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maderrI'm glad this and BB are already completed. Prisoner, judging from the things people are pointing out to me, might need to go behind the woodshed X_X I'll go wrangle my betas for that one.
Anyway, my point was ths: I'm glad this stuff is already written b/c this week is going to fsking suck. Boss is out all week on vacation, and there are big meetings go on so today and tomorrow esp. are going to be aggravating at best.
On to Sandstorm. Hopefully it hold together better than Prisoner.
Eleven
“Majesty,” Ikram said patiently, “are you trying to cause riots?”
Shah pressed the back of his first two fingers to his mouth, hiding a grin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, my friend.”
“Lord Nandakumar’s performance last night was most intriguing. I don’t believe I’ve heard that particular selection of songs from him before.”
“Nanda can play every song ever written and more besides,” Shah said, sitting back in his chair and dropping his hand, letting it fall to rest in the hair of the man seated on the floor beside him. “What is the point in so much talent if he does not occasionally exercise it?”
Ikram rolled his eyes. “Perhaps your Majesty might suggest he choose fewer songs of a challenging nature.”
Shah dropped his fingers from Nanda’s hair, let them trail down his cheek. “Nanda once played a song that saved my life. He may play whatever he wants.”
“Perhaps his Majesty does not realize that what his Harem is currently doing is increasing the chances of assassination.”
“I am King,” Shah replied. “Ever day I live with the chance that I will be assassinated, or that harm will come to my wife and children. At least this way I am more likely to drive the rats into sloppiness and catch them.” His tone was calm, but his eyes were hard.
Ikram nodded. “Yes, Majesty.”
“Now that you have attempted to lecture me,” Shah said, hard edge fading into gentle amusement, “I do not suppose you have some manner of good news to offer me?”
“None,” Ikram said. “Perhaps if your Majesty were to—“
He was cut off by the sound of the door flying open, and a guard stumbling in, gasping as though he had run a long way – which he probably had, as he wore the uniform of those who worked outside beneath the hot sun. “Majesty,” he said as he entered, dropping to his knees.
“I gave orders that I was not to be disturbed,” Shah said lightly. “Why do you disturb me?”
“Majesty,” the man said again, bowing his head low. “Visitors. Savages from the Wild Desert.” He dared a quick look at Ikram, smiling ever so briefly. “And one savage returned to Tavamara. They request an audience.”
“Oh?” Shah asked. He shared a brief look with Ikram, smiling at the uncontained joy on Ikram’s face. “That is a good reason to disturb me. Send them in at once, please.”
“Yes, Majesty!”
Barely had the guard vanished than the doors once more flew open, and four men wrapped in the clothes of the desert – three in black, one in shades of brown – were admitted to the courtroom and escorted to the foot of Shahjahan’s throne.
“Dad!” one of the men exclaimed, throwing off his head wrap and face cover before he launched himself at Ikram, who embraced his son with a rough sound.
“Shihab,” Ikram said, holding his son tight. “I was beginning to think I would not see you again.”
“You’re not that lucky,” Shihab said with a laugh. “It’s good to be back.” Slowly he let go of his father, then turned to Shahjahan. “Majesty,” he said, dropping to his knees and bowing low.
Shah smiled. “Shihab. It is good to see you again, and in fine health. I am eager to hear your report, but first introduce me to your friends.” He looked again to the three desert men kneeling before him. “Do stand up, please. Unless sitting is more comfortable.”
“Not moving is most comfortable,” one man grumbled as he uncovered his head and face.
“Oh…” Shah said softly, and heard Nanda’s soft gasp.
The man before them was obviously half-breed – hair a true blue-black, skin a paler tone than those around him. It was his eyes, however, that really captured him, though there was something in the chin, in the sheer beauty of the man, that was also familiar. “Nanda…” he said quietly.
“Yes,” Nanda breathed. “Just like him.”
Shah noticed the glare he was being given. “Forgive my rudeness, please. It is only that you look very much like a member of my harem. Your eyes are quite unique.”
Shihab stared a moment, then threw his head back and laughed. “I never noticed before, Isra, but he’s right. I must be blind. Your eyes are much like Witcher’s.”
“I don’t care,” Isra snapped.
Chuckling, Shah motioned to Shihab. “Introduce me to your friends, before I lose my manners entirely.” He bowed his head to the one called Isra. “Truly, I am sorry. You took me by surprise.”
Isra shrugged. “It is no matter, Majesty.”
“Majesty, may I present to you the Ghost Sheik, Sahayl son of Hashim, son of the Lady of the Sands.” Shihab bowed low, motioning towards a man who gave a definite impression of leadership.
Shah nodded to him, masking his curiosity. The man was handsome, his hair a mess of thick, tight curls. There was a solemnity about him, one that Shah knew well – that of a man used to the burden of responsibility, of duty. He looked around thirty years in age – neither young nor old – but his eyes held shadows that belonged to a much older man.
“Sheik?” Ikram repeated. He looked at Sahayl in surprise. “What of Hashim?”
“Killed by Jackal several days ago,” Sahayl said quietly, and only force of habit kept a concerned frown from Shah’s face. He had not seen eyes that tortured in a long while. “I would have been killed as well, for their plan of attack was to eliminate the Sheik and Amir at all cost, but I was not in camp at the time. He died fighting.”
Ikram nodded. “May the Lady ease your sorrow, Ghost Sheik.”
Sahayl nodded. “I thank you.”
Shah added several more questions to his growing list, and glanced at Ikram briefly, silently informing the man that he would be answering every last one of them. Ikram acknowledged the unspoken command with a slight nod. “Who else have we here?”
“Isra, son of Falcon, son of the Lady of the Sands,” Shihab said, wrapping a hand around Isra’s arm and jerking him closer. “Though he also goes by the name ‘desert rose’.”
“I will kill you,” Isra said. “Don’t think the presence of a King will stop me.”
“Never would I be so foolish as to think that, brother of my soul,” Shihab said with a grin. He let go of Isra and moved to the last man, bowing low.
If anyone came close to the term savage, Shah supposed it was this man, though he didn’t look wild so much as like a thoroughbred soldier.
“Bahadur, son Galal, former son of Jackal, son of the Lady of the Sands.”
“A pleasure to meet you all,” Shahjahan said as he stood up to honor them properly. “Tavamara welcomes hundreds of thousands of foreigners a day, yet seldom do we see our neighbors of the Desert. I cannot recall when last we had three gathered in one place.” His lips twitched briefly. “Perhaps I should say four. You look quiet comfortable among them, Shihab.”
“Only until his mother gets a hold of him.” Ikram laughed as his son grimaced.
Shah chuckled. “What brings you to Tavamara? You look as though you have traveled hard, and if you are in the company of Shihab I think it safe to guess you are not here to visit.”
“No, Majesty,” Sahayl said, speaking slowly, and despite his calm Shah could see he was nervous – as was the other one, Bahadur. Isra did not look nearly as discomfited as the other two. “We come with news of a western invasion upon the Desert.” He locked eyes with Shah, who stared intently back. “I have come to ask for your help, for the Desert has no experience with wars outside its own.”
Sitting back down, Shah drummed his fingers along the arms of his seat as he gathered his thoughts. “I am surprised, I will admit. We have suspected for some time that the west was somehow making use of the Desert. They have all but abandoned their usual posts and forts in the mountains and along the coast, and have been nothing but polite in the missives regularly exchanged. Yet I have found evidence of treachery in my court, and our connections in the Desert—“ he looked from Ikram to Sahayl. “Fell silent. There have been other indications. We sent Shihab to investigate, and to gather vital information should the time come when we had to venture into the Desert to protect Tavamara.” He tilted his head, staring thoughtfully at Sahayl. “I had not expected the Desert to come asking for help.”
“Most Tribes will be against my decision,” Sahayl said somberly, “but far too many are being slaughtered. Others have turned against the Lady. The Tribes have always kept to themselves and we prefer to keep it that way. If I must ask one nation to help us fight against another to reclaim the Desert, I will do so.” Sahayl shook his head, and his dark eyes were hard as he met Shah’s gaze. “But I won’t lose the Desert to you either.”
Shah nodded, waving the words away. “I already have more than enough country to manage. The Desert is a vast space between me and my enemies. To make an enemy of you would be a foolish thing indeed. Tavamara would gladly offer its assistance to the Desert, Ghost Sheik.” He stroked his beard. “Now, perhaps we should start at the beginning?” He turned to Nanda. “Tell my Lady Queen I will not be able to dine at the banquet tonight. I’m sure she’ll delight in the opportunity to tell humiliating stories about me.” Shah grinned briefly. “Have my private dining room prepared for all present here, as well as you and the others.”
Nanda stood and bowed, lifting Shah’s hand to kiss the back of it. “Of course, my King.” He turned and strode from the room to see to matters. He paused in the doorway. “I will have rooms prepared.”
“Thank you, Nanda.” Shah watched him depart, then turned to the waiting men. “Now, if you are willing and able, let us start at the beginning. Nothing said here leaves this room, unless I give leave to speak of it elsewhere. As I already mentioned, there are traitors within my palace.”
Sahayl looked at him thoughtfully. “How do you know none of us intend you harm?”
“Shihab trusts you implicitly, I can see. Ikram calls you friend. I know enough from what Ikram has told me to know that it is strange a Ghost and Falcon would travel together as comrades, and despite the fact that your father was killed by a Jackal you permit Bahadur to stand not just with you but behind you. A strange combination of allies. I tend to trust strange things.”
“As well as criminals and enemies,” Ikram groused.
Shah quirked an eyebrow at his advisor. “You are a member of my council now?”
“Lady spare me that torture,” Ikram replied with a grimace. “I merely am pointing out known fact, Majesty. You are less than orthodox in all things.”
Shah threw his head back and laughed. “Less than orthodox, yes. Which means the plan I am forming will come as no surprise to anyone.”
“Whatever it is, and it had better not be what I suspect it is, Majesty, for you will never get it past the council.”
“The council will do as I bid,” Shah said, voice hardening, “or I will have them all removed as traitors and thrown into prison. They assist me in the governing of this country, they do not dictate my actions.” He sat back in his chair and forced himself to relax. “Besides, Ikram, it is the perfect chance to finally deduce who exactly are the rats among us. Ostensibly, they have no reason to disagree with my plan. It would only benefit Tavamara. Those that disagree risk themselves by admitting so. If we watch them carefully, we will have our traitors.”
Ikram sighed. “It will not be that easy. Your plan is madness. This impulsiveness of yours will someday backfire.” He looked briefly at Sahayl. “You know nothing. Not enough to make such a decision”
Shah mimicked the sigh and shared a conspiratorial smile with his confused guests. “You four look exhausted, and I have no doubt Shihab’s mother is threatening the lives of my guards this very moment. By now rooms would have been made ready. Rest awhile, we can continue our discussion tonight over dinner. What you have to tell me can wait that long.” He frowned briefly. “Ikram, have extra guards placed. Inform everyone that court is finished for the day.”
“Yes, Majesty.” Grumbling beneath his breath about impulsive Kings and headaches, Ikram led the group from the court room.
The door closed behind them and Shah stood, stretching with a groan and stifling a yawn.
Silk whispered as the drapes behind him shifted, and Shah smiled even as fingers landed lightly on his hips, traced lightly up his side before strong arms wrapped around his waist. Teeth nipped lightly at his throat, a warm voice chuckling in his ear. “You would have made a fine pirate, Shah.”
“I doubt it,” Shah said dryly. “The closest I get to water is my bath.”
“Always a fine place to be,” the man murmured as he turned Shah around and kissed him hard, almost aggressively, the only man to be so with his King. “A pity we can’t go there now.”
Shah chuckled. “Missing the waves, Beynum my pirate?”
“Something,” Bey said with a grin. “Nanda ordered me to accompany you back to our rooms. I would have come anyway, of course, but Nanda is Nanda…”
Chuckling again, Shah leaned up to give Bey another kiss, then led the way from the court room, slipping through the drapes behind the throne to private passageways beyond it – built exclusively for royal use. Not even the guards were permitted this way; save a precious few, none even knew about them.
The passageway split eventually and Shah took the rightmost path, and several turns later the dark maze spilled into a vast, sunlight room. At the far end was a large bed, set low on the floor and smothered with pillows and blankets. In the center of the room was a large, wide carpet, a table off to one side and surrounded by a wealth of large cushions. More cushions and pillows were scattered around the edge of the carpet, leaving the center clear. At the table sat two men – a man with shoulder length hair and dark skin, and his whole body shook as he laughed. Across from him sat a man with white skin and gold hair, hands moving avidly in the air as he said something which won a new burst of laughter from his companion.
In the bed, a slender figure curled up amongst the pillows, idly flipping through a book, sunlight catching the gold edging the pages. He looked several years younger than the other men in the room, and his cheeks were flushed dark as he read.
“Shah,” Nanda said softly, coming into the large bedroom from the main door, holding a tray of food and wine. “I conveyed all your wishes. The Lady Queen bid me tell you that vengeance will be had, for leaving her alone with the visiting Petchens.”
“I forgot they were arriving this evening,” Shah said with a wince. “Remind me to send my wife an apology.”
Nanda smirked. “She said a new orchid would be a good start.”
“Of course,” Shah murmured, smiling and shaking his head. His smile turned into a full fledged grin as the man on the bed shyly approached. “Kiah, my beauty. Whatever were you reading?” He cupped the young man’s face and tilted it up for a kiss. “It looked interesting.”
“Umm,” Kiah said, dusky skin flushing as he shifted nervously in Shah’s arms. “Something Bey gave me.”
Witcher chuckled from where he sat across from Aik. “Really, Bey,” he said in a mock reproving tone. “Stop overwhelming the poor colt.”
“He didn’t look like he was suffering,” Bey said with a grin, swooping in and scooping Kiah up, carrying the protesting younger man back to the bed and dumping him unceremoniously into it. “Wait until I make him read it aloud.”
Kiah let out a soft squeak of panic at the thought.
Nanda rolled his eyes. “How did the meeting progress, Shah?” he asked as he urged Shah to sit amongst a pile of cushions, setting the tray down and pouring a pale, gold wine into a shallow drinking dish.
Shah sipped it gratefully. “We didn’t get very far. They were tired, I hated to push them. Whatever news they bring has kept this long, it can wait a few hours more.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and relaxed into Nanda’s soothing touch, one hand reaching out to stroke his long hair. “An intriguing group, especially the Sheik. He had a strange look in his eyes.”
“What do you know of his father?” Nanda asked.
Shah frowned as he thought. “Not much. Ikram says only what he must. He knew the man, was trusted enough to tutor the current Sheik as a child. I can ask Ikram more, tonight or tomorrow.” He stroked Nanda’s cheek. “Why do you ask?”
Nanda turned his head to kiss Shah’s palm. “Because when my family died, I felt awful – not simply because they were dead, but because on some level I was relieved they were dead. He had the same look about him…and I would hazard to say he has nowhere to go with his grief.”
“I see,” Shah said softly. “That explains much of what I saw in him.”
“What are you plotting, Shah?” Aik asked curiously, looking up after he’d poured more of a dark, amber liquid for himself and Witcher. “Because we can see you’re plotting something.”
“When isn’t he?” Witcher asked, sipping his wine and smiling fondly at Shah.
Shah smiled back and relaxed against the pillows, stroking up and down Nanda’s spine as the man curled up against him, relishing the brief two hours he would have with his men before he was called away to be King again. “Thoughts, my witch?”
Witcher set his wine down and folded his arms on the table, leaning slightly forward as he thought. “You’ve been planning to move forces into the Desert for some time now, if worst came to worst. Now, quite unexpectedly, the Desert has asked you for help. That changes the game quite a bit.” His sky blue eyes grew distant as he continued, and it was easy to see how the quiet, compliant man had once been a fierce commander. “The easiest solution would be to have a son marry a daughter of a prominent Sheik. But your sons are children.
“Marching in by force would lose you all that you’ve suddenly gained, so the best solution still is a peaceful alliance. If not a son to marry off, a daughter. But your daughter is a babe. So ostensibly a family relation is out of the question…”
Aik let out a sharp bark of laughter from across the small table. “I think I see where this is going. Very clever, Shah.” He smiled at his King. “But how will you get it past the council?”
“Why would they protest? To have the Wild Desert back in Tavamara’s fold would be a very fine thing. Those who stand against me will not like it, but to protest would be to reveal themselves. Still, the announcement should prove interesting.”
Nanda frowned, fingers stilling where they’d been caressing Shah’s chest. He lifted his head to frown in thought. “Are you certain of the Sheik? To make such a decision?”
“My father was a hard man. Not cruel, but hard. He did not praise lightly. When he told me I had fine instincts, and that I should always follow them, I took the words to heart. My instincts say this will work.”
“Then there is nothing more to be said,” Bey said with finality from the bed where he lay with Kiah. “Except perhaps to wonder what the Sheik will have to say about the matter.”
Shah smiled and closed his eyes, curling into Nanda and settling in to steal a brief nap. “He will say he loves his Desert.”
Twelve
A private dinner with the King of Tavamara was nothing to be sneered at, but Isra would have much rather been in his tent with a light meal and heavy book. Perhaps with someone to keep company much later.
Instead he was staring at a man who was disconcertingly familiar.
“Wow,” a man introduced as Beynum said. “It’s just as you said, Shah.”
“Incredible,” Sahayl murmured from nearby.
Shah laughed. “I did not know you had a brother, Witcher.”
Witcher laughed, blue eyes flicking briefly to Shah before he turned back to Isra. “Nor I.” He shook his head, bemused. “It makes me wonder how many siblings I have wandering the earth.”
“Obviously a penchant and talent for certain things runs in the family,” Beynum said with a snicker, quickly moving behind the King as Witcher and Nanda both rounded on him.
Shah chuckled. “You can see,” he said to Isra, “why I was a bit shocked when you first arrived.”
“Yes,” Isra conceded reluctantly. It was rather unnerving. They were almost perfect opposite – Witcher pale and broad where he was dark and slender, hair pale gold to his own ink-black – but the lines of their faces were similar, and the blue of their eyes was identical. A half brother. Surreal.
Witcher offered him a smile. “We shall have to talk sometime, if you are amenable.”
“Sometime,” Isra said.
Shah clapped his hands once. “Then let us sit and eat.”
Obediently everyone obeyed, taking their places around the large square table.
Shahjahan took the seat that put him in direct line with the door. On either side of him were two men from his harem – Witcher and Kiah. Isra and Sahayl sat to the King’s right – with him on Sahayl’s left, Nandakumar on Sahayl’s right. Then it was Bahadur, then the harem man introduced as Beynum, then Shihab, with Ikram and a man called Aikhadour on the remaining side.
He almost felt sorry for Sahayl and Bahadur, who were almost glaringly out of their element, if the slight frowns on their faces were any indication. And while he’d never dined in such luxury, long banquets such as this were not strange to him.
Isra shifted his attention to the food and wine set out. A lot of wine. If there was one thing all of Tavamara loved above and beyond all else, it was wine. There were hundreds of native varieties and probably thousands more were imported. Just for this one meal – albeit several courses that would take them hours to eat – there was roughly twenty wines scattered about. As the meal progressed, many would be taken away and others added. Also set out were dozens upon dozens of the shallow dishes used for drinking – some of fine colored glass, others of china so delicate they looked as though the slightest touch would chatter them.
“Saa, I admit to feeling rather out of place,” Sahayl said quietly from beside him, lips curved in a rueful smile. “My thoughts went no further than making my request.”
Normally Isra would have relished seeing a hated Ghost suffer. But his debt to Sahayl could not be forgotten; his healing wound still ached. His fingers twitched, and he fought the urge to touch the scar on his face, a gesture that was rapidly becoming a rather annoying habit. Sighing at himself, Isra attempted a smile of his own and was surprised at how easily it came to his face. “When I came to Tavamara to study,” he motioned to the food, “I made myself sick eating and drinking, as I wasn’t used to any of it – or the sheer amount. Especially the wine.” He shook his head, grimacing. “Shihab finally took pity on me.”
“No,” Shihab said with a grin, sipping at a wine dark gold in color. “I was tired of seeing good wine go to waste.”
Isra glared. “As it shall when I dump it on your head,” he snapped, hands wrapping around a carafe full of a pale, pink wine. “So behave.”
Shihab laughed. “Go ahead, dump it. But don’t expect me to help you when Nanda goes for your throat for wasting his favorite wine.”
“It would be worth it, I think,” Isra replied over the laughter of the rest of the table.
“Go ahead,” Nanda said from his place beside Sahayl. “In return, you have to dump the Midnight on Bey.” He pointed to a red wine that was so dark it almost looked black.
Bey paused with a wine dish halfway to his mouth. “Starting the games early tonight, are we? If I wind up wearing wine, I’ll make tonight quite painful for you.”
“Save the threats for dessert,” Shah said with a fond smile.
Nanda sighed softly and bowed his head. “If you insist, my King.” He turned to Sahayl and motioned to the pale pink wine that had, for the moment, been spared. “This is Sea Rose wine from a town of the same name along the coast. They sell perhaps two dozen barrels of it a year. It has a light fruit and flower taste, but is extremely bitter. Perhaps not to your taste, as you are probably accustomed to Dark Spice – what we call your Desert wine. However, all wines should at least be tried.” So saying, he poured a small bit of the pale pink wine into a shallow drinking dish, then lifted it to Sahayl’s lips.
“What?” Sahayl asked, recoiling, starting to take the dish away. “You don’t—“
“It’s custom,” Shihab said with a smile. “Also an honor, to be served by one of the King’s men.”
“Yes,” Ikram said dryly, looking at his son. “Someone should have already explained such things to you, as I’m certain you spent several days traveling.”
Shihab winced. “Yes, father. My apologies, Ghost Sheik.”
Sahayl waved the apology aside. “It’s not as though we had the time for such things.” Still obviously disconcerted, he nevertheless sipped the wine as Nanda once more held the dish to his lips.
“And?” Nanda asked.
“It’s not bad,” Sahayl said slowly. “But your initial supposition was correct – I am far too used to my Desert wine. It has more…force.”
Nanda smiled faintly. “Then next we try the Golden Hills wine.” He motioned to Aikhadour, who passed down a carafe filled with a pale gold wine. He poured it into a separate dish, but did not lift it, instead reaching for a small bit of soft bread, which he fed to Sahayl.
Shah chuckled softly. “It would seem, my friend, that you have become Nanda’s project. Be thankful it is wine and not music that he seeks to teach you.”
“I will take the compliment buried in your words, my King,” Nanda said primly. He sniffed as everyone at the table laughed, then lifted the Golden Hills wine to Sahayl’s lips. “Try this one.”
Sahayl obeyed, and Isra was struck by how…almost shy the man seemed, though none of his inherent authority dimmed. He smothered a grin, amused to see the Sandstorm so out of his element, determined to use it later – debt or no debt – and reached for an almond pastry and a carafe of his own favorite appetizer wine.
“Moonlight,” Nanda murmured appreciatively, and Isra looked up with a start. “Another fine choice, but still not as good as Sea Rose.”
Isra lifted a brow. “Sea Rose is too bitter to begin a meal, if you ask me.”
“Uh-oh,” Kiah murmured.
Ikram chuckled. “When I first arrived, I got into an argument with Nanda over wine. I did not attempt it again.”
“Too bitter?” Nanda pressed, not letting them slide away from the argument.
“Beginning wines should be light and easy. Sea Rose is too complicated, and the underlying hint of saltiness clashes with most appetizers.” Isra lifted his wine dish and sipped the wine he’d poured, which was faintly milky and almost seemed to shine. “Something like Moonlight blends far more smoothly, and helps ease the way to the heavier courses.”
Sahayl looked between them, then across the table. “Saa, perhaps I should move.”
“No,” Isra and Nanda said together. Isra unthinkingly lifted his dish to Sahayl’s mouth. “Try it, you’ll see what I mean.” Only as Sahayl cautiously tried the wine did Isra realize what he’d done.
Etiquette said that betters were served by those beneath them, though of course in the case of Sahayl he would never expect any of them to do such a thing. The King, of course, was always served by his harem. It was a show of authority, of luxury…but it could also be a show of intimacy, especially when any one of the men drank from their wine dishes and then held that very same dish up for the King to sip from.
Though everyone here would know he’d simply erred, had this been a normal banquet he would have just indicated to anyone watching that he and Sahayl were intimate.
Isra stifled his curses and was eternally grateful he was not the type given to blushing. “And?” he asked, attempting to sound casual.
“I’m afraid to answer,” Sahayl said with a smile, dark gold eyes brighter than usual. “Saa, it seems either way I will wind up wearing a wine.” His smile turned into a quick grin as everyone laughed.
Nanda grumbled softly. “A weak beginning. Good meals require a strong start. But let us move on. Bey, you have the Mountain Water. Surrender it.”
“Yes, oh bossy one.” Bey refilled his own dish and then passed the wine along. He lifted it, grinning at Sahayl. “Best of luck to you.”
“Thank you.”
Isra made a face and helped himself to a slice of dark yellow cheese. As he sat back, he caught Shihab’s eye and glared at the way the man smirked knowingly at him. “Be quiet.”
“I didn’t say a word,” Shihab protested. “I’m just sitting here drinking and eating.”
Bahadur chuckled softly, and spoke for the first time since they’d arrived for the banquet. “In my limited experience, little shadowfire, silence is the strongest indicator that you are causing or planning trouble.” He grinned over his wine dish as everyone erupted once more into laughter.
“That round to the Jackal,” Shah said with a grin. “I notice you are drinking the Midnight, a rare choice. Too strong even for Nanda.”
A fait smirk curved Bahadur’s mouth. “My Tribe makes a very special wine, one I doubt even your fine table would have, Majesty. To the best of my knowledge, none but Jackal can drink it. Ask the little shadowfire.”
“I’m not little,” Shihab groused, but the pleased look on his face undermined the protest. “But he’s right; they make it using valtyanar.” He grimaced at the memory of being knocked out by a mere mouthful of the stuff. “It’s quite potent.”
“You will have to tell me how I can coax you into letting me purchase some of it,” Shah said. “A wine like that would vastly improve council meetings.” He laughed with his harem, then accepted a cinnamon-dusted pastry as Witcher held it to his lips. “I can see where all the wines on offer would pale by comparison. Intriguing. Why do you make it so?”
Bahadur shook his head. “I could not say. It has been so for so long, the reasons are long lost to the Sands.” He smiled briefly, sadly, but it was gone quickly. “If I ever find myself find myself in a position to obtain some, I shall send it your way, Majesty. My advice is that your drink it slowly.”
“Or not at all,” Shihab said.
“Done in by mere wine?” Isra said, smirking.
Bahadur chuckled as he took another sip of his red-black wine. “I don’t believe that’s what got him caught, no.”
Ikram winced. “I would prefer not to know, I think.”
“I would prefer you not know,” Shihab said, glaring at Bahadur.
Sahayl shook his head. “Fighting truly is in the blood of the Tribes. Even over dinner, we can not seem to help ourselves.”
“Speaking of fighting,” Shah said once the laughter had died down. “I am intrigued by your matching scars.” He motioned to Sahayl and Isra. “Is there some significance?”
Shaking his head, Sahayl traced the scar on his cheek. “Merely marks of a meeting that did not go as I had hoped it would. Isra drew blood first, I merely returned the favor. Until quite recently, we met only with swords drawn.”
Isra said nothing, merely poured more wine, this one a dusky, dark pink. He sipped it between bites of pale cheese. ‘Not go as I had hoped’? What did that mean? Sheik Hashim had seemed plenty content to let the meeting devolve into violence, and while Isra had attacked first, Sahayl had reacted almost instantly to it. Had anyone really expected that meeting to end any other way?
“What is that one?” Sahayl asked, indicating Isra’s wine. “So many wines to choose from. How does one memorize them?”
Beynum laughed, careless and easy. “If you had to attend as many banquets and court sessions and meetings as we, you would memorize them all quite easily. Beyond that, Nanda is a strict teacher. Very strict.”
“Not strict enough,” Nanda said.
Aikhadour laughed. “I thought I turned out rather well, Nanda.”
Nanda sniffed. “You showed initial promise, monk, but sadly you succumbed to the pirate’s temptations.”
“He’s not the only one,” Bey murmured, grinning shamelessly when Shah shook his head at them. He winked at the quiet man sitting next to Shah. “What say you, Kiah?”
“I say nothing,” the younger man said with a grin. “It suits me fine to watch the rest of you get in trouble.”
“Well met, colt,” Witcher said from Shah’s other side.
Ikram sighed. “Hopeless, all of you. Also hopelessly rude, to focus on yourselves and not our guest.”
“We are most entertained,” Sahayl said. “And honored by your kindness.”
“Honor, nothing,” Shihab said, ignoring the look his father gave him. “From what I’ve been hearing around the palace, you’re doing everyone a favor by keeping them from the banquet hall.”
Shah chuckled. “Perhaps.” He reached out and rang a small, silver bell resting on the table. A moment later servants appeared, working quietly and swiftly, removing the trays of appetizers and several of the wines, replacing them with bowls of soup, plates of meat, bread, and vegetables as well a whole new spectrum of wines.
Isra selected a dark, gold-brown wine and poured it into a dish of palest pink china. From a tray in front of him he chose several bits of roasted meat, breathing in the spicy smell, smiling. “I haven’t had this since I returned to the Desert.”
“Enjoy,” Shah said, then accepted the food Witcher offered, pale meat smothered in green and yellow herbs.
Nanda selected a wine that was almost orange in color and poured it into a dish of green glass, offering it to Sahayl. “Try this one, it’s called Sunrise. It’s quite sweet and goes well with nearly everything on the table.” He sniffed. “Unlike the Desert Dusk your friend is drinking.”
Isra leaned forward to see around Sahayl and glared at Nanda. “Clearly you prefer strong flavors that overwhelm the food. That is your problem.”
“Why not let Sahayl try yours again?” Shihab asked slyly. “Let him decide.”
“Be quiet!” Isra snapped.
Sahayl frowned.
“Shihab,” Ikram said quietly, but in a tone that brooked no argument.
“Yes, father.” Shihab subsided, but when Ikram looked away he smirked briefly at Isra, who scowled but kept his mouth shut. “Bahadur,” he said. “Try this. I think you’ll like it. It’s made by the monks who hide away in the mountains.” He passed over a clear crystal dish filled with a wine that was pale green in color. “It’s called Evening Prayer.”
Aikhadour and Beynum began laughing. Bey stole the carafe of wine and filled a new, dark green dish with the wine as Bahadur finished sipping from Shihab’s. “Good, yes?”
“Yes,” Bahadur said. “Still nothing like I’m used to, but it has…a hard punch of its own. This was brewed by monks you say? Why would monks need such as this?”
“Good question,” Bey said. He grinned at Aik. “Do enlighten us, decadent monk.”
Aik rolled his eyes. “Those of you who live down here with the sand and son have never survived a winter full of snow and ice. Endure one of those and you will rapidly learn why we brew such things. Most of the winter it keeps us warm, and when it’s not enough to warm it helps us forget we’re cold.”
“Then should I ever venture into snow, Lady forbid, I shall be certain to find monks to spend my time with.” Bahadur refilled his wine dish.
Beynum grinned. “Yes, they’re quite good for keeping warm.”
Shah shook his head. “Behave, my pirate.”
“He never has before,” Nanda said, rolling his eyes. He reached out and chose a piece of the same dark meat Isra had taken before and held it to Sahayl’s lips.
Sahayl took it, still clearly discomfited. “Are you certain I cannot feed myself?”
“That would be rude,” Shah said, eyes sparkling with mirth. “You are the second highest ranking person at this table. I would be a poor King to ill treat a guest by making him feed himself. Besides, Nanda is enjoying training you on how to properly appreciate everything.”
“Appreciate in all the wrong ways,” Isra countered, then chewed on a piece of dark bread smothered with butter to hide a reluctant smile. As hard as he was trying, and despite Shihab’s harassment, he was having fun. He loved his Desert, and hated the events that were waiting to be discussed here, but he was having fun.
Shah laughed. “Nanda, I do believe you have met your match.”
“And in a Desert savage,” Witcher added with a grin. “I would say that does not surprise me, but I might find myself not sleeping very comfortably tonight.”
“You might find that you won’t wake up,” Nanda replied tartly. He rose slightly on his knees and selected a small bit of a dark green vegetable dripping with spice-laden butter. “I think you’ll like this, and as I said before it goes quite well the Sunrise. Ignore them.”
“A lesser King would be jealous, Nanda,” Shah said with a fond smile. “You’re never this nice to the rest of us.”
Nanda sniffed delicately and offered Sahayl another vegetable. “The rest of you need a firm hand.” He shot Bey a quelling look. “Be silent.”
Bey sighed loudly. “Yes, oh bossy one.”
Bahadur laughed beside him. “If you will forgive my possible rudeness, I sense that were you of my Tribe you would wear many marks for disobedience.”
The table once more burst into laughter, and Bey laughed louder than all of them. “If I were not fond of flouting rules, I would not be here. Disobedience, in my experience, gets much better results than doing as I’m told.”
“Pirate,” Shah said with a sigh, but his eyes were full of warmth as he looked at Beynum.
“Speaking of marks,” Shihab interjected. “Can I ask what yours mean, Bahadur?”
Ikram looked despairingly at his son. “How can my son have turned out to be so rude?”
“Look at the environment in which I grew up,” Shihab immediately replied, making Shah and his harem laugh. “Well?” he persisted, grinning impishly.
Bahadur didn’t return it, expression taking on a gloomy edge. He touched the marks on his cheeks. “They mean many things, but the over all message is that I fell short of many things.”
“I’m sorry,” Shihab said contritely. “Given how effectively you captured me, I assumed they were high praise.”
“No harm done, shadowfire. Some of them are fairly basic.” Bahadur touched a finger to the lines on his right cheek. “My family name.” He touched the small Jackal head on his forehead. “That I am a warrior, and one of notable skill.” He brushed lightly over the calligraphy on his left cheek. “One who should have been a protector, but I lost the duel. Until my loss, my family had held that honor for many generations.”
Around the table, those of and familiar with the Desert all winced in sympathy.
Shah tilted his head. “I am most curious to have this explained to me, but I do not want to continue what is obviously a painful subject. Permit to say, however, that my impression is that if you lost, it was for a very good reason. You do not look as though losing a fight is something that happens often.”
“Your Majesty flatters me. I assure you there are any number of men in the Desert – in my Tribe – against whom I would likely lose. And I do not mind explaining, though my failures dishonor the Ghost Sheik.”
“No,” Sahayl said firmly, and Isra blinked at the way his strange shyness faded as his role as Sheik came to the fore. “From what I have learned to date, the Jackal Sheik and Amir were far from worthy of so fine a protector. In my Tribe, you will always be welcomed with honor and my favor.”
Bahadur’s eyes widened slightly, and Isra thought that the two of them had forgotten everyone else in the room. He bowed his head low. “You honor me, Ghost Sheik.”
Isra caught Shihab’s gaze, then turned to where his friend silently indicated, noting the way the King and Ikram spoke silently to each other, obviously about Sahayl. He looked back at Shihab, who gave a minute shrug. Giving a shrug of his own, Isra poured a sand-colored wine into a blue dish and sipped it as conversation resumed.
“Indulge a King’s curiosity,” Shah said, “and explain what we of Tavamara are missing.”
Sahayl took up the task of explaining. “All Amir are given a protector once they are old enough to begin taking an active role in caring for their Tribe, and they keep those protectors as Sheik. Protectors are both bodyguard and assistant. In Ghost, the Amir chooses his protector.”
“So too Falcon,” Isra interjected.
“But in many Tribes, such as Cobra and Jackal, men fight for the honor,” Sahayl continued. “The duels are taken quite seriously. Families like Bahadur’s, where the honor is won generation after generation, are not unusual.” He frowned. “I have heard tales of Tribes where the fight is one to the death.”
“Viper,” Bahadur said, “but they are a bloodier Tribe than even Jackal.”
“I see,” Shah said with a nod. “So it is a matter of great honor.”
“More than that,” Ikram said. “Honor as Tavamara understands it is a very simple thing.” He tapped his finger on a carafe filled with a pale pink wine, like the inside of a sea shell. “This would be honor to Tavamara.” He pointed across the table to the carafe of Midnight still on the table. “That would be honor as the Desert understands it.” He shrugged. “It is why I am a former son of Cobra, and why I could not send my son there – and why I always called upon Ghost rather than Cobra when we required Desert assistance. By abandoning my Tribe to live here, I dishonored my family, Tribe and the Lady.” He motioned to Bahadur. “What he did was, in the eyes of Jackal, far worse.”
“Yes,” Bahadur said somberly, staring at his wine, then glancing up at Sahayl as he spoke. “My family marks,” he touched his right cheek, then moved to his left, dusting over a particular bit of scrolling calligraphy. “are negated by these here. Essentially I had a Tribe but no family. If my family had no son, then there was never any dishonor. When my former sister bears a son, he will continue the tradition unbroken.”
“Have you a protector?” Shah asked, breaking into the unhappy tension.
Sahayl grinned, and Isra was struck by how boyish he suddenly seemed. “Yes. His name is Wafai, son of Mansur, son of the Lady of the Sands. He stayed behind to lead the Tribe in my absence. We have been friends since we tried to kill each other selecting horses as children.”
“You should teach him to keep his guard up,” Isra said acidly, suddenly feeling annoyed.
His comments made Sahayl laugh. “Saa, he was quite furious with himself for that mistake.”
Isra sneered. “As he should be. If not for you, I would have had him.”
“Saa, desert rose, I’ve no doubt he’d welcome another chance to prove you wrong.”
Isra nearly spilled his wine, seeing red, head snapping up. “I have told you not to call me that, Ghost Sheik.”
Sahayl looked chagrined, almost horrified. “My apologies. It was a slip. Perhaps I’ve indulged too much in the wines.”
Muttering a curse, Isra turned away and reached for a carafe of a wine that was dark lavender in color. “Perhaps not enough wine,” he said begrudgingly. “Nor will I permit you to stop before we’ve reached the dessert wines.”
The tension eased at his words, and Isra ignored the way all were exchanging curious glances, looking up only briefly to glare at Shihab.
“Mention of the dessert wines does make me curious to see the debate continued,” Sahayl said. “Saa, what wine is best then?”
“Morning Mist,” Isra and Nanda said at the same time, then glared furiously at each other while the rest of the table roared with laughter.
Anyway, my point was ths: I'm glad this stuff is already written b/c this week is going to fsking suck. Boss is out all week on vacation, and there are big meetings go on so today and tomorrow esp. are going to be aggravating at best.
On to Sandstorm. Hopefully it hold together better than Prisoner.
Eleven
“Majesty,” Ikram said patiently, “are you trying to cause riots?”
Shah pressed the back of his first two fingers to his mouth, hiding a grin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, my friend.”
“Lord Nandakumar’s performance last night was most intriguing. I don’t believe I’ve heard that particular selection of songs from him before.”
“Nanda can play every song ever written and more besides,” Shah said, sitting back in his chair and dropping his hand, letting it fall to rest in the hair of the man seated on the floor beside him. “What is the point in so much talent if he does not occasionally exercise it?”
Ikram rolled his eyes. “Perhaps your Majesty might suggest he choose fewer songs of a challenging nature.”
Shah dropped his fingers from Nanda’s hair, let them trail down his cheek. “Nanda once played a song that saved my life. He may play whatever he wants.”
“Perhaps his Majesty does not realize that what his Harem is currently doing is increasing the chances of assassination.”
“I am King,” Shah replied. “Ever day I live with the chance that I will be assassinated, or that harm will come to my wife and children. At least this way I am more likely to drive the rats into sloppiness and catch them.” His tone was calm, but his eyes were hard.
Ikram nodded. “Yes, Majesty.”
“Now that you have attempted to lecture me,” Shah said, hard edge fading into gentle amusement, “I do not suppose you have some manner of good news to offer me?”
“None,” Ikram said. “Perhaps if your Majesty were to—“
He was cut off by the sound of the door flying open, and a guard stumbling in, gasping as though he had run a long way – which he probably had, as he wore the uniform of those who worked outside beneath the hot sun. “Majesty,” he said as he entered, dropping to his knees.
“I gave orders that I was not to be disturbed,” Shah said lightly. “Why do you disturb me?”
“Majesty,” the man said again, bowing his head low. “Visitors. Savages from the Wild Desert.” He dared a quick look at Ikram, smiling ever so briefly. “And one savage returned to Tavamara. They request an audience.”
“Oh?” Shah asked. He shared a brief look with Ikram, smiling at the uncontained joy on Ikram’s face. “That is a good reason to disturb me. Send them in at once, please.”
“Yes, Majesty!”
Barely had the guard vanished than the doors once more flew open, and four men wrapped in the clothes of the desert – three in black, one in shades of brown – were admitted to the courtroom and escorted to the foot of Shahjahan’s throne.
“Dad!” one of the men exclaimed, throwing off his head wrap and face cover before he launched himself at Ikram, who embraced his son with a rough sound.
“Shihab,” Ikram said, holding his son tight. “I was beginning to think I would not see you again.”
“You’re not that lucky,” Shihab said with a laugh. “It’s good to be back.” Slowly he let go of his father, then turned to Shahjahan. “Majesty,” he said, dropping to his knees and bowing low.
Shah smiled. “Shihab. It is good to see you again, and in fine health. I am eager to hear your report, but first introduce me to your friends.” He looked again to the three desert men kneeling before him. “Do stand up, please. Unless sitting is more comfortable.”
“Not moving is most comfortable,” one man grumbled as he uncovered his head and face.
“Oh…” Shah said softly, and heard Nanda’s soft gasp.
The man before them was obviously half-breed – hair a true blue-black, skin a paler tone than those around him. It was his eyes, however, that really captured him, though there was something in the chin, in the sheer beauty of the man, that was also familiar. “Nanda…” he said quietly.
“Yes,” Nanda breathed. “Just like him.”
Shah noticed the glare he was being given. “Forgive my rudeness, please. It is only that you look very much like a member of my harem. Your eyes are quite unique.”
Shihab stared a moment, then threw his head back and laughed. “I never noticed before, Isra, but he’s right. I must be blind. Your eyes are much like Witcher’s.”
“I don’t care,” Isra snapped.
Chuckling, Shah motioned to Shihab. “Introduce me to your friends, before I lose my manners entirely.” He bowed his head to the one called Isra. “Truly, I am sorry. You took me by surprise.”
Isra shrugged. “It is no matter, Majesty.”
“Majesty, may I present to you the Ghost Sheik, Sahayl son of Hashim, son of the Lady of the Sands.” Shihab bowed low, motioning towards a man who gave a definite impression of leadership.
Shah nodded to him, masking his curiosity. The man was handsome, his hair a mess of thick, tight curls. There was a solemnity about him, one that Shah knew well – that of a man used to the burden of responsibility, of duty. He looked around thirty years in age – neither young nor old – but his eyes held shadows that belonged to a much older man.
“Sheik?” Ikram repeated. He looked at Sahayl in surprise. “What of Hashim?”
“Killed by Jackal several days ago,” Sahayl said quietly, and only force of habit kept a concerned frown from Shah’s face. He had not seen eyes that tortured in a long while. “I would have been killed as well, for their plan of attack was to eliminate the Sheik and Amir at all cost, but I was not in camp at the time. He died fighting.”
Ikram nodded. “May the Lady ease your sorrow, Ghost Sheik.”
Sahayl nodded. “I thank you.”
Shah added several more questions to his growing list, and glanced at Ikram briefly, silently informing the man that he would be answering every last one of them. Ikram acknowledged the unspoken command with a slight nod. “Who else have we here?”
“Isra, son of Falcon, son of the Lady of the Sands,” Shihab said, wrapping a hand around Isra’s arm and jerking him closer. “Though he also goes by the name ‘desert rose’.”
“I will kill you,” Isra said. “Don’t think the presence of a King will stop me.”
“Never would I be so foolish as to think that, brother of my soul,” Shihab said with a grin. He let go of Isra and moved to the last man, bowing low.
If anyone came close to the term savage, Shah supposed it was this man, though he didn’t look wild so much as like a thoroughbred soldier.
“Bahadur, son Galal, former son of Jackal, son of the Lady of the Sands.”
“A pleasure to meet you all,” Shahjahan said as he stood up to honor them properly. “Tavamara welcomes hundreds of thousands of foreigners a day, yet seldom do we see our neighbors of the Desert. I cannot recall when last we had three gathered in one place.” His lips twitched briefly. “Perhaps I should say four. You look quiet comfortable among them, Shihab.”
“Only until his mother gets a hold of him.” Ikram laughed as his son grimaced.
Shah chuckled. “What brings you to Tavamara? You look as though you have traveled hard, and if you are in the company of Shihab I think it safe to guess you are not here to visit.”
“No, Majesty,” Sahayl said, speaking slowly, and despite his calm Shah could see he was nervous – as was the other one, Bahadur. Isra did not look nearly as discomfited as the other two. “We come with news of a western invasion upon the Desert.” He locked eyes with Shah, who stared intently back. “I have come to ask for your help, for the Desert has no experience with wars outside its own.”
Sitting back down, Shah drummed his fingers along the arms of his seat as he gathered his thoughts. “I am surprised, I will admit. We have suspected for some time that the west was somehow making use of the Desert. They have all but abandoned their usual posts and forts in the mountains and along the coast, and have been nothing but polite in the missives regularly exchanged. Yet I have found evidence of treachery in my court, and our connections in the Desert—“ he looked from Ikram to Sahayl. “Fell silent. There have been other indications. We sent Shihab to investigate, and to gather vital information should the time come when we had to venture into the Desert to protect Tavamara.” He tilted his head, staring thoughtfully at Sahayl. “I had not expected the Desert to come asking for help.”
“Most Tribes will be against my decision,” Sahayl said somberly, “but far too many are being slaughtered. Others have turned against the Lady. The Tribes have always kept to themselves and we prefer to keep it that way. If I must ask one nation to help us fight against another to reclaim the Desert, I will do so.” Sahayl shook his head, and his dark eyes were hard as he met Shah’s gaze. “But I won’t lose the Desert to you either.”
Shah nodded, waving the words away. “I already have more than enough country to manage. The Desert is a vast space between me and my enemies. To make an enemy of you would be a foolish thing indeed. Tavamara would gladly offer its assistance to the Desert, Ghost Sheik.” He stroked his beard. “Now, perhaps we should start at the beginning?” He turned to Nanda. “Tell my Lady Queen I will not be able to dine at the banquet tonight. I’m sure she’ll delight in the opportunity to tell humiliating stories about me.” Shah grinned briefly. “Have my private dining room prepared for all present here, as well as you and the others.”
Nanda stood and bowed, lifting Shah’s hand to kiss the back of it. “Of course, my King.” He turned and strode from the room to see to matters. He paused in the doorway. “I will have rooms prepared.”
“Thank you, Nanda.” Shah watched him depart, then turned to the waiting men. “Now, if you are willing and able, let us start at the beginning. Nothing said here leaves this room, unless I give leave to speak of it elsewhere. As I already mentioned, there are traitors within my palace.”
Sahayl looked at him thoughtfully. “How do you know none of us intend you harm?”
“Shihab trusts you implicitly, I can see. Ikram calls you friend. I know enough from what Ikram has told me to know that it is strange a Ghost and Falcon would travel together as comrades, and despite the fact that your father was killed by a Jackal you permit Bahadur to stand not just with you but behind you. A strange combination of allies. I tend to trust strange things.”
“As well as criminals and enemies,” Ikram groused.
Shah quirked an eyebrow at his advisor. “You are a member of my council now?”
“Lady spare me that torture,” Ikram replied with a grimace. “I merely am pointing out known fact, Majesty. You are less than orthodox in all things.”
Shah threw his head back and laughed. “Less than orthodox, yes. Which means the plan I am forming will come as no surprise to anyone.”
“Whatever it is, and it had better not be what I suspect it is, Majesty, for you will never get it past the council.”
“The council will do as I bid,” Shah said, voice hardening, “or I will have them all removed as traitors and thrown into prison. They assist me in the governing of this country, they do not dictate my actions.” He sat back in his chair and forced himself to relax. “Besides, Ikram, it is the perfect chance to finally deduce who exactly are the rats among us. Ostensibly, they have no reason to disagree with my plan. It would only benefit Tavamara. Those that disagree risk themselves by admitting so. If we watch them carefully, we will have our traitors.”
Ikram sighed. “It will not be that easy. Your plan is madness. This impulsiveness of yours will someday backfire.” He looked briefly at Sahayl. “You know nothing. Not enough to make such a decision”
Shah mimicked the sigh and shared a conspiratorial smile with his confused guests. “You four look exhausted, and I have no doubt Shihab’s mother is threatening the lives of my guards this very moment. By now rooms would have been made ready. Rest awhile, we can continue our discussion tonight over dinner. What you have to tell me can wait that long.” He frowned briefly. “Ikram, have extra guards placed. Inform everyone that court is finished for the day.”
“Yes, Majesty.” Grumbling beneath his breath about impulsive Kings and headaches, Ikram led the group from the court room.
The door closed behind them and Shah stood, stretching with a groan and stifling a yawn.
Silk whispered as the drapes behind him shifted, and Shah smiled even as fingers landed lightly on his hips, traced lightly up his side before strong arms wrapped around his waist. Teeth nipped lightly at his throat, a warm voice chuckling in his ear. “You would have made a fine pirate, Shah.”
“I doubt it,” Shah said dryly. “The closest I get to water is my bath.”
“Always a fine place to be,” the man murmured as he turned Shah around and kissed him hard, almost aggressively, the only man to be so with his King. “A pity we can’t go there now.”
Shah chuckled. “Missing the waves, Beynum my pirate?”
“Something,” Bey said with a grin. “Nanda ordered me to accompany you back to our rooms. I would have come anyway, of course, but Nanda is Nanda…”
Chuckling again, Shah leaned up to give Bey another kiss, then led the way from the court room, slipping through the drapes behind the throne to private passageways beyond it – built exclusively for royal use. Not even the guards were permitted this way; save a precious few, none even knew about them.
The passageway split eventually and Shah took the rightmost path, and several turns later the dark maze spilled into a vast, sunlight room. At the far end was a large bed, set low on the floor and smothered with pillows and blankets. In the center of the room was a large, wide carpet, a table off to one side and surrounded by a wealth of large cushions. More cushions and pillows were scattered around the edge of the carpet, leaving the center clear. At the table sat two men – a man with shoulder length hair and dark skin, and his whole body shook as he laughed. Across from him sat a man with white skin and gold hair, hands moving avidly in the air as he said something which won a new burst of laughter from his companion.
In the bed, a slender figure curled up amongst the pillows, idly flipping through a book, sunlight catching the gold edging the pages. He looked several years younger than the other men in the room, and his cheeks were flushed dark as he read.
“Shah,” Nanda said softly, coming into the large bedroom from the main door, holding a tray of food and wine. “I conveyed all your wishes. The Lady Queen bid me tell you that vengeance will be had, for leaving her alone with the visiting Petchens.”
“I forgot they were arriving this evening,” Shah said with a wince. “Remind me to send my wife an apology.”
Nanda smirked. “She said a new orchid would be a good start.”
“Of course,” Shah murmured, smiling and shaking his head. His smile turned into a full fledged grin as the man on the bed shyly approached. “Kiah, my beauty. Whatever were you reading?” He cupped the young man’s face and tilted it up for a kiss. “It looked interesting.”
“Umm,” Kiah said, dusky skin flushing as he shifted nervously in Shah’s arms. “Something Bey gave me.”
Witcher chuckled from where he sat across from Aik. “Really, Bey,” he said in a mock reproving tone. “Stop overwhelming the poor colt.”
“He didn’t look like he was suffering,” Bey said with a grin, swooping in and scooping Kiah up, carrying the protesting younger man back to the bed and dumping him unceremoniously into it. “Wait until I make him read it aloud.”
Kiah let out a soft squeak of panic at the thought.
Nanda rolled his eyes. “How did the meeting progress, Shah?” he asked as he urged Shah to sit amongst a pile of cushions, setting the tray down and pouring a pale, gold wine into a shallow drinking dish.
Shah sipped it gratefully. “We didn’t get very far. They were tired, I hated to push them. Whatever news they bring has kept this long, it can wait a few hours more.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and relaxed into Nanda’s soothing touch, one hand reaching out to stroke his long hair. “An intriguing group, especially the Sheik. He had a strange look in his eyes.”
“What do you know of his father?” Nanda asked.
Shah frowned as he thought. “Not much. Ikram says only what he must. He knew the man, was trusted enough to tutor the current Sheik as a child. I can ask Ikram more, tonight or tomorrow.” He stroked Nanda’s cheek. “Why do you ask?”
Nanda turned his head to kiss Shah’s palm. “Because when my family died, I felt awful – not simply because they were dead, but because on some level I was relieved they were dead. He had the same look about him…and I would hazard to say he has nowhere to go with his grief.”
“I see,” Shah said softly. “That explains much of what I saw in him.”
“What are you plotting, Shah?” Aik asked curiously, looking up after he’d poured more of a dark, amber liquid for himself and Witcher. “Because we can see you’re plotting something.”
“When isn’t he?” Witcher asked, sipping his wine and smiling fondly at Shah.
Shah smiled back and relaxed against the pillows, stroking up and down Nanda’s spine as the man curled up against him, relishing the brief two hours he would have with his men before he was called away to be King again. “Thoughts, my witch?”
Witcher set his wine down and folded his arms on the table, leaning slightly forward as he thought. “You’ve been planning to move forces into the Desert for some time now, if worst came to worst. Now, quite unexpectedly, the Desert has asked you for help. That changes the game quite a bit.” His sky blue eyes grew distant as he continued, and it was easy to see how the quiet, compliant man had once been a fierce commander. “The easiest solution would be to have a son marry a daughter of a prominent Sheik. But your sons are children.
“Marching in by force would lose you all that you’ve suddenly gained, so the best solution still is a peaceful alliance. If not a son to marry off, a daughter. But your daughter is a babe. So ostensibly a family relation is out of the question…”
Aik let out a sharp bark of laughter from across the small table. “I think I see where this is going. Very clever, Shah.” He smiled at his King. “But how will you get it past the council?”
“Why would they protest? To have the Wild Desert back in Tavamara’s fold would be a very fine thing. Those who stand against me will not like it, but to protest would be to reveal themselves. Still, the announcement should prove interesting.”
Nanda frowned, fingers stilling where they’d been caressing Shah’s chest. He lifted his head to frown in thought. “Are you certain of the Sheik? To make such a decision?”
“My father was a hard man. Not cruel, but hard. He did not praise lightly. When he told me I had fine instincts, and that I should always follow them, I took the words to heart. My instincts say this will work.”
“Then there is nothing more to be said,” Bey said with finality from the bed where he lay with Kiah. “Except perhaps to wonder what the Sheik will have to say about the matter.”
Shah smiled and closed his eyes, curling into Nanda and settling in to steal a brief nap. “He will say he loves his Desert.”
Twelve
A private dinner with the King of Tavamara was nothing to be sneered at, but Isra would have much rather been in his tent with a light meal and heavy book. Perhaps with someone to keep company much later.
Instead he was staring at a man who was disconcertingly familiar.
“Wow,” a man introduced as Beynum said. “It’s just as you said, Shah.”
“Incredible,” Sahayl murmured from nearby.
Shah laughed. “I did not know you had a brother, Witcher.”
Witcher laughed, blue eyes flicking briefly to Shah before he turned back to Isra. “Nor I.” He shook his head, bemused. “It makes me wonder how many siblings I have wandering the earth.”
“Obviously a penchant and talent for certain things runs in the family,” Beynum said with a snicker, quickly moving behind the King as Witcher and Nanda both rounded on him.
Shah chuckled. “You can see,” he said to Isra, “why I was a bit shocked when you first arrived.”
“Yes,” Isra conceded reluctantly. It was rather unnerving. They were almost perfect opposite – Witcher pale and broad where he was dark and slender, hair pale gold to his own ink-black – but the lines of their faces were similar, and the blue of their eyes was identical. A half brother. Surreal.
Witcher offered him a smile. “We shall have to talk sometime, if you are amenable.”
“Sometime,” Isra said.
Shah clapped his hands once. “Then let us sit and eat.”
Obediently everyone obeyed, taking their places around the large square table.
Shahjahan took the seat that put him in direct line with the door. On either side of him were two men from his harem – Witcher and Kiah. Isra and Sahayl sat to the King’s right – with him on Sahayl’s left, Nandakumar on Sahayl’s right. Then it was Bahadur, then the harem man introduced as Beynum, then Shihab, with Ikram and a man called Aikhadour on the remaining side.
He almost felt sorry for Sahayl and Bahadur, who were almost glaringly out of their element, if the slight frowns on their faces were any indication. And while he’d never dined in such luxury, long banquets such as this were not strange to him.
Isra shifted his attention to the food and wine set out. A lot of wine. If there was one thing all of Tavamara loved above and beyond all else, it was wine. There were hundreds of native varieties and probably thousands more were imported. Just for this one meal – albeit several courses that would take them hours to eat – there was roughly twenty wines scattered about. As the meal progressed, many would be taken away and others added. Also set out were dozens upon dozens of the shallow dishes used for drinking – some of fine colored glass, others of china so delicate they looked as though the slightest touch would chatter them.
“Saa, I admit to feeling rather out of place,” Sahayl said quietly from beside him, lips curved in a rueful smile. “My thoughts went no further than making my request.”
Normally Isra would have relished seeing a hated Ghost suffer. But his debt to Sahayl could not be forgotten; his healing wound still ached. His fingers twitched, and he fought the urge to touch the scar on his face, a gesture that was rapidly becoming a rather annoying habit. Sighing at himself, Isra attempted a smile of his own and was surprised at how easily it came to his face. “When I came to Tavamara to study,” he motioned to the food, “I made myself sick eating and drinking, as I wasn’t used to any of it – or the sheer amount. Especially the wine.” He shook his head, grimacing. “Shihab finally took pity on me.”
“No,” Shihab said with a grin, sipping at a wine dark gold in color. “I was tired of seeing good wine go to waste.”
Isra glared. “As it shall when I dump it on your head,” he snapped, hands wrapping around a carafe full of a pale, pink wine. “So behave.”
Shihab laughed. “Go ahead, dump it. But don’t expect me to help you when Nanda goes for your throat for wasting his favorite wine.”
“It would be worth it, I think,” Isra replied over the laughter of the rest of the table.
“Go ahead,” Nanda said from his place beside Sahayl. “In return, you have to dump the Midnight on Bey.” He pointed to a red wine that was so dark it almost looked black.
Bey paused with a wine dish halfway to his mouth. “Starting the games early tonight, are we? If I wind up wearing wine, I’ll make tonight quite painful for you.”
“Save the threats for dessert,” Shah said with a fond smile.
Nanda sighed softly and bowed his head. “If you insist, my King.” He turned to Sahayl and motioned to the pale pink wine that had, for the moment, been spared. “This is Sea Rose wine from a town of the same name along the coast. They sell perhaps two dozen barrels of it a year. It has a light fruit and flower taste, but is extremely bitter. Perhaps not to your taste, as you are probably accustomed to Dark Spice – what we call your Desert wine. However, all wines should at least be tried.” So saying, he poured a small bit of the pale pink wine into a shallow drinking dish, then lifted it to Sahayl’s lips.
“What?” Sahayl asked, recoiling, starting to take the dish away. “You don’t—“
“It’s custom,” Shihab said with a smile. “Also an honor, to be served by one of the King’s men.”
“Yes,” Ikram said dryly, looking at his son. “Someone should have already explained such things to you, as I’m certain you spent several days traveling.”
Shihab winced. “Yes, father. My apologies, Ghost Sheik.”
Sahayl waved the apology aside. “It’s not as though we had the time for such things.” Still obviously disconcerted, he nevertheless sipped the wine as Nanda once more held the dish to his lips.
“And?” Nanda asked.
“It’s not bad,” Sahayl said slowly. “But your initial supposition was correct – I am far too used to my Desert wine. It has more…force.”
Nanda smiled faintly. “Then next we try the Golden Hills wine.” He motioned to Aikhadour, who passed down a carafe filled with a pale gold wine. He poured it into a separate dish, but did not lift it, instead reaching for a small bit of soft bread, which he fed to Sahayl.
Shah chuckled softly. “It would seem, my friend, that you have become Nanda’s project. Be thankful it is wine and not music that he seeks to teach you.”
“I will take the compliment buried in your words, my King,” Nanda said primly. He sniffed as everyone at the table laughed, then lifted the Golden Hills wine to Sahayl’s lips. “Try this one.”
Sahayl obeyed, and Isra was struck by how…almost shy the man seemed, though none of his inherent authority dimmed. He smothered a grin, amused to see the Sandstorm so out of his element, determined to use it later – debt or no debt – and reached for an almond pastry and a carafe of his own favorite appetizer wine.
“Moonlight,” Nanda murmured appreciatively, and Isra looked up with a start. “Another fine choice, but still not as good as Sea Rose.”
Isra lifted a brow. “Sea Rose is too bitter to begin a meal, if you ask me.”
“Uh-oh,” Kiah murmured.
Ikram chuckled. “When I first arrived, I got into an argument with Nanda over wine. I did not attempt it again.”
“Too bitter?” Nanda pressed, not letting them slide away from the argument.
“Beginning wines should be light and easy. Sea Rose is too complicated, and the underlying hint of saltiness clashes with most appetizers.” Isra lifted his wine dish and sipped the wine he’d poured, which was faintly milky and almost seemed to shine. “Something like Moonlight blends far more smoothly, and helps ease the way to the heavier courses.”
Sahayl looked between them, then across the table. “Saa, perhaps I should move.”
“No,” Isra and Nanda said together. Isra unthinkingly lifted his dish to Sahayl’s mouth. “Try it, you’ll see what I mean.” Only as Sahayl cautiously tried the wine did Isra realize what he’d done.
Etiquette said that betters were served by those beneath them, though of course in the case of Sahayl he would never expect any of them to do such a thing. The King, of course, was always served by his harem. It was a show of authority, of luxury…but it could also be a show of intimacy, especially when any one of the men drank from their wine dishes and then held that very same dish up for the King to sip from.
Though everyone here would know he’d simply erred, had this been a normal banquet he would have just indicated to anyone watching that he and Sahayl were intimate.
Isra stifled his curses and was eternally grateful he was not the type given to blushing. “And?” he asked, attempting to sound casual.
“I’m afraid to answer,” Sahayl said with a smile, dark gold eyes brighter than usual. “Saa, it seems either way I will wind up wearing a wine.” His smile turned into a quick grin as everyone laughed.
Nanda grumbled softly. “A weak beginning. Good meals require a strong start. But let us move on. Bey, you have the Mountain Water. Surrender it.”
“Yes, oh bossy one.” Bey refilled his own dish and then passed the wine along. He lifted it, grinning at Sahayl. “Best of luck to you.”
“Thank you.”
Isra made a face and helped himself to a slice of dark yellow cheese. As he sat back, he caught Shihab’s eye and glared at the way the man smirked knowingly at him. “Be quiet.”
“I didn’t say a word,” Shihab protested. “I’m just sitting here drinking and eating.”
Bahadur chuckled softly, and spoke for the first time since they’d arrived for the banquet. “In my limited experience, little shadowfire, silence is the strongest indicator that you are causing or planning trouble.” He grinned over his wine dish as everyone erupted once more into laughter.
“That round to the Jackal,” Shah said with a grin. “I notice you are drinking the Midnight, a rare choice. Too strong even for Nanda.”
A fait smirk curved Bahadur’s mouth. “My Tribe makes a very special wine, one I doubt even your fine table would have, Majesty. To the best of my knowledge, none but Jackal can drink it. Ask the little shadowfire.”
“I’m not little,” Shihab groused, but the pleased look on his face undermined the protest. “But he’s right; they make it using valtyanar.” He grimaced at the memory of being knocked out by a mere mouthful of the stuff. “It’s quite potent.”
“You will have to tell me how I can coax you into letting me purchase some of it,” Shah said. “A wine like that would vastly improve council meetings.” He laughed with his harem, then accepted a cinnamon-dusted pastry as Witcher held it to his lips. “I can see where all the wines on offer would pale by comparison. Intriguing. Why do you make it so?”
Bahadur shook his head. “I could not say. It has been so for so long, the reasons are long lost to the Sands.” He smiled briefly, sadly, but it was gone quickly. “If I ever find myself find myself in a position to obtain some, I shall send it your way, Majesty. My advice is that your drink it slowly.”
“Or not at all,” Shihab said.
“Done in by mere wine?” Isra said, smirking.
Bahadur chuckled as he took another sip of his red-black wine. “I don’t believe that’s what got him caught, no.”
Ikram winced. “I would prefer not to know, I think.”
“I would prefer you not know,” Shihab said, glaring at Bahadur.
Sahayl shook his head. “Fighting truly is in the blood of the Tribes. Even over dinner, we can not seem to help ourselves.”
“Speaking of fighting,” Shah said once the laughter had died down. “I am intrigued by your matching scars.” He motioned to Sahayl and Isra. “Is there some significance?”
Shaking his head, Sahayl traced the scar on his cheek. “Merely marks of a meeting that did not go as I had hoped it would. Isra drew blood first, I merely returned the favor. Until quite recently, we met only with swords drawn.”
Isra said nothing, merely poured more wine, this one a dusky, dark pink. He sipped it between bites of pale cheese. ‘Not go as I had hoped’? What did that mean? Sheik Hashim had seemed plenty content to let the meeting devolve into violence, and while Isra had attacked first, Sahayl had reacted almost instantly to it. Had anyone really expected that meeting to end any other way?
“What is that one?” Sahayl asked, indicating Isra’s wine. “So many wines to choose from. How does one memorize them?”
Beynum laughed, careless and easy. “If you had to attend as many banquets and court sessions and meetings as we, you would memorize them all quite easily. Beyond that, Nanda is a strict teacher. Very strict.”
“Not strict enough,” Nanda said.
Aikhadour laughed. “I thought I turned out rather well, Nanda.”
Nanda sniffed. “You showed initial promise, monk, but sadly you succumbed to the pirate’s temptations.”
“He’s not the only one,” Bey murmured, grinning shamelessly when Shah shook his head at them. He winked at the quiet man sitting next to Shah. “What say you, Kiah?”
“I say nothing,” the younger man said with a grin. “It suits me fine to watch the rest of you get in trouble.”
“Well met, colt,” Witcher said from Shah’s other side.
Ikram sighed. “Hopeless, all of you. Also hopelessly rude, to focus on yourselves and not our guest.”
“We are most entertained,” Sahayl said. “And honored by your kindness.”
“Honor, nothing,” Shihab said, ignoring the look his father gave him. “From what I’ve been hearing around the palace, you’re doing everyone a favor by keeping them from the banquet hall.”
Shah chuckled. “Perhaps.” He reached out and rang a small, silver bell resting on the table. A moment later servants appeared, working quietly and swiftly, removing the trays of appetizers and several of the wines, replacing them with bowls of soup, plates of meat, bread, and vegetables as well a whole new spectrum of wines.
Isra selected a dark, gold-brown wine and poured it into a dish of palest pink china. From a tray in front of him he chose several bits of roasted meat, breathing in the spicy smell, smiling. “I haven’t had this since I returned to the Desert.”
“Enjoy,” Shah said, then accepted the food Witcher offered, pale meat smothered in green and yellow herbs.
Nanda selected a wine that was almost orange in color and poured it into a dish of green glass, offering it to Sahayl. “Try this one, it’s called Sunrise. It’s quite sweet and goes well with nearly everything on the table.” He sniffed. “Unlike the Desert Dusk your friend is drinking.”
Isra leaned forward to see around Sahayl and glared at Nanda. “Clearly you prefer strong flavors that overwhelm the food. That is your problem.”
“Why not let Sahayl try yours again?” Shihab asked slyly. “Let him decide.”
“Be quiet!” Isra snapped.
Sahayl frowned.
“Shihab,” Ikram said quietly, but in a tone that brooked no argument.
“Yes, father.” Shihab subsided, but when Ikram looked away he smirked briefly at Isra, who scowled but kept his mouth shut. “Bahadur,” he said. “Try this. I think you’ll like it. It’s made by the monks who hide away in the mountains.” He passed over a clear crystal dish filled with a wine that was pale green in color. “It’s called Evening Prayer.”
Aikhadour and Beynum began laughing. Bey stole the carafe of wine and filled a new, dark green dish with the wine as Bahadur finished sipping from Shihab’s. “Good, yes?”
“Yes,” Bahadur said. “Still nothing like I’m used to, but it has…a hard punch of its own. This was brewed by monks you say? Why would monks need such as this?”
“Good question,” Bey said. He grinned at Aik. “Do enlighten us, decadent monk.”
Aik rolled his eyes. “Those of you who live down here with the sand and son have never survived a winter full of snow and ice. Endure one of those and you will rapidly learn why we brew such things. Most of the winter it keeps us warm, and when it’s not enough to warm it helps us forget we’re cold.”
“Then should I ever venture into snow, Lady forbid, I shall be certain to find monks to spend my time with.” Bahadur refilled his wine dish.
Beynum grinned. “Yes, they’re quite good for keeping warm.”
Shah shook his head. “Behave, my pirate.”
“He never has before,” Nanda said, rolling his eyes. He reached out and chose a piece of the same dark meat Isra had taken before and held it to Sahayl’s lips.
Sahayl took it, still clearly discomfited. “Are you certain I cannot feed myself?”
“That would be rude,” Shah said, eyes sparkling with mirth. “You are the second highest ranking person at this table. I would be a poor King to ill treat a guest by making him feed himself. Besides, Nanda is enjoying training you on how to properly appreciate everything.”
“Appreciate in all the wrong ways,” Isra countered, then chewed on a piece of dark bread smothered with butter to hide a reluctant smile. As hard as he was trying, and despite Shihab’s harassment, he was having fun. He loved his Desert, and hated the events that were waiting to be discussed here, but he was having fun.
Shah laughed. “Nanda, I do believe you have met your match.”
“And in a Desert savage,” Witcher added with a grin. “I would say that does not surprise me, but I might find myself not sleeping very comfortably tonight.”
“You might find that you won’t wake up,” Nanda replied tartly. He rose slightly on his knees and selected a small bit of a dark green vegetable dripping with spice-laden butter. “I think you’ll like this, and as I said before it goes quite well the Sunrise. Ignore them.”
“A lesser King would be jealous, Nanda,” Shah said with a fond smile. “You’re never this nice to the rest of us.”
Nanda sniffed delicately and offered Sahayl another vegetable. “The rest of you need a firm hand.” He shot Bey a quelling look. “Be silent.”
Bey sighed loudly. “Yes, oh bossy one.”
Bahadur laughed beside him. “If you will forgive my possible rudeness, I sense that were you of my Tribe you would wear many marks for disobedience.”
The table once more burst into laughter, and Bey laughed louder than all of them. “If I were not fond of flouting rules, I would not be here. Disobedience, in my experience, gets much better results than doing as I’m told.”
“Pirate,” Shah said with a sigh, but his eyes were full of warmth as he looked at Beynum.
“Speaking of marks,” Shihab interjected. “Can I ask what yours mean, Bahadur?”
Ikram looked despairingly at his son. “How can my son have turned out to be so rude?”
“Look at the environment in which I grew up,” Shihab immediately replied, making Shah and his harem laugh. “Well?” he persisted, grinning impishly.
Bahadur didn’t return it, expression taking on a gloomy edge. He touched the marks on his cheeks. “They mean many things, but the over all message is that I fell short of many things.”
“I’m sorry,” Shihab said contritely. “Given how effectively you captured me, I assumed they were high praise.”
“No harm done, shadowfire. Some of them are fairly basic.” Bahadur touched a finger to the lines on his right cheek. “My family name.” He touched the small Jackal head on his forehead. “That I am a warrior, and one of notable skill.” He brushed lightly over the calligraphy on his left cheek. “One who should have been a protector, but I lost the duel. Until my loss, my family had held that honor for many generations.”
Around the table, those of and familiar with the Desert all winced in sympathy.
Shah tilted his head. “I am most curious to have this explained to me, but I do not want to continue what is obviously a painful subject. Permit to say, however, that my impression is that if you lost, it was for a very good reason. You do not look as though losing a fight is something that happens often.”
“Your Majesty flatters me. I assure you there are any number of men in the Desert – in my Tribe – against whom I would likely lose. And I do not mind explaining, though my failures dishonor the Ghost Sheik.”
“No,” Sahayl said firmly, and Isra blinked at the way his strange shyness faded as his role as Sheik came to the fore. “From what I have learned to date, the Jackal Sheik and Amir were far from worthy of so fine a protector. In my Tribe, you will always be welcomed with honor and my favor.”
Bahadur’s eyes widened slightly, and Isra thought that the two of them had forgotten everyone else in the room. He bowed his head low. “You honor me, Ghost Sheik.”
Isra caught Shihab’s gaze, then turned to where his friend silently indicated, noting the way the King and Ikram spoke silently to each other, obviously about Sahayl. He looked back at Shihab, who gave a minute shrug. Giving a shrug of his own, Isra poured a sand-colored wine into a blue dish and sipped it as conversation resumed.
“Indulge a King’s curiosity,” Shah said, “and explain what we of Tavamara are missing.”
Sahayl took up the task of explaining. “All Amir are given a protector once they are old enough to begin taking an active role in caring for their Tribe, and they keep those protectors as Sheik. Protectors are both bodyguard and assistant. In Ghost, the Amir chooses his protector.”
“So too Falcon,” Isra interjected.
“But in many Tribes, such as Cobra and Jackal, men fight for the honor,” Sahayl continued. “The duels are taken quite seriously. Families like Bahadur’s, where the honor is won generation after generation, are not unusual.” He frowned. “I have heard tales of Tribes where the fight is one to the death.”
“Viper,” Bahadur said, “but they are a bloodier Tribe than even Jackal.”
“I see,” Shah said with a nod. “So it is a matter of great honor.”
“More than that,” Ikram said. “Honor as Tavamara understands it is a very simple thing.” He tapped his finger on a carafe filled with a pale pink wine, like the inside of a sea shell. “This would be honor to Tavamara.” He pointed across the table to the carafe of Midnight still on the table. “That would be honor as the Desert understands it.” He shrugged. “It is why I am a former son of Cobra, and why I could not send my son there – and why I always called upon Ghost rather than Cobra when we required Desert assistance. By abandoning my Tribe to live here, I dishonored my family, Tribe and the Lady.” He motioned to Bahadur. “What he did was, in the eyes of Jackal, far worse.”
“Yes,” Bahadur said somberly, staring at his wine, then glancing up at Sahayl as he spoke. “My family marks,” he touched his right cheek, then moved to his left, dusting over a particular bit of scrolling calligraphy. “are negated by these here. Essentially I had a Tribe but no family. If my family had no son, then there was never any dishonor. When my former sister bears a son, he will continue the tradition unbroken.”
“Have you a protector?” Shah asked, breaking into the unhappy tension.
Sahayl grinned, and Isra was struck by how boyish he suddenly seemed. “Yes. His name is Wafai, son of Mansur, son of the Lady of the Sands. He stayed behind to lead the Tribe in my absence. We have been friends since we tried to kill each other selecting horses as children.”
“You should teach him to keep his guard up,” Isra said acidly, suddenly feeling annoyed.
His comments made Sahayl laugh. “Saa, he was quite furious with himself for that mistake.”
Isra sneered. “As he should be. If not for you, I would have had him.”
“Saa, desert rose, I’ve no doubt he’d welcome another chance to prove you wrong.”
Isra nearly spilled his wine, seeing red, head snapping up. “I have told you not to call me that, Ghost Sheik.”
Sahayl looked chagrined, almost horrified. “My apologies. It was a slip. Perhaps I’ve indulged too much in the wines.”
Muttering a curse, Isra turned away and reached for a carafe of a wine that was dark lavender in color. “Perhaps not enough wine,” he said begrudgingly. “Nor will I permit you to stop before we’ve reached the dessert wines.”
The tension eased at his words, and Isra ignored the way all were exchanging curious glances, looking up only briefly to glare at Shihab.
“Mention of the dessert wines does make me curious to see the debate continued,” Sahayl said. “Saa, what wine is best then?”
“Morning Mist,” Isra and Nanda said at the same time, then glared furiously at each other while the rest of the table roared with laughter.
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Date: 2006-07-24 02:47 pm (UTC)The dinner conversation was so lovely! Excellent job juggling all the people. The tension is so delicious. I just want to squish Isra, then throw him into Sahayl's lap! They are giving away far too much to the others to not have figured it out for themselves, yet.
And what is Shah planning? I have some ideas... but I can't wait to see how it all plays out!
I will whine briefly that I can't have more of this now, but I really like having it drawn out. I get to suck on this bit for a while. (that was perhaps not the best wording...) Also, I know I will get more BB soon, and still have 4 chapter of Prisoner to catch up on. Which I'm sure is not as bad as you fear. You wrote it, how could it be?