Rebellion in al-Nithiel: The Tragedy of the Onyx Queen

Rashida imagined that, if she could see the sky, it was be a rather pleasant shade of blue. Which, she decided, was a blessing that she couldn’t, because beautiful cerulean skies was the last thing she wanted to see right now. Instead she watched the growing black cloud wafting from the palace, her home for the last ten years. An ugly black smudge that chased away all hope that her husband might not have perished. She could taste the sulphur in the air, thick on her tongue and in her lungs, provoking a coughing fit. A coughing fit that ended with her regurgitating whatever it was she had last eaten. It didn’t taste as good coming back up.

Behind her, the crew laughed. “Lookey-here! Our captain’s gotten herself so ustta a queen’s life, she lost her sea legs!” Wiping chunks from her chin, she joined them in a self-depreciating chuckle. A pathetic gesture that didn’t try to deny their jests. It was better they thought that, she decided. Better that though she was soft from her time as ruler, soft enough the rocking of the sea could bring up her lunch. Better than having to admit the truth to them. Better than having to admit the truth to herself, better than to have to prepare herself for another loss. All alone this time. As long as she didn’t acknowledge it, the hope couldn’t hurt her.

In her chambers, her son was still sleeping. Well, Suleiman’s son. Her husband’s son, and therefore hers too, even if not in blood. He looked like his father, with dark hair and eyes on a dusky bronze complexion. A fact she had often acknowledged, but had never before hurt so much as in this moment. I miss him. The first of many instances of missing him, she suspected. Seeking comfort, she dug through her things until she came upon the journal he kept. His words had stolen her heart, turned a political marriage into a fulfilling romantic one. She was hardly a page in before she was smiling, with tears rolling down her cheeks.

“How’s the Onyx Queen holding up?” Her first mate Shamila call as she joined her in her chambers. The sun and sea air had done the woman many favors, as her golden complexion seemed to glow even in the dark of the cabin. A red bandana just managed to hold back the mass of dark curls springing from her head, demanding to have her presence felt. Strong muscles and curves from sailing half her life continued this trend of taking up rightfully earned space. Rashida met her question with a glare.

“Don’t call me that. I was supposed to be there, by his side. Instead I am fleeing, like an animal with my tail tucked between my legs.”

“And what would have happened to his son had you stayed?”

“Someone else could have carried him to safety. We had a hundred loyal and capable retainers who would have been honored to do so.”

“Perhaps you are right. But what of hope? Who would have carried that?”

“You think I still have hope?”

“You were the first one to believe the demons could be stopped. You created this, all of this, because of that hope. Despite everything else, you kept on, that hope the only thing guiding you. If you truly believed there was no hope, you wouldn’t have obeyed his dying wish.”

"I wasn’t going to deny his last request."

"When have you ever obeyed him before now? When have you ever obeyed anything but your own desires? Don’t say it was because you loved him, because love never made you compliant before."

There was a defeated smirked on Rashida face, as she knew there wasn’t any arguing with Shamila. Her first mate really had known her too well. Still, she’d be damned if she didn’t get the last word, “I still say he was being selfish.”

“I don’t disagree. But, consider this. Suleiman gave everything for his people, everything for his country. In the face of that sacrifice, wasn’t he due one small mercy? That he shouldn’t have to watch his beloved perish as he did? That he could go onto heaven, knowing you and Harmah survived?”

Rashida sighed, hating the Shamila made so much sense. Hating it, and yet wishing it were true. Wishing that her husband had known some peace in those final moments, knowing she was safe. There was a few moments of comfortable silence, before she turned her attention back to her son. “What am I going to tell Harmah?” She lamented, watching the child sleep, jealous of his peacefulness, and ignorance.

“That his father is a hero? Isn’t that what any six year-old would want?” her first mate suggested, shrugging.

“I’m sure any child would prefer a living father to the ghost of a hero,” Rashida challenged, unwilling or unable to hide her bitterness. By the gods, she'd make the demons pay in blood for this.

“What he needs is a parent. A mother, if his father is gone. Not a vengeful widow.” Shamila advised, sensing her unspoken anger.

(Okay, clearly shit needs a ton of work, because I have no idea where I am going with it all.)

“What did the seer say?” Shamila asked, legs kicked up onto a barrel as she picked at her nails.

“The blood of the king shall once more sit in judgement." Rashida repeated, voice a reverent hallow tone. She fingered at the onyx ring she wore, the last the jewelry from her late husband she hadn’t yet sold.

“And what does that mean?”

“Harmah,” she breathed, “Harmah will retake his father’s throne. Or I will retake it, in his name.”

“Are you so sure? Sounds like it could refer to any of Suleiman’s children.”

“My husband sired no bastards.” Snapped Rashida, offended by the mere implication, “Harmah is the only one.”

“What about the child you carry? It is Suleiman’s, is it not?”

She blanched, instinctively covering her stomach, an act that had the opposite of her intended effect, “I’m barren.”

“Not from this angle, you aren’t.”

“I…can’t carry a child to birth. I lost the first three. I don’t expect this one to make it either, unless the Gods are cruel.”

Shamila looked at her, nodding, before smirking, “Told you that you still carry hope.”

“What from that makes you think I have hope?” Rashida harangued, exasperation etched into the fine lines on her face.

“If you were really so certain there were no chance for that child, you would have taken care of it. You wouldn’t risk your life on something that could never be.”

Rashida was quiet for a while, unable to meet Shamila’s eyes. When she did speak, her voice was hardly more than a whisper, and cracking still, “It’s…it’s the last thing Suleiman left with me…” Looking up, brown eyes were wet with tears, just threatening to break through into a sob, “I can’t just…”

Shamila pulled her into a hug, squeezing her as the tears came up, “It’s okay.” They stayed like that for a moment, Rashida clinging to the remnants of her late husband, unable to let go despite her cynicism. As she began to calm herself, Shamila spoke again, “But you have to admit you still carry hope.”

Rashida laughed now, through the tears she wiped from her eyes, “I guess I do, huh?”

---

“Rashida al-Udain! I must say, pregnancy is quite becoming on you,” Rudain announced, leering at her figure.

“I am afraid you are mistaken, Rudain. I’ve merely grown soft in the sorrow of widowhood.”

“Nonsense. You have the glow of a woman ready to welcome her first born into the world. A pity that Suleiman’s pride got in the way of him meeting this child. Is Harmah excited to have a sibling, at least?”

Rashida glanced at Rudain for a moment, searching for answers in the demon’s face. What did they know? “Harmah perished, when the palace was sacked,” She lied with a steady tone. Rudain examined her for a moment, before pouting.

“My condolences. Another victim of Suleiman’s hubris,” the demon prince sighed, “I do hope you have learned something from this whole ordeal. A lesson in humility and obsequiousness, perhaps?”

“I am afraid I do not follow,” Rashida challenged, refusing to show fear or anger on her features.

“I am trying to invite you back into your home, my dear. Your child should grow up in the family home, and you should rule beside me, as you ruled beside Suleiman. And one day perhaps your child too will rule this land, at my side.”

Remaining dispassionate was difficult, as Rudain made their offer. Hard not to show the disgust in her eyes, as the demon was already laying claim to the child growing within her. Still, she had to be careful how she responded, careful not to stir the demon’s rage. “Too many memories there, for me to ever return. I find that life on the seas suits me better. It always has, really.”

---

Whether the gods were cruel or kind, Rashida could not say, but she did indeed birth a healthy baby girl. Taraji al-Udain, Suleiman’s daughter. The child they had tried in vain to conceive for years, a babe whose was half lungs, based on her squealing cry. Rashida had finally allowed herself a moment’s rest, sagging back into the mattress as her daughter dozed. Assuring herself she was just going to rest her eyes a moment, the creaking of the door opening pulled her back from the brink of sleep.

Shamila and Harmah, her first mate holding the boy back by his shoulders. “Sorry, but he was worried about you. I promised he could see you, once it was all done.”

Rashida managed an exhausted smile, and nodded, beckoning Harmah closer. It took all the restraint the seven-year-old could muster not to run to her, but he sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over to look at the infant. “This is your sister, Taraji. Do you want to hold her?” Harmah eyes were wide, full of childlike wonder as he gleefully nodded. Guiding his hands, she placed the child in his arms, and wrapped her own arms around him.

When he was still alive, she wanted nothing more than to share this moment with Suleiman. Especially after the first, and second miscarriage. She wanted to triumph over that misfortune, celebrate their victory over nature. In some ways, while watching the excitement in Harmah’s eyes, so much like his father’s, it felt as if Suleiman was there, with them now. Sharing the moment with her. It was nice, to let go of some of that bitterness for the first time in months. To feel as if her family were all together now, and it would be alright. “I love you so much,” she whispered to the boy, to the babe, to the ghost of Suleiman, planting a kiss in his hair.

(I've decided to write this out of order, because apparently that's how my brain works. If it gets close to being done or looking like a story, I'll put it in some kind of order.)

“Do you think this is common, among royalty, with our loveless political marriages?” Suleiman joked, wrapping hands around her waist as hers went up onto his shoulders, “To have our first dance at our wedding?”

“It’s not our first dance,” Rashida charged, following his lead. They did an alternating series of steps, on the right, left and right again. “But I am not surprised you don’t remember. We danced at your coronation, and you had a dozen women trying to get their hooks into you.”

“That’s right,” he agreed, twirling her out, and pulling her back in, “I do recall a young woman trying very hard hide her interest in me.”

“I wasn’t interested,” she argued as they spun together.

“And yet, here we are. Husband and wife,” he teased, turning her so her back was against his chest and his lips against her ear “Seems your long game paid off.”

“My long game hasn’t begun to pay off, Suleiman. Don’t forget the reason for this alliance. We need to be a united front, when the demons arrive”

“Rashida, it’s our wedding day. Save doom and gloom for tomorrow.”

“You still don’t believe me, do you? Why did you even agree to this marriage if you don’t believe it’s necessary?”

“And pass up the opportunity to add a Tulbyatan princess to my harem? My ancestors would shame me for all my days.” He teased, his features lighting up by the smirk on his lips.

“I am your queen, not a concubine,” She protested, suppressing a shudder as he dipped her, feeling the strength in his arms in the process.

His breath was hot on her face as his lips hovered just over hers. So close she could taste the wine on his mouth, and feel his words on her skin, “And when you are riding my cock, I think you will find there is very little difference.” Dammit, where was her smart tongue now? Her quick wit? Why couldn’t she think of anything other than him pinned beneath her, face contorted in euphoria. “Kiss me,” he breathed.

“I’m sorry?” When had she gotten back to her feet?

“It’s traditional to kiss at the end of this song. Especially for newlyweds.” His smile made his lips seem so inviting. She wanted to argue, but the room was quiet. Still. The music had stopped and it was just Suleiman, staring into her eyes. Brushing hair back her ear, she leaned in, towards him.

His lips were against hers, and then between hers, closing the space between them. She was pulling his face in closer, wanting more, needing more, her tongue darting in before he could react, exploring him. He pushed back against her, until it wasn’t clear where his mouth ended and hers began, and all she knew in that moment was that this wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

There was triumph in his eyes as they parted to breath, and whistles and catcalls rang through the ball room. Triumph, and hunger, hunger she felt reflected in her own eyes. His voice was low, soft, pitched so only she could hear it, “So much for your serious, political marriage.”

“I was glad to hear from you,” Rashida announced to the group of ul-Alfrayits that had invited her to treat with them. “I know you had little love for me while I was Suleiman’s wife.”

“Rudain seized all of our lands, in retaliation for Suleiman’s last stand,” Aatif, the oldest of the ul-Alfrayits explained, “What choice do we have?”

“Now that the demons have stripped us of everything we possess, there is nothing left to lose. We must fight, if we hope to reclaim our former glory,” Rashida argued, unrolling her maps. “With all the noble houses united, we stand a chance of victory.”

“Wasn’t that your reasoning, for marrying our Caliph?” Haneef questioned, standing behind her. His breath was hot on her neck. “You said if Tulbyat and ul-Aquan united, we could push back against the demons. That was a lie. Now you tell us the remaining noble houses could rebel against demons. How many more must die for your ego?”

Rashida eyed the other two ul-Alfrayit brothers, seeing the hatred in their eyes. They had not called upon her to negotiate in good faith. “If you don’t believe me, then why did you call me here?”

“We’ve been trying to figure out what it was the Caliph saw in you. Despite your numerous missteps and failings, he stood loyal to you until he died. What could you possibly possess to blind him such?” Naresh accused, leaning over the table to get in her face.

“I have an idea,” Haneef said, his body pressed against her back.

“If you haven’t the courage to stand up to the demons, then clearly I’ve wasted both of our time,” Rashida, pushing Haneef off her. He tried to grab her, but she retaliated with a knee to the groin and her forehead smashing into his nose. That sent him stumbling back, while also giving Naresh and Aatif enough time to circle around the table.

She ducked under a right punch from Naresh, striking with an uppercut in retribution. Before she could follow through with the combo, Aatif connect a strike against her kidney. She staggered a few steps, before bringing up her forearms to block another blow from the oldest ul-Alfrayit. Unfortunately for her, this just gave Naresh a chance to get behind her, wrapping thick arms around her waist. Struggling against his grip, there was little she could do to defend herself from a barrage of punches from Aatif.

Blood sprayed form her lips and nose as Atif worked her over, dripping down her chin once he finally stopped to breathe. Knowing it was life or death now, she slammed her heel into Naresh’s foot, until he released her, before tackling Aatif with her shoulder into his gut. She pushed him back into the table, but he countered with a knee to the gut, knocking the air out of her. Pulling her by her hair, he dragged her over to the table, and bending her over it. Two sets of hands held her down while another set of hands tugged off her pants and boots.

“You play at leadership, but deep down, you are nothing but a whore,” Aatif growled, pulling her hair to bring her ear to his lips. Pinned against the table, back arched into his, she was at an awkward angle as he prodded her with his cock, but it didn’t stop him from shoving his length within her. “There will be no more misconceptions once we are done with you.”

---

“May we present the Onyx Whore?” Aatif ul-Alfrayit declared, several sets of feet moving upon the deck. Rashida weakly opened her eyes, wincing against the sun, unable to pick out the features of her audience. She was still bound to the mast, and still nude, covered in cuts and bruises and the seed of numerous men.

“Is there anything left of her?” The voice was unmistakable, of course, Rudain. Her tormentors laughed.

“Oh, she was a stubborn one. But she’s had three days of learning her place and her role, so I doubt she’ll give you much trouble.” Rudain stood over her now, blocking most of the harsh sunlight. Her eyes were dark with distant recognition. Still, despite everything, she flinched as his hand caressed her, stroking the marks that lingered on her dark skin.

“And they say demons are monsters,” Rudain whispered to her. Her eyes squeezed shut again as one slender finger grazed swollen lips, another violation on top of dozens. “All your men raped her?”

“At least twice,” he laughed, before meeting the serious expression on the demon’s features. Swallowing hard, he added, “You said you didn’t mind.”

“So I did,” Rudain acknowledged. Signaling for its servants, the demon commanded, “Cut her down and bring her back to the palace. She’ll need to be bathed, and will need some moon tea.”

“And what of our deal?” Aatif demanded, “You said if we brought you the Onyx Queen than we’d—“

“–Have noble houses and lands on every island in al-Nithiel, yes. I am a demon of my word. Unlike the ul-Alfrayits.” Rudain declared, turning to leave the ship.

“That is a funny way of saying ‘Thanks for doing I asked,’” Aatif snarled.

Rudain did not turn, or stop, following a few steps behind the servants that carried Rashida off the deck. Finally stopping at the end of the gangplank, Rudain spoke, but still did not turn around, “Deceit served you well once. I’d advise against developing a taste for it.”

---

The heat from the bath soothed the injuries Rashida received over the past few days. Drawing her from the depths of her mind, back to the present. Cognizant of lavish bathing room she was in, of the two silent servants cleansing her body and tending to her wounds.

The ul-Alfrayits had betrayed her. That much had been obvious half way through their meeting. Now she understood why they had, and what they had gained for their treachery against her. Beyond humiliating a former political rival. Rudain was going to increase their station far beyond what it had been even under Suleiman, and they purchased this favor with her freedom.

On the table beside the tub, scattered among the assortment of soaps and scented oils, was a straight razor. It’s edge gleamed from the bright afternoon light that entered from the slats on the wall. The servants were picking out a outfit to dress her in, once she was out of the bath, and she knew this was her one chance. If she didn’t take it, she would be Rudain’s. trembling fingers gripped the razor, hiding it under the water cloudy with blood and semen. There was no resistance as they dried her off and dressed, nothing to arouse their suspicion of what lay hidden in her fist.

“Rudain calls for an audience with the Onyx Queen,” one guard announced, as she was placed in a corset with a silk skirt. With both hands folded before her, she followed along.

---

“Well, where is she? I expected her an hour ago,” Rudain complained, watching ships sail in and out of the harbor as the sun set.

The servant hesitated, fearing the wrath he would receive as messenger. And then sighed, for the wrath of keeping this from the demon prince would be far worse, “We don’t know where she is, sir. All we found was a pair of guard stashed in a spare room, throats slashed and one was relieved of his jacket and pants.”

Laughter escaped from the demon’s lips, far more a terror than a relief. Sipping wine from a goblet Rudain smirked, “I knew you were still in there, Rashida. And one day, you will be mine.”