Linnet and the Prince

by Alydia Rackham

  By mid afternoon, both of us were hungry, so he pulled me in to a building that smelled of curry and hummus and lamp oil. It was darker in here, and cooler, and several curtained booths lined the walls. Rajak spoke Badi to a man that came up to us, and he nodded and led the way to one of the booths. He pulled aside the curtain to reveal a low table and several cushions, lit by three bright hanging lamps. Rajak stepped inside, and I followed. Rajak glanced up at me.

  “Where is your headdress?”

  My hand flew to my head. The headdress was gone.

  “Oh, no!” I gasped. “I just had it on, I know I did. Maybe I dropped it by the door…”

  “I will go look—”

  “No, it’s all right,” I waved him off. “I see it.” There it was, sitting on the ground in the doorway. I hurried back to get it.

  I bent down, making a face as I saw it had gotten dirty—and felt two hands slip down around my waist.

  And they were not Rajak’s hands.

  A low, husky voice rumbled something in Badi. I went still, my head cleared, and I left the headdress on the floor. Slowly, I rose up, and the hands clamped down harder. A bearded chin rubbed against the side of my face and the stranger spoke again in a slithering tone. I held my hands out, palms up, and cocked my shoulder to deliver a crushing strike to his gut with my elbow. This would be so easy…

  A hand slapped down on my assailant’s shoulder. The man let go of me and spun around. I whirled, just in time to see Rajak’s fist flash and catch the tall, bald ruffian in the nose. The punch shattered his face and sent blood flying. The man toppled to the ground, loudly crushing an urn.

  Everyone burst out of the booths—and several dozen of the men cried out and drew swords. I gulped, remembering I had no weapon. All right, this was not going to be easy.

  Rajak grabbed me by the arm and turned and faced them. Their eyes widened in recognition, and they glanced at each other.

  “What happened?” one asked.

  “Hashak touched Emre’s woman,” another answered. A gasp of shock traveled through the room. Rajak turned to the shopkeeper and shook out his hurt hand.

  “A thousand apologies, Himtep,” he winced.

  “No, no, no, no,” Himtep waved his hands in protest. “Hashak should never have done that, never.” He snatched up my headdress and handed it to me. “I am sorry this happened to you,” he inclined his head to me. “Please forgive me. I will get him out of here. Please, come sit, and I will get you something for your hand, Emre.”

  “Thank you,” Rajak nodded. I grasped his left hand in both of mine and we went back to the booth. He thudded onto a cushion and groaned. I sat across from him. The next moment, Himtep returned with a bowl of water and a rag. Rajak’s knuckles bled—he glared at them as he took up the rag and began to clean his wound.

  “Believe it or not,” I said, propping my elbows up on the table. “I could have taken care of myself.”

  He gave me a sneer.

  “I do not believe it,” he said. “You are lucky I was here.”

  I shrugged.

  “If you were not here, I would not be here, either.”

  His eyes flashed to mine, serious. The smile fell from my face.

  “That isn’t what I meant.”

  “I know what you meant,” he muttered. But his brow twisted for an instant.

  “No, no,” I insisted, reaching across and taking his hand. His eyes lifted to mine again. I took a breath, growing earnest.

  “That is not what I should have said,” I decided. “What I meant was…thank you.”

  He halfway smiled, and squeezed my hand.

  “Then you’re welcome.”

  LLL

  Our way back was slower, easier on the horses. We listened as their walking pace made a rhythm against the sand. The cool evening wind blew through my gown and headdress. I glanced to the east, and caught sight of the first evening star. I sighed, wishing we did not have to return to Nazre—wishing we could just be the peasant Emre and his wife forever.

  “It’s days like these I wish I could share with my mother and sister,” I sighed. “I wish I could tell them about the sheik’s pink palace and his spoiled little daughter, and buying a headdress from one of the best shops in the deserts, and you punching a man in the nose who outweighs you by half.” I could not suppress my smile, even when I felt Rajak’s eyes on me. But when I met his gaze, he was only thoughtful.

  “You can,” he said, as if that were obvious. “At least with a message.”

  My eyes flashed.

  “What?”

  “What?” he said, even louder. “Jahin never told you?”

  “Told me what?” my heart began to race.

  “We have a tower full of birds that send messages to all corners of the earth, Linnet!” he declared. “I specifically told Jahin to tell you that you could send a message to your family as soon as you arrived!” He let out a frustrated, wordless shout. “I should take off his head.” He turned to me, his eyes bright with remorse. “I am so sorry. No wonder you were so lonely and wouldn’t eat. When we get home, go straight to the entrance of the feasting hall, then up the stairs ahead of you to the great tower. Yesheph will be there to help you send any message you want. You just write it down and he will bind it to a bird and it will arrive at Hilrigard within two days, maybe less.” His eyes searched mine in the dimming light. “Forgive me?”

  “Yes,” I said quickly. “That is not your fault.”

  He watched me for another moment, as if unsure, then urged Al-Hawa into an easy trot. I kicked my mount to keep up, two conflicting thoughts lodged in my chest.

  The first was that I was no longer cut off from my family.

  And the second was when Rajak had said the word “home,” I had thought of Nazre.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I am sorry, my lady—Yesheph is not here.”

  I brushed a piece of hair out of my face and sighed, trying not to be frustrated with the guard who stood in front of the door to the message tower.

  “When will he be back?” I asked.

  “Later this evening, madam,” the guard answered. “He is eating a late dinner, and then he takes a walk, and will be back here during the second watch of the night.”

  “That’s the middle of the night,” I glared at him.

  “Yes, madam,” he nodded, then returned to staring at the opposite wall. I sighed again, turned and headed back toward my room.

  The corridors were quiet, empty. After Rajak and I had returned from our ride, he had cited a need to fulfill an errand and gone straight to his wing, pointing the way to the message tower as he did. When I realized he was not coming with me, I had returned to my chamber and grabbed the “wedding present” knife and stuffed it in my belt, then gone to the message room—only to find that I could not enter yet.

  Now, as I wandered back to my chambers, my head bowed low, I thought about what exactly I ought to say to my mother and sister. Perhaps while I bathed and changed clothes, the right words would come to me. I had told Aeleth that I would send word of my safe journey as soon as I could…

  My thoughts trailed off. I heard footsteps behind me. I slowed to a halt.

  So did the footsteps.

  I took a deep breath. I glanced up the dark corridor ahead of me. No one was there. I held out my hands, loose palms out, and took another breath. The next moment, the person following me decided to stop hiding.

  The quick footsteps sounded heavy—it was a man. No, two. Wait—three. And the first was right behind me.

  I whirled.

  A tall, bearded man snatched at my throat.

  I whipped my hand out and around his arm and knocked his grip loose. I grabbed his wrist, stepped in and kicked his groin. He cried out. I yanked down on his arm with all my force and flung him to the floor. But I had no time to recover.

  Another man, shorter, lashed out with his fist.

  I leaped to the side, gripped his forearm and took a fistful of his hair on
the back of his head. He screamed. I threw him down, then lifted my heel to kick his face. But the last man came at me.

  And so I lunged at him.

  I threw my shoulder into his gut. He doubled over, yelping. One of the others clawed at my shoulder. I spun, ducked low and kicked his legs out from under him. He crashed to the ground again.

  My gaze darted as I gasped. I could not last in this hall. It was too tight. If one of them hit me—

  I did not finish the thought. A burly arm came from behind and snaked around my neck.

  My heart seized up, but my reflexes took over. I pulled on his arm as hard as I could with both hands, and I rammed my chin down so he could not choke me off. Then I elbowed his ribs. He gagged and let go of me.

  But the one on the floor ensnared my legs. I tripped. My back slammed against stone. Lights flashed in my eyes. I tried to breathe in. I could not. I scrabbled for my knife.

  It was gone.

  Oh, no—

  The man kept hold of my legs, and another tried to grab my arms. I wrenched free and sat up. The third man swooped down and slapped my face.

  I thudded back to the floor, tasting blood in my mouth. The one succeeded in catching my arms and stretched them out above my head. And the last man straddled me—sat on my stomach so I could not breathe—and leered down at me. My knife glittered in his hands. I blinked, my vision blurred. I knew his

  face—

  He pressed the point of the blade against my breastbone. It stung my skin. I closed my eyes.

  “Ach saor sinn o olc!” I gasped.

  A savage cry thundered through the hall. And then a towering, black form struck the man on top of me.

  The two barreled down the hall, rolling and snarling like dogs. The taller one leaped up and off and set his stance.

  The other two men charged at the tall one, howling. His hands flashed, catching them in the throats. They jerked back, but struck out aimlessly with their fists. He caught both of them, whirled and twisted, then broke both their wrists over his shoulders.

  Bones cracked. Men shrieked. The tall one tossed them to the floor like rubbish, then bared his white teeth and uttered a deep-throated hiss. He spread his arms out, his long cloak giving him the look of a cobra. His black eyes flashed as venom filled his frame. The dagger clattered to the floor.

  It was Rajak.

  “Mercy, Maharaj!” one man sobbed. “We did not recognize you!”

  Rajak stopped. His enraged features melted to blank shock. Slowly, he lowered his arms to his sides.

  “Akhil?” Rajak’s expression broke. “Fadi? Kaliq?”

  Struggling to pull in rapid breaths, I sat up, my swirling thoughts gathering around those names. I did know these men.

  They were Mahanidhi’s eldest sons. Abhishri’s brothers.

  Kaliq and Fadi’s clutched their broken wrists to their chests, grimacing. Kaliq, gasping, fell back against the wall. Sweat ran down his face. Akhil rose up to his knees before Rajak.

  “Please, Maharaj—we did not mean to harm you—”

  “You almost did!” Rajak roared like a wounded lion. “In harming her, you harm me. She is blood of my blood—my wife!”

  “But Maharaj—”

  “And you are my friends—ever since I was a boy!” Rajak cried, wild with disbelief. “What have you done?”

  “Maharaj—” Akhil tried to bow on his face before Rajak, but Rajak yanked him up by his hair.

  “What were you trying to do?” he demanded.

  “Please, my prince—”

  “Answer me!” Rajak heaved him to his feet, still gripping his hair. Akhil howled. Rajak slammed him up against the wall and snarled in his face.

  “Answer me now.”

  “We came to kill her,” Akhil confessed, eyes screwed shut. Rajak stared at him for one instant, then released him. Akhil fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands. Rajak turned his back on them so only I could see him, his eyes lethally bright.

  “Who told you to do this?” he said through his teeth.

  “Maharaj—”

  “If you address me one more time I will cut out your tongue,” Rajak snapped. The three men cowered. I stayed where I was, eyeing the brothers as they bent beneath the power of Rajak’s rage.

  “Now,” Rajak hissed. “Who told you to do this?”

  “Our father,” Fadi rasped. “He told us that if the Highlander was killed, you could take Abhishri as your wife.”

  Rajak did not move. But his head lowered.

  “And you agree with your father?”

  None of them spoke.

  “Kaliq, answer me or I will do worse to your hand,” Rajak threatened.

  “We agree, my prince,” Kaliq shivered. “Our sister is dishonored because she is not your wife, as she should be. Our father and your father always agreed that Abhishri would become your first wife when you decided to marry. Our father knew, as we did, that you merely needed someone to kill the Highlander so that you would be free to—”

  “My wife’s name is Rani Linnet,” Rajak said. “And I do not know yours.”

  Kaliq stopped. The brothers’ mouths fell open. Rajak stared at the black corridor before him, his back still to them, his expression dark and terrible.

  “Tell your father,” he said, his tones low and even. “That he and his household are never to show their faces to me again—and that they are no longer welcome in my home. I know none of you.”

  “Maharaj—”Akhil tried.

  “Speak one more word and I will have you all gathered up and executed as the traitors you are,” Rajak said, not moving. “Go now.”

  Akhil got to his feet. He stared at Rajak’s back, his expression a mix of disbelief and anger, then bent and helped his brothers up. He cast a poisonous look at me, but I did not care. The three brothers staggered down the corridor and disappeared into the shadows. As soon as their footsteps had faded into silence, Rajak hung his head, closed his eyes, and unmasked his pain.

  He covered his face with his hands and stumbled one step forward. I scrambled to my feet, leaned against the wall for a moment to clear my head, then picked up that dagger and put it in my belt. The next moment, I was beside Rajak.

  “Are you all right?” I asked, grabbing his forearm in both of mine.

  He dropped his hands and met my eyes. And then he pulled me into his chest and wrapped his arms around me. He let out a sigh that shuddered all through my frame, and rested his chin on the crown of my head.

  I said nothing. I just nuzzled down on his collar, my arms tucked up against my chest. His heart hammered next to my hands. But it was nothing to how hard mine was beating.

  Then I noticed something that turned me cold. My fingers were sticky. I pulled back from him, gasping. I held out my hands to the torchlight.

  “Blood,” I yelped. “Am I bleeding? Or are you?”

  “Um,” Rajak frowned, then swallowed. He held out his arms too, and glanced down at himself, then at me.

  “There is blood on your shoulder…”

  “Your arm!” I took hold of his left hand. “Those savages cut you open—”

  “Linnet—” he tried, but I moved the fabric of his sleeve to reveal a three-inch cut on the inside of his forearm that was streaming blood.

  “This must be stitched up,” I declared. “Come with me.”

  LLL

  “There is no need for all this.”

  “You are such a man,” I rolled my eyes. “I know it hurts, and it must be dealt with. People die from this kind of wound.”

  “Not in Nazre,” Ayah shook her head as she carried a small pot to me. Rajak sat slumped on the edge of my bed, wearing just his trousers and under tunic, the sleeve of his left arm rolled up. I knelt before him, pressing a rag to his wound—a rag that was soaked in blood. I frowned at Ayah.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “Boiling water,” she answered. “If you heat the water of Nazre, and then dip the needle in it before you sew, the water will keep
away the rot. But you also must wash your hands in the hot water of your bathing room before you sew, or it will not work.”

  “Hot water?” I repeated, puzzled. “Why?”

  Ayah shrugged.

  “Because it is Nazre water. And it is blessed.”

  “You have done this before?” Rajak asked me.

  “A hundred times,” I said, watching Ayah as she threaded the needle with shaky hands, held onto the thread and then dipped the needle and most of the thread into the hot water.

  “Go wash,” she said. “I will hold his bandage.”

  I did as I was told, then came back and took the needle from Ayah’s waiting hands. She rose up and moved to my vanity and got something.

  “Here,” Ayah handed Rajak a small glass of dark liquid.

  “What is that?” I asked as he took it.

  “A sleeping draught,” he muttered, pale. “It might take the edge off the pain.”

  “It will,” Ayah insisted, cross. “Drink it.”

  Rajak sighed, arched an eyebrow at it, then swallowed it all. He made a face and set the empty glass down on the night table.

  “All that does is make me sick,” he grumbled.

  “Hold on to something with your other hand,” I warned him. “I’ve had men hit me before, out of reflex.”

  He grasped my pillow in his right hand as I brought the lamp stand closer, wiped the blood away as much as I could, and set the needle against one side of his cut.

  “Ayah,” Rajak said. I stopped, and glanced up. Ayah was hovering.

  “Yes, Maharaj?” she said.

  “Go tell Commander Hashim to help Mahanidhi and his family as they leave,” Rajak instructed, staring down at his wound. “And come back here and tell me when they have all gone.”

  “Yes, Maharaj,” she nodded, and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. I studied him a moment in the silence. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on my needle, his face pale.