I unlocked my door and stepped out into the hall, pushing my disheveled hair out of my face. This time, the tones came from my right. I shut my door behind me and moved down the corridor with practiced silence, my way lit by the ever-burning torches.
I traced my way back to the feasting hall to a door that hung half open. I settled by the doorframe and gazed inside.
The chamber was half lit by low torches, and so the ceiling was a black pit. Light gathered near a pillar across the room, where several rugs and pillows and cushions had been arranged. Rajak sat on a small chair, leaning back, the fingers of his right hand draped over his mouth. Mahanidhi sat opposite him, his elbows on his knees, gesturing with both hands as he uttered a long stream of Badi. Their words echoed hollowly in the vast, empty space, the shadows deep against their faces. Rajak listened to Mahanidhi, then replied in calm tones. I felt the tension rise between them—I could see it on Mahanidhi’s creased brow and in his unflinching gaze. He was trying to make Rajak understand something, believe something, do something. And Rajak was not betraying a single emotion.
They continued this way for a long time. I sat down on the floor, trying to pick out familiar Badi words. A few times, I caught the term “jaaneman,” a couple insult phrases, and the word “Mata,” which I assumed was the word for “mother.” But this discussion did not escalate as the one between Rajak and his father had. Though Mahanidhi would have liked to shout again—for I was certain it had been his voice that had awakened me—Rajak’s cool demeanor, like a coiled snake, held his guest in check. I gritted my teeth as their tones lilted and pulsed, wishing I could understand more of what they were saying. But I could not, no matter how hard I concentrated. As they did not appear to be close to a resolution, I got up and treaded back to my room, troubled—and wondering if Rajak would tell me in the morning what he had “decided.”
LLL
I did not sleep well. I thrashed and turned all night, flinging off my covers only to get cold and gather them up again and stare at the dark ceiling. When the first signs of morning finally came, I just gave up and dragged myself out of bed, feeling sore and un-rested. And I did not even want to look at myself in the mirror.
“Oh, for all the trees in Balefreid…” I muttered, staring down at the contents of my trunk. Ayah had taken almost all my dresses to the wash, and all that remained was my brown riding dress that Rajak thought was ugly. Rolling my eyes, I slammed the lid and went to bathe.
After I had done so, and dried, I pulled that dress on anyway. Ayah came in, then, and I told her all about what had happened the night before while she braided my hair. She chuckled through the whole story, and said several times: “Ah, see? I told you!”
Then, she left me to my breakfast. I ate most of it, then sat on the end of my bed, chewing a leaf and waiting for Rajak.
But he did not come. I spat out the leaf, straightened my bed, rearranged my vanity, even put on a little of the eyelash khol out of sheer boredom, and then Ayah came for my tray.
“He has not come yet?” she looked around the room. I sighed, sat down on my bench and shook my head. Frowning, Ayah took my tray and left.
Half an hour passed, and I had just about given up when a knock came. I shot to my feet, then made myself calm down and walk to the door.
I opened it, to see Rajak leaning on the doorframe, wearing simple black trousers, boots, a loose, dark tunic and belt. But his face looked pale, his usually bright eyes dim, and he gave me a tired smile.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Oh, yes,” he nodded, rubbing his eyes. He dropped his hand and gave me a better smile. “I had a long night. I am sorry for keeping you waiting.”
“I shan’t forgive you,” I tossed my head. “I have had to cancel several vital appointments.”
Some of his weariness melted as he laughed at me, and I grinned.
“You were going to greet kings and Maharajas in that dress?” he lifted his eyebrows and gestured to my attire. I lifted my chin.
“And what is wrong with my dress?”
He shook his head.
“Nothing. It is perfect.”
I frowned, but before I could speak, he motioned me out into the hall.
“Come with me.”
I stepped out after him and fell into stride beside him as we headed up, toward the great halls.
“How did you sleep?” he asked. I shrugged.
“Not very well,” I confessed.
“Did you dream you were dancing?” he wondered, and I could hear his half smile.
“No,” I retorted, hoping he could not see my blush. “I did not sleep enough to dream.”
He sighed again, and ran a hand across his forehead.
“I only knew my bed for about three hours, and that was just this morning.”
“I am sorry,” I said. “You should go to sleep—I can go to my garden and—”
“No, no,” he cut in. “I promised. Besides, there is something you must see.”
My stomach twisted. Sometimes, when I followed him around Nazre, I discovered good and beautiful things. Other times…
We turned a corner, and I blinked to realize we were heading toward the stables. And then he pushed the door open, we stepped inside—
And I was greeted by the sight of the most beautiful chestnut mare I had ever seen. She was not tall—just the perfect height—with a shimmering coat, polished hooves and bright eyes. A stable boy was holding her, and her ears perked up at me.
“Go ahead,” Rajak urged me.
“She is lovely,” I breathed, stepping forward and running my hands along her smooth neck. She nickered at me, and I smiled at the friendly sound.
“You like her?” Rajak came up to stand beside me. I nodded.
“Oh, very much—what a beautiful horse!”
“Her name is Al-Hadiye,” he said. “It means ‘the gift.’”
I stared at him. He just watched me for a moment, then a slow smile started on his lips.
“W-What?” I stammered. “You mean—”
“I do,” he said. “She is yours.”
I just stood there for an instant, stunned, then grinned like an idiot.
“Thank you!” I cried. “Oh, thank you.” Foolish tears brimmed up in my eyes, but I did not care. I knew the value of a horse—knew what it meant to raise one to this age and keep it beautiful and healthy. And I was suddenly speechless.
“Would you like to ride her?”
“Yes!” I said, before Rajak had finished his sentence.
“Amir,” he pointed to the stable boy. “Saddle this one, and get Al-Hawa ready also.” He flashed his eyebrows at me, giving me a challenging look. “We will see how well you can keep your seat, Princess.”
“Better than you can,” I replied.
“We will see!”
LLL
Sitting on Al-Hadiye was the easiest thing I had ever done. It was as if we were made for each other. Even as we loitered inside the stable, waiting for an irritable Al-Hawa to accept his bridle and bit, I could tell Al-Hadiye was listening to me, attentive to my directions.
Finally, Al-Hawa was ready, Rajak mounted, and the door wheeled open.
“Are you going to wear a veil?” Rajak asked.
“Are you?” I shot back, and urged Al-Hadiye out into the brilliant sunshine. The heat rolled over me as soon as I did, and I squinted, but a high wind caught up my hair and I knew any silly veil would have blown off that instant.
I heard trotting hoof beats behind me, and twisted in my saddle to see Rajak catching up.
“Where to?” I asked. He nodded the other direction, pulling on the reins and steering his mount away from the road that led down to the wine country.
“We will take the high road—it is smoother and straighter.” He smiled crookedly. “To somewhere I can forget.”
He gave Al-Hawa a small kick and the horse broke into a canter. Al-Hadiye waited for my command as I wondered a moment, but then I sent her forward and then w
e raced up beside him.
The wind blew my skirt out behind me, but I wore trousers beneath and was happy to ride astride, rather than side-saddle, on an unfamiliar horse on an unfamiliar road.
The narrow road wound around the other side of the stable entrance, and then up a hill. The horses pranced as we ascended, their shoes crunching on the hard sand.
We attained the top of the hill and paused, and I gazed out over a broad, flat plateau dotted with a few tall boulders. The wind whipped up, sending our clothes and horses’ manes billowing. Al-Hawa snorted and tossed his head. Rajak smiled.
“Follow me,” he said, and Al-Hawa lunged and took off. Al-Hadiye let out a shrill neigh as the other horse and rider fled from us.
“Hut, hut!” I cried and she needed no other invitation.
Her hooves ate up the track before us, and in no time we raced beside Rajak at full tilt. The thunder of our passage kicked up dust behind us, and I leaned forward and grasped the reins higher up, though in a loose hold. My body moved with her smooth, swift gait, and she and Al-Hawa kept pace as if they were both hitched to the same chariot.
My blood thrilled—I had not realized how much I missed riding. I found myself grinning and letting out shouts of defiant joy each time we rounded a gradual curve or I felt a new surge of speed from Al-Hadiye.
I do not know how long we rode—quite a distance, at this speed—but the land flew past. I had never been atop such a fast horse.
The road began to ascend, and our horses pulled in deep breaths as they pounded their way up. At last, we reached the peak, and Rajak pulled his horse to a halt. My hauling in on the reins was completely unconscious.
“Oh…” was all I could manage.
Below us sprawled a great, white-washed city. Square buildings of all heights made a maze of the streets which were filled with bustling crowds. And in the distance stood a gleaming palace that looked…
Pink.
It was vast, like a city itself, with arched windows and doors, and towered higher than any structure I had ever seen. The tops of its towers reminded me of Mahanidhi’s house—like giant, upside-down onions. My mouth fell open. And then I sent a scathing look to Rajak.
“Why is it that when we decide to visit palaces, you always pick the days that I wear this dress?” I snarled, knowing my hair was now disheveled and dust had blown all over me.
“We aren’t visiting the palace,” he said. “In fact, if the sheik knew I was here, he would have my head on a platter.”
I gaped at him.
“Then what are we doing here?” I demanded. He grinned.
“I am not going into Hashel.” He reached down and pulled a black eye patch out of his pocket, and strapped it on so it covered his left eye. “Come on. And remember—don’t use my name.”
I stammered some sort of reply, but he did not wait. He urged Al-Hawa forward and down the hill. Laughing in disbelief, I followed.
We trotted down to the main road, dust kicked up behind us, and fell in behind a group of strange, long-legged beasts of burden that made me stare all the more, for they loomed over our horses. Men wearing robes and turbans sat atop them and held tasseled reins. The beasts had large heads like horses, but slit-like noses and narrow eyes, a sour expression, and the most ridiculously-long, curved necks I had ever seen. Besides which, it looked like the men sat between two humps on the animals’ backs!
“What are those?” I hissed to Rajak. He raised his eyebrows at me.
“They are camels. You have never seen one?”
“No…” I breathed, unable to look away from them. He chuckled.
“Now, you cannot act like that here,” he warned. “You must act like a very knowledgeable peasant’s wife.”
I shot him a glance, but we were at the gates now, passing tall armed guards. We followed the camels inside, and I gawked some more.
I remembered how elaborate the bazaar at Casim had been, but this was different. This was not a festival, this was everyday. Permanent booths lined the streets, strings of draped fabric overhead created fluttering shadows down below. The air was filled with spices and perfumes and music and bantering. The crowds moved like noisy rivers all around us, paying us no heed.
Rajak slid off his horse, came around and helped me down off of mine, catching me around the waist before he set me down. I straightened and blushed, but he took the reins of both our horses in his left hand and grasped my fingers in his right, and strode forward. The horses fell in behind us. We walked about a block, then Rajak found a stable where he handed off our horses and ordered that they be washed and watered, and handed the stable master three gold coins. The man bit them to test their authenticity, then nodded and slapped Rajak’s open palm. Rajak took hold of my hand again, and we moved down the street.
I was thankful the patch covered his left eye instead of his right, for since I stood on his right side, I could see where his glance traveled. His gaze lingered on a small shop and he pulled me that way.
“What?” I asked. He winked at me, and pulled me under the awning. I looked around at the lengths of fabric draped all over chests, chairs and racks—silks and satins of all colors and cuts.
“Pick one,” he gestured all around him.
“For what?” I asked, surprised.
“To cover your head,” he answered. “It will keep you from getting a sun headache—and it looks pretty.”
I could not think of a reason to argue with that, and so I carefully browsed, asking Rajak’s opinion about a few of them before deciding upon a deep maroon shawl with silver edges. Rajak took it up to the shopkeeper and bought it, along with a silver headband that would keep it in place. I put the shawl on my head and slipped on the headband, and Rajak looked satisfied. We bid the shopkeeper good day and left, Rajak keeping an arm loosely around my waist.
“Why would the sheik have your head on a platter?” I asked him as we strolled through the bustling masses. He ducked as a nearby shopkeeper hefted a giant fish over his head and bellowed something about a lower price.
“When I was sixteen,” Rajak said. “I ran away to this town, Hashel, because I had heard a story about the sheik’s daughter.”
I frowned, but strained to hear him over a man barking out the quality of his beads. Rajak studied the booths as we passed, but I could not read his expression because now I was on his left side.
“I had heard that she was the most beautiful girl on earth—but no one had ever seen her. I, of course, was curious, but my father would not let me go because he wanted me to marry…someone else.” Rajak maneuvered me around a snorting camel that glared at me as it passed.
“I came here when the sheik was away visiting my father, not thinking to disguise myself,” Rajak said. “And when I told the guards who I was, I just walked right in. I saw his daughter. And she was beautiful.”
I sighed and glanced at the ground. When I looked back at him, he was deep in remembrance.
“The sheik returned while I was still here, and threatened to kill me if I ever returned, saying he knew my father would agree. So I left.” He gave a wry smile. “But I have come back often, dressed this way.”
I scowled at him. I could not help it. He glanced at me, having to turn more so he could see me with his right eye, then stared, surprised.
“Great heaven—what a face!”
“Is this a habit of yours?” I demanded. “To collect women, just like all your fathers, only without marrying them? What if that poor girl—”
“Poor girl!” he cried, then laughed. “Poor indeed!” he shook his head. “Yes, she was beautiful. But she was also the most selfish, ill-tempered, impatient, spoiled child I had ever met.”
“What?” I yelped. Rajak’s grin broadened.
“Yes, you think right. The sheik’s daughter was barely nine years old. And such a temper! Perhaps her father was trying to get her betrothed early, by spreading such rumors. Anyway, I was disappointed.”
My stomach sank. Just as I was starting to feel b
etter…
He glanced at me again.
“Your expression is the same.”
I shook my head and rolled my eyes.
“Never mind,” I said.
“Don’t,” he warned.
“Don’t what?” I growled.
“Frown like that. Your forehead will wrinkle.” Then, he brushed a stray strand of hair out of my forehead and kissed me just above the bridge of my nose, where my brow had furrowed.
That brought me around. I almost said something—what, I do not know—but he had straightened up and led us to avoid an incense seller. I swallowed, and tried to gather the thoughts he had just scattered.
“Why do you come back here dressed like this, then, if you do not want to see the daughter?” I wondered. The smile that formed on his face now was different.
“You will see,” he said.
We continued to wander, poking in many of the shops, and I saw all kinds of different things—goods that had not been at the bazaar at Casim. I thought these trinkets more lovely, more exotic, for it appeared to me as if they had come from farther away. Rajak told me all about them, and I told him about the Highland goods that were similar—and once in a while, we discovered something that I recognized, like a spice or a plant or a style of jewelry.
Once in a while, a shopkeeper or passerby would recognize Rajak, and call out to him by the name of “Emre.” He would smile and wave if the person was far away, or he would greet him with an embrace or a slap of the hands if he were closer.
“Emre?” I repeated after one such instance. He smirked.
“That is my name here,” he said. “It just means ‘friend.’”
As we continued, I began to realize why Rajak would often come here in disguise. Here, people who recognized him as “Emre” would acknowledge him with a friendly gesture, then go about their business. No one trailed behind us, watching our every move. All the shopkeepers did not compete to get his special attention. Here, he was just a young man, free to be visible or invisible as he chose. And it was as if a weight had lifted from him.
He teased me as he taught me, and he often smiled in a spontaneous, uncalculated way. He would hold my hand or wrap an arm around my waist as if he thought nothing of it—and once, in the midst of speaking to a seller of spices, he stood behind me, slipped both arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder. It made me want to melt right into him.
Linnet and the Prince Page 19
