Sandstorm (37 page)

"I suppose being ignored is better than being attacked," Sahayl said with a sigh. "However, it is not peace."

Rook shrugged. "Matters such as these take time, Highness. We were in talks with Havarin for nearly three decades before they would even consider our trade requests. Diplomacy is a slow and usually painful process. It speaks well for you indeed that his Majesty leaves the bulk of it in your hands, and Gollen realizes this. Lavarre and Hadge are being far more stubborn, but when we eventually make an ally of Gollen they will have little choice but to start negotiations of their own. That Gollen ignores us speaks well indeed."

Sahayl nodded. "As you say." He set his papers down with a sigh, and gratefully accepted the wine Bahadur held to his lips. They sat out in his private garden, working beneath the shade of plants he felt horribly spoiled for even having - but as usual, no one listened to him in such matters. If he sent men to take care of a border scuffle he was instantly obeyed. If he said he did not want a fancy garden, it was ready by the next day.

He sipped more wine and smiled as Bahadur finished it, feeling the fingers that lightly stroked his thigh beneath the table. Evil. He looked away, ignoring the unsubtle gesture, playing along.

"So what else can you suggest, Rook?"

Rook pushed back his curls, always hopeless in the heat, and bent over the various documents on the table, pointing and explaining, jotting down notes and translations of various things.

All the while Bahadur continued to gently tease him, and it was far more aggravating than it would be with Shihab or Isra, because he expected such behavior of those two - Bahadur was ruining his concentration one light touch at a time.

The sound of movement at the edge of the garden distracted him, and as they all realized who had arrived Bahadur removed his hand, smiling briefly before moving well out of the way.

A bundle of energy bolted across the garden and threw itself into Sahayl's lap. "Papa!"

Sahayl smiled. "Oh, I see you are getting better at your mother's language. Did you finish your lessons, Nazih?"

Nazih beamed, a trace of the almond sweets he'd just finished eating still on his mouth.

Sahayl wiped the crumbs away and settled his son in his lap as Nazih began to talk at a quick, scattered pace, often switching topics mid-sentence but lively and animated.

When he finally paused for a breath, Sahayl took a moment to drink the wine Bahadur held out for him.

Cordelia chuckled softly from where she sat beside Rook. "I know you are working, but he insisted on coming to see you."

Sahayl smiled at her. "Of course I do not mind. We were ready for a break, anyway."

"Oh! Papa! Can we go on Moon?"

"Later," Sahayl said. "It is too hot right now."

Nazih pouted and started to protest, but Cordelia spoke up before he could. "Come now, darling, Kamil should be done with his lessons. You two can play and later papa will take you for a ride."

"Promise?" Nazih demanded.

Sahayl tugged on one of his dark brown curls. "Promise. Run along with your mother now."

A wet kiss was pressed to his cheek, then Nazih squirmed from his lap and bolted away.

Sighing, shaking her head, Cordelia kissed Sahayl's cheek and then went after her son, trailed by a pale-haired woman from her harem.

Rook gathered up all the papers, arranging them into neat piles. "I will return these to the office, unless your Highness wants to continue?"

"No," Sahayl said. "We can speak more about it this evening, perhaps. For now, the heat demands we rest. Thank you for your assistance, Rook."

"My pleasure. Mind, body, soul." Sweeping a low bow, Rook departed.

Bahadur's hand curled around his thigh, immediately resuming the mischief from before.

"Would my Prince like to rest here in the garden, or return to his room?"

"Room," Sahayl said, just managing to get the word out before Bahadur kissed him deeply.

He moaned softly, wrapping himself around his strong warhorse, worries and strains of the day soothed away as only his men could do.

Bahadur lapped lazily at his lips. "If we go back to your rooms, I fear you will not get much rest at all. Isra and Shihab will likely already be there."

"I know," Sahayl said, nearly distracted from what he wanted to say by the clever hand caressing him through the fabric of his robes. He was tired, true, but he would much rather spend a free hour with his men - and Isra still owed him a prize after losing at taaki last night.

Bahadur still owed Shihab a prize.

It would make for a very interesting afternoon indeed.

Everything You Need

"Fine wine! The finest! Are you seeking wine, good gentleman?"

Ikram turned his head away before the wine merchant could see him rolling his eyes. It never paid to be rude to anyone with goods to sell – even the lowliest rag merchant. When shopping in the ‘greatest market in the world’ it never paid to mistreat any of the merchants and shopkeeps.

Even the ones that deserved it.

He hated the market. It was noisy, chaotic, and eerily reminiscent of the battles he had left behind in the Desert years ago. Sometimes, however, there was nowhere else to go. Ikram slowed as he drew near the stall he wanted, stopping several down so as not to appear eager.

Anyone who didn’t believe merchants were the most evil things ever placed in the world had never shopped a day in his life. Lady give him a battle with Scorpions any day. He examined a table neatly arrayed with perfume bottles without interest, ignoring the look the stall merchant was giving him, then gradually moved on to the next booth, this one selling soaps –

most of which were more cloying than the perfumes, or maybe the merchants were simply too close together.

"Little thief!" Someone behind him snarled. Ikram didn’t bother to turn around.

Until he heard the woman cry out in pain, obviously terrified.

"Thief!"

Dropping the soap he’d been sniffing, Ikram whirled around just in time to catch the woman thrown in his direction. Even as he glared at the man who’d assaulted her, he could feel how small she was. Slender, bony and delicate, like a bird. "Is that any way to treat a lady, good sir?"

"Tramp and thief!" The merchant, fat and red-faced, glaring mutinously at the woman trying hard not to shake in Ikram’s arms.

"I didn’t," she whispered, turning to look up at Ikram. "I dropped it, and bent to pick it up. He says I took it, but I didn’t, I swear."

Ikram tried hard not to stare at the face staring up at him from the folds of an old, well-worn headcover. It was pale green, only bringing out the stunning green of her eyes. Her skin was pale, nearly white, and what he could see of her hair was a deep red, as rich as rubies.

Finally tearing his eyes away, he looked again at the merchant. "The woman says she is no thief. What proof do you have that says otherwise?"

"She is always stopping by my stall," the man said contemptuously, motioning to the jeweled hairpins and other ornaments carefully spread out on velvet. "Never does she buy. Of course she is too poor, and heathen, so naturally she finally decided to steal."

"I didn’t," the woman said, twitching, fighting to remain calm. "Someone bumped into me and I dropped it. It’s right here! Please!"

Ikram gently took it from her fingers – the object being a silver hairpin decorated with a flower made from opals with peridot for leaves. Reluctantly letting go of the small woman, half-afraid she would slip away, he held it out to the merchant.

Whose eyes went wide upon seeing the heavy gold signet on Ikram’s right hand. "My Lord.

Thank you for interfering."

"Apologize to the lady," Ikram said, staring him in the eyes until the merchant dropped his gaze. "You have no proof she stole anything, and until you have such proof she does not deserve the way you’ve treated her."

"I owe her nothing," the merchant replied curtly. "If she cannot buy, she should not touch." He turned away to beckon forward a waiting customer.

Ikram rolled his eyes, making sure the man saw him, and turned back to the woman. "I apologize on his behalf."

The woman shook her head. "He’s always that way. Thank you, my lord, for your help. I am sorry to have caused such a stir." Her eyes flicked briefly back to the stall, a brief moment of longing passing over her face, but it was gone in the next moment."

"Might I beg the honor of your name, my lady?"

"I am hardly deserving of ‘my lady,’ my lord, but I thank you. My name is Valerie."

Ikram nodded. "I am Ikram—" he cut himself off before he could go further. Even after living for nearly a decade in Tavamara, he still tried to use the Desert form of address, giving his father, Tribe, and the Lady along with his given name. "A servant in the royal palace," he finished awkwardly.

"Again, I thank you," Valerie said, smiling, the expression making her even more beautiful.

He hesitated, too long out of such games to be certain he should be trying to get back into them. "Are you busy, my lady? Would you have time for a cup of tea? A bit of wine?"

"Oh…" Valerie blinked at him, clearly surprised, then stumbled forward as she was jostled, the milling crowd caring not a bit for either of them not that the spectacle was over. She stopped just short of crashing into Ikram. "I…that would be nice…I can’t stay long…"

"Nor I," Ikram said with a smile. Offering his arm, he made certain her fine-boned, so fragile-seeming hand was securely tucked into the crook of his arm and then began to fight his way through the crowds, releasing an aggravated sigh as he finally reached his favorite teashop.

"What is your pleasure, my lady?"

"I—tea is fine." Obviously nervous, Valerie slowly began to unwind the scarf around her head, setting it neatly around her shoulders.

Ikram tried not to stare.

Her hair really was the color of dark rubies, straight and long. Never, even in all his years in Tavamara, had he seen hair like that. Beautiful, especially set against that pale skin and combined with the green eyes…He finally regained his senses when the waiter appeared, and frowned as he considered. "Have you preference in wine, my lady?" Only then did he recall she’d said tea. Or had she?

Ikram fought a sigh and wondered where his wits had gone.

No doubt lying somewhere on the ground being trampled to death by the citizens of Tavamara. Or perhaps in the fine hands of the woman seated across from him. If she’d stolen anything today, it was his sense. Thirty-one years old and he was acting like he was eighteen again.

Valerie laughed lightly. "I fear, my lord, that I will never master the Tavamaran art of wine. I will take whatever you recommend."

"As you wish," Ikram said, returning the lovely smile. He turned to the waiter. "A half-carafe of Summer Roses, a tray of sweets to match."

The waiter bowed and vanished.

"Do you live in the city?" Ikram asked.

"Yes," Valerie replied, smiling. "Well away from the marketplace."

Ikram laughed softly. "It is rare to see one such as you in the marketplace alone."

It was Valerie’s turn to laugh. "A foreign woman alone? Yes, quite. I have lived here for a year and a half now, and knew the language from my studies as a girl."

"You like Tavamara?"

Valerie nodded. "I do. It is quite different from Lavarre, but it is those differences I enjoy." She smiled again as the waiter reappeared with the wine. "Though as I said, I cannot master the art of wine."

"Mastering wine takes being as obsessed with it as any proper Tavamaran," Ikram said, winking. "Summer Roses you cannot go wrong with; it’s fruity and only slightly sweet. If ever in doubt, go with that."

"There is one I like to buy from time to time…Summer Breeze, I think is its name. I’m afraid where I come from, wines do not have such names…or colors. I always feel slightly silly."

Ikram laughed as he poured the wine. "I thought much the same when I first came to Tavamara. Though I’m used to strong wine, it was strange to see so many, such colors, and to hear the strange names they are given. It took getting used to."

"You’re not Tavamaran?"

"More like…a cousin of Tavamara." Ikram sat back. "The one from the side of the family no one likes to discuss."

Valerie tilted her head, obviously confused, but did not press it. "Yet you’ve made your home here now?"

"Yes. I…never felt entirely at peace in my homeland. My family and I are much happier with me in Tavamara." He assumed his family was happy. Certainly they’d been quick enough to kick him out of Cobra. He could almost feel his tattoo burn against his skin, forever marking the Sands he’d come from, the savagery that had raised him before he traveled to the exotic but far more gentle Tavamara.

Shaking off his thoughts, Ikram gently shoved the tray of sweets toward Valerie. "Have you had any of these before?"

"No, I don’t think so," Valerie murmured, reaching out to delicately snag a pastry covered in dark chocolate. "I do not often purchase sweets."

Most sweets were expensive, and while her clothing was good and well-cared for, it was all threadbare. Ikram wanted to buy her sweets – and far more besides.

It was rather frightening. He hoped he wasn’t staring like some star-struck boy, but the way she slowly nibbled at the treat was torture. Give him Scorpions any day. He took a sip of wine and looked out over the café to give himself a chance to recover whatever sense he might have left.

"You said you worked in the palace?" Valerie asked, breaking into his thoughts.

Ikram forced his mind to work, or at least to act like it was working. Those green eyes were going to be the death of him. "Yes. I studied there when I first came to Tavamara and after concluding my studies decided to stay. My family was not happy, of course." They disowned him, banished him from the Tribe and told him not to even think of ever coming back. If he wanted to betray his Tribe and the Lady, then he could do so. Most days it didn’t get to him.

On those days it did, he either buried himself in his work or drowned himself in wine. "I currently assist in the royal offices." He was apprenticed to the King’s Advisor, but it amounted to the same thing.