by Astrid Amara
Jandu propped his torch against the statue and then unrolled the scroll. Keshan’s handwriting was smooth and curvy, sexual, and he wrote each letter with careful deliberation, the layout carefully planned, as if this were the third draft of a composition.
My beautiful, beloved Jandu—
I wake up and think about you, the smell of your skin, the taste of your lips, the way you walk, a tiger about to pounce, so graceful, so lithe in your movements, so confident, and yet so calm, lazy almost, a luxurious grace that defines what it means to be a prince.
Iyestar is yelling at me right now. I’m supposed to be sitting downstairs in the reception hall, working out a land agreement between the Sharnas and the Chafri. But my heart isn’t in it. I want to be with you. The need weighs upon me like a wound, constantly reminding me of its presence, aching for attention.
There is not a moment of the day I don’t feel your long fingers upon my flesh, your hot mouth upon me, taking me deep inside of you. Nights are a torment of heated memories. The gentleness of your caress, the roughness of your entry. My skin is on fire, imagining you kissing the places that are yours alone, your fullness penetrating both my body and my soul.
Jandu - I declare my absolute affection for you. I have become out of sorts in your absence, my desire for your touch driving me mad with need. I hope you have more restraint than I. My family is used to my lascivious ways, but you are living with a king who wishes he were a sage. I hope he never suspects what it is I burn to do to you.
I wish there were some way I could ease your terrible burden. I hope the gift I’ve enclosed provides some assistance to you, although I know nothing I can send will give you the relief you deserve. The fact that you are being punished for your brother’s sins insults my sense of justice, and fuels my hunger for change. We have to hope for a different Marhavad, where a man is guilty of his crime alone, and that a family should not be forced into such torment because of the sins of one.
I would tell you of my successes in getting Darvad to acknowledge some of my legal changes, but I know exactly what you would do. You would roll your eyes and say, ‘for God’s sake, stop talking politics.’ And then you would kiss me, and I would realize, yes, you are right, there is no need to focus solely on politics. There are other beautiful things in this world worth savoring. And one of them is you.
Yours, in this life and all others, Keshan.
Jandu laughed, eyes brimming with tears. Words that would have scandalized him a year ago now sent bolts of desire through him. He returned to the huts and used the last of their writing cloth and ink to quickly draft a return response to Keshan. As Rishak shared a wineskin with his sister and other brothers-in-law, Jandu sat by candlelight in the other hut, putting to words his hunger for Keshan’s heart. He wrote briefly of their tormented three months in the forest, the agony of seclusion, of starvation. He thanked Keshan copiously for his generous gift, and then he made a request.
Jandu described in detail the location of the stone statue he had found in the dense forest. He even drew a map. He understood the risk; if anyone but Keshan received the letter, their location could be discovered and they would be undone. But Jandu’s desperation for correspondence with Keshan was beyond reason. He didn’t care about the risks.
Jandu asked Keshan to send a servant when he could, to pick up a letter from Jandu and to leave a letter in return. That way, they could stay in touch over the three years.
Jandu signed the letter and, as a last minute decision, drew a picture of himself trying to shave without a mirror and using his sword. Jandu had always been good at simple illustrations, and the picture was amusing enough that it left him grinning from ear to ear as he sealed the letter and brought it to Rishak.
In the morning, he begged Rishak to keep the letter secret and safe, and then stood with his brothers and Suraya to thank Rishak for his much-needed visit. As he disappeared from sight, and the rains started dumping as if on cue, only Jandu remained upbeat within their family. He was going to continue his relationship with Keshan, regardless of distance, vows, or logic.
Chapter 20
THE ROAD CONNECTING PRASTA WITH THE STATE OF MARSHAV was wide and well maintained. Nevertheless, the season’s unusually strong monsoon pitted the soil and crumbled cobblestones. Two bridges washed out and Tarek’s contingent was forced to take alternate routes for long stretches, delaying him further. Tarek’s chariots crawled northwards, every rainstorm the cause for another delay in another infernal village.
If Tarek traveled alone, he would not have minded. On horseback, he was swift. He could have delivered King Darvad’s demands to the errant lord of Marshav as scheduled.
But as Royal Judge, Tarek now had an entourage to travel with, including ministers from the royal palace, servants to tend to their camps and food, and a detachment of Dragewan soldiers for his protection. He traveled endlessly. In the two months that he’d held the position, he’d been home less than four days at a time.
And everywhere they went, people stopped him, demanding an immediate court where their cases could be heard.
After days of protracted travel and endless repairs to the chariots, the rains finally ceased. Tarek hoped to make up for lost time.
With a clear sky Tarek saw the countryside’s bucolic beauty. North of Prasta, Marhavad rolled in lush plains between the Yaru and Patari rivers. Rice fields spanned the horizon, and small, brightly-painted houses clustered along the roadside in welcoming villages. They passed through the small State of Shiadi and then cut across the fertile expanse of Karuna. They passed fields of sugar cane, orchards ripe with mangoes and oranges, and vineyards stretching to the river in long tunnels of vines.
Tarek had never been this far north. The people began to look different. Their skin was browner, less olive, and the sun bleached their black hair into shades of dark red and mahogany. Karuna mother-of-pearl decorated the doors of every house, and the women draped strings of bells around their waists and wrists, creating a music that jangled through the village. The men wore kohl paint under their eyes, and the Draya priests sported flamboyantly decorative tattoos on their foreheads and cheeks.
They stopped that evening at a larger settlement, a village near a lake, nestled within soft hills covered in green tea bushes. The air smelled fragrant, and a herd of cattle heralded their arrival.
The bright blue wooden structures of the village clustered around a mill beside the stream that fed the lake. Tarek waited in his chariot as servants saw to the best lodgings for their lord. If none could be found, he would be sleeping in his tent again.
This was not a hardship. Tarek almost laughed when Darvad first showed him what a Triya’s tent could be like. Layers of animal skins covered the vast space, and the thick, brightly dyed wool kept out the wind and the elements. Large pieces of teak furniture stood amongst burning stands of fragrant sandalwood torches. It was more luxuriant than the nicest house in Tarek’s old village.
“My lord.” Tarek’s servant, Laiu, bowed low at the foot of the chariot. “The innkeeper has a guest house worthy of Triya accommodation, and invites you to stay there.”
“I accept.” Tarek stepped from the chariot, stretching his arms as he did so. Long journeys on bumpy roads made his back ache. He rolled his shoulders.
Laiu noticed. “My lord, I will dispatch men to prepare your chambers for you. Would you like me to send a masseuse to you this evening as well?”
Tarek smiled. “Why not?” After all, he deserved it. He was running this errand for the King, he might as well get something out of it himself.
Tarek told Laiu to instruct the villagers that he would hear petitions before departing in the morning, and then he slunk off to his room for a bath and a rest.
As he sat, soaking in hot water scented with rose petals and rosemary, Tarek pondered Darvad’s decision to make him Royal Judge.
Within the first week of his new post, Tarek strove to keep his promise to Keshan Adaru. He used Keshan’s cleverly research
ed and worded documentation to propose sweeping changes to Darvad.
But Darvad urged caution instead. “Not yet, Tarek,” he said. He smiled benevolently. “Be patient. Let us enact one law at a time, slowly, so as not to alienate anyone. Besides, I have a more pressing matter for the Royal Judge to attend to.”
Darvad asked Tarek, as his first task in his new position, to go to the State of Marshav and demand an oath of fealty from Lord Kadal, who had not attended the oath-taking ceremony.
While this didn’t seem like the most pressing matter for Tarek, it apparently ranked high enough on Darvad’s list of unfinished business to justify the trip and expense. It was Darvad’s first demand of his friend as King. At the same time, Darvad had demanded that Druv use his network of spies to find the Parans, and cautioned Tarek to keep an eye out for any clue, however small, on his journey north.
“Everything depends upon us finding the Parans in the next three years,” Darvad said. “If you hear so much as a whisper that sounds intriguing, let me or Druv know. We will find them.”
Tarek did not linger on the unpleasant obsession Darvad already had on maintaining a throne he had only just received. Instead, Tarek focused on the job at hand, convincing Lord Kadal that an oath of fealty was better than war.
Tarek thought the journey would be easy. He had no idea how popular the Royal Judge was, or how every villager would seek him out to be heard.
Now, in this quiet Karuna village, Tarek dreaded the idea of going outside and being thronged by those desperate for justice. He stayed in his bath until the water grew cold, and ate his dinner alone in his rooms. One of the servants massaged Tarek’s tight shoulders into butter, and he luxuriated on the soft bed, the warm autumn breezes, thinking he could just stay there until dawn, and then dash out before anyone noticed him.
But he grew restless alone in the big house. Tarek finished his ablutions and read some of the documentation he hoped to memorize as Royal Judge, but his heart wasn’t in it. He could hear the Dragewan soldiers singing outside his house. They set up tents in front of the home, and were now eating their dinner and playing music softly by a campfire. The sounds of men reveling downstairs plunged Tarek into loneliness. What was he doing here, in this house in the middle of nowhere, so far from Darvad, so far from his own family?
His soldiers raised a familiar tune from Tarek’s childhood. It lured him outside, away from his solitude. A few men patrolled the camp, but most huddled around the campfire, sharing glasses of cheap rice wine and singing along with the beat one of them tapped out on a small drum.
When Tarek stepped out of the house, they stopped the music and stood to bow before him.
“Please, sit down, sit down,” he said. “I just wanted to enjoy the music with you.”
Tarek sat next to the young commander whom he had slept with several months before. As soon as Tarek made eye contact with the young commander, the commander blushed crimson.
Tarek was mad at himself for not remembering the man’s name. But he could not tactfully ask any of the other soldiers without raising suspicion.
“Hello,” he said to the commander.
The commander’s face brightened further. He bowed low. “My lord. I trust my men have not kept your from your sleep.”
“No, I wanted some fresh air and company,” Tarek told the man. The commander looked years younger than the other soldiers, and yet he was in charge. He had to be quite a warrior to have advanced to his rank at such a young age.
“Your presence honors us,” the commander said.
Tarek stared at the man’s helmet. He had polished it to a gleaming gold. Tarek couldn’t remember seeing anyone else with such a finely cared-for head piece. It made him smile. “I’m sorry—what is your name again?”
The man looked up at Tarek in surprise. “Anant.”
Tarek smiled. “Right. Anant. I’m sorry.” He touched the commander’s shoulder briefly.
Nervously, the drummer began to play again. After a few drinks, the men ignored Tarek.
The commander sat beside him, looking at Tarek out of the corner of his eye. Tarek found it endearing.
“How old are you?” Tarek asked him in a low voice. He needn’t have worried about his question carrying—several of the men who had been trying to sleep woke up from the loud singing, and now joined in, shouting with equal verve.
“I’m twenty one, my lord.”
“You seem young to be a commander, Anant.” Tarek liked how the name played off his tongue.
Anant smiled proudly. “My father was a commander in the Dragewan army before me. He taught me well. I advanced quickly.”
“I see.” Tarek turned to face him. Anant smiled back readily. Tarek couldn’t remember how he had first flirted with this man, having blacked out most of that night, but now he realized that it couldn’t have been hard. Anant was very receptive to flirtation.
“Are you happy in Dragewan’s army?” Tarek asked. He was suddenly curious about what the common people said about him.
Anant nodded his head enthusiastically. “We have the finest army in Marhavad, considering our size.” He grinned. “You are spoken of as a wise and strong leader.”
Tarek studied Anant’s features, thinking that maybe the young commander had been the one to start flirting with him that first night. Anant had thick black hair pulled back neatly in a knot, and dark, almond-shaped eyes with long lashes. Anant stretched his arms upwards. He wore an armored breastplate, but Tarek could still admire the tightness of his stomach as the armor slid upwards. Anant’s skin was strongly masculine, covered evenly in dark hair, his face already darkened with stubble.
“Your defeat of the other lords who challenged you is a testament to both your own prowess as a warrior and to the State of Dragewan,” Anant continued. “And the fact that you had to fight unfairly has inspired all of us in your army.”
Tarek smiled. “It didn’t feel inspiring at the time.”
Anant lowered his eyes. “Of course, my lord. But I, for one, admire King Darvad for raising your caste and showing the world that true greatness is in the person, not the social standing.”
Tarek swallowed. He really wanted to take this young man into the house. But mentioning Darvad’s righteousness curbed Tarek’s primal desires.
Tarek adjusted himself and then stood up. “I should turn in.”
“Would you like me to accompany you?” Anant asked quietly.
Tarek liked the man’s nervous honesty. “Not tonight. I’m on a holy mission for the King.”
“Of course.” Anant’s face burned. He lowered his head. He stepped back from Tarek.
Tarek quickly put his hand on Anant’s arm, and looked around to make sure no one paid them any attention. He leaned down to whisper in Anant’s ear.
“But when we return to Dragewan, we will have to find some time to know one another better.” He smiled, and with relief, saw Anant smile back.
“Good night, my lord,” Anant said, bowing with his hands together.
“Good night, Anant.” Tarek took one last lingering look at the young man, and then forced himself to turn around and return to the house.
◆◆◆
The remainder of their journey north passed swiftly, now that the rains ceased. Large Karuna fields gave way to smaller crops, separated by low stone walls. As they entered the State of Marshav, Tarek could feel the difference in the very air. People seemed more aggressive here, more on edge. Lord Kadal was renowned to be supported by the people but tyrannical in his rule, swiftly punishing those out of order. The straight lines of the Marshav fields bore testament to the vassal’s deep sense of symmetry.
They made camp in an empty field beside the road that evening, and Tarek once more joined the soldiers around the fire. He got to know more about the young commander in his army. Although somewhat naïve and by no means sophisticated, Anant was both kind and enjoyable company. He came from an ancient Triya family that had much prestige in Dragewan but little money. Anan
t’s honest, fierce loyalty to him despite his Suya birth gave Tarek a boost of confidence he had not known he needed.
Their approach to the city did not go unnoticed. A scout for Lord Kadal appeared on the horizon at dawn and then turned swiftly at a full gallop. The road congested as it met the Patari River and followed the water’s edge into Marshav itself, an ancient walled city where the lord sat in a towering fortress at its center, surrounded by a garrison of the Marshav army.
Tarek strung his bow and had it ready in his chariot car. With the banner of the Royal Judge on his standard, Tarek attracted his usual attention. But here, people appeared wary, eyeing the soldiers with practiced caution.
At the heavy wooden gate to Lord Kadal’s fortress, Tarek brought his entourage to a halt. The door opened automatically, and a steward appeared, groveling lowly before Tarek.
“Blessings upon you, Royal Judge!” the man cooed. He prostrated himself. “I have been asked by Lord Kadal to show you immediately to his reception hall. He is honored by your visit and offers you the best of Marshav hospitality.”
Tarek and his ministers made their way inside the fortress as Anant and the soldiers guarded their chariots and watched over Tarek’s servants. A heavy tension made the air thick. Tarek’s hands twitched beside his sword hilt.
The fortress was sparsely decorated but vast in size, and Tarek’s party walked a long corridor before coming to Lord Kadal’s reception hall. Inside, Lord Kadal sat on his dais, fanned by servants and surrounded by his ministers. As soon as Tarek entered the room, Kadal rose from his seat and bowed low to Tarek.
“Blessings upon you, Royal Judge,” Kadal said, bringing his hands together in the sign of peace. Kadal was older than Tarek, in his forties, but he was strong and fit. His eyes burned intensely.
“And to you, Lord Kadal.” Tarek returned the gesture.
“I trust your journey was pleasant?”
“It was long, and delayed by the weather.”
