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maderrSorry this is late. I got caught up writing, and I was too lazy to disconnect my sister's net to hook it up to my laptop. But three chapters today, since you only got one last week. ^_^
Fourteen
“I do not trust that smile, little shadowfire.”
Shihab’s grin widened. “Now why would you say that? And I’m not little.”
Bahadur grasped his chin and gently tugged him closer, kissing him briefly, nipping at Shihab’s bottom lip. “What are you plotting, little shadowfire?”
“I’m going to go break the news of what Shah’s doing to Isra. He’s not going to like it…at first. I’ll talk or beat sense into him.” He licked Bahadur’s lips before sitting back and picking up his tea. His expression turned thoughtful as he sipped it, fingers going automatically to the plate of food, selecting a pastry dusted with finely ground sugar.
“What is his Majesty planning? How do you know? Eavesdropping on your father’s conversations?”
Shihab snorted. “Don’t be insulting, Bahadur.” He winked. “I have ways of making you suffer.”
Bahadur smirked. “That goes both ways, little shadowfire.”
“I’m not little,” Shihab muttered, licking sugar from his fingers. “Nor do I eavesdrop. I figured it out on my own. Winning any game means understanding the rules and the playing pieces. In this case, the game is save Tavamara and the Desert. Cooperating is a good strategy…” Shihab smirked, “but uniting the two is a better strategy. Naturally the best way to do that would be to marry the Ghost Sheik off to Shah’s daughter – but she’s only a babe. The other option is something that’s only been done twice before in the history of Shah’s family – adoption.”
“Adoption,” Bahadur repeated. “His Majesty is going to adopt the Ghost Sheik?”
“That would be my guess. Probably as a brother? It would certainly explain why my father has been looking as though he would like nothing more than to resume his savage ways and deal with the counsel accordingly. They probably are taken it with even less grace than they did the men Shah chose for his harem.”
Bahadur laughed. “I see. The Ghost Sheik will not like that.”
Shihab laughed. “Isra will like it even less,” He finished his tea and stood up, “which is why I’m going to go persuade him to be reasonable. Want to come watch the show?”
“It is my impression that that the Falcon and reason are not bedmates.”
“Isra and reason tend to play rough, that’s for certain. Eventually they cuddle up together, though.” Shihab laughed and held out a hand. “Coming?”
Bahadur shook his head. “I do not think my presence will help anything. I’m almost as much an enemy as the Ghost Sheik. Do not aggravate him too much, little shadowfire.”
“The only way to get Isra to see reason is to aggravate him beyond all reason. I’m not quite certain why that works, or how, but it does.” Shihab shook his head, red hair spilling over his shoulders. He winked. “I’ll be back later, probably with a few new bruises.”
Chuckling, Bahadur reached out to wrap one large arm around Shihab’s slender waist, pulling him closer, tilting his head up to meet Shihab’s kiss, not breaking it until they were both breathless.
Shihab laughed as he pulled away. “Are you going to the training yards? I’ll come and show you my battle scars later.”
“Yes. I fear this soft palace life will take away my edge.”
“I’ll keep you sharp.” Stealing a last kiss, Shihab slipped away, humming softly. He murmured polite greetings to the few people he passed in the hallway, nodding to several of the guards, and at last reached the room that had been given to Isra – rooms that connected to Sahayl’s by way of the bathing chamber. Bahadur’s were nearby. He didn’t bother to knock, merely pushed the door open and strolled into the large chamber.
Unlike western-style rooms, which had always been aggravating to him – and Isra – most chambers in Tavamara were like this. It was one large open room, generally with either large windows or open doorways leading to a garden or courtyard – or, in this case, a balcony. Part of the room was given over to a set of tables – one for eating, one for working, along with mats and pillows, smaller tables to accommodate wine and food trays when one wanted to recline rather than sit at the tables. Blankets were folded neatly and tucked neatly away, and all of it was spread out large, colorful, rugs that had taken years to make.
On the other end of the room was a set of chests and cabinets meant for clothes and other such things, as well as another low table, currently set with a breakfast that had yet to be touched. Colorful pillows surrounded it, scattered across a rug as elaborate as the others.
The bed was set back from the rest, low and boasting its own share of pillows and blankets heavy enough to keep out the chill that fell at night but not so heavy they made the bed sweltering otherwise. This room was done in shades of brown and deep gold, interspersed with splashes of deep wine red and dark blue.
Movement stirred some of the pillows. Shihab shook his head. “Are you still asleep?”
“Why should I move?” Isra asked, turning and shifting, settling back into the bed. “I have nowhere to be. Soon we’ll be going back to the Desert. Until then, I fully intend to enjoy every last luxury available to me – including sleeping all morning.”
Shihab chuckled and moved closer, pulling aside the sheer curtain that surrounded the bed, lending a degree of privacy and keeping out the light and any insects. He slid into the bed and tossed aside pillows until he found Isra. “Lazy, lazy.”
“Go away,” Isra snapped, tugging a blanket up over his head.
Shihab yanked the blanket away with a laugh. “I would have thought you’d find something more fun to do than sleep, given your proximity to a certain Sheik.”
Isra glared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do,” Shihab said, reaching out and pinching him, catching the hand that came flying toward his head, dragging his nails across Isra’s flat stomach before his own wrist was captured by Isra’s free hand. He snickered and relaxed his grip, pulling away and Isra snarled and sat up. “Honestly, Isra, you’re not usually one to deny what you want.”
“Why are you here?” Isra snapped, turning away to lean out of bed and pick his pants up from where he’d left they lying on the floor. Shihab snickered softly and reached out to pinch Isra’s ass, then turned and threw himself from the bed as Isra roared in outrage and lunged for him. They tangled in the curtain, nearly pulling it down before they managed to tumble free, and Shihab struggled to breath around his laughter. “Good morning, Isra.”
Isra smacked Shihab’s stomach hard with the flat of his hand before rolling away and going to retrieve his pants. “You’re in a good mood this morning. I guess Bahadur is taking care of you.”
Shihab grinned but said nothing.
“What do you want?” Isra asked, sitting down and beginning to pick at the breakfast that had been set out for him, sipping at the cool juice.
“I came to speak with you about Sahayl.”
Isra lifted a brow. “What about him?”
Shihab sat down across from him, snagging a piece of fruit, green eyes dark as he thought. “Do you know what Shah is planning to do?”
“Of course I don’t. Obviously you do.” Isra set his glass down. “I suspect you think I won’t like it. Shall I save us the trouble of a long, drawn out argument and tell you to get out now?”
“He’s going to adopt him.”
Isra stared. “…what?”
“He’s going to make the Ghost Sheik his brother.” Slowly Shihab set about explaining all that he had gleaned – on his own, despite what anyone said. He was Ikram’s son in every way that mattered – had worked hard all his life to be as clever and smart and competent as the man who had been advisor to the late King and Shah.
Isra, true to form, did not look pleased as Shihab finished. “A Prince,” he said flatly, carefully shoving his breakfast away. “The Ghost Sheik is going to become a Prince. Of the Desert. Stupidity.” He slammed a fist down on the table, jarring the dishes. “Arrogance! What makes anyone think a Ghost is fit for something that hasn’t been done for longer than anyone can remember. The son of the Crusher? The Sandstorm. A Prince. We came here for help, not to hand over the authority to control all the Tribes to a Ghost!” Snarling in rage, Isra snatched up his empty glass and hurled it against a wall.
“You’re taking this well,” Shihab said calmly.
“Shut up. If I’d known he was going to do something so-so—“
“Sensible?”
“Traitorous,” Isra snarled, jerking to his feet, glaring at the man across from him. “A temporary alliance is one thing – but this is worse. The Desert belongs to no one.”
Shihab shrugged. “Technically it belongs to Tavamara.”
Isra glared, hands clenched into fists at his side. “And now, according to what you say, it’s going to belong to a greedy Ghost!”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Shihab said, slowly standing up and moving to stand in front of Isra. “When has Sahayl ever struck you as greedy.”
“Obviously he’s more adept a liar than even I could imagine,” Isra said. “No one will let him have the Desert. It doesn’t belong to him.”
“The Ghost Sheik isn’t like that,” Shihab said quietly.
“Because you know him so well.”
“And you do?”
“Apparently not.”
Shihab reached up and flicked him gently on the nose. “Why so angry, brother of my soul?”
Isra bit back a curse and jerked away. “Because the Desert is going to be stolen by a scheming, greedy, traitorous—“
“Oh, be quiet,” Shihab said, shoving Isra back, down into a pile of pillows. “You’re such a baby.”
Shouting in outrage, Isra lunged up toward him – Shihab caught him by the arms, kicked his legs out, sending them both crashing to the ground. “Brat,” he said. “When has the Ghost Sheik ever been any of those things?”
“Clearly he’s been lying—“
Shihab leaned down and kissed him hard, jerking back when Isra bit down hard on his lip. “We are in a rough mood,” he said, licking his sore lip. “What’s really bothering you?”
“That arrogant—“
Shihab rolled his eyes, holding tighter to Isra’s wrists as he began to struggle in earnest. “I wish Bahadur had come,” he said with a grunt. “He’d pin you down without breaking a sweat.”
“And I’d kill him exactly as I’m going to kill you!" Isra snapped, but gave up struggling.
“What’s really upsetting you?” Shihab asked calmly. “This is hardly the Ghost Sheik’s fault. I doubt he had any intention of being made a Prince. Why would such a thing occur to a son of the Desert? It certainly didn’t occur to you. Look at how you reacted. Think of the Ghost Sheik’s. Do you honestly think he saw this coming?”
Isra frowned. “The Desert isn’t meant to be ruled by one.”
“It used to be, why can’t it be again?’
“By a Ghost?” Isra asked contemptuously.
“You’d be a lot less tense if you’d just bed that Ghost you keep trying to hate,” Shihab said with a smirk.
Isra went still, eyes narrowing. “I do not want to bed Sahayl. It seems to me you’re far more interested in it than I am.”
Shihab grinned. “I’m not one to turn down a fun time, it’s true, but I’m not the point here.”
“I am?” Isra asked. “Let me up.”
“Only if you don’t kill me.”
“Oh, I’m going to kill you…but I’ll wait a few minutes.”
“Good enough,” Shihab said, and leaned down to steal a quick, hard kiss before pulling away, freeing Isra’s arms as he sat up and slid off his lap.
Isra sat up. “Why am I the point?”
“Because I’d say it’s obvious to everyone but you how…” Shihab smirked, “highly the Ghost Sheik regards you.”
“Regards,” Isra repeated.
“Or did you miss the part where you’re allowed to call him Sahayl? The part where he took you with him instead of one of his own men. The way he can’t keep his eyes off you when he thinks no one else is looking.”
Isra was silent.
“You want him just as much. I don’t see why you’re making such a fuss about it.”
Isra snatched up a piece off fruit from the breakfast try and threw it at him. “Even if I did want him, I don’t see what that has to do with the fact that anyone is stupid enough to think the Tribes can be brought to heel under one leader – or that the King seems to think that leader should be a Ghost.”
“Falcon hates Ghost more than anyone. A Ghost is about to stake a claim on the entirety of the Desert and every Tribe in it. He’ll be lucky if they don’t try to kill him.” Sahayl would be very lucky. Uniting the Tribes and bringing them under the rule of Tavamara was the best solution for the Desert, in the short and long term. It would solve problems that had been too long neglected. It wouldn’t be easy. Nothing even remotely close to easy. It would require a great deal more than a ring and a piece of paper pronouncing him Prince of the Desert. “If he had your support – full, unconditional, unwavering support – he would gain the support of Falcon and all of its allies. That would go a long way toward causing a few other Tribes to hesitate.”
“My support,” Isra repeated slowly. “You want me to just ignore the fact that we’ve been enemies for years – decades, and declare that I give a confounded Ghost my support. To be Prince. To rule the Desert.”
Shihab nodded.
“You’re insane.”
“They say the same thing about my father.”
Isra rolled his eyes. He stood up and stripped out of his pants, rifling through a chest for clothes, sliding into them as he continued to ignore Shihab. “You can’t possibly have thought I’d agree to this.”
“Why not? Of the three of us, your support is the most important. No one cares about me, and they’ll have a hard time trusting Bahadur at first, especially if Jackal is still attacking Tribes. If Sahayl has your support, his chances are that much better. Several weeks ago you attended a meeting to achieve peace.”
“And it failed because Ghost decided they preferred our blood.”
“Not all of Ghost. Not the Ghost Sheik.”
Isra said nothing, merely shot him another glare before stalking from the room.
Shihab smirked.
All things considered, that had gone rather well. He’d given Isra plenty to stew about. By the end of the day he’d agree or at least willing to go along with it – and then he’d get so caught up in it he’d forget he ever protested. Once Isra finally decided to do something, he did it.
Of course if he’d finally decide Sahayl was that something to do, life would be easier for all of them. Chuckling softly, Shihab brushed bits of food from his arms and left the room, strolling through the palace halls in search of the training yards and Bahadur.
Fifteen
“So how does it feel to be a Prince, your Highness?” Shihab asked, words slightly slurred. He clung tightly to Bahadur’s arm as the four of them walked down the hallways, the sounds of the rest of the diners distant and faded. He ignored Isra’s quelling glance.
Sahayl shook his head “Saa, like I am being mistaken for someone else. But I am not a Prince quite yet.”
“You might as well be,” Shihab replied. “By tomorrow the papers and everything else the council is doing to stall will finally be complete. By week’s end we’ll be returning to the Desert.”
“We?” Isra said from Sahayl’s right side. “Are you coming with us then, Shihab? Will your parents permit it?”
Shihab shrugged. “They don’t like it, of course, but it is my decision. I feel at home in the Desert, so unless my Prince objects,” he gave a drunken half bow to Sahayl, Bahadur barely catching him around the waist in time to prevent his falling, “I am returning with you to the Desert.”
“You are most welcome, shadowfire.”
Isra rolled his eyes at the nickname but said nothing more.
Sahayl looked at him cautiously. “You have not said much since the announcement, des—Isra.”
“Desert rose suits him more,” Shihab said, catching Sahayl’s slip. The rest of his words were muffled by Bahadur’s hand.
Isra glared at his friend, then turned away and shrugged at Sahayl’s question. “It little matters what I think.”
“It matters to me,” Sahayl said, dark eyes intent. “I know you will never call me friend, son of Falcon, but I would not have you hating me more than I can possibly prevent.”
Shihab once more tried to speak, and again his words were cut off Bahadur, who this time offered a gentle reprimand, smiling as Shihab pouted.
Isra hesitated, then shrugged. “It will be interesting to see if the King’s plan works.”
“I see,” Sahayl said, and did not press further.
Irritably Isra squashed a niggling sense of guilt. Why should he feel guilty? Sahayl was only gauging his chances of having Falcon’s support when he announced to the Tribes that he was now a Prince of Tavamara, and being so gave him the right to control them. Ridiculous. It would never work. If Sahayl was foolish enough to go along with the ridiculous scheme, he could do it alone.
But even to himself, his protests weren’t convincing. If they wanted to save the Desert from the west, then having the full weight of Tavamara behind them was the best possible way to do it. An agreement would have sufficed, but for the west to invade territory that belonged to Tavamara was something else entirely. Isra glared at the floor and wondered when he’d started to side with a man whom only days ago he’d wanted to kill. Whom he definitely did not want to kill now, no matter how hard he struggled to cling to his rage. It simply could not stand up against Sahayl’s determination to make them something other than enemies, though he wasn’t entirely certain what the man wanted from him.
At times he wasn’t sure Sahayl knew what he wanted.
Though Shihab, of late, had not lacked for opinions of his own to voice. He glowered at the thought of their conversation earlier that morning, then turned to glare at Shihab for good measure.
“You’re still mad about this morning, aren’t you?” Shihab asked, his drunkenness not impairing his ability to read Isra’s moods. “Just say ‘you were right, Shihab,’ and you’ll feel much better.”
Isra’s glare was enough to unsettle Bahadur and Sahayl, but Shihab merely grinned. “Smashing your face in will also make me feel much better.”
“Also?” Shihab asked smugly.
“Shut up,” Isra snapped, heartily grateful when they reached their rooms – except Shihab, who had rooms elsewhere. “Why are you here?”
“See why you shouldn’t worry, Ghost Sheik?” Shihab said, letting go of Bahadur to cling to Isra. “He loves me and yet he yells at me more than anyone else.” He reached up to kiss Isra’s cheek.
Isra tried to peel Shihab off him. “That is because you are in serious need of a sound beating.”
“In need of something,” Shihab said softly in his ear, suddenly not sounding quite as drunk. “So are you, but not from me I think.”
“I will kill you,” Isra said, finally shoving his friend away. “Go to your room.”
Shihab laughed and threw out an arm, landing on Sahayl’s, using the amused Sheik to steady him. “You sound an awful lot like your dear uncle when he tells you to go to your tent. And remember, we shared a tent.”
“Well we don’t share rooms!” Isra snapped, hands clenching in warning. “Nor is my honored uncle here to keep me from beating you senseless.”
“What say we play a few games?” Shihab said, completely ignoring Isra in favor of addressing Sahayl. “You’ve never had the pleasure of playing Tavamara drinking games; it would be a pity not to play them while you have the chance – since once we’re back in the Desert I doubt you’ll be able to very often. Your Highness.” He winked.
“Saa, but it looks as though you’ve drunk quite enough, shadowfire.”
“I’ve not yet begun,” Shihab said. “You’ve seen how much wine we drink in one sitting. I should have stayed away from the Evening Prayer, perhaps, but I can go for a while yet. Isra would tell you so, if he was interested in doing anything but taking my head off.”
Sahayl chuckled. “So where are we to play these games of yours, mischievous one?”
“Your room,” Shihab replied instantly. “I had the servants arrange it all while we were at the banquet.”
Isra muttered something underneath his breath. “I am going to change,” he said, yanking irritably at the long sleeves and folds of his formal robe.
“Good idea,” Shihab said. “I’ll borrow something from you, hmm? I’m sure they’ve provided you with plenty of clothes by now.”
Sighing in resignation, Isra vanished into his room, followed by Shihab, and began stripping off his clothes, tossing them on an chair before grabbing loose white pants and a matching long-sleeved shirt – for the night was quite cool – but decided against slippers. If they were going to drink, it would be far easier to stumble to his bed later – which he would do alone – in bare feet. “What are you about, Shihab? I know there’s more to this than a simple desire to get yourself completely drunk.”
“That’s certainly reason enough,” Shihab said, stripping out of his own formal clothes and picking through Isra’s slim choices, finally settling on a pair of pants that matched Isra’s. “But it seems to me you all need to relax – and be more comfortable with each other.”
Isra rolled his eyes. “I am Falcon. He is Ghost. I doubt Jackal will ever be a friend to either. We cannot simply forget all that and pretend we’re friends. You know better than that, Shihab.”
“Do I?” Shihab asked, drawing close, green eyes blazing. “I know you and Bahadur would probably be great friends if you’d bother to get to know each other. I know that every time Sahayl looks at you he looks sad and wistful. I know you try your hardest not to look at him. I know when we go back to that Desert, we are likely the only three supporters he will have. It seems to me, Isra, you are the only one who thinks it impossible to ‘simply forget’ all that has come before.” Shihab turned away to pick over the shirts, but with a shrug remained bare-chested. “Oh, come now, are you going to spend the entire night mad at me, desert rose?”
Isra groaned. “Lady grant me mercy, I hate that confounded name.”
“Indeed,” Shihab said.
Isra glared at him. “I notice you’re not acting very drunk anymore.”
Shihab grinned. “Yes, thanks for not spoiling that for me, though I half-expected you to do so. I guess that means you can’t be too terribly mad at me.”
Shrugging, Isra turned toward the bathing room that connected his room to Sahayl and Bahadur’s. “I wasn’t sure what you were really up to.” He fought a smile. “And the idea of you drunk on only half a bottle of Evening Prayer is amusing.”
“Quite,” Shihab said, laughing as he came up beside Isra and wrapped arms around his waist, nibbling playfully at the base of Isra’s neck.
“So what are we drinking tonight?” Isra asked, tilting his head forward to give Shihab better access.
Shihab’s answer was interrupted by the sound of a hoarse shout coming from Sahayl’s room. Neither hesitated, but immediately burst into a sprint, dashing around the large bath and into Sahayl’s room.
“Window!” Bahadur barked, even as he stood up, helping Sahayl, whom he’d obviously tackled to the floor.
Without pause, Isra raced to the window, catching sight of the man attempting to escape, following him up onto the roof. Lunging, he caught the man about the waist, sending them both crashing down on the hard, flat roof. The man, larger than he, twisted, moved, and steel flashed in the moonlight.
Isra dodged the swing, caught the man’s wrist and twisted hard, forcing him to drop it, then snatched it up and drove the blade deep into the man’s leg, yanking it out and wounding the other leg while the man screamed in pain. He rolled away, assured the assassin wasn’t going anywhere.
He spun around as he heard someone coming up behind him, then relaxed as he realized it was Bahadur. “Let’s get him inside,” he said.
Gasping in pain, the assassin did not struggle as Bahadur lifted him like he was little more than a sack of feathers. “Just kill me,” he hissed.
Isra laughed coldly and dropped back down to the balcony, being none too gentle as he and Bahadur worked to get the assassin down. “What would that accomplish?” he asked.
“Is that what they do in Tavamara?” Bahadur asked “Simply kill them?” He hauled the assassin to his feet and drug him inside before dropping him to the floor. “Dead men can not divulge secrets. In the Desert, we keep them alive until we have all we need.” Bahadur knelt to examine the man’s leg wounds, which were bleeding profusely. “A tidy job,” he murmured almost absently. “I guess we had best bind these, else you will not live long enough to be useful.”
The assassin said nothing, already pale with blood loss and pain.
Shihab dropped a bundle of supplies on the floor, then knelt beside Bahadur and with his assistance bandaged the wounds inflicted by Isra.
The assassin glared at Sahayl, who stood nearby watching the proceedings. “I was going to give you a merciful death,” he said contemptuously. “I’ve never been so cruel as to make my victims suffer. What sort of men would injure a man and then immediately bind his wounds?”
Sahayl shrugged. “Sons of the Desert. You should have made sure your strike was true, or that you were fleeter of foot. Bind his hands.”
Bahadur obeyed, using a length of bandage to bind the man’s wrists. He then picked up the assassin’s knife and pressed the tip to his throat. “Cooperate, assassin, and perhaps we’ll be lenient.”
“Who hired you?” Sahayl asked.
“Do as you like; I have no intention of telling you anything. I’m dead either way.”
Shrugging again, as if the matter did not concern him at all, Sahayl motioned to Bahadur and then addressed the assassin. “Saa, but do you want to die painlessly or in great agony?” He stood expressionless as Bahadur drew the knife slowly across the assassin’s throat, drawing a thin line of blood. “I do not prefer to be a savage, but there is more at stake than merely my life. Who hired you?” He flicked his fingers at Isra, who had replaced Shihab at the assassin’s side once the bandaging was done. Isra balled his hand into a fist and drove his knuckles into the bandaged wound, making the assassin scream in pain before he managed to choke it back.
“Savages!” the man swore.
“Yes,” Sahayl said, unmoved. “You should have known your enemy better.”
“Do what you like, savages,” the man repeated “I will tell you nothing.”
Sahayl dropped his arms and motioned. “Take him away, Bahadur. We’ll leave him to rot for the night. Those wounds plus a prison cell might change his mind.” He shrugged. “If not, then he is of no interest to me.”
“I’ll go with you,” Shihab said, and moved to help Bahadur. “Easier if I’m there to explain everything.”
The room fell silent as Bahadur and Shihab hauled the assassin away, leaving Isra and Sahayl alone.
“Both legs, Isra?” Sahayl asked.
Isra glared at the absent assassin. “He is lucky I did not have a chance to fetch my sword,” he said savagely. “I would have simply taken one off.”
“So angry,” Sahayl murmured, dropping his arms and wandering to his bed, and it finally struck Isra that the man was only half-dressed. “Are you that upset someone tried to kill me, desert rose?”
“I am tired of people interfering in the Desert,” Isra snapped, turning away, focusing on the room and not on the thoughts in his head. “What happened?”
“He was lying in wait, hiding behind the drapes,” Sahayl replied, motioning to the curtains that were bundled against the wall, meant to surround the low bed to keep out the night chill and the early morning sun. Sahayl moved to the bed and picked up a dark blue robe, slipping it on and belting it with a red silk cord. “Bahadur saw him and saved me. You two arrived just in time to catch him.” Sahayl smiled briefly. “I was impressed with how easily you followed him onto the roof.”
Isra shrugged. “Shihab and I were fond of sneaking around places we weren’t supposed to while in school.” He frowned at the low table across the room, set neatly with wine and drinking dishes, a few plates of simple treats. Crossing over in several quick strides, he dropped to his knees and began to examine the carafes of wine and food.
Shihab had chosen three wines for their games, and Isra carefully examined each one, though never tasting.
“You suspect poison?” Sahayl said, sitting down beside him, close enough Isra could feel his body heat.
He moved slightly away, glowering at the wine and food as he thought. “I’m not sure,” he said finally. “It would be like a cowardly assassin to use such a cheap trick, but if he employed poison why attempt to kill you directly?” He tapped his nails idly against a carafe filled with a pale blue wine. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. We simply don’t drink or eat.” He smiled briefly. “Shihab’s plans have been rather neatly foiled, so something good has come of the evening.”
“What were Shihab’s plans?” Sahayl asked.
Isra shrugged and stood up. “To get us drunk,” he said and began to walk away.
Sahayl snagged his wrist and yanked him back, and Isra swore as his lower back collided with the edge of the table, elbow knocking over the carafe of pale blue wine. He glared. “What?”
“My apologies,” Sahayl said. He hesitated a moment, then reached up and traced the scar cutting across Isra’s right cheek. “Why do you hate me?”
“Why don’t you hate me?” Isra snapped. “Ghost made it clear they want nothing but blood from Falcon, and you seemed plenty content to draw your sword against me.”
“You always drew first, desert rose,” Sahayl replied quietly. “I worked for months to arrange the meeting with Falcon. My father would not listen to me. I wish with all of me that we had called a truce that day.” His eyes dropped, and Isra was struck by how suddenly weary Sahayl looked. It reminded him of the day he’d encountered Sahayl in the oasis. There was nothing of the Sandstorm in this Sahayl, merely a man who looked far too old for his age. Then those gold eyes stared into his, as dark and rich as a fine wine but far more potent. “You have not left my thoughts since I encountered you, Isra. Why the Lady chose to torture me so, I don’t know. You’ve no reason to hate me, I swear it.” Sahayl watched him for a moment more, as if searching for something, then dropped his eyes and made to stand.
Isra swore he could feel something inside him breaking, crumbling into dust. He wondered if the inability to resist Sahayl was why all called him Sandstorm. Making a sound that was somewhere between a curse and a groan, he grabbed Sahayl’s shoulders and tugged him back down, letting his frustration guide him as he kissed Sahayl. He stopped after a moment, pulling back just enough to stare at him, blinking. “You act as though you’ve never been kissed.”
He stared more as Sahayl’s mouth twisted in a sad, somewhat bitter smile. “Who would kiss me? By the time I was old enough for such things, being that close to me was too dangerous a thing for me to permit.” Sahayl shrugged and pulled away, embarrassed and unhappy.
“Why dangerous?” Isra asked, standing slowly, watching the way Sahayl stiffened and did not turn around. “Not simply because you were Amir.” A statement, not a question.
Sahayl shook his head, but otherwise did not reply.
Isra glared at his back, hating the mystery. He should have kept his mouth shut and just continued with the kiss. Which hadn’t been all bad. Not at all. He couldn’t for the life of him understand why no Ghost had ever found his way into Sahayl’s tent. If he’d been Ghost, it would have taken a great threat indeed.
Which was a thought he didn’t dare linger too long over.
A great threat.
He recalled their one peaceful encounter. How brutally beaten Sahayl had been. He’d never really thought about it before. It hadn’t been an enemy, for Sahayl had said Isra was the only enemy to mark him. He would have been sure to taunt him if someone had landed blows Isra could not. Someone in Ghost, then. Who would dare to strike the then Amir so? Sheik Hashim would have never allowed—
Something twisted in Isra’s gut as realization dawned. Hashim. Had beaten his own son. Sickening. Isra had never particularly cared that he didn’t know his own parents. His honored uncle and aunt had always filled that role in his life. As often as he had probably deserved a beating, his uncle had never struck him. Always he’d just been confined to his tent. They faced violence aplenty every day in the Desert. Jabbar did not use more to discipline except under very particular circumstances.
To think the Crusher had used his infamous brutality against his own son. ‘By the time I was old enough’ Sahayl had said. Which meant the beatings had been going on since childhood.
Isra would be the first to say he had a temper. But lobbing books at Shihab’s head was a far cry from beating his son so brutally he feared letting anyone get too close. Isra wished suddenly, with such vehemence it took his breath away, that Hashim was still alive so he might kill the man himself.
He shoved the thought aside to ponder later, attention only for the Sheik – Prince – who had moved toward his bed and was clearly preparing to sleep.
Which was, in Isra’s opinion, the most boring thing one could possibly do with a bed. Stripping off his shirt and tossing it to the floor, Isra strode across the room and forced Sahayl to turn, plunging one hand into thick curls that were far softer than Isra thought they should be, dragging Sahayl close and kissing him hard, giving Sahayl no chance to protest or resist, softening only when hands landed hesitantly on his hips and Sahayl began carefully to kiss him back.
“Leave it to a Ghost,” Isra said eventually, “to neglect all the fun lessons.”
“Not by choice,” Sahayl said, fingers whispering softly across Isra’s back, as if he feared what would happen should he truly touch.
Isra chuckled low and lapped at Sahayl’s throat where his pulse beat, fingers going to the cord that held Sahayl’s robe closed. “Well you have a choice now.”
“What changed your mind?” Sahayl asked, dark gold eyes confused, searching Isra’s face for an explanation.
“I’m stubborn, not stupid,” Isra said, which was as close to the truth as he could manage. He stretched up to give Sahayl another kiss, preventing further questions. Sahayl’s skin was hot, his mouth surprisingly soft and warm, flavored with a lingering hint of wine – Morning Mist, Isra realized. His reactions were sweet, heady, and Isra was dumbfounded that not a single man or woman in Ghost had been willing to brave a beating or three to be with this man.
It rather frightened him that he thought he would.
Then he gave up thinking entirely, mind focused solely on showing Sahayl how he very much was not some stupid flower.
Sixteen
Something was strange. Sahayl stirred, trying to figure out what was different. He moved his arm, and his fingers stroked across something that definitely wasn’t bedding.
Isra.
Images of the night before flooded his now-awake mind, and Sahayl dreaded opening his eyes. The assassin he was willing to believe was real, but surely the rest had been a dream.
“Why are you awake this early?” Isra groused. “Why am I awake this early?”
Sahayl’s eyes snapped open in surprise, and he stared at the man glaring up at him.
Isra’s glare turned into frown. “What?”
“Nothing,” Sahayl said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I’m used to it.,” Isra said, then leaned in to kiss him, mouth tasting of wine and sleep and something that was only Isra. Sahayl gasped softly into his mouth, still surprised by all Isra did – had done – when only yesterday he was certain the man would hate him forever. “Isra…”
“Good morning,” Isra murmured against his mouth, then shoved gently so that Sahayl was on his back, Isra leaning over him. “Sleep well?”
“Very,” Sahayl said, sinking a hand into Isra’s dark hair, holding him close to steal more of the kisses that had followed him into his dreams. “I think perhaps I still am.”
Isra stilled at his words, pulling back to stare pensively at him.
“Did I say something wrong?” Sahayl asked, hands sliding away to fall on the bed as uncertainty overtook him.
“No,” Isra said, but he levered himself away, sliding out of bed. “Come, we should bathe. I’m certain you’re supposed to be somewhere shortly.”
Sahayl nodded and followed, good mood vanished. Perhaps he wasn’t sleeping, but he had definitely been dreaming, to think that things between he and Isra had changed that much. In the bathing chamber, he scrubbed and rinsed quickly, leaving the frowning Isra in peace, and slid into the steaming bath with a whisper-soft sigh. He heard Isra slide into the water nearby, but still jumped when fingers tangled in his curls, tugging gently. “Wherever did you get hair such as this?” Isra asked, voice still too somber but full of curiosity. “It’s nearly as odd as mine.”
“It’s always run in my mother’s family,” Sahayl said with a shrug. “My father said more than once there must be heathen blood somewhere far back in her line.” He struggled not to linger too long on those old, unhappy arguments between his gentle mother and brutal father. “My mother said it existed solely to be aggravating.” He smiled briefly. “Her hair fell to her waist; it took her hours to comb out all the knots and tangles. She used to speak endlessly of cutting it off, but my father forbade it.”
Isra moved closer, just barely touching as he continued to run his fingers through Sahayl’s hair. “Poor woman. If I had hair like this, I’d shave it all off. Though it would be a pity if you did such a thing.”
“I have considered it more than once,” Sahayl replied. “My former wife said she would do much worse if I dared to do so.”
“I see,” Isra said with a laugh, and leaned up, body pressing against Sahayl’s, warm and slick from the water, smelling of soap, and dragged him close for a kiss.
Sahayl kissed him back, relief and happiness pouring through him. “I thought I’d somehow ruined everything.”
“No,” Isra said slowly, shaking his head. “It is only that you reminded me of things I must think about.” He moved away and climbed from the bath. “I wonder if we have time for breakfast.”
Sahayl watched him go, shaking his head. He wondered how Isra kept up with his own ever changing moods. Levering himself out of the bath, he slipped into one of the thin linen robes hung on hooks along one wall, then strode back to his room.
He stopped short to see two people at his table.
“Good morning,” Shihab said cheerfully. “I thought we could all have breakfast together, since we were unable to drink last night.”
Bahadur pointed to Shihab. “He made me.”
Sahayl chuckled. “Good morning, Shihab. Bahadur.”
“Have fun last night, after we left?” Shihab asked, his grin shameless.
Feeling his cheeks heat, Sahayl turned away from the two men to find his clothes, ignoring Shihab’s teasing laughter. “What transpired with the assassin?” he asked.
“Changing the subject,” Shihab said in a loud whisper to Bahadur, then yelped when the larger man smacked his backside. Making a face, he began pouring tea into four cups and relented. “We left him with the prison guards, tried to get more out of him without success, then left a report for my father and found a bed of our own.” He grinned and started to say something more, but it turned into another yelp as Bahadur pinched him. He glared. “Stop making me behave.”
Bahadur snorted and sipped his tea.
“I might have known you’d be here,” Isra said as he entered Sahayl’s room. He took a seat at the table directly across from Shihab. “If I here one single word from you that I don’t like, you will be wearing this tea.” He lifted his cup and sipped the tea in question, then reached out and snagged a small bit of fruit and pastry from one of the trays.
Sahayl, dressed now in dark blue, sat down beside Isra. Silence fell as all four began to eat, interrupted only occasionally by a comment on the food or tea, taunts flying between Isra and Shihab. Sahayl exchanged amused glances with Bahadur, and caught himself admiring him, startling himself – but it would be stupid to deny that Bahadur was handsome, so serious, the calligraphy eye-catching, beautiful but not delicate, and everything was enhanced when Bahadur smiled.
Shihab licked honey from his fingers as he finally finished eating. “The ceremony accepting you into the royal family is set for this evening, to be followed by a full banquet. If you think we’ve been drinking a lot so far…”
“I doubt I will survive,” Sahayl said with a laugh. “Are you certain I should be made a Prince, when I am so easily done in by simple wine?”
“There is nothing simple about wine,” Isra said with a sniff.
Shihab snickered. “If Isra can manage to make himself an expert, you’ll be fine, Ghost Sheik. Rather, Highness.”
“Highness,” Sahayl said with a sigh. “I still don’t believe people will be speaking to me when they say that.” He spread his hands toward Bahadur and Shihab. “You should call me Sahayl, please.”
“As you wish, Highness,” Shihab said with a wink, dodging away before Bahadur could pinch him again. “So what shall we do until the ceremony? Want to sneak off to the city? The bazaar should be at its peak this time of day, the crowds are fabulous.”
“If you like being crushed to death,” Isra replied with a snort. “We’re not going into the city. We’ve a journey home to prepare for, a ceremony to prepare for, an assassin to interrogate and we must expect other attempts to be made on Sahayl’s life.”
Sahayl set his cup down suddenly, and looked across the table at Bahadur. “I never thanked you properly for saving my life, Bahadur. I owe you a great debt.”
“There is no debt, Ghost Sheik. Prince.” Bahadur shook his head. “Sahayl.”
Sahayl nodded, and said nothing more, but silently vowed to find a place for Bahadur upon their return to the Desert. Jackal really was a Tribe of fools, to so poorly treat a man as strong and honorable as Bahadur.
He brought his straying thoughts back around “I guess we had best see to this assassin, though I wonder if he will break.”
“I can always do to his arms what I did to his legs,” Isra said.
“Or destroy his hands,” Bahadur said with a grunt. “See how much money he makes killing men in their bedchambers then.”
Shihab rolled his eyes. “I knew these two would get along once they began speaking to one another. As for me, I think we should just let him rot. Shah’s men know better the questions to ask, and in a few hours you will be Prince. While they can still gain by killing you after the ceremony, they stand to lose more if they are caught. Killing a visiting savage is quite different from killing the King’s brother.”
“Brother,” Sahayl said, shaking his head, bemused. “I came here for help, not to become a Prince.”
Shihab snickered. “Shah does this sort of thing to people all the time.”
“Makes them princes?” Sahayl asked.
“Confounds them,” Shihab answered with a grin. “Why do you think his council is always so mad at him? From the men in his harem to the way he treats his wife as en equal to having a savage for an advisor – and now one for a brother – on top of all sorts of other things, it’s little wonder, I guess, why so many people are mad at him”
“I hadn’t realized your father’s presence was a problem.”
Shihab shrugged. “They don’t like anyone not wholly and unquestionably of Tavamara being that close to the throne. With good reason, but my father is as Tavamaran as I am.” He grimaced. “It had actually started to smooth out when my mother entered the picture. I’m afraid some of them never forgave my father for that.”
“I’ve been curious about your upbringing, I admit,” Sahayl said. “You’re clearly Eastern, but Western looking. Saa, the contrast can be quite strange.”
“It can certainly be frustrating,” Shihab said. He smiled, but there was little of his usual levity in it. “My mother ran away from home not long after she had me. Her husband had died in a fall from his horse. She had no family of her own and her husband’s family was…not the kindest. The marriage was an arranged one – she was wealthy, they had a good name for a woman who was essentially an orphan. When her husband died, his family tried to take the child away, raise it their way, force her out of the picture. My mother, to say the least, was not pleased. She hopped onto the first ship she could and wound up here.” His smile softened as he continued, fondness replacing the unhappiness. “She met my father in the market, when he helped her with a merchant who tried to accuse her of stealing. They met again several days later, again by chance, and after that my father kept seeking her out. Things almost didn’t work out, because my mother was afraid her already having a child would displease my father…”
Shihab’s grin turned into the familiar mischievous one they all knew so well. “But he followed her home one night and discovered her secret, then demanded she marry him. A few days later they were married, with the King’s blessing, and Ikram adopted me. I was maybe two then.”
“I still say it sounds like one of those stories the women were forever buying at the book stalls,” Isra said as he finished. “Honestly, it’s no wonder you’re impossible to live with.”
Sahayl looked at Shihab thoughtfully. “It must have been hard for your mother, to have not only have to start a new life in a whole new country, but to do while taking care of a child. I can see where you come by your strength, shadowfire.”
The smile Shihab gave Sahayl was sweet, and he leaned over the table to press a brief, soft kiss to Sahayl’s lips. “Thank you, my Prince.”
“You’re welcome,” Sahayl said, staring in surprise a moment.
Isra rolled his eyes. “Any excuse will do for you, won’t it, Shihab?”
“When have I never needed an excuse?” Shihab asked, grin turning shameless. “Do you feel left out, Isra? Would you like a kiss too?” He snickered. “Didn’t get enough last night?”
“That’s it,” Isra said, standing up and launching himself across the table, landing hard on Shihab, barely noticing as he knocked the table hard enough to knock over all the dishes, oblivious to the way Sahayl and Bahadur scrambled out of the way.
Sahayl shared a look with Bahadur, and they laughed even as they went to go tear the two wrestling men apart.
Sahayl felt very much like panicking.
Give him a fight to the death beneath the blazing heat of the Lady’s sun any day.
He held out his right hand when an attendant handed him a heavy gold ring set with the royal crest. He slid it onto the third finger of his right hand, where he used to wear the ruby ring marking him as the Ghost Sheik. When he finished, Shah took his hand in his own and lifted them into the air. “Welcome my new brother,” he shouted to the gathered crowd, and Sahayl barely managed to keep from recoiling from the cheers and cries.
He heard Shah chuckle faintly and fought not to roll his eyes. “Saa, I think perhaps having a brother will be interesting,” he said, words audible only to Shah.
“I never had any siblings,” Shah mused aloud. “This will, indeed, be interesting. I suppose it’s just as well I am past the age where older brothers torment their younger.”
“Are you past that age?” Sahayl asked.
Shah chuckled but otherwise made no reply as his wife stepped forward.
The Queen of Tavamara was renowned for her beauty, the daughter of a prosperous lord who hailed from the foothills of the Great Mountains. Dressed in pale lavender and silver, her hair sparkling with jewels, more at her throat and wrists, with a harem of equally beautiful women nearby, she was easily the equal of her husband. She reached up and kissed Sahayl’s cheek, laughing softly as she pulled away and turned to her husband, amber eyes sparkling. “I think I married the wrong brother, husband,” she said loudly. “Why was this one kept secret from me?”
Shah laughed. “I was hoping to save him, wife. It is a King’s duty to sacrifice himself for his country after all.”
Queen Fahima laughed, the sound rippling out across the crowded room. “I suppose worse sacrifices have been endured by the noble Queens who have come before me.”
Throughout the court room the assembled laughed at the familiar antics of their King and Queen, and gradually the room began to empty, as the nobility presented themselves to offer formal congratulations and then moved on to the banquet hall.
How he was expected to remember all their names and titles, Sahayl didn’t know. Thank the Lady he would be returning to a world that made sense tomorrow.
Three hours felt much more like ten when everything at last came to an end and the royal family and their attendees made their own way to the banquet hall. “I think I preferred being a Sheik. How do you do this every day?”
“It’s not always this bad,” Shah said. “Many of them were faces I have not seen in some time.” He waved his hand at the closed doors and the nobles beyond them. “No doubt they were hoping to curry favor with my brother, as they failed to do so with me. Others were merely curious to see my ‘savage’ sibling.” He smiled. “The banquet will be more relaxing.”
Sahayl laughed. “If I fall asleep in my wine, brother, it will be your fault entirely.”
Fahima snickered. “Remind me, brother in law, and when Shah is not paying attention I shall tell you the stories I know of when he was quite young and still learning how to drink wine. There is one particularly amusing anecdote his nurse told me involving a well…”
“This is what comes from not being strict with one’s wife,” Shah said, but he lifted Fahima’s hand as he spoke and kissed the back of it, gently escorting her to her seat as they reached their table at the far end of the banquet hall, raised up on a dais so that the royal table was higher than all the others.
Sahayl smiled and took his place, then looked warily between Isra and Nanda, who sat on his left and right as they had his first meal in the palace. “So will this be another lesson in wines?”
“Of course,” Nanda said, the faintest of smiles curving his lips. “For our new Prince, only the finest wines will do. Summer Sun, Midnight Tryst, Dark Moonlight, Advent of Spring…” He smirked as he reached for a carafe filled with a wine that seemed at moments to be red, then purple, then blue. “This one no doubt is too bitter for the desert rose…” Nanda ignored Isra’s snarl. “It’s called Twilight, and you’ll find it an excellent start, Highness, to a meal as lavish as this.”
Isra sighed and reached for a carafe of dark green wine. “Nonsense. Mountain Forest is much more suited to rich food.” He held a dish up for Sahayl to taste once Nanda had finished serving him the Twilight.
Sahayl’s gaze slid to Shah. “You did this to me on purpose.”
Shah smirked. “What are younger brothers for if not to torment?”
The table erupted in laughter and the meal continued, conversation a mix of taunts, jests, amusing stories, and the ongoing feud between Nanda and Isra. What seemed like hundreds of dishes were brought out as the meal progressed, wines refilled or exchanged as rapidly as the carafe’s could be emptied, always something to match each dish and course, some to be sipped at, others to be drunk quickly, some for food, others to enjoy slowly once the performances began.
“I think I am being spoiled by my time here,” Sahayl said as the latest performance, a dance by two women of the Queen’s harem, drew to an end. “I miss my home, but my visit here was not what I expected it to be and I will miss it as well.”
“We are glad, brother, that we did not send the savages running off in disgust at our lazy, civilized ways.” Shah winked and accepted the wine Witcher held to his lips. “You are still planning to leave tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Sahayl replied, “though I fear I will be leaving with quite the headache.” Chuckles rippled around the table. “So what is next?” he asked as the servants took away empty trays and replaced with piles of sweets and fruit, replacing the wines with a brand new spectrum. He smile ruefully as yet more wine was poured, careful not to move too much as his head spun, but obediently drank the wine Isra held to his lips, something a pale, pale blue in color. “You really are fond of Morning Mist aren’t you?”
“Yes, it’s—“ Glass and food flew as Isra knocked into the table shoving Sahayl down, snarling in pain as he rose up. His blue eyes blazed as he sought and found Shihab, motioning toward the far end of the hall, and the windows lining the alcove high above. “Go,” he snapped, not bothering to pay attention to anything else going on around him. Ripping an arrow from his arm, he followed after Shihab, all but knocking people aside as he ran, both of them scaling the wall rapidly, vanishing through the open windows.
“Beynum, get my wife out of here,” Shah’s voice rang out, cutting through the chaos scattered across the rest of the room. “Aik, go see to my children. Ikram, see to the guards. Make sure everyone goes to their rooms and does not leave them. Bahadur, go with Sahayl to his room and guard him.” He shook his head as a momentary lull fell while his orders were carried out. “I’ve never seen men move that fast, not even Witcher.” He stroked Witcher’s cheek briefly.
Sahayl looked at the arrow Isra had pulled from his own arm, the blood stained tip, the plain shaft and fletching. He smiled ever so faintly, a trace of sadness in it. “You have never seen the sons of the Lady of the Sands, brother. Here, speed is an asset. In the Desert, it is a necessity.” He looked at Bahadur. “Come, the longer I stay here the more I risk those around me. Saa, perhaps we can draw them all out and have an end to this.”
“You’d think they’d learn, after what we did with the first one.”
“If a lesson does not take the first time, find a different way to apply it,” Sahayl said. He set down the arrow and stood, striding from the banquet hall, Bahadur at his side. They moved silently, boots making no sound on the tiled floor, Bahadur speaking to him with motions, light touches to his arm and back. He seemed to radiate heat; it was like standing too close to a campfire. “I am sorry you have gotten tangled up in all this,” Sahayl said as they finally reached his room. “I do not think this is what you intended when you left Jackal.”
Bahadur stared at him a moment, then smiled faintly, amused, and shrugged his massive shoulders. “I expected to be hunted down and killed when I left Jackal. Shihab and I had much hard traveling to do before we believed ourselves well enough away to be safe. Though I would prefer the assassins cease altogether, I can think of much worse fates than assuming the role of your protector.” Bahadur prowled the room, pausing only to make a sound very much like a growl when Sahayl tried to do the same, motioning for him to stay where he was. Several minutes later he finally ceased, pronouncing the room safe. “Life will be easier when we return to the Desert. These idiot assassins will not follow us that far, and I can handle any Tribe.” He returned to Sahayl’s side. “I hope your true protector is up to the new threats he will be facing.”
“Wafai can handle anything,” Sahayl said, but his stomach tightened at the thought of Wafai having to do more than fight beside him and keep him company. Wafai was his oldest and dearest friend, the one person who had always stood by him, even when his father was at his worst – and who would have taken the beatings had Sahayl ever permitted such a thing.
But now Wafai was married, and would eventually be a father. Perhaps it was time to consider releasing his friend from his protector duties. Well, it was a matter he could not resolve now. “I hope the other two aren’t causing trouble.”
Bahadur snorted and drew Sahayl to the low table near the bed. “That, I feel, is too much to hope for. Let us merely hope they’re not causing too much trouble.”
Fourteen
“I do not trust that smile, little shadowfire.”
Shihab’s grin widened. “Now why would you say that? And I’m not little.”
Bahadur grasped his chin and gently tugged him closer, kissing him briefly, nipping at Shihab’s bottom lip. “What are you plotting, little shadowfire?”
“I’m going to go break the news of what Shah’s doing to Isra. He’s not going to like it…at first. I’ll talk or beat sense into him.” He licked Bahadur’s lips before sitting back and picking up his tea. His expression turned thoughtful as he sipped it, fingers going automatically to the plate of food, selecting a pastry dusted with finely ground sugar.
“What is his Majesty planning? How do you know? Eavesdropping on your father’s conversations?”
Shihab snorted. “Don’t be insulting, Bahadur.” He winked. “I have ways of making you suffer.”
Bahadur smirked. “That goes both ways, little shadowfire.”
“I’m not little,” Shihab muttered, licking sugar from his fingers. “Nor do I eavesdrop. I figured it out on my own. Winning any game means understanding the rules and the playing pieces. In this case, the game is save Tavamara and the Desert. Cooperating is a good strategy…” Shihab smirked, “but uniting the two is a better strategy. Naturally the best way to do that would be to marry the Ghost Sheik off to Shah’s daughter – but she’s only a babe. The other option is something that’s only been done twice before in the history of Shah’s family – adoption.”
“Adoption,” Bahadur repeated. “His Majesty is going to adopt the Ghost Sheik?”
“That would be my guess. Probably as a brother? It would certainly explain why my father has been looking as though he would like nothing more than to resume his savage ways and deal with the counsel accordingly. They probably are taken it with even less grace than they did the men Shah chose for his harem.”
Bahadur laughed. “I see. The Ghost Sheik will not like that.”
Shihab laughed. “Isra will like it even less,” He finished his tea and stood up, “which is why I’m going to go persuade him to be reasonable. Want to come watch the show?”
“It is my impression that that the Falcon and reason are not bedmates.”
“Isra and reason tend to play rough, that’s for certain. Eventually they cuddle up together, though.” Shihab laughed and held out a hand. “Coming?”
Bahadur shook his head. “I do not think my presence will help anything. I’m almost as much an enemy as the Ghost Sheik. Do not aggravate him too much, little shadowfire.”
“The only way to get Isra to see reason is to aggravate him beyond all reason. I’m not quite certain why that works, or how, but it does.” Shihab shook his head, red hair spilling over his shoulders. He winked. “I’ll be back later, probably with a few new bruises.”
Chuckling, Bahadur reached out to wrap one large arm around Shihab’s slender waist, pulling him closer, tilting his head up to meet Shihab’s kiss, not breaking it until they were both breathless.
Shihab laughed as he pulled away. “Are you going to the training yards? I’ll come and show you my battle scars later.”
“Yes. I fear this soft palace life will take away my edge.”
“I’ll keep you sharp.” Stealing a last kiss, Shihab slipped away, humming softly. He murmured polite greetings to the few people he passed in the hallway, nodding to several of the guards, and at last reached the room that had been given to Isra – rooms that connected to Sahayl’s by way of the bathing chamber. Bahadur’s were nearby. He didn’t bother to knock, merely pushed the door open and strolled into the large chamber.
Unlike western-style rooms, which had always been aggravating to him – and Isra – most chambers in Tavamara were like this. It was one large open room, generally with either large windows or open doorways leading to a garden or courtyard – or, in this case, a balcony. Part of the room was given over to a set of tables – one for eating, one for working, along with mats and pillows, smaller tables to accommodate wine and food trays when one wanted to recline rather than sit at the tables. Blankets were folded neatly and tucked neatly away, and all of it was spread out large, colorful, rugs that had taken years to make.
On the other end of the room was a set of chests and cabinets meant for clothes and other such things, as well as another low table, currently set with a breakfast that had yet to be touched. Colorful pillows surrounded it, scattered across a rug as elaborate as the others.
The bed was set back from the rest, low and boasting its own share of pillows and blankets heavy enough to keep out the chill that fell at night but not so heavy they made the bed sweltering otherwise. This room was done in shades of brown and deep gold, interspersed with splashes of deep wine red and dark blue.
Movement stirred some of the pillows. Shihab shook his head. “Are you still asleep?”
“Why should I move?” Isra asked, turning and shifting, settling back into the bed. “I have nowhere to be. Soon we’ll be going back to the Desert. Until then, I fully intend to enjoy every last luxury available to me – including sleeping all morning.”
Shihab chuckled and moved closer, pulling aside the sheer curtain that surrounded the bed, lending a degree of privacy and keeping out the light and any insects. He slid into the bed and tossed aside pillows until he found Isra. “Lazy, lazy.”
“Go away,” Isra snapped, tugging a blanket up over his head.
Shihab yanked the blanket away with a laugh. “I would have thought you’d find something more fun to do than sleep, given your proximity to a certain Sheik.”
Isra glared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do,” Shihab said, reaching out and pinching him, catching the hand that came flying toward his head, dragging his nails across Isra’s flat stomach before his own wrist was captured by Isra’s free hand. He snickered and relaxed his grip, pulling away and Isra snarled and sat up. “Honestly, Isra, you’re not usually one to deny what you want.”
“Why are you here?” Isra snapped, turning away to lean out of bed and pick his pants up from where he’d left they lying on the floor. Shihab snickered softly and reached out to pinch Isra’s ass, then turned and threw himself from the bed as Isra roared in outrage and lunged for him. They tangled in the curtain, nearly pulling it down before they managed to tumble free, and Shihab struggled to breath around his laughter. “Good morning, Isra.”
Isra smacked Shihab’s stomach hard with the flat of his hand before rolling away and going to retrieve his pants. “You’re in a good mood this morning. I guess Bahadur is taking care of you.”
Shihab grinned but said nothing.
“What do you want?” Isra asked, sitting down and beginning to pick at the breakfast that had been set out for him, sipping at the cool juice.
“I came to speak with you about Sahayl.”
Isra lifted a brow. “What about him?”
Shihab sat down across from him, snagging a piece of fruit, green eyes dark as he thought. “Do you know what Shah is planning to do?”
“Of course I don’t. Obviously you do.” Isra set his glass down. “I suspect you think I won’t like it. Shall I save us the trouble of a long, drawn out argument and tell you to get out now?”
“He’s going to adopt him.”
Isra stared. “…what?”
“He’s going to make the Ghost Sheik his brother.” Slowly Shihab set about explaining all that he had gleaned – on his own, despite what anyone said. He was Ikram’s son in every way that mattered – had worked hard all his life to be as clever and smart and competent as the man who had been advisor to the late King and Shah.
Isra, true to form, did not look pleased as Shihab finished. “A Prince,” he said flatly, carefully shoving his breakfast away. “The Ghost Sheik is going to become a Prince. Of the Desert. Stupidity.” He slammed a fist down on the table, jarring the dishes. “Arrogance! What makes anyone think a Ghost is fit for something that hasn’t been done for longer than anyone can remember. The son of the Crusher? The Sandstorm. A Prince. We came here for help, not to hand over the authority to control all the Tribes to a Ghost!” Snarling in rage, Isra snatched up his empty glass and hurled it against a wall.
“You’re taking this well,” Shihab said calmly.
“Shut up. If I’d known he was going to do something so-so—“
“Sensible?”
“Traitorous,” Isra snarled, jerking to his feet, glaring at the man across from him. “A temporary alliance is one thing – but this is worse. The Desert belongs to no one.”
Shihab shrugged. “Technically it belongs to Tavamara.”
Isra glared, hands clenched into fists at his side. “And now, according to what you say, it’s going to belong to a greedy Ghost!”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Shihab said, slowly standing up and moving to stand in front of Isra. “When has Sahayl ever struck you as greedy.”
“Obviously he’s more adept a liar than even I could imagine,” Isra said. “No one will let him have the Desert. It doesn’t belong to him.”
“The Ghost Sheik isn’t like that,” Shihab said quietly.
“Because you know him so well.”
“And you do?”
“Apparently not.”
Shihab reached up and flicked him gently on the nose. “Why so angry, brother of my soul?”
Isra bit back a curse and jerked away. “Because the Desert is going to be stolen by a scheming, greedy, traitorous—“
“Oh, be quiet,” Shihab said, shoving Isra back, down into a pile of pillows. “You’re such a baby.”
Shouting in outrage, Isra lunged up toward him – Shihab caught him by the arms, kicked his legs out, sending them both crashing to the ground. “Brat,” he said. “When has the Ghost Sheik ever been any of those things?”
“Clearly he’s been lying—“
Shihab leaned down and kissed him hard, jerking back when Isra bit down hard on his lip. “We are in a rough mood,” he said, licking his sore lip. “What’s really bothering you?”
“That arrogant—“
Shihab rolled his eyes, holding tighter to Isra’s wrists as he began to struggle in earnest. “I wish Bahadur had come,” he said with a grunt. “He’d pin you down without breaking a sweat.”
“And I’d kill him exactly as I’m going to kill you!" Isra snapped, but gave up struggling.
“What’s really upsetting you?” Shihab asked calmly. “This is hardly the Ghost Sheik’s fault. I doubt he had any intention of being made a Prince. Why would such a thing occur to a son of the Desert? It certainly didn’t occur to you. Look at how you reacted. Think of the Ghost Sheik’s. Do you honestly think he saw this coming?”
Isra frowned. “The Desert isn’t meant to be ruled by one.”
“It used to be, why can’t it be again?’
“By a Ghost?” Isra asked contemptuously.
“You’d be a lot less tense if you’d just bed that Ghost you keep trying to hate,” Shihab said with a smirk.
Isra went still, eyes narrowing. “I do not want to bed Sahayl. It seems to me you’re far more interested in it than I am.”
Shihab grinned. “I’m not one to turn down a fun time, it’s true, but I’m not the point here.”
“I am?” Isra asked. “Let me up.”
“Only if you don’t kill me.”
“Oh, I’m going to kill you…but I’ll wait a few minutes.”
“Good enough,” Shihab said, and leaned down to steal a quick, hard kiss before pulling away, freeing Isra’s arms as he sat up and slid off his lap.
Isra sat up. “Why am I the point?”
“Because I’d say it’s obvious to everyone but you how…” Shihab smirked, “highly the Ghost Sheik regards you.”
“Regards,” Isra repeated.
“Or did you miss the part where you’re allowed to call him Sahayl? The part where he took you with him instead of one of his own men. The way he can’t keep his eyes off you when he thinks no one else is looking.”
Isra was silent.
“You want him just as much. I don’t see why you’re making such a fuss about it.”
Isra snatched up a piece off fruit from the breakfast try and threw it at him. “Even if I did want him, I don’t see what that has to do with the fact that anyone is stupid enough to think the Tribes can be brought to heel under one leader – or that the King seems to think that leader should be a Ghost.”
“Falcon hates Ghost more than anyone. A Ghost is about to stake a claim on the entirety of the Desert and every Tribe in it. He’ll be lucky if they don’t try to kill him.” Sahayl would be very lucky. Uniting the Tribes and bringing them under the rule of Tavamara was the best solution for the Desert, in the short and long term. It would solve problems that had been too long neglected. It wouldn’t be easy. Nothing even remotely close to easy. It would require a great deal more than a ring and a piece of paper pronouncing him Prince of the Desert. “If he had your support – full, unconditional, unwavering support – he would gain the support of Falcon and all of its allies. That would go a long way toward causing a few other Tribes to hesitate.”
“My support,” Isra repeated slowly. “You want me to just ignore the fact that we’ve been enemies for years – decades, and declare that I give a confounded Ghost my support. To be Prince. To rule the Desert.”
Shihab nodded.
“You’re insane.”
“They say the same thing about my father.”
Isra rolled his eyes. He stood up and stripped out of his pants, rifling through a chest for clothes, sliding into them as he continued to ignore Shihab. “You can’t possibly have thought I’d agree to this.”
“Why not? Of the three of us, your support is the most important. No one cares about me, and they’ll have a hard time trusting Bahadur at first, especially if Jackal is still attacking Tribes. If Sahayl has your support, his chances are that much better. Several weeks ago you attended a meeting to achieve peace.”
“And it failed because Ghost decided they preferred our blood.”
“Not all of Ghost. Not the Ghost Sheik.”
Isra said nothing, merely shot him another glare before stalking from the room.
Shihab smirked.
All things considered, that had gone rather well. He’d given Isra plenty to stew about. By the end of the day he’d agree or at least willing to go along with it – and then he’d get so caught up in it he’d forget he ever protested. Once Isra finally decided to do something, he did it.
Of course if he’d finally decide Sahayl was that something to do, life would be easier for all of them. Chuckling softly, Shihab brushed bits of food from his arms and left the room, strolling through the palace halls in search of the training yards and Bahadur.
Fifteen
“So how does it feel to be a Prince, your Highness?” Shihab asked, words slightly slurred. He clung tightly to Bahadur’s arm as the four of them walked down the hallways, the sounds of the rest of the diners distant and faded. He ignored Isra’s quelling glance.
Sahayl shook his head “Saa, like I am being mistaken for someone else. But I am not a Prince quite yet.”
“You might as well be,” Shihab replied. “By tomorrow the papers and everything else the council is doing to stall will finally be complete. By week’s end we’ll be returning to the Desert.”
“We?” Isra said from Sahayl’s right side. “Are you coming with us then, Shihab? Will your parents permit it?”
Shihab shrugged. “They don’t like it, of course, but it is my decision. I feel at home in the Desert, so unless my Prince objects,” he gave a drunken half bow to Sahayl, Bahadur barely catching him around the waist in time to prevent his falling, “I am returning with you to the Desert.”
“You are most welcome, shadowfire.”
Isra rolled his eyes at the nickname but said nothing more.
Sahayl looked at him cautiously. “You have not said much since the announcement, des—Isra.”
“Desert rose suits him more,” Shihab said, catching Sahayl’s slip. The rest of his words were muffled by Bahadur’s hand.
Isra glared at his friend, then turned away and shrugged at Sahayl’s question. “It little matters what I think.”
“It matters to me,” Sahayl said, dark eyes intent. “I know you will never call me friend, son of Falcon, but I would not have you hating me more than I can possibly prevent.”
Shihab once more tried to speak, and again his words were cut off Bahadur, who this time offered a gentle reprimand, smiling as Shihab pouted.
Isra hesitated, then shrugged. “It will be interesting to see if the King’s plan works.”
“I see,” Sahayl said, and did not press further.
Irritably Isra squashed a niggling sense of guilt. Why should he feel guilty? Sahayl was only gauging his chances of having Falcon’s support when he announced to the Tribes that he was now a Prince of Tavamara, and being so gave him the right to control them. Ridiculous. It would never work. If Sahayl was foolish enough to go along with the ridiculous scheme, he could do it alone.
But even to himself, his protests weren’t convincing. If they wanted to save the Desert from the west, then having the full weight of Tavamara behind them was the best possible way to do it. An agreement would have sufficed, but for the west to invade territory that belonged to Tavamara was something else entirely. Isra glared at the floor and wondered when he’d started to side with a man whom only days ago he’d wanted to kill. Whom he definitely did not want to kill now, no matter how hard he struggled to cling to his rage. It simply could not stand up against Sahayl’s determination to make them something other than enemies, though he wasn’t entirely certain what the man wanted from him.
At times he wasn’t sure Sahayl knew what he wanted.
Though Shihab, of late, had not lacked for opinions of his own to voice. He glowered at the thought of their conversation earlier that morning, then turned to glare at Shihab for good measure.
“You’re still mad about this morning, aren’t you?” Shihab asked, his drunkenness not impairing his ability to read Isra’s moods. “Just say ‘you were right, Shihab,’ and you’ll feel much better.”
Isra’s glare was enough to unsettle Bahadur and Sahayl, but Shihab merely grinned. “Smashing your face in will also make me feel much better.”
“Also?” Shihab asked smugly.
“Shut up,” Isra snapped, heartily grateful when they reached their rooms – except Shihab, who had rooms elsewhere. “Why are you here?”
“See why you shouldn’t worry, Ghost Sheik?” Shihab said, letting go of Bahadur to cling to Isra. “He loves me and yet he yells at me more than anyone else.” He reached up to kiss Isra’s cheek.
Isra tried to peel Shihab off him. “That is because you are in serious need of a sound beating.”
“In need of something,” Shihab said softly in his ear, suddenly not sounding quite as drunk. “So are you, but not from me I think.”
“I will kill you,” Isra said, finally shoving his friend away. “Go to your room.”
Shihab laughed and threw out an arm, landing on Sahayl’s, using the amused Sheik to steady him. “You sound an awful lot like your dear uncle when he tells you to go to your tent. And remember, we shared a tent.”
“Well we don’t share rooms!” Isra snapped, hands clenching in warning. “Nor is my honored uncle here to keep me from beating you senseless.”
“What say we play a few games?” Shihab said, completely ignoring Isra in favor of addressing Sahayl. “You’ve never had the pleasure of playing Tavamara drinking games; it would be a pity not to play them while you have the chance – since once we’re back in the Desert I doubt you’ll be able to very often. Your Highness.” He winked.
“Saa, but it looks as though you’ve drunk quite enough, shadowfire.”
“I’ve not yet begun,” Shihab said. “You’ve seen how much wine we drink in one sitting. I should have stayed away from the Evening Prayer, perhaps, but I can go for a while yet. Isra would tell you so, if he was interested in doing anything but taking my head off.”
Sahayl chuckled. “So where are we to play these games of yours, mischievous one?”
“Your room,” Shihab replied instantly. “I had the servants arrange it all while we were at the banquet.”
Isra muttered something underneath his breath. “I am going to change,” he said, yanking irritably at the long sleeves and folds of his formal robe.
“Good idea,” Shihab said. “I’ll borrow something from you, hmm? I’m sure they’ve provided you with plenty of clothes by now.”
Sighing in resignation, Isra vanished into his room, followed by Shihab, and began stripping off his clothes, tossing them on an chair before grabbing loose white pants and a matching long-sleeved shirt – for the night was quite cool – but decided against slippers. If they were going to drink, it would be far easier to stumble to his bed later – which he would do alone – in bare feet. “What are you about, Shihab? I know there’s more to this than a simple desire to get yourself completely drunk.”
“That’s certainly reason enough,” Shihab said, stripping out of his own formal clothes and picking through Isra’s slim choices, finally settling on a pair of pants that matched Isra’s. “But it seems to me you all need to relax – and be more comfortable with each other.”
Isra rolled his eyes. “I am Falcon. He is Ghost. I doubt Jackal will ever be a friend to either. We cannot simply forget all that and pretend we’re friends. You know better than that, Shihab.”
“Do I?” Shihab asked, drawing close, green eyes blazing. “I know you and Bahadur would probably be great friends if you’d bother to get to know each other. I know that every time Sahayl looks at you he looks sad and wistful. I know you try your hardest not to look at him. I know when we go back to that Desert, we are likely the only three supporters he will have. It seems to me, Isra, you are the only one who thinks it impossible to ‘simply forget’ all that has come before.” Shihab turned away to pick over the shirts, but with a shrug remained bare-chested. “Oh, come now, are you going to spend the entire night mad at me, desert rose?”
Isra groaned. “Lady grant me mercy, I hate that confounded name.”
“Indeed,” Shihab said.
Isra glared at him. “I notice you’re not acting very drunk anymore.”
Shihab grinned. “Yes, thanks for not spoiling that for me, though I half-expected you to do so. I guess that means you can’t be too terribly mad at me.”
Shrugging, Isra turned toward the bathing room that connected his room to Sahayl and Bahadur’s. “I wasn’t sure what you were really up to.” He fought a smile. “And the idea of you drunk on only half a bottle of Evening Prayer is amusing.”
“Quite,” Shihab said, laughing as he came up beside Isra and wrapped arms around his waist, nibbling playfully at the base of Isra’s neck.
“So what are we drinking tonight?” Isra asked, tilting his head forward to give Shihab better access.
Shihab’s answer was interrupted by the sound of a hoarse shout coming from Sahayl’s room. Neither hesitated, but immediately burst into a sprint, dashing around the large bath and into Sahayl’s room.
“Window!” Bahadur barked, even as he stood up, helping Sahayl, whom he’d obviously tackled to the floor.
Without pause, Isra raced to the window, catching sight of the man attempting to escape, following him up onto the roof. Lunging, he caught the man about the waist, sending them both crashing down on the hard, flat roof. The man, larger than he, twisted, moved, and steel flashed in the moonlight.
Isra dodged the swing, caught the man’s wrist and twisted hard, forcing him to drop it, then snatched it up and drove the blade deep into the man’s leg, yanking it out and wounding the other leg while the man screamed in pain. He rolled away, assured the assassin wasn’t going anywhere.
He spun around as he heard someone coming up behind him, then relaxed as he realized it was Bahadur. “Let’s get him inside,” he said.
Gasping in pain, the assassin did not struggle as Bahadur lifted him like he was little more than a sack of feathers. “Just kill me,” he hissed.
Isra laughed coldly and dropped back down to the balcony, being none too gentle as he and Bahadur worked to get the assassin down. “What would that accomplish?” he asked.
“Is that what they do in Tavamara?” Bahadur asked “Simply kill them?” He hauled the assassin to his feet and drug him inside before dropping him to the floor. “Dead men can not divulge secrets. In the Desert, we keep them alive until we have all we need.” Bahadur knelt to examine the man’s leg wounds, which were bleeding profusely. “A tidy job,” he murmured almost absently. “I guess we had best bind these, else you will not live long enough to be useful.”
The assassin said nothing, already pale with blood loss and pain.
Shihab dropped a bundle of supplies on the floor, then knelt beside Bahadur and with his assistance bandaged the wounds inflicted by Isra.
The assassin glared at Sahayl, who stood nearby watching the proceedings. “I was going to give you a merciful death,” he said contemptuously. “I’ve never been so cruel as to make my victims suffer. What sort of men would injure a man and then immediately bind his wounds?”
Sahayl shrugged. “Sons of the Desert. You should have made sure your strike was true, or that you were fleeter of foot. Bind his hands.”
Bahadur obeyed, using a length of bandage to bind the man’s wrists. He then picked up the assassin’s knife and pressed the tip to his throat. “Cooperate, assassin, and perhaps we’ll be lenient.”
“Who hired you?” Sahayl asked.
“Do as you like; I have no intention of telling you anything. I’m dead either way.”
Shrugging again, as if the matter did not concern him at all, Sahayl motioned to Bahadur and then addressed the assassin. “Saa, but do you want to die painlessly or in great agony?” He stood expressionless as Bahadur drew the knife slowly across the assassin’s throat, drawing a thin line of blood. “I do not prefer to be a savage, but there is more at stake than merely my life. Who hired you?” He flicked his fingers at Isra, who had replaced Shihab at the assassin’s side once the bandaging was done. Isra balled his hand into a fist and drove his knuckles into the bandaged wound, making the assassin scream in pain before he managed to choke it back.
“Savages!” the man swore.
“Yes,” Sahayl said, unmoved. “You should have known your enemy better.”
“Do what you like, savages,” the man repeated “I will tell you nothing.”
Sahayl dropped his arms and motioned. “Take him away, Bahadur. We’ll leave him to rot for the night. Those wounds plus a prison cell might change his mind.” He shrugged. “If not, then he is of no interest to me.”
“I’ll go with you,” Shihab said, and moved to help Bahadur. “Easier if I’m there to explain everything.”
The room fell silent as Bahadur and Shihab hauled the assassin away, leaving Isra and Sahayl alone.
“Both legs, Isra?” Sahayl asked.
Isra glared at the absent assassin. “He is lucky I did not have a chance to fetch my sword,” he said savagely. “I would have simply taken one off.”
“So angry,” Sahayl murmured, dropping his arms and wandering to his bed, and it finally struck Isra that the man was only half-dressed. “Are you that upset someone tried to kill me, desert rose?”
“I am tired of people interfering in the Desert,” Isra snapped, turning away, focusing on the room and not on the thoughts in his head. “What happened?”
“He was lying in wait, hiding behind the drapes,” Sahayl replied, motioning to the curtains that were bundled against the wall, meant to surround the low bed to keep out the night chill and the early morning sun. Sahayl moved to the bed and picked up a dark blue robe, slipping it on and belting it with a red silk cord. “Bahadur saw him and saved me. You two arrived just in time to catch him.” Sahayl smiled briefly. “I was impressed with how easily you followed him onto the roof.”
Isra shrugged. “Shihab and I were fond of sneaking around places we weren’t supposed to while in school.” He frowned at the low table across the room, set neatly with wine and drinking dishes, a few plates of simple treats. Crossing over in several quick strides, he dropped to his knees and began to examine the carafes of wine and food.
Shihab had chosen three wines for their games, and Isra carefully examined each one, though never tasting.
“You suspect poison?” Sahayl said, sitting down beside him, close enough Isra could feel his body heat.
He moved slightly away, glowering at the wine and food as he thought. “I’m not sure,” he said finally. “It would be like a cowardly assassin to use such a cheap trick, but if he employed poison why attempt to kill you directly?” He tapped his nails idly against a carafe filled with a pale blue wine. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. We simply don’t drink or eat.” He smiled briefly. “Shihab’s plans have been rather neatly foiled, so something good has come of the evening.”
“What were Shihab’s plans?” Sahayl asked.
Isra shrugged and stood up. “To get us drunk,” he said and began to walk away.
Sahayl snagged his wrist and yanked him back, and Isra swore as his lower back collided with the edge of the table, elbow knocking over the carafe of pale blue wine. He glared. “What?”
“My apologies,” Sahayl said. He hesitated a moment, then reached up and traced the scar cutting across Isra’s right cheek. “Why do you hate me?”
“Why don’t you hate me?” Isra snapped. “Ghost made it clear they want nothing but blood from Falcon, and you seemed plenty content to draw your sword against me.”
“You always drew first, desert rose,” Sahayl replied quietly. “I worked for months to arrange the meeting with Falcon. My father would not listen to me. I wish with all of me that we had called a truce that day.” His eyes dropped, and Isra was struck by how suddenly weary Sahayl looked. It reminded him of the day he’d encountered Sahayl in the oasis. There was nothing of the Sandstorm in this Sahayl, merely a man who looked far too old for his age. Then those gold eyes stared into his, as dark and rich as a fine wine but far more potent. “You have not left my thoughts since I encountered you, Isra. Why the Lady chose to torture me so, I don’t know. You’ve no reason to hate me, I swear it.” Sahayl watched him for a moment more, as if searching for something, then dropped his eyes and made to stand.
Isra swore he could feel something inside him breaking, crumbling into dust. He wondered if the inability to resist Sahayl was why all called him Sandstorm. Making a sound that was somewhere between a curse and a groan, he grabbed Sahayl’s shoulders and tugged him back down, letting his frustration guide him as he kissed Sahayl. He stopped after a moment, pulling back just enough to stare at him, blinking. “You act as though you’ve never been kissed.”
He stared more as Sahayl’s mouth twisted in a sad, somewhat bitter smile. “Who would kiss me? By the time I was old enough for such things, being that close to me was too dangerous a thing for me to permit.” Sahayl shrugged and pulled away, embarrassed and unhappy.
“Why dangerous?” Isra asked, standing slowly, watching the way Sahayl stiffened and did not turn around. “Not simply because you were Amir.” A statement, not a question.
Sahayl shook his head, but otherwise did not reply.
Isra glared at his back, hating the mystery. He should have kept his mouth shut and just continued with the kiss. Which hadn’t been all bad. Not at all. He couldn’t for the life of him understand why no Ghost had ever found his way into Sahayl’s tent. If he’d been Ghost, it would have taken a great threat indeed.
Which was a thought he didn’t dare linger too long over.
A great threat.
He recalled their one peaceful encounter. How brutally beaten Sahayl had been. He’d never really thought about it before. It hadn’t been an enemy, for Sahayl had said Isra was the only enemy to mark him. He would have been sure to taunt him if someone had landed blows Isra could not. Someone in Ghost, then. Who would dare to strike the then Amir so? Sheik Hashim would have never allowed—
Something twisted in Isra’s gut as realization dawned. Hashim. Had beaten his own son. Sickening. Isra had never particularly cared that he didn’t know his own parents. His honored uncle and aunt had always filled that role in his life. As often as he had probably deserved a beating, his uncle had never struck him. Always he’d just been confined to his tent. They faced violence aplenty every day in the Desert. Jabbar did not use more to discipline except under very particular circumstances.
To think the Crusher had used his infamous brutality against his own son. ‘By the time I was old enough’ Sahayl had said. Which meant the beatings had been going on since childhood.
Isra would be the first to say he had a temper. But lobbing books at Shihab’s head was a far cry from beating his son so brutally he feared letting anyone get too close. Isra wished suddenly, with such vehemence it took his breath away, that Hashim was still alive so he might kill the man himself.
He shoved the thought aside to ponder later, attention only for the Sheik – Prince – who had moved toward his bed and was clearly preparing to sleep.
Which was, in Isra’s opinion, the most boring thing one could possibly do with a bed. Stripping off his shirt and tossing it to the floor, Isra strode across the room and forced Sahayl to turn, plunging one hand into thick curls that were far softer than Isra thought they should be, dragging Sahayl close and kissing him hard, giving Sahayl no chance to protest or resist, softening only when hands landed hesitantly on his hips and Sahayl began carefully to kiss him back.
“Leave it to a Ghost,” Isra said eventually, “to neglect all the fun lessons.”
“Not by choice,” Sahayl said, fingers whispering softly across Isra’s back, as if he feared what would happen should he truly touch.
Isra chuckled low and lapped at Sahayl’s throat where his pulse beat, fingers going to the cord that held Sahayl’s robe closed. “Well you have a choice now.”
“What changed your mind?” Sahayl asked, dark gold eyes confused, searching Isra’s face for an explanation.
“I’m stubborn, not stupid,” Isra said, which was as close to the truth as he could manage. He stretched up to give Sahayl another kiss, preventing further questions. Sahayl’s skin was hot, his mouth surprisingly soft and warm, flavored with a lingering hint of wine – Morning Mist, Isra realized. His reactions were sweet, heady, and Isra was dumbfounded that not a single man or woman in Ghost had been willing to brave a beating or three to be with this man.
It rather frightened him that he thought he would.
Then he gave up thinking entirely, mind focused solely on showing Sahayl how he very much was not some stupid flower.
Sixteen
Something was strange. Sahayl stirred, trying to figure out what was different. He moved his arm, and his fingers stroked across something that definitely wasn’t bedding.
Isra.
Images of the night before flooded his now-awake mind, and Sahayl dreaded opening his eyes. The assassin he was willing to believe was real, but surely the rest had been a dream.
“Why are you awake this early?” Isra groused. “Why am I awake this early?”
Sahayl’s eyes snapped open in surprise, and he stared at the man glaring up at him.
Isra’s glare turned into frown. “What?”
“Nothing,” Sahayl said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I’m used to it.,” Isra said, then leaned in to kiss him, mouth tasting of wine and sleep and something that was only Isra. Sahayl gasped softly into his mouth, still surprised by all Isra did – had done – when only yesterday he was certain the man would hate him forever. “Isra…”
“Good morning,” Isra murmured against his mouth, then shoved gently so that Sahayl was on his back, Isra leaning over him. “Sleep well?”
“Very,” Sahayl said, sinking a hand into Isra’s dark hair, holding him close to steal more of the kisses that had followed him into his dreams. “I think perhaps I still am.”
Isra stilled at his words, pulling back to stare pensively at him.
“Did I say something wrong?” Sahayl asked, hands sliding away to fall on the bed as uncertainty overtook him.
“No,” Isra said, but he levered himself away, sliding out of bed. “Come, we should bathe. I’m certain you’re supposed to be somewhere shortly.”
Sahayl nodded and followed, good mood vanished. Perhaps he wasn’t sleeping, but he had definitely been dreaming, to think that things between he and Isra had changed that much. In the bathing chamber, he scrubbed and rinsed quickly, leaving the frowning Isra in peace, and slid into the steaming bath with a whisper-soft sigh. He heard Isra slide into the water nearby, but still jumped when fingers tangled in his curls, tugging gently. “Wherever did you get hair such as this?” Isra asked, voice still too somber but full of curiosity. “It’s nearly as odd as mine.”
“It’s always run in my mother’s family,” Sahayl said with a shrug. “My father said more than once there must be heathen blood somewhere far back in her line.” He struggled not to linger too long on those old, unhappy arguments between his gentle mother and brutal father. “My mother said it existed solely to be aggravating.” He smiled briefly. “Her hair fell to her waist; it took her hours to comb out all the knots and tangles. She used to speak endlessly of cutting it off, but my father forbade it.”
Isra moved closer, just barely touching as he continued to run his fingers through Sahayl’s hair. “Poor woman. If I had hair like this, I’d shave it all off. Though it would be a pity if you did such a thing.”
“I have considered it more than once,” Sahayl replied. “My former wife said she would do much worse if I dared to do so.”
“I see,” Isra said with a laugh, and leaned up, body pressing against Sahayl’s, warm and slick from the water, smelling of soap, and dragged him close for a kiss.
Sahayl kissed him back, relief and happiness pouring through him. “I thought I’d somehow ruined everything.”
“No,” Isra said slowly, shaking his head. “It is only that you reminded me of things I must think about.” He moved away and climbed from the bath. “I wonder if we have time for breakfast.”
Sahayl watched him go, shaking his head. He wondered how Isra kept up with his own ever changing moods. Levering himself out of the bath, he slipped into one of the thin linen robes hung on hooks along one wall, then strode back to his room.
He stopped short to see two people at his table.
“Good morning,” Shihab said cheerfully. “I thought we could all have breakfast together, since we were unable to drink last night.”
Bahadur pointed to Shihab. “He made me.”
Sahayl chuckled. “Good morning, Shihab. Bahadur.”
“Have fun last night, after we left?” Shihab asked, his grin shameless.
Feeling his cheeks heat, Sahayl turned away from the two men to find his clothes, ignoring Shihab’s teasing laughter. “What transpired with the assassin?” he asked.
“Changing the subject,” Shihab said in a loud whisper to Bahadur, then yelped when the larger man smacked his backside. Making a face, he began pouring tea into four cups and relented. “We left him with the prison guards, tried to get more out of him without success, then left a report for my father and found a bed of our own.” He grinned and started to say something more, but it turned into another yelp as Bahadur pinched him. He glared. “Stop making me behave.”
Bahadur snorted and sipped his tea.
“I might have known you’d be here,” Isra said as he entered Sahayl’s room. He took a seat at the table directly across from Shihab. “If I here one single word from you that I don’t like, you will be wearing this tea.” He lifted his cup and sipped the tea in question, then reached out and snagged a small bit of fruit and pastry from one of the trays.
Sahayl, dressed now in dark blue, sat down beside Isra. Silence fell as all four began to eat, interrupted only occasionally by a comment on the food or tea, taunts flying between Isra and Shihab. Sahayl exchanged amused glances with Bahadur, and caught himself admiring him, startling himself – but it would be stupid to deny that Bahadur was handsome, so serious, the calligraphy eye-catching, beautiful but not delicate, and everything was enhanced when Bahadur smiled.
Shihab licked honey from his fingers as he finally finished eating. “The ceremony accepting you into the royal family is set for this evening, to be followed by a full banquet. If you think we’ve been drinking a lot so far…”
“I doubt I will survive,” Sahayl said with a laugh. “Are you certain I should be made a Prince, when I am so easily done in by simple wine?”
“There is nothing simple about wine,” Isra said with a sniff.
Shihab snickered. “If Isra can manage to make himself an expert, you’ll be fine, Ghost Sheik. Rather, Highness.”
“Highness,” Sahayl said with a sigh. “I still don’t believe people will be speaking to me when they say that.” He spread his hands toward Bahadur and Shihab. “You should call me Sahayl, please.”
“As you wish, Highness,” Shihab said with a wink, dodging away before Bahadur could pinch him again. “So what shall we do until the ceremony? Want to sneak off to the city? The bazaar should be at its peak this time of day, the crowds are fabulous.”
“If you like being crushed to death,” Isra replied with a snort. “We’re not going into the city. We’ve a journey home to prepare for, a ceremony to prepare for, an assassin to interrogate and we must expect other attempts to be made on Sahayl’s life.”
Sahayl set his cup down suddenly, and looked across the table at Bahadur. “I never thanked you properly for saving my life, Bahadur. I owe you a great debt.”
“There is no debt, Ghost Sheik. Prince.” Bahadur shook his head. “Sahayl.”
Sahayl nodded, and said nothing more, but silently vowed to find a place for Bahadur upon their return to the Desert. Jackal really was a Tribe of fools, to so poorly treat a man as strong and honorable as Bahadur.
He brought his straying thoughts back around “I guess we had best see to this assassin, though I wonder if he will break.”
“I can always do to his arms what I did to his legs,” Isra said.
“Or destroy his hands,” Bahadur said with a grunt. “See how much money he makes killing men in their bedchambers then.”
Shihab rolled his eyes. “I knew these two would get along once they began speaking to one another. As for me, I think we should just let him rot. Shah’s men know better the questions to ask, and in a few hours you will be Prince. While they can still gain by killing you after the ceremony, they stand to lose more if they are caught. Killing a visiting savage is quite different from killing the King’s brother.”
“Brother,” Sahayl said, shaking his head, bemused. “I came here for help, not to become a Prince.”
Shihab snickered. “Shah does this sort of thing to people all the time.”
“Makes them princes?” Sahayl asked.
“Confounds them,” Shihab answered with a grin. “Why do you think his council is always so mad at him? From the men in his harem to the way he treats his wife as en equal to having a savage for an advisor – and now one for a brother – on top of all sorts of other things, it’s little wonder, I guess, why so many people are mad at him”
“I hadn’t realized your father’s presence was a problem.”
Shihab shrugged. “They don’t like anyone not wholly and unquestionably of Tavamara being that close to the throne. With good reason, but my father is as Tavamaran as I am.” He grimaced. “It had actually started to smooth out when my mother entered the picture. I’m afraid some of them never forgave my father for that.”
“I’ve been curious about your upbringing, I admit,” Sahayl said. “You’re clearly Eastern, but Western looking. Saa, the contrast can be quite strange.”
“It can certainly be frustrating,” Shihab said. He smiled, but there was little of his usual levity in it. “My mother ran away from home not long after she had me. Her husband had died in a fall from his horse. She had no family of her own and her husband’s family was…not the kindest. The marriage was an arranged one – she was wealthy, they had a good name for a woman who was essentially an orphan. When her husband died, his family tried to take the child away, raise it their way, force her out of the picture. My mother, to say the least, was not pleased. She hopped onto the first ship she could and wound up here.” His smile softened as he continued, fondness replacing the unhappiness. “She met my father in the market, when he helped her with a merchant who tried to accuse her of stealing. They met again several days later, again by chance, and after that my father kept seeking her out. Things almost didn’t work out, because my mother was afraid her already having a child would displease my father…”
Shihab’s grin turned into the familiar mischievous one they all knew so well. “But he followed her home one night and discovered her secret, then demanded she marry him. A few days later they were married, with the King’s blessing, and Ikram adopted me. I was maybe two then.”
“I still say it sounds like one of those stories the women were forever buying at the book stalls,” Isra said as he finished. “Honestly, it’s no wonder you’re impossible to live with.”
Sahayl looked at Shihab thoughtfully. “It must have been hard for your mother, to have not only have to start a new life in a whole new country, but to do while taking care of a child. I can see where you come by your strength, shadowfire.”
The smile Shihab gave Sahayl was sweet, and he leaned over the table to press a brief, soft kiss to Sahayl’s lips. “Thank you, my Prince.”
“You’re welcome,” Sahayl said, staring in surprise a moment.
Isra rolled his eyes. “Any excuse will do for you, won’t it, Shihab?”
“When have I never needed an excuse?” Shihab asked, grin turning shameless. “Do you feel left out, Isra? Would you like a kiss too?” He snickered. “Didn’t get enough last night?”
“That’s it,” Isra said, standing up and launching himself across the table, landing hard on Shihab, barely noticing as he knocked the table hard enough to knock over all the dishes, oblivious to the way Sahayl and Bahadur scrambled out of the way.
Sahayl shared a look with Bahadur, and they laughed even as they went to go tear the two wrestling men apart.
Sahayl felt very much like panicking.
Give him a fight to the death beneath the blazing heat of the Lady’s sun any day.
He held out his right hand when an attendant handed him a heavy gold ring set with the royal crest. He slid it onto the third finger of his right hand, where he used to wear the ruby ring marking him as the Ghost Sheik. When he finished, Shah took his hand in his own and lifted them into the air. “Welcome my new brother,” he shouted to the gathered crowd, and Sahayl barely managed to keep from recoiling from the cheers and cries.
He heard Shah chuckle faintly and fought not to roll his eyes. “Saa, I think perhaps having a brother will be interesting,” he said, words audible only to Shah.
“I never had any siblings,” Shah mused aloud. “This will, indeed, be interesting. I suppose it’s just as well I am past the age where older brothers torment their younger.”
“Are you past that age?” Sahayl asked.
Shah chuckled but otherwise made no reply as his wife stepped forward.
The Queen of Tavamara was renowned for her beauty, the daughter of a prosperous lord who hailed from the foothills of the Great Mountains. Dressed in pale lavender and silver, her hair sparkling with jewels, more at her throat and wrists, with a harem of equally beautiful women nearby, she was easily the equal of her husband. She reached up and kissed Sahayl’s cheek, laughing softly as she pulled away and turned to her husband, amber eyes sparkling. “I think I married the wrong brother, husband,” she said loudly. “Why was this one kept secret from me?”
Shah laughed. “I was hoping to save him, wife. It is a King’s duty to sacrifice himself for his country after all.”
Queen Fahima laughed, the sound rippling out across the crowded room. “I suppose worse sacrifices have been endured by the noble Queens who have come before me.”
Throughout the court room the assembled laughed at the familiar antics of their King and Queen, and gradually the room began to empty, as the nobility presented themselves to offer formal congratulations and then moved on to the banquet hall.
How he was expected to remember all their names and titles, Sahayl didn’t know. Thank the Lady he would be returning to a world that made sense tomorrow.
Three hours felt much more like ten when everything at last came to an end and the royal family and their attendees made their own way to the banquet hall. “I think I preferred being a Sheik. How do you do this every day?”
“It’s not always this bad,” Shah said. “Many of them were faces I have not seen in some time.” He waved his hand at the closed doors and the nobles beyond them. “No doubt they were hoping to curry favor with my brother, as they failed to do so with me. Others were merely curious to see my ‘savage’ sibling.” He smiled. “The banquet will be more relaxing.”
Sahayl laughed. “If I fall asleep in my wine, brother, it will be your fault entirely.”
Fahima snickered. “Remind me, brother in law, and when Shah is not paying attention I shall tell you the stories I know of when he was quite young and still learning how to drink wine. There is one particularly amusing anecdote his nurse told me involving a well…”
“This is what comes from not being strict with one’s wife,” Shah said, but he lifted Fahima’s hand as he spoke and kissed the back of it, gently escorting her to her seat as they reached their table at the far end of the banquet hall, raised up on a dais so that the royal table was higher than all the others.
Sahayl smiled and took his place, then looked warily between Isra and Nanda, who sat on his left and right as they had his first meal in the palace. “So will this be another lesson in wines?”
“Of course,” Nanda said, the faintest of smiles curving his lips. “For our new Prince, only the finest wines will do. Summer Sun, Midnight Tryst, Dark Moonlight, Advent of Spring…” He smirked as he reached for a carafe filled with a wine that seemed at moments to be red, then purple, then blue. “This one no doubt is too bitter for the desert rose…” Nanda ignored Isra’s snarl. “It’s called Twilight, and you’ll find it an excellent start, Highness, to a meal as lavish as this.”
Isra sighed and reached for a carafe of dark green wine. “Nonsense. Mountain Forest is much more suited to rich food.” He held a dish up for Sahayl to taste once Nanda had finished serving him the Twilight.
Sahayl’s gaze slid to Shah. “You did this to me on purpose.”
Shah smirked. “What are younger brothers for if not to torment?”
The table erupted in laughter and the meal continued, conversation a mix of taunts, jests, amusing stories, and the ongoing feud between Nanda and Isra. What seemed like hundreds of dishes were brought out as the meal progressed, wines refilled or exchanged as rapidly as the carafe’s could be emptied, always something to match each dish and course, some to be sipped at, others to be drunk quickly, some for food, others to enjoy slowly once the performances began.
“I think I am being spoiled by my time here,” Sahayl said as the latest performance, a dance by two women of the Queen’s harem, drew to an end. “I miss my home, but my visit here was not what I expected it to be and I will miss it as well.”
“We are glad, brother, that we did not send the savages running off in disgust at our lazy, civilized ways.” Shah winked and accepted the wine Witcher held to his lips. “You are still planning to leave tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Sahayl replied, “though I fear I will be leaving with quite the headache.” Chuckles rippled around the table. “So what is next?” he asked as the servants took away empty trays and replaced with piles of sweets and fruit, replacing the wines with a brand new spectrum. He smile ruefully as yet more wine was poured, careful not to move too much as his head spun, but obediently drank the wine Isra held to his lips, something a pale, pale blue in color. “You really are fond of Morning Mist aren’t you?”
“Yes, it’s—“ Glass and food flew as Isra knocked into the table shoving Sahayl down, snarling in pain as he rose up. His blue eyes blazed as he sought and found Shihab, motioning toward the far end of the hall, and the windows lining the alcove high above. “Go,” he snapped, not bothering to pay attention to anything else going on around him. Ripping an arrow from his arm, he followed after Shihab, all but knocking people aside as he ran, both of them scaling the wall rapidly, vanishing through the open windows.
“Beynum, get my wife out of here,” Shah’s voice rang out, cutting through the chaos scattered across the rest of the room. “Aik, go see to my children. Ikram, see to the guards. Make sure everyone goes to their rooms and does not leave them. Bahadur, go with Sahayl to his room and guard him.” He shook his head as a momentary lull fell while his orders were carried out. “I’ve never seen men move that fast, not even Witcher.” He stroked Witcher’s cheek briefly.
Sahayl looked at the arrow Isra had pulled from his own arm, the blood stained tip, the plain shaft and fletching. He smiled ever so faintly, a trace of sadness in it. “You have never seen the sons of the Lady of the Sands, brother. Here, speed is an asset. In the Desert, it is a necessity.” He looked at Bahadur. “Come, the longer I stay here the more I risk those around me. Saa, perhaps we can draw them all out and have an end to this.”
“You’d think they’d learn, after what we did with the first one.”
“If a lesson does not take the first time, find a different way to apply it,” Sahayl said. He set down the arrow and stood, striding from the banquet hall, Bahadur at his side. They moved silently, boots making no sound on the tiled floor, Bahadur speaking to him with motions, light touches to his arm and back. He seemed to radiate heat; it was like standing too close to a campfire. “I am sorry you have gotten tangled up in all this,” Sahayl said as they finally reached his room. “I do not think this is what you intended when you left Jackal.”
Bahadur stared at him a moment, then smiled faintly, amused, and shrugged his massive shoulders. “I expected to be hunted down and killed when I left Jackal. Shihab and I had much hard traveling to do before we believed ourselves well enough away to be safe. Though I would prefer the assassins cease altogether, I can think of much worse fates than assuming the role of your protector.” Bahadur prowled the room, pausing only to make a sound very much like a growl when Sahayl tried to do the same, motioning for him to stay where he was. Several minutes later he finally ceased, pronouncing the room safe. “Life will be easier when we return to the Desert. These idiot assassins will not follow us that far, and I can handle any Tribe.” He returned to Sahayl’s side. “I hope your true protector is up to the new threats he will be facing.”
“Wafai can handle anything,” Sahayl said, but his stomach tightened at the thought of Wafai having to do more than fight beside him and keep him company. Wafai was his oldest and dearest friend, the one person who had always stood by him, even when his father was at his worst – and who would have taken the beatings had Sahayl ever permitted such a thing.
But now Wafai was married, and would eventually be a father. Perhaps it was time to consider releasing his friend from his protector duties. Well, it was a matter he could not resolve now. “I hope the other two aren’t causing trouble.”
Bahadur snorted and drew Sahayl to the low table near the bed. “That, I feel, is too much to hope for. Let us merely hope they’re not causing too much trouble.”
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Date: 2006-08-08 02:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-08 02:31 pm (UTC)Hey, there you are. I was starting to think Jareth had carried you off or something ^_~
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Date: 2006-08-08 02:49 pm (UTC)Man, I am getting hard pressed to decide if I like Raz or Sayahl better, M. Before it would have been Sahayl hands down, but now Raz is equally tragic. Like, w00bie tragic. And his love interest is also tragic! What are you doing to me? Also, plz to be letting the angst have a happy ending. I simply cannot handle anymore stress right now. ;p
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Date: 2006-08-08 04:05 pm (UTC)I am mad jealous you get to study abroad, my dear. Hopefully all the nervousness will soon turn to mindless glee. Or school-related, going to kill my profs frustration, but you know. Nervous goo is bad.
Of course the angst will have a happy ending. I do not think I'm capable of unhappy endings, they are my mortal enemy.
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Date: 2006-08-08 03:20 pm (UTC)OMG <3333333333
First of all, FINALLY. Isra and Sahayl are really too perfect for each other. I don't think it will be a true foursome anymore, but I also think that the four of them will grow closer anyway and I look forward to seeing that.
Isra is adorable. I can't decide if I like him more or Sahayl and of course I have so much love for Shihab XD OMG Prince Sahayl, that is so cute. Ahhh, I just love this story so much! Yay four chapters today! Now every other update is going to feel small XDD
*<3333333s you*
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Date: 2006-08-08 06:16 pm (UTC)Shihab just wants to have all three men as his to kiss, hm? Not that I would object, mind...
Mmm, yes, awesome update. *purrrrs*
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Date: 2006-08-09 09:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-09 09:25 pm (UTC)I LOVE and ADORE this story. I also think it's going to be a story that, while fun to read in chapters, I'm going to relish just rereading the whole thing through in one sitting when it's done. ^__________^!!
Shihab is so damned cute. XD I love his plan to 'fix' things between Isra and Sahayl by getting everyone drunk. And I love his interference to soothe ruffled feathers before they even leave Tamavara. I wonder if Sahayl realizes just how vital his shadowfire is. ^_^ I love that he's making the effort to go that extra length to make sure that they're a united front before they make it to the desert. *hearts* I can see why it would be in his and Tamavara's best interests for it to be that way, but you also manage to show how much he genuinely cares for the desert and the people in it and how his actions are an extension of that concern and affection. I also love him and Bahadur. XD They're downright adorable. And I love the way Bahadur's become his keeper of sorts. XD
Isra...how can you not just love and adore Isra? *_______________* I love his stubbornness and I love how you make him hotheaded and yet reasonable. He's quick to anger, but he's not stupid. When he put two and two together and figured out what Sahayl's life had been like? *__________* I so, so heart you. And I was cheering Isra on. Bring back dickhead from the dead so Isra can KEEL him DED! (j/k ;3) Something makes me think that even if Wafai stays Sahayl's protector, Isra's going to be doing a bit of usurping in that arena. ^_~
And Sahayl? Oh my god, I want to pinch his cheeks!! He's so AHHHHH! *_______* I like the way he's so bemused by the whole becoming Shah's brother thing. *snickers* And I like how his plan to get help from Tamavara has suddenly taken on this whole life of it's own and swept him up in it. XD I loved seeing Queen Fahima and her interaction with Shah and Sahayl and I just love the way Sahayl's both a bit untried to all this, but yet so old in soul that he's wise to so many things too. *hearts* He just flat out rocks as a character.
And you totally rock as a writer. *tackle hugs* I so can't wait to see more of this story! *bounces happily*
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Date: 2006-08-11 04:18 am (UTC)I want a house/room like that...big with many bookshelves.
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Date: 2006-08-12 05:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-23 01:09 am (UTC)Oh, what I would give to see Ikram actually do it.... ^.^
"Want to come watch the show?”
Have I mentioned
in the last two minuteslately how awesome Shihab is? ^^Blankets were folded neatly and tucked neatly away,
*wince* Two 'neatly's in the same sentence makes for a very jarring read.
pick his pants up from where he’d left they lying on the floor.
they = them
Shihab struggled to breath around his laughter.
breath = breathe
“You’d be a lot less tense if you’d just bed that Ghost you keep trying to hate,” Shihab said with a smirk.
Repeating myself again... *______* SO MUCH LOVE for Shihab...
Isra dodged the swing, caught the man’s wrist and twisted hard, forcing him to drop it, then snatched it up and drove the blade deep into the man’s leg, yanking it out and wounding the other leg while the man screamed in pain. He rolled away, assured the assassin wasn’t going anywhere.
*.* And now Isra goes and displays his awesomeness....
“Both legs, Isra?” Sahayl asked.
Isra glared at the absent assassin. “He is lucky I did not have a chance to fetch my sword,” he said savagely. “I would have simply taken one off.”
... and I must have some deep-rooted sadistic streak, because I'm all in favor of Desert Justice.... ^^;; And Isra rocks. :)
“Who would kiss me? By the time I was old enough for such things, being that close to me was too dangerous a thing for me to permit.”
;_; Poor Sahayl... almost 30 and still a virgin... >.> Wait... I have no room to talk....
Isra wished suddenly, with such vehemence it took his breath away, that Hashim was still alive so he might kill the man himself.
I second that notion, Isra. :P Gut the bastard!!!
“Why are you awake this early?” Isra groused. “Why am I awake this early?”
LOVE FOR ISRA!!!!
Bahadur pointed to Shihab. “He made me.”
*dies laughing*
“If I here one single word from you that
here = hear. You and your hononyms... :P
“There is no debt, Ghost Sheik. Prince.” Bahadur shook his head. “Sahayl.”
Mwahahahahaha! And all the crazy titles finally snap someone's brain!!!
He brought his straying thoughts back around “I guess we
Lost punctuation. :)
it’s little wonder, I guess, why so many people are mad at him”
MORE lost punctuation... o.o; I swear I'm going to have to declare myself an official beta-reader if I catch one more of those... >.>;;
but to do while taking care of a child.
I think it should be 'to do so' but check with the Grammar Nazi on that one.
The smile Shihab gave Sahayl was sweet, and he leaned over the table to press a brief, soft kiss to Sahayl’s lips.
!!!!!!! O.O *.* YAY!
Threesomefoursome in the works here? Yes? Yes? *.*I suppose it’s just as well I am past the age where older brothers torment their younger.”
“Are you past that age?” Sahayl asked.
Point to Sahayl. :)
Sahayl’s gaze slid to Shah. “You did this to me on purpose.”
Shah smirked. “What are younger brothers for if not to torment?”
And Shah gets his revenge..... >:)
.... and.... wow... >.> LJ needs a way to lj-cut comments... ^^;; Heh. *sheepish*
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Date: 2006-08-23 01:21 am (UTC)I may as well add you to the beta filter (which has long been collecting dust...). Didn't mean for you to get stuck doing it ^^;; but I thank you all the same.
ahahaha. me and homonyms. =_= never shall we get along. I know what I mean, why do my fingers not obey?
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Date: 2006-08-23 01:27 am (UTC)write all over your stories with a red penfix your grammatical errors... ;)So, really, throw stuff at me. You're so great a storyteller that having the flow of the writing knocked askew by such little things seems a terrible tragedy... :(
...... particularly in a story as awesome as this one. ^.~
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Date: 2006-08-23 01:34 am (UTC)Heh. If I thought Prisoner could be saved, I'd throw *that* at you. But if you're around, I'll start putting chapters of Sandstorm up end of the week/over the weekend for you to poke at. Heh. I may even have the latest chapter ready, in fact.
Oh, and my Kidnapped songs (I'll actually upload them in the morning if you like):
Crazy - Britney Spears (>_>;;;;)
Take Me Away - Ra (actually more to do with the Brilliant and its creators)
Say You Will - Ra (Pyotr and Jade's song)
Send Your Love - Sting (Bangkok/Jewels song)
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Date: 2006-08-23 01:42 am (UTC)And I dunno how your beta filter works, but you may want to include a little 'Beta Me!' note or something at the beginning so I don't accidentally miss it. ^^; *sheepish*
Ooh, songs. *.* Never heard any of them before... >.> Will have to either go fetch or wait for you to send... *prods computer to see if it's amenable to song-fetching...*
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Date: 2006-09-04 05:17 am (UTC)