Star of Cursrah Read Online Free PDF

commander, but the severest acid rained on the army’s newest cadet, Tafir.
    “… fail to understand the gravity of your role. As an officer in training, you are forbidden to lay hands on a soldier lest you take advantage of your higher rank. And brawling! If I ever…” On and on, to a final bark, “That’s all! The lot of you begone!”
    Everyone, civilians and military alike, shuffled out the door into the early evening. White buildings still pulsed with the sun’s heat, though a breeze from the eastern grasslands was sweet and cool. Sunset’s golden glow cast long shadows as workers and shoppers streamed home.
    Star’s veil had gotten sodden and filthy, so she discarded it. Keeping her sleeve before her face, she crowded Gheqet as if whispering. The dark man told her, “You draw more attention holding your sleeve like that. You look like a vampire.”
    “People know my face.” Star pretended to scratch her ear. Her hair was jet black, cut in square bangs and woven into cornrows above her shoulders. Her aristocratic face was a vibrant bronze, her eyebrows sharp-plucked, her eyes outlined with black kohl to look bigger. Despite her simple maid’s shift, passing citizens peered at her curiously.
    Gheqet was an architect’s apprentice with stone-rough hands and limestone dust in his dark curls. “I should have left my work apron on,” he said, brushing at beer and avocado dip. “Oh, here’s Taf.”
    Their blond friend was fair and freckled because his parents were foreign-born mercenaries enlisted in the bakkal’s army. His yellow tunic and red kilt were stained and crusted.
    He sighed, “I’ve the brains of a bull. The commander demands my presence in his office tomorrow at dawn.”
    “Ooh,” teased Gheqet, “that’s when they hang criminals. You’ll be sore as a whipped camel from wrestling. Maybe you should beg a pardon from a certain princess—”
    Erupting from the milling crowd, assailants struck like lightning. Gheqet yowled as a metal-wrapped club smashed behind his knee. He fell heavily, and only an upthrust arm prevented the club from creasing his skull. As it was, his elbow was crippled by a vicious stroke.
    To Star’s left, a female assassin sliced downward with a hooked katar, its curved blade like a crescent moon. Star shrieked and ducked sideways, tumbling over the fallen Gheqet. The clubber grabbed for her but only tore her hem.
    Tafir’s short military training took control. The cadet scuffed his feet to keep his balance and jabbed his bare hand flat and hard at the woman’s throat. Quick as a cobra, she bobbed her head and raked backward with her hooked blade. Tafir flinched, tangled with Star’s legs, and so saved his arm from being slashed to the bone. His wild flailing to stay upright made the assassin jump back. Desperately, Tafir swayed, then raised clawed fingers to fend off the next attack.
    People who’d been homeward bound stopped, stared, shrieked, and pointed. A woman called, “That’s Samira Amenstar!”
    Star, actually Amenstar, eldest princess of Cursrah, was the assassins’ target. The club-wielder lunged over the prostrate Gheqet and snatched a fistful of Star’s cornrows. Jerked backward, Star crunched down onto her thin-padded rump and tailbone. Pain shot up her spine, making her yelp. Flicking his club, the assassin smashed Star in the stomach. Her breath whooshed out. Star sobbed, trying to pull air into empty lungs as she was dragged by the hair.
    As the female assassin retreated and ran, Tafir bellowed in imitation of his instructors, “To arms! To arms! Samira Amenstar is kidnapped! Aid the princess, citizens! To arms!”
    The cadet stooped to lift Gheqet, who couldn’t rise on a paralyzed knee, then ran after his other friend.
    Like water spilling through a weir, soldiers charged from the crowd. Stunned citizens were bulled aside by half-drunk soldiers who’d sworn a blood oath to protect the lives of their sovereigns. Rosey was first on the scene,