Kismet's Kiss: A Fantasy Romance (Alaia Chronicles) (8 page)

She hated it. Hated the loss of control, hated the required subservience. And it was a position into which she’d let herself shrink.

Kuramos might be a sultan, but she was his equal.
Any man’s equal.

Righteous ire surged into her, but she glanced down at her own hands, at the plain gold ring on her littlest finger. No special design etched its surface, no gem emerged above the crisscross of fine scratches from decades of wear, and no happy memories clung to the metal. She wore it to remind herself of her own folly long ago.

She might be his equal, but rash decisions brought rash consequences. She wouldn’t repeat her mistakes.

“Healer.” His deep voice broke into her thoughts. “Do you really believe this malady isn’t contagious?”

She dried her hands slowly and thoroughly on the linen towel, buying time to collect her thoughts. “I’m told the illness hit quickly, and I’ve only examined one patient.” She took a deep breath. “But for what it is worth, my instinct—and it’s no more than that at the moment—concurs. I have hope that this sickness can’t spread directly from person to person.”

He watched her a moment longer, perhaps testing whether he trusted her words. Then his shoulders lowered and he gave a deep sigh.

Mother Fate, please let my hunch be true…
“Even if I’m right,” she continued, “the sickness could still spread—in whatever way it infected the ill in the first place. So even if I can heal it, we must find its origin or source to protect others.”

“I understand.” He wiped his own hands on the damp linen towel and straightened, staring into the fountain. Then he looked at her, and his green eyes wielded the force of an ocean wave. “Healer…thank you.”

The wave washed over her toward an inner shore, and her lips warmed with an unexpected smile. “You’re welcome.”

In silence they returned to the courtyard’s edge, and he led her into a wide keyhole doorway.

Elegant simplicity clad the antechamber beyond. Vessels of colored glass and ewers painted with exquisite scenes nestled in alcoves along each wall. Woven flowers and leaves radiated across the carpets while jasmine blossoms scented the room from a vase on a low table. A cushioned window-seat showcased a shaded view of the courtyard gardens. Several books neatly piled on the seat told of its frequent use.

A plump maidservant in the white and gold silks of the palace uniform had been sweeping the marble floor exposed near the whitewashed walls. At their entrance, she dropped to her knees, her eyes furtively taking in Varene’s face and clothing before she trained them modestly on the fringed rug before her.

“Is the Sha’Lai awake?” the sultan asked.

“Yes, O Lord.” She answered without raising her gaze.

“Good. Fetch the physician’s assistant and the Staff Mistress, please.”

Please?
Varene noted in surprise. The maid dipped her head and rose to do her master’s bidding, skirting wide around him and Varene.

Kuramos watched her roundabout route and set his mouth in a grim line. “If the illness isn’t contagious, that will be a relief to many.”

“Kuramos?” queried a tired voice from the inner chamber.

“I’m here, Dearest.” He gestured for Varene to accompany him through the curtained arch.

On the enormous bed lay a brunette in an emerald tunic. Her fatigued air and the dark circles under her eyes somehow didn’t detract from her beauty, or her dignity. A necklace and bracelet of clustered rubies lay coiled on the night table by her side, as if she planned to recover shortly and return to life as usual.

“Pah, Rajvi!” Kuramos scolded. He laid Varene’s pack by the doorway and stepped toward the bed. “Where are all your servants? This place is as empty as an old nest.”

“I sent them away.” She looked up at him with a quiet smile. “They’ve been so frightened of catching the illness.”

“They should be most frightened of you becoming more ill—” he began with a scowl.

“Don’t be angry, O Lord, it was my decision. The physicians have been here, and Sohad checks on me as often as he can. And as you saw, faithful Bhakti stayed anyway.”

He grunted, still displeased. “Sulya sent her servants away, too. But not, I think, for the same reason. And you need assistance now, while you are bed-bound.” He sighed. “I hope I’ve brought aid.” He waved Varene into the room. “This is Varene na Seryn, the Royal Healer of Teganne. Healer, this is Rajvi, my First Wife, the glorious Sha’Lai of Kad.”

“I’m hardly glorious at the moment,” the Sha’Lai said with a self-deprecating smile Varene liked immediately.

Varene stepped forward and curtseyed in the formal Tegannese style, the fingers of both her upturned hands descending to just above the rugs as she slowly lowered herself. She rose and spied an amused twitch of the sultan’s mouth, one that told her he’d noticed her omission of that courtesy when they’d first met.
Considering the manner of my initial welcome to Kad, it serves him right.

“Teganne…” The Sha’Lai’s brows ascended—much like Varene’s had when Gunjan had said he was from Kad. “Be welcome, Royal Healer.” Rajvi’s tone was gracious, but her voice raw and weakened. “Thank you for coming to our aid so far from your homeland.”

“Esteemed lady,” she answered, “I hope to help. May I examine you?”

“Please do.”

Varene moved to the bedside and evaluated the Sha’Lai’s skin, eyes, and demeanor. The sultana acknowledged great thirst and a burning throat, and had been forcing herself to drink from the half-empty pitcher of lemon water sitting within reach. Varene nodded approvingly, then laid her hands on Rajvi’s wrist and throat and sought deep for the cause of her illness. All the while, she was aware of Kuramos’s penetrating gaze.

As with the sultan’s son, she sensed no match with maladies she knew. Disappointment curled in her gut. If only she had answers, she could do more, she could
heal
…

And then she could go home.

She called up her kyrra to ease the pain in Rajvi’s throat. When she did, she was gratified by the Sha’Lai’s evident relief.

Soon, Varene told herself, she could take real action. If the illness was so enigmatic for everyone, she’d have to treat the symptoms as best she could and hope her herbal strategy could vanquish the source.

“As I felt with the prince Tahir, this is a malady I have not encountered before.” She placed a reassuring hand on the Sha’Lai’s shoulder. “There may be things I can do—more, I hope, than just the relief for your throat, my lady. But before attempting them, I will need to be sure the other patients are the same. Sometimes those suffering from the same malady have discrepancies in the feeling, in the
pattern
of the illness. And if the pattern inside any of them is familiar to me, I would have a greater chance of helping all of you.”

“O Lord?” called a timorous voice from the antechamber.

“In here, Sohad,” the sultan answered.

An angular man in a shin-length tan robe rushed in, giving obeisance. “You honor me with your summons, Great Sultan, and may my abilities be found worthy of your—”

Kuramos interrupted him with a quelling glance. “Have you made any progress against the illness?”

Sohad swallowed and shook his head. “No, O Lord, not yet, though I am working hard to save all I can, and—”

“Royal Healer,” Kuramos said, turning to Varene, “this is Sohad. He worked with Yaman, my Royal Physician, for just six months before Yaman’s…unfortunate end. He’ll escort you to the other patients. You two will have much to talk about, I’m sure.”

He glanced at the assistant, whose expression reflected surprise and uncertainty. “Sohad, Varene na Seryn is the Royal Healer of Teganne. Since Yaman is dead and I now have no Royal Physician, treat this woman as if Yaman had come back to life in her.”

Varene blinked. What an odd way to put it.

Sohad, too, seemed astonished. He nodded, but his dark eyes looked none too pleased. “Yes, O Lord. I hear and obey.”

Kuramos swung his curt stare to Varene. “Sohad will help you with your pack,” he pointed to her canvas travel pack by the doorway, “and provide whatever else you need to do your work.”

His dismissal was clear, but the sultan hesitated a moment, holding her gaze. “May Naaz grant you luck.”

Sohad retrieved her pack and gestured courteously for her to accompany him, but his eyes continued to betray resentment. Varene walked out behind him, realizing her troubles might have borrowed a new face.

I
n the Sha’Lai’s inner chamber, Rajvi spoke first. “The Healer will need a good handmaiden. Preferably one with experience in the infirmary.”

The sultan grinned down at her and crossed his arms. “I’ve already sent for the Staff Mistress. Perhaps I’ve learned a few things from you since we came to the thrones.”

“Imagine that!” She chuckled. “You’re good to ignore my meddling.”

He made a dismissive gesture. “You’ve kept our household intact and functioning for nearly two hundred years. I plan to tease you about it for several hundred more.”
The goddess willing.

He searched her face, aching to dispel some of the unease that had been coiled in his chest for days. Fear clamped him each time he walked into a patient’s chamber. He’d taken to scanning their expressions, committing each one to his heart, in case it was the last time he’d see his loved ones alive.

He released his pent-up breath. Rajvi, at least, seemed to have gained some energy from the Healer’s ministrations.

“Hmm,” Rajvi said. “Your long-term plans for merriment at my expense are duly noted.” She pushed herself up higher on the pillows and nodded toward the door. “And what do you think of this Tegannese Healer?”

Kuramos stared thoughtfully in the same direction. “Bright and dedicated.” His lips quirked. “But quick to feel slighted. As for her professional skills, quietly competent. Or at least I hope so, for all our sakes.” He shifted his weight to the other foot. “Though I do wish—”

“—that magic wasn’t a part of her healing,” Rajvi finished.

“Yes. It’s…
inconvenient
, to put it mildly.”

“For what it’s worth, dear one,” she said drolly, “her magic didn’t
feel
evil.”

The corners of his mouth tugged up. “I’ve never said magic is evil, exactly. Even if others believe I have.” He sat on the edge of her bed. “What was it like?”

Her nose wrinkled thoughtfully. “Odd. A little ticklish. Like butterflies on my nerves.”

He arched a brow. “Rajvi Sultana, you act like you enjoyed it.”

“I appreciate being able to swallow without grimacing.” Rajvi folded her hands over her stomach and gave him a coy look. “The Healer’s beautiful, isn’t she.”

His smile broadened as he stared at his Sha’Lai. “So she is. And why do you mention it?”

“Ha, as I thought! You aren’t immune to women’s charms just yet.”

“Never!” he chuckled, but his expression soon dampened.

“So Sulya’s allure has truly soured, then.”

He grunted.

She gave him a quiet look. “I did warn you of her family’s designs.”

“You did, yes.” He stood up, irritated by the reminder, though she’d been right. “But we’ve been over this before. If I’d turned her down when her family offered the alliance, there would have been repercussions.”

“True, true.” She looked up at him coquettishly. “But it didn’t hurt that you wanted her in your bed, fast and often.”

He threw his head back and laughed, then looked down at Rajvi, smiling with all the delight in his heart. He was lucky indeed to have her for his Sha’Lai.

Their parents had done well in choosing this arranged marriage, and Kad had been the stronger for their partnership. What difference if passion had never bound them? Friendship had made them each content in their own way, and both believed honor and duty invaluable. Besides, like his father, Kuramos had always known he couldn’t get everything he wanted in a wife from just one woman. That would have been impossible. The gods were never that kind.

As he and his Sha’Lai smiled at each other, their merriment faded and crumpled.

Rajvi swallowed. “How are they, Kuramos?”

“Alive. So far.” He clasped her hand. “Maitri and Zahlia are sleeping as best they can. The Healer helped Tahir’s throat as she did yours, but said he was desperate for liquids. He looked to be in a coma.” His voice quavered, and he clamped his lips together.