by Judi Fennell
“No, that’s okay.” She blinked and her breath hitched. “I’m fine.”
Right. And he was a griffin’s uncle. Beneath that serene exterior, she looked done in. Fragile.
Kal bit back a frustrated sigh. He’d forgotten what the time change could do to a mortal’s system. She had to be physically exhausted on top of all the mind-bending things she’d seen—not to mention what’d been going on when Dirham had interrupted them in the courtyard—yet there she was, valiantly trying to mask her fatigue.
If Berosus were anyone other than the Oracle, Kal would have postponed this ceremony regardless of what it meant for him personally, but one didn’t diss an Oracle without very good reason.
Berosus reached the platform, and the music crescendoed to an abrupt halt. It was probably too much to hope that he’d impart his news just as quickly so that Kal could take Samantha to bed. Not in the carnal way, of course, but just get her into bed. To sleep.
Yes, that was the reason he wanted to get her into bed: to sleep.
One of the antelopes snorted. He was kidding no one.
“Welcome, most revered guests.” Berosus bowed toward them, then clapped his hands. Half a dozen men in pale yellow thobes broke rank from the parade and strode up the stairs carrying a pair of small tables, three upholstered poufs, a pillow, and a tea service that they set up in the middle of the platform.
Tea. So much for this being quick.
On the plus side, he now had the chance to get certain body parts under control and cool down.
Then Samantha swayed and Kal put out a hand to steady her, and a certain body part let him know it had no intention of cooling down.
To hide the evidence, Kal bowed lower than he normally would. “It is our honor, saahbey. May I present my master, Samantha Blaine?”
Berosus clasped her hands, a great honor and one that meant this audience had nothing to do with Kal.
The thought crossed Kal’s mind that, at the very least, he ought to be frustrated that he wouldn’t have his request granted, but he was more concerned with getting this over with so Samantha could lie down. The end of his sentence would come regardless, and if that was later rather than sooner, he’d live with it.
Because he’d be living with her.
“I am Berosus, the Oracle of Madeenat Al-saqf Al-zojaajey. Welcome to what was once a fair city. Now that you are here, it will be again. It is my honor to thank you for that on behalf of the citizens.”
“Thank you for welcoming me,” Samantha said, her voice soft and controlled, as if she were at one of those society functions Monty had told him about, except that she wasn’t wearing an evening gown, and her bottom lip trembled. Slightly, but Kal saw it. By the gods, what he wouldn’t give to be able to take her in his arms and make that look go away.
What he wouldn’t give to be able to take her in his arms, period.
Then Berosus swept his hands toward the seating arrangement and that thought got tabled.
For now.
Kal shook his head and offered Samantha his arm as they walked over. It was one thing to want to take her to bed to ease the ache a hundred and sixty years of solitude had created, but a far greater thing to want to take her in his arms and offer her comfort.
More than the physical attraction, he was coming to care for her—and that was a thought that needed to be tabled not only for now, but forever.
Dirham bounced ahead of them, landing in the middle of the red cushion on the platform between the poufs. The fennec circled around a few times, then lay in the depression he’d created and curled his tail around himself.
Kal didn’t have that luxury. All he could do was sit on the cushion and cross his legs, draping the baggy material of his sirwal over his recalcitrant body part.
Four women in long, diaphanous skirts sprinted lightly up the stairs, their movements seductive in the way of chiwaras—bipedal half-gazelle/half-human women who were the most innately graceful beings on the planet. But today, they left him cold. Nothing could match the soft brush of Samantha’s skin against his, or the flash of fire in her emerald eyes when she smiled.
She wasn’t smiling now, and that flash had burned itself out. Samantha was on burnout.
He needed to get her out of here, pronto. If only she would wish it, but he had no time to lead her down that train of thought as Berosus levitated onto his cushion with the full pageantry of his role. Kal could only hope this would be quick.
Except hope was still locked up in Stavros’s office.
Two of the chiwaras brought a tas toward Samantha and him. One held the basin, the other a ewer of rosewater and hand towels. Together they stood before him first, then Samantha, for the ceremonial washing of hands. Even Dirham washed his paws and accepted a delicate drinking bowl from another woman who handed Kal and Samantha matching glasses.
A fourth woman carried the teapot from the table to pour sweet mint tea with an impressively long, backward arc that was as beautifully artistic as any he’d ever seen, both the pour and the woman, yet he still found himself wanting to stare at Samantha. Chiwaras had held men spellbound for generations, which was why they only served Oracles, one of the few races strong enough to resist their allure.
And now Kal was another.
Seven courses were passed, much too slowly for Kal’s liking. He hardly registered the tastes, eating enough to be polite for both of them because Samantha barely had any.
Kal’s concern increased by the minute, so by the time the baklava was passed—Dirham making sure he got an extra large piece, of course—Kal was looking for any excuse to whisk her away.
Unfortunately, though, Berosus took far too much time, pomp, and circumstance to share his revelation.
After a hookah had been smoked—Samantha declining and Kal accepting only because he figured it’d go quicker that way—Berosus held up his hands. The crowd quieted. He flicked his fingers and the servers retreated to the perimeter wall, leaving the three of them and Dirham center stage.
A rotation of his right wrist conjured a ram’s horn which Berosus then spoke into. “As you can see from the masses before us, the citizens of Izaaz are singing your praises, Samantha Blaine. I have always known a great lady would come to their aid, but the Mists and Chaos did not choose to reveal her name nor when she would appear. It was the sound of the citizens’ exclamation, the surprise and celebration in their voices, that brought me the truth of who you are.” Berosus tapped her on the knee, a blessing in the eyes of the Djinn.
Samantha sucked in a quivering breath and blinked.
Gods, she really was exhausted. Kal felt like an ass for not recognizing it sooner. He should have insisted she get the massage—
Not the place to go at the moment.
“Ah, you mustn’t cry, haanim,” said Berosus. “It is the citizens who should weep for your largesse.” He raised his tea. “I toast you, Samantha Blaine, for giving the citizens of this city hope.”
Kal refrained from mentioning Pandora’s box.
“Their eyes have been opened to the mistakes of the past, and it is a foolish being who does not learn from those mistakes, for they are destined to be repeated unless one does. Changing one’s history changes one’s destiny.”
Berosus sat back, a serene smile on his face, as if the allegory were easily understood.
Kal didn’t understand any of this. The logic made no sense—as Oracle revelations were wont to do. Parables and allegories, cryptic at their best, indecipherable at their worst. Kal had never had so much riding on one as he did on this one—and he didn’t understand a single word. Samantha hadn’t changed anything about the past in Izaaz, merely where they’d go from here.
But people not only didn’t diss an Oracle, they also didn’t question him.
“And to show our appreciation, we wish to present you with this.” Berosus clapped his hands and a trio of trumpeters sounded their rams’ horns as another servant carried a gold-braided cushion on an engraved silver platter over to them
.
Dirham leapt onto Kal’s pouf and stretched his neck to see what was going on, his claws digging into Kal’s knee.
Berosus stood and took a silver chain from the cushion, dangling an orange gemstone fashioned into the shape of an eagle in front of Samantha. Then he placed it over her head.
“Please wear this as a sign of our appreciation and know that the knowledge you need is always in your heart,” he said while Dirham let out a “Cool!” and started bouncing again.
Kal didn’t know how cool it was. The eagle was a symbol of knowledge and the orange gemstone representative of his personal carnelian. What those two had to do with the so-called revelation, Kal didn’t know. And what he didn’t know worried him.
“And now,” said Berosus, patting Dirham on the head, then sitting back on his pouf, “we will celebrate with a dance.”
Kal almost groaned. Celebratory dances could last for hours. He wouldn’t mind if Samantha made a wish right now—any wish—so that they could get out of here. Then he’d have the chance to figure out what Berosus was talking about. There was a clue in there somewhere, as was typical of Oracles, because if the revelations were too easy to understand, anyone could fancy himself an Oracle.
Kal didn’t care who fancied what. All he wanted was some sign from Samantha that she was about to make a wish so they could take off.
A tear trickling down her cheek worked just as well.
Kal levitated and uncrossed his legs from the lotus position as he hovered above the pouf, uncaring that he was breaking every protocol there was in dealing with Oracles. His master’s well-being came above all else, and Samantha needed his care.
He held out his hand. “Sam?”
Her tongue flicked out to lick her bottom lip and her eyelashes fluttered. Twin pools of glistening emerald blinked up at him. “Yes?” Her voice was husky as she dashed the tear from her cheek and placed her hand in his.
Berosus waved off the servants who’d started forward at Kal’s gross misconduct, just as Kal would expect. The Oracle knew The Code of Djinn Conduct as well as he did. Probably better since Berosus had had a hand in crafting it, though The Code read like an elementary school primer compared to that allegorical mess the man had just spouted.
“Sam, would you like to make a wish?” Kal asked.
Samantha cleared her throat and curled her fingers over his.
Did she want to make a wish? Dear God, yes. Every word this man had spoken had been another lance to her self-esteem. And the gift? Another jab at the farce this scene had become, and she had no idea how to put an end to it.
Her. Giving them hope. Changing history. Changing destiny. She was a fraud, for God’s sake. Was she supposed to come out and tell everyone? Stand up and shout from the rooftops that she’d had only the smallest part in fixing things? That without Kal she was useless? And that their supposed all-knowing Oracle didn’t know a thing about her?
She touched the stone hanging between her breasts. Dirham was wrong; it wasn’t cool. There was some warmth to it. She was the one who was cold.
Thank God Kal had given her a way out. “Yes, Kal, I do want to make a wish. Everything’s catching up to me.” That was a way to phrase the fact that Albert’s betrayal had nothing over her own self-doubt, and this guy, this supposed Oracle, had only shredded it even more. “I wish we could go somewhere and rest.”
“Ooh! Ooh! I know where you can take her, Kal!” Dirham bounced on his cushion. “There’s a hoodoo with your name on it. Well, not your actual name because, you know, that’s going to take a little while to carve and no one thought to wish for that, but the peris spruced up one of the vacant ones just for you guys, making it all nice and cozy inside. And there’s some food and pomegranate juice and even a shower. You should see it, Samantha.”
Dirham shook himself. “Oh, I guess you will when Kal takes you there. Is that okay, Berosus, I mean, Your Most Supreme Oracle? Kal wouldn’t have interrupted if it weren’t important, and he’s right. Samantha has been up a very long time. You’re okay with that, aren’t you? I mean, she has Kal’s lantern and received your revelation so she’s all set to go, right?”
Samantha didn’t know whether to kiss Dirham or muzzle him. Kal, too.
Then Kal linked their fingers and, scratch that; she knew exactly which she’d choose for him. He waved his other hand, and a plume of orange smoke clouded the Oracle’s smiling face as he waved good-bye to them.
That rushing feeling came over her again. Her body felt as if grains of sand were pinging it as she traveled on an air current at the speed of light, the analogy to her life sadly illuminating.
But as quick as she’d thought it (the flying thing, not her life story) the rush was over and the smoke drifted away to reveal a tall, cone-shaped, Dr. Seuss-like building with a flat, round stone covered in mosaic tiles standing on edge atop the chimney. A pair of crooked, barren trees straight out of Whoville graced either side of the funky arched door that swung open with another wave of Kal’s hand.
Inside, vibrantly dyed silk panels covered the walls above a mahogany dresser inlaid with gold filigree, and a matching pair of night tables sat on either side of the silk-covered bed that invited one to do anything but sleep.
Part of her was up for that. The other part wasn’t up at all. The nap hadn’t even taken the edge off her fatigue; the rest of the day’s events had only added to it.
“Samantha? Are you okay?” Kal asked, holding the door open so she could enter. He must have never had a girlfriend to ask that question.
She removed the eagle necklace. It’d be more true to life if it were an albatross.
She set it and the lantern on the dresser. “If it’s all the same to you, Kal, I just wish to be alone for a little while.”
16
Nothing like tying his hands. And not in any way that had to do with the silver cuffs that bound him to The Service.
Kal sat on the end of the bed and looked at his hands as they hung between his knees, the image of Samantha tying them—preferably to the bedpost—front and center in his mind. She was tying him in knots, too.
She’d wished to be alone, not revisit what had happened between them at the spa. He would put her mood down to being exhausted, but the tear and her wish said it was more than that. Thankfully, though, she hadn’t put a longer time frame or location on that wish, but even a few minutes was too long when she was so sad.
He looked at the door to the bathroom with half a mind to drag her out to talk to him, but the Roman plumbing came on, and the image of Samantha in the shower not only nailed him to the bed but had him wanting.
The memory of her hands on him had him aching.
The taste of her had him longing.
But the tears in her eyes had him worrying. Which meant he had work to do. After all, with or without his magic, his job was to see to her well-being. His mental musings would be far better used in figuring out the clichéd platitude wrapped around an enigma disguised as a profound revelation Berosus had given them instead of trying to figure out what was bothering her. She’d tell him when she wanted to.
The bigger issue was what in Al-Jaheem Berosus had meant.
Kal picked up the eagle necklace and ran his fingers over it. As far as knowledge went, the eagle was imparting none.
He closed his eyes and tried to summon the power the carnelian held. Djinn were tuned in to the properties of gems; the stones enhanced magical powers like a life force and became the Glimmer their magic released, but this one was doing nothing for him.
Sighing, Kal opened his eyes and his fist. The stone looked exactly the same, no light inside it as in others he’d held, and he was no closer to the answer than before he’d held it.
He set it on the side table, cranked the skylight open, then lay back on the bed’s silk coverlet, replaying Berosus’s riddle. What did it mean? What were they supposed to learn? To know?
Kal tried translating the words into other languages to see if there were different mean
ings, different interpretations, but nothing came to him.
Kharah! How was he supposed to take care of Samantha if he couldn’t figure out what the Oracle had been trying to tell them?
He couldn’t let Monty down. Monty had kept his lantern in that safe, locked away except for when they’d played chess, to ensure that Kal would be around to look out for Samantha when Monty wouldn’t be. That was the promise he’d demanded of Kal. Not wished, but demanded. He’d given Kal a choice, though as far as Kal was concerned, there had been no choice. His job was to look after his master, so look after her he would. But he’d given Monty his word as a man, not a genie.
And now he was failing both his last master and his job.
Kal pinched the bridge of his nose. There had to be something. Some key to figuring out Berosus’s riddle.
He tried to will his mind to go blank. To stop thinking and let his subconscious work it out. Sometimes intuitive reasoning could come up with the answer the conscious brain couldn’t. He’d learned the technique from his sixteenth master. Tansar had been a high priest and a scholar; getting him to make wishes had been harder than milking a camel—and Tansar hadn’t let him do even that by magic.
Kal closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He focused on the blue sky above Izaaz, and imagined the flow of water over the Weeping Wall, the lush palms that lined its verdant shoreline. Peaceful, serene, floating wherever the water and his thoughts took him.
He opened his eyes and looked up. The sky was no longer blue; the open capstone allowed the beginnings of the pale-pink evening sky into the room. Pale-pink sky that would lead to the darkness of night. When he and Samantha would be here, sharing the hoodoo.
The shower cut off and Kal’s imagination went into overtime. More so when the towel rack jiggled and the mental image of Samantha wrapping a towel around her damp, naked body followed.
Kal cursed in Akkadian, the only language that had just the nuance he needed, and one unused enough to make him have to think about it and not Sam.
