explored the contours of her body. Anoor’s back arched at the memory of Sylah’s deft fingers, and her mischievous glance as she lowered herself to taste Anoor.

Sylah always started slow, her tongue parting her gently, leaving Anoor crying for more. Then the tension would build, plying Anoor with pleasure with each suck and lick until she couldn’t take the pressure anymore and she’d explode like the tidewind.

Her mind scattered into grains of sand as pleasure burst through her at the memory.

“Oh, Sylah,” she whispered again. Though the name held more passion than helplessness now.

The aftershocks of bliss abated with her breathing.

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