by Astrid Amara
Zandi shook her head. “It will be a hundred years before Koraz forgets my insult.” Suddenly, Zandi reached out and grabbed Jandu’s arm. “But you can hide me, beautiful Marhavadi!”
Zandi had grabbed the arm that Koraz had injured, and Jandu fought back an unmanly whimper. “How?”
“Change me into my shartic form! I will be your greatest ally,” Zandi said. “I don’t look it but I am a powerful weapon.”
“What kind of weapon?”
“Whatever weapon you most desire.” Zandi’s eyes twinkled. “What form of combat do you most excel at?”
“Archery,” Jandu said without hesitating.
“I will be your bow.”
“But I don’t know the Zandisharta.”
“Do you know the Barunazsharta? It is like that, only softer.” Zandi said, squeezing Jandu’s arm tighter. Tears sprang to Jandu’s eyes.
Jandu wondered how one uttered a sharta softly. He began speaking, changing the words of the sharta slightly, as he looked at Zandi. He wanted the sharta to fit her, feel like her, and the needed words came to him easily.
As soon as Jandu finished the sharta, Zandi began to melt. Her body softened. A shudder of revulsion shook Jandu as the flesh of Zandi’s hand turned buttery and hot, and dribbled off his arm. It pooled on the forest floor and slithered together, a bluish ooze, forming a puddle that slowly began to shift and harden.
Then she took form, long and curved. Her color changed from dull blue to shimmering white gold, the surface forming patterns. Jandu crouched down and watched as delicate filigree curled over the surface of the exquisite weapon.
The forest grew silent. On the mossy ground lay the most beautiful bow he had ever seen. Long and sleek, its gold patterns moved in a slow river, the colors of its highlights and tints shifting depending on how he looked at it.
He had never seen such a gorgeous object in his life, and his heart swelled with pride that this was his. She was his.
“Can you hear me?” he whispered to Zandi. The gold lacquer warmed in his grip. Jandu’s hands trembled with excitement as he quickly unstrung his old bow and transferred the string to Zandi. The bow bent in his hands, turning loose and liquid as he pulled the string taut. Once strung, the bow hardened again.
Jandu reached for an arrow from his quiver and took aim at a distant branch drooping with berries. When he loosed the arrow, it sang through the air. The berries exploded in the air and the branch fell to the ground.
Jandu laughed. He hugged the bow to his chest, feeling foolish, but no longer caring. He slung Zandi over his back and then reached down once more for the spear.
“Don’t be such an asshole in the future,” he scolded the spear. Then he threw it as hard as he could at a tree. The spear exploded into the wood, piercing through the entire trunk before disappearing out of sight. Jandu waited in the forest a moment longer, to see if Koraz would return, but he did not.
As Jandu stood in the soft forest light, a burning desire to share this story with Keshan overwhelmed him. It was Keshan’s comment about the relationship of shartas and Yashvas that had saved Jandu’s life, and given him this bow. Keshan would have been proud of him.
“Keshan is a pervert,” Jandu said aloud, forcing himself not to think of the sensation of kissing Keshan, rubbing against his hot flesh. Keshan wasn’t the only pervert. But rather than sully this victory with forbidden thoughts, Jandu cleared his mind of Keshan, and instead set out to follow Shedav’s tracks and head home.
“My brothers are going to adore you, Zandi,” Jandu whispered to his bow. And as Shedav caught sight of him and walked towards Jandu, Jandu thought he could even feel Zandi respond, a slight pulse at his back.
Chapter 10
Tarek walked quickly across the wide courtyard just inside the west gate of the palace. He was late. He was always late these days. He felt time struggle against him, squirming out of his grasp like an impatient child.
A sweet breeze rushed over him, fragrant with new blossoms. Even this failed to inspire joy in him. The breeze merely reminded him that it was already March, and he still hadn’t visited his father back in Dragewan. Tarek had put off the visit for weeks now, kept away from his familial duties by Darvad’s bid for ascension. Last year at this time, Tarek returned to his home village with his father to pay tribute on the anniversary of his mother’s death. It had been an emotional week, filled with the smell of fish and incense and the sound of old women crying and the recitation of prayers and the constant, incessant, beating of wet clothes against the rocks of the river. A short year later, and Tarek had almost forgotten the anniversary. What sort of son was he that could forget his family so swiftly?
But this seemed to symbolize the life he had chosen now. He constantly let down the ones he loved. He prayed every morning for guidance to become a better person, and yet here he was, once again, rushing to Darvad’s side for an evening of pleasure instead of making arrangements to return to Dragewan, to see his ailing father.
Tarek sprinted the last few steps to the small gaming room attached to Darvad’s lavish suites. A blast of stale male air overwhelmed him. A haze of hookah tobacco and spilled wine and roasted meats and sweat hung over the room.
Tarek adjusted from the sweet freshness outside, sinking down onto the floor pillows silently. He sat next to Darvad, who looked up from the gaming board only to smile briefly.
“You’re late,” Darvad said.
“Did I miss anything?” Tarek asked.
Darvad snorted. “Firdaus and Druv have robbed Iyestar and I blind. The wily bastards are up to something, but I cannot see what. Watch them for me, will you?”
Iyestar and Darvad sat on one side of the large ivory board, and Druv and Firdaus shared pillows on the other side. Behind them, servants wafted large feather fans to encourage the spring air to filtrate the room, but all it did was press the smell of wine and smoke closer.
Tarek snapped his fingers, and a servant hastened over to hand him a goblet of wine. The way Firdaus’ heavy eyelids drooped, and the way Iyestar’s mouth seemed incapable of closing, told Tarek he was far behind on the drinking.
“Everything is in place for tomorrow night, by the way,” Druv said casually. He nodded to Tarek.
Tarek’s stomach tightened. Druv had invited another of Darvad’s rivals over for a dinner party. Once again, Tarek would be forced to insult a lord into challenging him, with the prize being fealty to Darvad. This time it was Lord Kadal from the State of Marshav.
Tarek had not forgotten. He had just misplaced time once more. He thought the day would be in the distance, not upon him. “I stake ten pieces of silver,” Firdaus said. Tarek noted the slur in his voice.
Darvad nodded. “And I the same.” Darvad threw down his elongated ivory dice.
The game involved moving a player’s pieces from house to house across the board. A bet was placed each move, and the highest dice roll won that round’s bet. However, if a player rolled a six, they were immediate winners and could roll again.
Darvad threw an unimpressive two. He scowled.
Firdaus blew on his own dice and threw them onto the board; a perfect six. He moved his pieces closer and then rolled again, achieving a four, the exact number he needed to land his first piece home.
“Damn you!” Iyestar shouted. “I tell you, Darvad, the snake has enchanted dice.”
Firdaus held out his dice. “You may play with my dice and I’ll play with yours. But know that I take such accusations very personally. If you play with my dice and still fail, I demand an apology.”
Iyestar grabbed the dice from Firdaus’ outstretched hands and shook them angrily. “I stake one shipment of Tiwari grain.”
Firdaus drank deeply and then nodded. “And I stake ten cartloads of Chandamar coal.” He gathered Iyestar’s dice in his palm and flicked his wrist, throwing the dice down to get another perfect six.
Druv shook his head and laughed. “Amazing! This man has the luck of the prophets on his side!”
<
br /> Iyestar’s roll resulted in a measly three. Iyestar groaned, collapsing back on the pillows as Darvad sullenly moved their ebony piece three small steps.
The game continued like this, and Tarek quickly grew bored. He drank heavily, hoping to catch up to his friends, and refused food. When Firdaus and Druv won, Darvad challenged him to another round, which surprised Tarek. Darvad behaved strangely that night. He was curt and looked displeased. Tarek realized his friend was exhausted. Druv prattled on about local gossip, Firdaus cheated, and Iyestar drank. But Darvad just sat there, morosely throwing his dice and looking disenchanted with the world.
Everything changed, however, when a herald knocked and announced Keshan Adaru. Everyone immediately awoke from their trances.
“Sit down and join us, Keshan,” Darvad offered, patting a spot between himself and Iyestar.
Keshan brought his hands together in the sign of peace and greeted everyone individually. When he bowed to Tarek, Tarek noted that the man smelled like cloves and cinnamon. His hair was wet as if he had just come from the bath.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” Druv said, not even bothering to hide is obvious curiosity. “I heard a rumor that you were not setting foot in the palace until you received an apology from Jandu Paran.”
For a moment, something dark and painful crossed Keshan’s expression. But then it was gone, and Keshan’s mouth slowly spread into a languid smile.
“I’m not here to see any Paran this evening. I’ve only come to have a word with Darvad, if I may.” He sat next to his brother. A servant offered him a glass of wine, but Keshan refused.
“Congratulations on your recent challenge against Lord Sahdin,” Keshan told Tarek.
Tarek bowed his head. “Thank you.”
Keshan stared at him knowingly. “Quite an achievement, especially when so hobbled by the law.”
“I had some help from my friends.” Tarek nodded toward Firdaus.
Keshan smirked. “Still, an amazing triumph. I hope it sets a good example to everyone how unfair the laws are when it comes to Suyas fighting.”
“I did not give him the Ajadusharta in order to help your ridiculous crusade,” Firdaus snapped, glaring at Keshan. “I did so to help Darvad win supporters. Stop reading messages into actions that are not there.”
Darvad sighed loudly. “Tarek’s success has served many purposes. Let’s leave it at that.”
But Firdaus sneered. “I don’t understand. Keshan claims to support our faction, yet he blatantly goaded Jandu Paran into winning Suraya and stealing the victory from me.”
“Calm down, Firdaus.” Keshan smiled slyly. “You make it sound as though there were a conspiracy against you.”
“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!” Firdaus shouted, throwing his empty goblet down. He narrowed his dark eyes, his large eyebrows coming together in a thick line. “I have been insulted again and again by you.”
“You are welcome to challenge me anytime, Firdaus,” Keshan said smoothly. “And I have already paid a high price for my previous affront to your honor.”
“Perhaps, but what of the Parans? They insult me everyday with their unnatural marriage arrangement. Suraya should not be disgraced in that manner,” Firdaus spat. “I must have justice.”
“Jandu won her legally,” Druv said. “And she did agree to wed all three of them.”
“They should not have been allowed to marry her!” Firdaus said. “A woman should not have more than one husband.”
“You want to have two wives. Druv has three already,” Keshan pointed out. “Why shouldn’t Suraya have as many husbands as she likes? Or even wives for that matter?”
“Is there no end to your sick suggestions?” Firdaus said, an expression of revulsion on his face.
Darvad sighed again. “Keshan, please stop.” Then, turning to Firdaus. “Once I am king, you will have your vengeance on the Parans. Until then, I cannot do anything.”
“Cowards and fools!” Firdaus shook his head. “All of you! Darvad would win a challenge against Yudar, and yet you refuse to do the honorable thing.”
Darvad shook his head. “We’ve been over this before.”
“The law allows for a brother to carry the burden of a challenge. Jandu would fight in Yudar’s place,” Keshan said. “And Darvad would lose.”
Darvad frowned. “Don’t dismiss my abilities so quickly.”
Keshan reached over and touched Darvad’s shoulder. “I mean no offense, prince. And you know I am your ally. When I say that Jandu’s shartic powers go beyond yours, it’s not an insult, just a statement of fact.”
“Was there a reason you came in, brother, or did you just want to rile everyone up as usual?” Iyestar slurred. He remained collapsed back on the pillows, his wine glass balanced on his stomach.
“I have come because Darvad asked me to discuss the legal changes I have requested some time this week,” Keshan said. “I have been waiting for days, and have not heard from you, so I thought I would check in myself.”
Darvad held his head. “For God’s sake, give it a rest for just once, Adaru! We’re in the middle of a game. Let me have an evening off, I beg of you.”
Keshan’s expression did not change. He bowed very stiffly, however. “My apologies, prince. I’ll leave you then.”
Darvad looked up sadly. “No. Wait, Keshan. You are welcome to join us.”
Tarek felt a small kernel of jealously burst in his gut and radiate outwards. He had no reason to feel this way. Darvad had shown no overt interest in Keshan Adaru. But there was something unnaturally beautiful about Keshan, sensual, and Tarek worried that if the two of them became good friends, he would lose his place at Darvad’s side.
To his relief, Keshan declined. “Perhaps it would be best if I took my brother home instead.”
All of them looked to Iyestar, who had begun snoring loudly on the pillows.
Darvad laughed. “Poor Iyestar. Yes, that probably would be for the best, although he’s left me to challenge Firdaus all alone.”
“I’ll be on your side,” Tarek said suddenly, moving closer.
Darvad gave him a soul-wrenching smile. “Tarek. I can always trust you to save me.”
Keshan struggled to wake his brother, resorting to slapping Iyestar across the face. Iyestar mumbled a growl and punched out his fist in response. Keshan deftly avoided the punch, and Tarek realized he must have had a lot of practice waking his inebriated brother up.
“Time to go home, Iyestar,” Keshan said loudly and firmly, urging his brother into a sitting position.
“What?” Iyestar blinked. “But I don’t want to go back to Tiwari right now.”
“Not Tiwari, you fool, the townhouse.” Keshan smiled apologetically to the group. “Come on, idiot.”
“Fuck off, Keshan.” Iyestar made to lie down again.
Keshan reached down and touched his brother’s neck, just below his ear. Tarek did not see what happened, but Iyestar suddenly yelled out and shot upright.
“Fuck! I hate it when you do that!”
Keshan stood, offering his brother a hand up. A small fingerprint of ice melted off Iyestar’s neck, and Tarek noted that Keshan’s index finger was blue.
Keshan offered them a last bow before dragging his bigger brother out of the room. As soon as they left, Druv shook his head.
“They make quite a pair.”
Darvad chuckled. “I can’t tell if they hate each other or love each other. All I know is that they seem to be complete opposites.”
“I’m surprised Keshan even showed up. I’ve heard Jandu refuses to speak to him,” Druv said, the beady gleam of curiosity clear in his eyes.
Darvad shrugged. “I don’t know what transpired. No one does. But Jandu has a temper that can rival Firdaus’, and I’m sure Keshan just got in the way of it.”
Firdaus rolled his dice. Another perfect six.
“You have got to be joking,” Darvad said, shaking his head.
Firdaus did not looked pleased, ho
wever. He moved his piece, and then glared at Darvad.
“I don’t trust Keshan.”
“You don’t trust anybody,” Darvad said.
“I still think you’re a fool for putting up with all of this nonsense. Be a man, Darvad! Challenge Yudar. Be done with it. Enough of Druv’s excruciatingly slow political games.”
Darvad raised an eyebrow. “And Jandu?”
For the first time that evening, Firdaus smiled. “Let me take care of Jandu for you. Consider it a gift.”
“What do you mean?” Tarek asked.
Firdaus studied his dice, the smile still on his face. “I’ll make sure he steals no future brides.”
Druv frowned. “Any direct threat against the Parans will look bad, especially now, so close to the announcement of the throne.”
“I don’t like it either,” Tarek said. He assumed Darvad would also disapprove.
But to his dismay, Darvad looked merely tired and frustrated. He pinched his eyes shut. “Fine. Do what you will, Firdaus. Now, please, can we just enjoy the rest of the game and stop discussing this? My head is throbbing.”
“Of course, my prince,” Firdaus said. “Your wish is my command.” He threw down his dice. Another perfect six.
The game never really changed from there. Firdaus rapidly returned all of his pieces to home, and by the time they all stood from the board, stiff and drunk, Firdaus had won enough gifts and gold to buy Tarek’s home village twenty times over. Even after a year of such life, Tarek could not get used to the kind of money these nobles bandied about as a pastime.
Losing exacerbated Darvad’s foul mood. Drunk and bitter, he scowled as he said good night to his companions and stumbled towards his quarters. He leaned against the wall to support himself. Tarek rushed to his side. He threw his arm around Darvad’s waist and helped him back to his bedroom.
“I’m sick of it, Tarek.” Darvad tried to whisper, but his inebriated voice came out loud and echoed in the marble hallway. “I’m sick of all the in-fighting. I’m so exhausted…” Darvad leaned against Tarek. “What do you think I should do?”
Tarek swallowed. His entire body had filled with warm content at Darvad’s touch. “I think you should stop thinking about it and go to bed.”
