Sandstorm 19 & 20

[maderr]

Nineteen

“You’re cheating,” Isra accused, throwing a small red tile at Shihab. “Why do I always let you trick me into this?”

Wafai smirked. “Maybe you simply lack skill, Falcon.”

Isra ignored him and threw a black tile at Shihab. “We’re done. I’m not playing with you ever again.”

Shihab began to gather the playing pieces back together, sorting them by color and markings, laying them out again in the starting pattern. “Playing?” he asked, looking first at Wafai and then at Bahadur. The four of them were all gathered around a low table in a large room used for gathering, socializing. It was one of the few rooms in relatively good condition, the few holes patched up years ago by Ghost, the room decorated with tapestries, rugs, the few scattered tables surrounded by cushions and pillows, everything in black, deep red and gold. No one else was currently in the room.

Wafai shook his head. “Sahayl should be out of his meeting soon – at least I hope.” He glowered at the absent Prince. “He should have let me go with him.”

“He should have let someone,” Isra said, “maybe not necessarily you.”

“Desert rose,” Bahadur murmured. “Who better than his protector?”

Isra said nothing, merely moved his first pieces, a dark yellow tile painted with a black, swirling symbol, forward three spaces on the large white board.

Shihab smirked and moved a black piece painted with white dots. “I’m certain you’ll get to beat sense into someone eventually, Isra. Stop playing so poorly.”

“Who’s playing poorly?” Isra snapped, moving a plain green piece two spaces to the right.

“What is this about beating?” Wafai asked, voice cold, bringing everyone to a halt.

Shihab opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Isra. “A jest,” he said, for once speaking seriously to Wafai, looking him in the eyes. “I have a temper, not that kind of temper.”

Wafai stared back, not replying.

“You’re his protector,” Isra said, eyes still locked with Wafai’s. “Why didn’t you ever protect him from Hashim?” From the corner of his eye, he could see Shihab exchanging a confused glance with Bahadur.

“We tried,” Wafai said, face tightening. “He would not let us.”

“That’s no excuse!” Isra snapped, knowing he was overreacting but not caring. He’d seen the damage Hashim had done. He’d seen the deeper effects of those beatings. Lady bury them all in the Sands, the protector’s excuses were nothing more than that – pathetic excuses. “You should have protected him anyway.”

Wafai rose to his knees and leaned over the table, looming over Isra. “I don’t need to hear that from a man who tried to kill my Prince every time we met. Now suddenly you’re his lover? What game are you playing, Falcon? Hmm? Am I going to find my Prince with a knife in his back and feathers scattered on the bed?”

Isra snapped, and before he could think swung a punch, then launched himself at the man, scattering game pieces, ignoring the shouts from Bahadur and Shihab. “Stay out of it,” he snarled, the pause to order his friends back costing him, sending him reeling from the blow to his jaw. “Useless protector!”

“Worthless Falcon!”

“Children,” Shihab muttered, and set the game pieces up again as Isra and Wafai continued to fight, wrecking the rest of the room.

Shouting slowed Isra down a moment, and he looked up in time to see two Ghost rushing toward them, reaching out to grab him, haul him up and away.

“Stop,” Wafai said, wiping blood from his lip, looking at the men who held Isra back. “Leave him, Noor, Kahlil.” He shifted his gaze to Isra. “We’re done.”

Isra nodded stiffly, and gingerly tested his jaw once the men let him go. He spared them a brief glance, distantly recognizing them as higher ranking members in Ghost.

“What is going on here?” Noor asked, his voice the sort that made younger men snap to attention. “Wafai, such behavior is unlike you.”

“My apologies,” Wafai said. “The Falcon accused me of failing to protect my Prince.”

“None of you did,” Isra snapped. “I’ve seen what Hashim did to him. The deeper effects everyone ignored. Why did none of you protect him? If Hashim were here, I would kill him myself! Why did none of you?” He eyed all three men, wiping blood from a small scrape on his forehead.

Wafai eyed him. “Tell me why it matters to you, Falcon.” His eyes strayed to the scar on Isra’s cheek. “You hated him. Now you don’t? Why should I trust you? I am his protector, and I will be unless someone more fit for the duty comes along. Ghost and Falcon were enemies for a long time. Why should I believe you’ve so thoroughly changed your mind?”

“The sands are ever shifting,” Isra said. “Some shifts hide things, other shifts reveal things.” He stared Wafai down, refusing to look away, hands curling into fists. “A Sandstorm is a hard thing to resist.”

“That is true,” Wafai said quietly.

“It might interest you to know,” Shihab said from the table where he and Bahadur had begun a new game, “that several days ago Isra formally agreed to join Sahayl’s harem.”

Silence fell as the words were absorbed by the three Ghost. “His what?” Wafai finally demanded.

“His harem,” Shihab said, and as though they were discussing nothing more important than the game set in front of him, began to explain the laws surrounding Tavamaran royalty. “So, essentially, Isra is giving up his freedom simply to be with Sahayl. Only the Prince can dismiss him from the position, and that has not happened for hundreds of years. When the fighting is finished, Isra will rarely leave this palace, no one else – not even family – will ever be allowed to touch him.” He moved a plain black piece over, taking one of Bahadur’s yellow pieces. “I’m sure you understand what I am explaining.”

“This is true?” Wafai asked, looking at Isra, sharing a glance with his fellow Ghost.

“Yes,” Isra bit out, tensed for some slur, ready to finish what he’d begun with the smug bastard protector.

Wafai held his hand up in a sign of peace. “Enough. The nonheathen has no reason to lie, and I have never seen Sahayl as close to happy as he is when you’re around – though I do not care for his choice. If what you say is true, you are giving up much. I will trust you, Falcon.”

“Isra,” Isra said, unbending slightly. “You all may as well call me Isra.”

“Can you keep a secret, Isra?” Kahlil asked. “Even from Sahayl?”

Isra frowned, blue eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Wafai looked to the other two. “What of you? Nonheathen? Former Jackal. Sahayl trusts you, but that does not mean I do.”

“We have saved him from two assassins,” Shihab answered. “Bahadur the first one, Isra the second. He is what unites us…though Isra and I are friends of old…we cannot convince you, protector, but I swear we are on his side.”

“Wafai…” Noor said.

“Tell them,” Wafai said curtly. “But what we say does not leave this room. It is Ghost’s secret. If I learn that others know what we say, I will know not to trust you.”

Isra looked between the three men, struck by the expressions on their faces. Serious, weighted.

“Jackal didn’t kill Hashim,” Kahlil said quietly, looking Isra in the eye.

Isra barely noticed the startled noises from the table. “What?”

Kahlil continued, his voice flat, emotionless. “They attacked, and they were swift and brutal, but Hashim had brutality down to a fine, terrible art. Even trapped in the confined quarters of his tent, he held his own until we could get there. He was injured, but not fatally. With some rest, he would have survived.”

He fell silent, and Noor continued, his voice as cold as Kahlil’s had been flat. “We took him by surprise, attacked before he could recover from battle. Made his wounds fatal, and told him as he died that we did it for our Sandstorm Sheik…our Sandstorm Prince.” His eyes fastened on Isra. “We could not act sooner because to kill Hashim would have hurt Sahayl deeply. He both loved and hated his father. We always did the best we could. Do not accuse us, especially Wafai, of never having protected our Sandstorm Prince from Hashim.”

“Jackal’s attack cost us many lives,” Kahlil said, “but I think – know – that those who died would have done so gladly to provide the chance to rid us of Hashim.”

Isra stared at them, too shocked to formulate a reply. He shook his head. “You should have made him suffer,” he finally managed.

Kahlil and Noor said nothing, but their expressions said enough.

“I do not think we’ll underestimate Ghost again,” Shihab said quietly from the table. “We will keep your secret.”

It was quite the secret to keep. If what Kahlil and Noor had done was ever discovered by the wrong people, even a Prince could not prevent their being executed. Anyone who knew about it would also have to be punished – harshly. From what they’d said, most if not all of Ghost was aware of what these two men had done. Ghost was keeping a terrible secret from their Sheik, their Prince.

On top of that, Wafai was right – it would hurt Sahayl to know his father had been murdered. Somehow, though Sahayl had never spoken of Hashim and what he’d done, Isra knew that. He had, after all, protected his father that day they’d met to talk peace. With his present knowledge, looking back, he could see that’s what Sahayl had been doing. Protecting his Tribe…and his father.

Isra started to speak, but a sudden flood of noise from the hallway prevented him. A moment later several men strode by, some speaking angrily, others calmly, hands moving and waving, all of them clearly agitated in some way. The meeting was over. He abandoned the discussion and strode to the hallway – what remained of it – and turned down to make his way to the meeting hall where Sahayl no doubt lingered.

Yes, and engaged with the Cobra Sheik. Isra frowned and hovered just inside, knowing from experience with his honored uncle how unwise it was to interfere in such discussions. But as the conversation reached his ears, his patience began to wither.

“I will not accept your excuses, Ghost Sheik,” Zulfiqar said, jabbing a finger into Sahayl’s chest. “You have dishonored and humiliated my daughter. How dare you! She is completely humiliated; her sisters in the Sands will not speak to her. And why should they? She is rejected by a man who suddenly declares himself a Prince. Did you not want to share your power? Think to hoard it? Think my daughter not good enough?”

Sahayl spoke levelly, with patience and respect. Isra didn’t know how he managed it. “Please, Cobra Sheik, I love Rafiqa dearly – but she is as a sister to me. A dear friend. She and Wafai are meant to be together. I meant no disrespect, always I have honored her. She will always be treated with honor and respect in Ghost. All of our Tribe loves her.”

“You have humiliated my daughter and humiliated me, and of course after doing so you immediately ran off – and came back a Prince! I refuse to acknowledge you so.”

“Please—Cobra Sheik—“ Sahayl reached out to stop Zulfiqar as he turned away.

Snarling, furious, Zulfiqar whipped around, his arm rising, the back of his hand connecting sharply, painfully loud, with Sahayl’s cheek. “Do not presume to touch me.”

Even if he wasn’t ready to kill, the brief look of devastation, of fear, that flickered across Sahayl’s face, would have tipped him from anger to blinding rage. Screaming in fury, barely aware that the others were not far behind him, Isra threw himself across the room and at the Cobra Sheik, tackling him before he could draw his sword, sending them both to the ground, grunting in satisfaction when Zulfiqar’s head met the floor with a resounding crack. “Bastard,” he hissed. “How dare you strike him. In Tavamara you would be dead. You should be dead.” He leaned down until he was right in the struggling Cobra’s face – the man was stronger than he, but Isra had years of experience pinning down a wily, clever, far too flexible Shihab – and spoke low, so that no one else would hear. “Are you trying to take Hashim’s place, now? Striking and hurting for no reason? If you touch him again, Cobra, I will kill you myself – slowly.” He was gratified to see the way Cobra’s eyes widened in horror at being compared to Hashim. Releasing him roughly, Isra made certain to kick him as he stood up, then forgot Zulfiqar completely as he strode over to Sahayl and yanked his head down, kissing him hard. “How did the meeting go?”

Sahayl looked at him, stunned, then to Zulfiqar, then back to Isra. He shook his head, bemused. “Better than expected, desert rose. Notice there is no bloodshed.”

But there was a dark mark on Sahayl’s right cheek, and only Sahayl’s arm wrapped around his waist kept Isra from turning around and beating the Cobra Sheik senseless.

“Isra, who did you attack this time?” Shihab asked with a groan, though Isra recognized that he was trying to ease what could rapidly become a tense situation. “Honored Cobra Shei—,” Shihab began.

“Do not touch me, heathen,” Zulfiqar said, standing up. He looked briefly at Sahayl, giving a curt nod, then turned and strode from the room, blatantly ignoring Wafai who still stood in the doorway.

Sahayl sighed softly and let go of Isra. “I fear I have made an enemy of him.” He closed his eyes. “Truly, I intended no harm or insult. I wanted Rafiqa to be happy…”

“He will calm down,” Wafai said calmly. His eyes fastened on the bruise on Sahayl’s cheek, but he said nothing about it. “I will speak with Rafi, she will talk sense into him.”

Isra wondered if that gleam in Wafai’s eye meant that he would tell his wife exactly what her father had done to Sahayl. He repressed a shudder. Give him the anger of his honored uncle over his aunt any day. “You should eat,” he said. “I doubt you were given a chance while soothing the ruffled feathers of all those idiots.”

Shihab chuckled, giving Isra a thoughtful look. “Yes, food would be a good idea. You should tell us the details of the meeting, Sahayl, and we can work out where to go from here.”

Sahayl nodded. He turned to Isra, starting to speak, but stopped. He frowned. “Cobra is not the first one you’ve attacked today, desert rose.”

Isra smirked. “Wafai and I were getting acquainted. He still lets his guard down too easily.”

“You fight dirty, Falcon,” Wafai muttered.

Shihab laughed. “That he does.”

“You are a fine one to talk,” Isra shot back. He let his hand trace down Sahayl’s arms until he reached his hand, and twined their fingers together. “Come,” he said, “let’s go find a meal.” All but dragging Sahayl from the room, leaving the others to follow behind, Isra led the way to the private rooms set aside for the Ghost Sheik – and now for the Prince. He let go of Sahayl to snatch at a passing soldier and barked orders for food, then led the way into the private dining room – another of the few rooms that had been as repaired as was possible.

Sahayl looked at him, amusement sparking in those gold eyes, as they sat down. “Saa, desert rose, you are in a fine temper today. Wafai, the Cobra Sheik…”

“Shihab was about to get it for cheating at taaki earlier. The moment I figure out how he’s cheating, you can add him to the list.”

“You have no patience for games of strategy, Isra,” Shihab said with a laugh as he sat down. “I still remember the day I tried to teach you chess.” He shifted to make room for Bahadur beside him, with Wafai taking up the space to his right, Kahlil and Noor sitting down opposite Wafai.

Two Ghost entered bearing food and wine, greeting Sahayl and the others before bowing out. When they’d gone, Wafai stood and shut the door. “So tell us, Sandstorm Prince – was anything accomplished at the meeting?”

Sahayl summoned a smile, but it was obvious he was tired. “Some, I think. My skills at such things are glaringly lacking. Of course no one is happy with the authority I am claiming, but I do have the definitive support of Falcon…” he shook his head briefly in amusement, “and tentatively Horse, and Owl. Cobra…hopefully I can repair the damage I have done.”

“Oh, things will be settled,” Wafai said. “Wait until the Cobra Sheik speaks with his wife and daughter tonight. I believe he will come bearing an apology and pledging his cooperation in the morning.”

Isra winced. “Women. My honored aunt is the most terrifying person in Falcon…especially when she is mad at my honored uncle.” Around the table the other chuckled.

“Yes,” Kahlil agreed. “I would much rather battle alone against Viper than return to my tent when my honored wife is angry with me.”

“I am certainly learning that,” Wafai agreed. “She was always nice to you, my Sandstorm Prince.”

Sahayl laughed. “Given how she treated me, I offer my condolences, brother of my soul.” He set down a rolled up strip of hide, the specially treated kind used for maps that had to last through environments too tough for paper. “Many are still refusing, and I have told them that if they are not willing to accept my conditions they are welcome to leave – but I will deal with them accordingly should they prove to be a threat, and should they come back I will be slower to welcome them into my home a second time. However, some of the others…” he tugged free the bit of leather holding the rolled-up hide closed, and Isra barely kept from laughing at the expressions on the faces of Wafai, Kahlil, and Noor as they stared at the map Shihab had made.

“Impossible,” Noor said. “This…cannot be…”

Kahlil shook his head. “Sandstorm Prince, however did you come by such a thing?”

“It is the result of many years work,” Sahayl said slowly, “by a man who was probably the only one who could have done it.”

Isra barely avoided shooting Sahayl a disgusted look – there would be no living with Shihab now. He wished these low tables allowed for kicking idiots under the table, because he could feel the way Shihab vibrated with pleasure at Sahayl’s words.

“Who?” Wafai asked.

“A little shadow,” Sahayl said.

Wafai’s brows went up, and Isra could see he’d understood something Sahayl had left unsaid. So Sahayl didn’t want anyone, not even Wafai – or perhaps merely Kahlil and Noor – to know that Shihab was the mapmaker. Certainly if he were an angry Tribesman, the one who had dared to map the Desert would be first on his list of enemies. Without Shihab, all anyone need do was destroy all the map he’d created – and even Shahjahan’s master map could probably be reached for the right price.

“I see,” Wafai said. “So you showed the Sheiks the map.”

“Yes,” Sahayl said, rolling it up again. “It persuaded many of them to at least remain here and think things over. No doubt that translates as moving their homes, but they will not be able to do that until we can trust the Sands again. Which brings us to the real problem at hand.”

“If there have been any more attacks, Sandstorm Prince, they have not come this far.”

Shihab drummed his fingers on the table. “No doubt it’s confusing them a great deal that so many Tribes have simply vanished.”

Isra snorted. “I’m sure we’ve more than a few spies among us.”

“No doubt,” Shihab agreed. “But all the same, the heathens could not have been expecting so many Tribes to gather here as they did. Nor can they attack us here without making their presence more obvious.”

“Not true,” Noor replied. “We’ve already driven back Jackal and Viper scouts – several miles from here, of course, but closer than we like. I think if we do not begin to hunt them out, then we will find ourselves under attack. Our palace would not hold up well, Sandstorm Prince, to such an attack, not if we’re facing the enemy we think we are.”

“Heathens cooperating with Tribe,” Bahadur said, speaking for the first time. “Jackal combined with someone just as ruthless and far greedier is not a good combination. Nor do I like that they may be cooperating with Viper, with whom we always fought.” His pale gold eyes flicked to Isra, then Sahayl. “I doubt peaceful motives drive their sudden truce. If they are working with the heathens, and all that his Majesty and Lord Ikram said of them is true…”

“We must hunt them out,” Sahayl said grimly. “Wafai, Noor, Kahlil, discover which Tribes will assist us. Make note of those who will not. Any Sheik willing to help in this venture should report to the meeting hall early tomorrow morning. Any Amir and whatever counsel the Sheiks feel should be present are also welcome– but all to be approved by you, Wafai.”

Wafai bowed his head. “Yes, Sandstorm Prince.”

Sahayl nodded. “Good. Then let us go over everything we know once more. I think we should also begin hunting out other Tribes and offering refuge, now that we have a map with which to do it.”

“I will do that, if you wish, Sandstorm Prince,” Noor volunteered.

“Very well,” Sahayl said, and looked briefly across the table at Shihab, who nodded. “Take Shihab with you. He has a talent for these things. Remember, though, that he is under my protection.”

“Of course, Sandstorm Prince.”

Sahayl handed him the map he’d showed them earlier, and Noor accepted it with a deep bow.

Isra sipped his tea as everyone began to discuss in earnest the precious few things they knew of the heathens, the methods of attack, what things to be especially wary of, and their best chance of driving their enemy from the Desert.



Twenty

Shihab fell back into the pillows surrounding the table, laughing hard, laughing even harder when Isra started beating him over the head with a pillow.

“Cheater!”

“I’m just a good strategist,” Shihab said between blows, finally sweeping Isra’s feet out from under him – but miscalculating, sending Isra crashing down on top of him. “You’re heavy. Get off me.”

“Don’t knock me over.”

“They are worse than siblings,” Bahadur said, shaking his head, sharing a look with Sahayl.

Shihab shoved Isra away, pinching him hard, howling when Isra did the same and smacking him one more time before resuming his seat at the table. He took another sip of his wine, dark, rich Dark Spice, then began to reassemble the taaki pieces. “I do not cheat.”

“Yes, you do,” Isra groused, reassuming his seat beside Sahayl. “A born cheater.”

Shihab smirked. “I’m just a master strategist.”

Isra shot him a disgusted look.

“You are a master of mischief, little shadowfire,” Sahayl said over the rim of his wine dish. His dark gold eyes were bright with humor, and Shihab was happy to see it. As were Isra and Bahadur. And Wafai. He vaguely remembered them both from that brief encounter months ago, when he was still playing shadow.

He much preferred being a little shadowfire. Even if he wasn’t little. Though next to the three of them, he guessed he was. Lady take his mother’s birdlike build anyway. He might be little, but he was outsmarting all of them.

Sort of. Sahayl was being remarkably slow on figuring certain things out. He would eventually. Until then, Shihab would just keep pushing, and hinting…and maybe letting his hair fall just so, because he knew Sahayl was fascinated by it, as hard as he tried not to be…and probably felt guilty when he had Isra.

Silly sons of the Desert.

Though speaking of the Desert, if they were going to keep playing, they’d need more wine. There were better ways to keep warm…but wine would do for now. At least they were having fun – since their arrival, Sahayl had been worked down to the bone. With sunrise, the work would only get more difficult. He would be leaving with Noor to search out various Tribes, and Sahayl would be leaving to begin hunting down heathens and those Tribes known to be traitorous. “I’m going to get more wine.”

“Just call for it,” Isra said.

Shihab waved the words away. “I need the fresh air, and perhaps while I’m gone the three of you can devise a taaki strategy that might almost beat me.”

“Cheater,” Isra muttered as he left.

Laughing, Shihab closed the door and turned left, choosing to stroll through what still sort of counted as the back halls – more secluded walkways not readily available to what had been the main part of the palace. What repairs could be managed were slowly being made, a surprising number of the gathered Tribes helping – perhaps because of the stories no Tribe ever completely forgot, perhaps because at least some of them knew to be grateful for what Sahayl was doing. He hoped so. Every day Sahayl slept a little less, unable to relax in the face of all that he had to do – things that no one else could do.

He shivered, wishing he’d remembered his robe and wasn’t simply dressed in his vest – he went to get more wine to stay warm and forgot sleeves to keep him warm in the interim. Showed where his thoughts were. Shihab snorted.

Sounds from his left snapped him from his thoughts, and Shihab turned to see the five men strolling toward him.

A strange mix of Tribes. One Cobra, two Scorpion, two Fox.

“Well, well,” the Cobra said. “The heathen.”

Shihab tensed, not liking that tone of voice, the way the group of men moved. He was a capable fighter, and knew how to make the most of his too-slender build…but he wouldn’t be any match against five hulking sons of the Desert. “I am no heathen,” he said politely. “In body I appear to be one, but mind and soul have always belonged to the Desert. Heathens are as strange to me as they are to you.”

He’d expected more words, threats, because that was always how these things had gone before. But one moment they were walking toward him, the next his back met wall and he could feel his lip bleeding. Snarling, Shihab began to try driving them back, catching one in the groin, another across the face, doing his best to get through them, to where he could run, but they formed an impenetrable wall.

Then he stopped feeling anything.



“..fire. Shadowfire.”

“Hmm?” Shihab slowly opened his eyes, and saw gold eyes watching him, so dark they looked black in the weak light.

Then the pain hit him. Shihab hissed, curling instinctively against Sahayl’s warmth. “What?”

“Who hurt you, my shadowfire?”

“Yours?” Shihab managed, eyes sliding shut again, too heavy to keep open, and he just wanted the pain to…




When he woke again, there was sunlight and though he could tell he was in pain, it felt…distant.

“Shadowfire,” a voice said, obviously relieved. Shihab turned to look at the speaker, immediately recognizing Bahadur’s voice. Then he placed the strange feeling dulling his pain.

“Valtyanar,” he said, then grimaced at how hoarse his own voice was.

Bahadur chuckled. “Your favorite. Can you sit up? Drink some water?”

“Yes,” Shihab managed, and with Bahadur’s help slowly began to sit up, grimacing but grateful that the pain wasn’t as bad as it could have been. He sipped the water slowly, all too familiar with why drinking as much and as quickly as he wanted was a bad idea. “This makes the third time I’ve been beaten up for being either too Tavamaran or too heathen.”

“It will be the last, shadowfire,” Sahayl said from the doorway. He strode to the bed, and Shihab realized for the first time that he was in Sahayl’s room – in Sahayl’s bed. “Who hurt you, Shihab?” Sahayl asked, stopping beside the bed, reaching out to gently touch what Shihab realized was a bruise on his cheek.

He nuzzled into the touch, the warmth comforting, appealing, even in so gentle a touch. “Two Fox. One Cobra. Two Scorpion.”

“Cobra?” Sahayl repeated softly. His fingers slid away, lingering briefly in Shihab’s hair.

Shihab started to complain, but another thought occurred to him. “Where’s Isra?”

“Out with Wafai, hunting information on who might have assaulted you. It was that or watch him kill them all,” Bahadur answered. “He is fierce when truly angry.”

“We…both knew what it was like to be harassed for not fitting in. In school, and traveling, we looked out for each other.” Shihab smiled faintly. “It was easier for me after I had a savage for a friend. By myself, I’m not very intimidating.”

“But skilled enough to map the Desert, and much more, shadowfire,” Sahayl replied. “You need more rest…but if you feel up to it, later, I would like to have you in attendance when I sentence the men who harmed you.”

Shihab shivered. He’d never seen such an expression on Sahayl’s face before. “What are you going to do?” Every law in Desert and Tavamara said the men would be executed, but he knew Sahayl would avoid that at all costs.

“That depends on the behavior of those who dared to touch you, my shadowfire,” Sahayl replied. “If they behave poorly, only the lady will spare them. Bahadur, see he’s attended. I have orders to pass. If he is feeling strong enough, then I want to meet with the relevant Sheiks this evening.” He returned his attention to Shihab. “I would not ask you to move so soon, but I want them to see what was done.”

“I’ll be fine,” Shihab replied. “Whatever you ask, Sahayl, I’ll gladly do.”

“Rest, shadowfire,” Sahayl said, stroking his hair one last time. “For now, only rest.” Turning away, boots clicking sharply on the floor, Sahayl seemed to stalk from the room, and Shihab distantly heard him calling orders to men beyond his sight.

Bahadur laughed softly and moved to sit on the bed, gently tugging Shihab close to rest against him. “Troublemaker.”

“This isn’t the kind of trouble I prefer,” Shihab said, managing a smile that quickly turned into a yawn. “I prefer the kind that ends with everyone naked and happy.” The arm around his shoulders tightened in surprise, then Bahadur laughed hard enough to shake them both.

Bahadur kissed him softly. “Incorrigible, shadowfire.”

“Warhorse. Better go save everyone from Isra. He’ll only behave for so long.”

“I’ll have you know I only punched three men, and they deserved it. Wafai punched two himself so I don’t want to hear it.” Isra stomped across the room and deposited himself on the bed, immediately touching, examining, reassuring himself that Shihab really was all right. “Brat. I can’t leave you alone for ten minutes.”

Shihab smiled and leaned forward to steal a kiss. “Hmm…if I could just get our Prince to do that, I’d heal just fine.

Isra rolled his eyes. “Incorrigible,” he said. “The warhorse has the right of it there. Stop using your injuries to get what you want. Rest. Also, you’re a brat. Now I have to go with Noor while you get to rest and relax and do nothing but plot new ways to cheat at Taaki.”

“Wait…” Shihab frowned suddenly. “How long have I been asleep? Shouldn’t everyone be gone? Why has Sahayl delayed everything?”

“Because you were nearly killed, shadowfire. Sahayl was ready to tear apart the palace to learn who had done it.” Isra’s eyes glittered with anger. “Just wait until we find them. But, assuming all goes well tonight – now that we at least know which Tribes are responsible – we will leave in another day or so.”

Bahadur kissed him one last time, then forced him down onto the bed, tugging the light blankets up. “Sleep.”

“Why am I not in my own room?”

Isra smirked. “Sahayl is making it clear how very stupid it was to harm you.”

Shihab smiled and closed his eyes. “Then all we need is for Bahadur to make his move, and everything will be as it should.”

“Scheming little shadowfire,” Bahadur muttered, and Shihab chuckled at the embarrassment he could hear in Bahadur’s voice. Desert men were slow about everything but fighting, truly.




“Are you certain you’ll be all right, shadowfire?” Sahayl asked as Bahadur carefully led Shihab to a large cushion beside Sahayl’s seat.

Shihab looked around the room. Not the usual meeting hall Sahayl preferred, but the largest of the courtrooms – the main throne room. It was one of the least repaired rooms, but beyond a few holes in the roof it and the general lack of anything but the chair, rugs and cushions recently added, it was not as bad as the smaller court rooms. He wondered how long it would be before this palace finally matched its sister. Sahayl deserved the grandeur, eve if he would be the first to disagree.

He sat on a large cushion near the throne, with Isra beside him and Bahadur standing on the opposite side, doing a splendid job of looking menacing as Wafai entered, escorting three Sheiks – Zulfiqar and the Fox and Scorpion Sheiks.

“My Prince,” Wafai said, bowing his head, and swept his arm out to indicate the gathered Sheiks. “As you requested.”

“Thank you, Wafai,” Sahayl said, and motioned for him to stand with Bahadur. “Honored Sheiks,” he said, “I would like for you to take a look at what men from your Tribes have done.”

The three men looked at Shihab, who kept his head bowed, a polite gesture and one he didn’t really feel like giving – but there was a time to ignore etiquette, and a time to follow it. A moment later, however, gentle fingers tilted his head up, brushed the hair from his face, displaying the bruises marring one cheek, his badly split lips and the thin cut across his forehead. Sahayl let him go a moment later, and when he spoke again his voice had a cold edge that made Shihab glad he wasn’t the Sheiks.

It was interesting that Sahayl had chosen here to confront them. He was inarguably putting himself in a position above them; a position of power. Nothing could say more clearly that he was Prince and they were merely Sheiks. He could tell from the expressions on their faces that the Sheiks were well aware of what wasn’t being said, and were not pleased.

But there was nothing they could do. Sahayl had offered them a place to stay, they all had agreed to help drive out the heathens…and men of their Tribes had wrongfully harmed a man under Sahayl’s protection.

“You say the attackers are from our Tribes,” the Fox Sheik said. “Prove it.”

“Shihab recognized the markings of those who attacked him. I trust his word and memory.” He paused. “Far more than I trust any of you.” Sahayl’s gaze lingered on Zulfiqar.

Zulfiqar stared back. “It was not under my orders. I will not tolerate such behavior. If your man can tell me who of my men were present, I will deal with them.”

“No,” Sahayl said. “They acted against me, harmed what belongs to me, and are attempting to undermine my authority.”

“You have no authority over us.”

Sahayl looked at the Scorpion Sheik, unfazed by dark eyes that had intimidated more than one man – but given what Sahayl must have grown up with, all he’d learned about what Sheik Hashim had done, Scorpion had a long way to go before a mere look unbalanced the Sandstorm Prince. “I do have authority over you. I have told you before, Scorpion, that if you have a problem with it then you are free to leave. Two of your men hurt what belongs to me, and if you do not bring the culprits to me I will see your entire Tribe punished for it.”

Fox hissed, outraged, and Shihab wondered if his fur would be standing up were he a real fox. The thought almost made him laugh, but this was definitely the wrong time to laugh. Perhaps his beating was a good thing, after all, for it was giving Sahayl a chance to truly assert his authority. If he won this battle, it would end several more before they began. To have these three Tribes, along with Falcon, Horse and Owl?

Would go very far indeed.

“You would not dare,” Scorpion said. “How could you punish an entire Tribe?”

“Bring me the men who hurt Shihab, or you will find out,” Sahayl said. His hand curled around the edge of his low seat, then slowly relaxed. “Tribes have always fought, I don’t expect that to stop for a long time. But while gathered here we should be temporary allies, we should be able to hold together against the heathens that threaten. For no reason your men attacked a man who is here solely to help us with that threat. I will not tolerate such uncalled for violence. I won’t. Bring me the men responsible, Sheiks, or I will punish your Tribes for acting against the throne of Tavamara.”

Fox and Scorpion started to protest, but Zulfiqar’s voice cut through the room, stopping them both short. “Yes, Highness. Do you have any idea who from my Tribe was responsible?”

“Shihab?” Sahayl asked.

Nodding, Shihab began slowly, carefully, to describe each of the men he’d seen, recounting features and Tribal markings.

“Your memory is remarkable for a man who was being beaten,” Scorpion said, distrust thick in his tone.

“My honored father says the Lady gifted me with a remarkable memory,” Shihab said quietly. “He realized it when I was very young, and trained me to make the most of it. I need only see or read something once and I will always recall it.”

“Your father?” Zulfiqar asked, frowning. “Who is your father, to say the Lady gifted you so?”

Sahayl quirked a brow. “Have you not heard, Cobra Sheik? Perhaps you have been too busy. He is the son of Ikram, former son of Cobra.”

Zulfiqar’s brows went up. “Ikram?” he asked. “He has not spoken to us since he left…but he did not leave on positive terms, though he did try.”

“Few sons of the Lady forgive their brothers for leaving the Desert,” Sahayl said peaceably.

It was obvious Zulfiqar wanted to ask more questions, but he merely nodded. “I will locate the man in my Tribe who committed this crime, your Highness. If you are still willing to accept Cobra’s aid, we will also add our forces to yours when you leave tomorrow.”

“I will accept it. Kahlil is handling the arrangements, speak with him. Thank you, Cobra Sheik, for cooperating.”

Zulfiqar bowed his head.

“Scorpion? Fox?”

Shihab almost winced. To leave off the ‘Sheik’ was insulting. Very.

“Fox will bring you the offenders…Highness.”

“Thank you, Fox Sheik. Scorpion?”

“It would seem I have little choice. Sheik or Prince, you are still a Ghost.”

Sahayl merely looked at him. “You would risk your entire Tribe for the sake of pride, Scorpion?”

“I will bring you the men…after I am convinced they were truly in the wrong.”

Sahayl nodded. “Then you are all free to go.”

Fox and Scorpion turned sharply on their heels and stalked from the room.

Zulfiqar lingered, hesitating. Finally he gave a soft sigh, as if reaching some decision. “I apologize, Highness, for my earlier behavior. A father is protective of his children, especially his daughters.”

“Of course,” Sahayl said, gold eyes lightening, something in them easing, taking him by surprise. “There is nothing to forgive.”

“There is,” Zulfiqar said, his gaze flicking for a moment to Isra. “I appreciate your grace.” He smiled briefly. “I never thought to see you in such a position, Sahayl – if you will forgive the informality.”

Sahayl waved the words away. “I regretted losing your comradeship, Cobra Sheik.”

“Zulfiqar works well enough. I think your father would be envious of the power you’ve gained…but he would also be proud.”

“Thank you,” Sahayl said quietly.

Zulfiqar shifted his attention to Shihab, hesitating again. “How is your father?”

“My honored father does well,” Shihab says. “He is advisor to the King and happily married to my mother.”

“I sense an intriguing story there,” Zulfiqar said dryly. “Certainly it explains why you are clearly not the heathen you appear to be. Perhaps someday you will be kind enough to tell me the story.”

Shihab blinked, surprised. His father rarely mentioned Cobra, usually only to say he was no longer welcome, and never would be. He’d always had the impression that Cobra would cheerfully kill his father, or come close, should they ever see Ikram again. Yet…Zulfiqar acted as though violence was the last thing on his mind. That fierce face, covered in the full body tattoo of scales, usually so menacing, looked almost sad. “Gladly. My father rarely speaks of his years in the Desert, and declares his heart to be with Tavamara, but I know he misses it.”

Zulfiqar gave a faint smile. “We were friends, once. I am glad he is well. If you will excuse me, Highness, it seems I have a man to hunt out.”

“Of course,” Sahayl said. “Thank you, Zulfiqar.”

“Good night.” Bowing his head, Zulfiqar turned and left, steps soundless on the floor, head and shoulders held high, though it seemed to Shihab he still seemed somewhat downcast.

Isra grunted when they were finally alone. “That went surprisingly well.”

“You sound disappointed,” Bahadur said. “Were you hoping to shed blood?”

“Weren’t you?” Isra countered.

“Perhaps.”

Wafai rolled his eyes at both of them.

“You were thinking the same thing,” Isra accused, catching him.

“How are you planning to punish them, my Sandstorm Prince?” he asked, ignoring Isra.

Sahayl sighed. “Saa, that depends on how things progress. I guess we will see when the prisoners are brought to me.”

“He’s acting more and more like a Prince,” Shihab said with a grin.

“I certainly do not feel like one,” Sahayl said. “If I were them, I would not be pleased with me. But the decision was made. Wafai, would you please go find Kahlil and inform him of Cobra’s altered decision? Pass the change along to the allied Tribes?” He smiled faintly. “Inform your wife she can stop torturing her poor father.”

Wafai laughed, and bowed his head. “Of course, my Sandstorm Prince. I will see you in the morning, then?”

“Yes. Good night and Lady bless your dreams with peace. Give my love to Rafiqa.”

“Good night, my Sandstorm Prince. Brothers.” Bowing, Wafai strode from the room.

Shihab grinned. “Wait until I write my father about this…though perhaps I’ll try to leave out the part where I was neatly trounced.” He winced as he stood, and ignored Bahadur’s attempts to make him sit back down. He leaned over Sahayl, grin turned playful. “So am I really yours?”

He laughed softly at the sudden flush that overtook Sahayl’s cheeks. “I only said that to make clear how badly they had trespassed.”

“The same reason I was in your bed?” He should stop teasing, but he couldn’t help it.

“I would never presume to—“

Shihab laughed and closed the space between them, cutting Sahayl off with a kiss, ignoring the pain flaring up in his face, along his sides, and in his right leg. He sank his hands into the hair he’d been dying to touch from the start, taking advantage of Sahayl’s surprise to deepen the kiss, tasting Dark Spice and the almond pastries he knew were Sahayl’s favorite.

“Shadowfire…” Sahayl whispered when Shihab finally let them breathe. Those gold, gold eyes watched him intently. So dark, where Bahadur’s were so pale; it was a fascinating contrast. “Is this really what you want?”

“He’s been scheming for a while,” Isra said, rolling his eyes. “You’d better just give in, though he’ll be impossible to live with.” He made a face at Shihab. “I wonder if it ever occurs to you, brat, that maybe not everyone agrees with what you scheme up.”

“Why wouldn’t they?” Shihab said, nipping at Sahayl’s lips, then winking at Isra. “Don’t I always turn out to be right? The four of us belong together, and I can think of much worse than being a member of our Prince’s harem.”

“Four of us?” Sahayl asked, blinking.

“Four of us,” Shihab said, and laughed – ignoring the pain – at the way Sahayl and Bahadur carefully did not look at each other.

“Your father is going to kill you,” Isra said.

Shihab grinned. “He’s not allowed to touch me now, so there.”