by Astrid Amara
Abiyar took it warily. He looked at the guard standing silent against the wall, and blushed.
“I should learn weapons,” Abiyar said, forcing anger into his voice.
Jandu smirked. “Of course you should. But that doesn’t mean you can’t learn flute as well, my lord. After all, you seem to be an intelligent young man.”
Abiyar frowned down at the flute. “This will take time away from my military training.”
Jandu raised an eyebrow. “Did you have practice scheduled right now?”
Abiyar scowled. “No.”
“So there’s no problem then.” Jandu nodded to the flute. “Put it to your lips.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Well, your parents want you to. And so you have to. Do it.”
Abiyar put his lips to the flute and blew. His angle was off, and so no sound emerged. Jandu reached up and adjusted the angle of the flute, and as he did so, a powerful blush spread across the boy’s cheeks. Jandu scooted back immediately.
“Try it again,” Jandu said.
Abiyar blew. A weak, trembling note came from the flute. He looked at Jandu and smiled widely.
Jandu smiled back. Abiyar curled in on himself in an embarrassed jumble of long limbs, his emotions undisguised behind an honest face.
“Shall I show you the notes?” Jandu asked.
Abiyar nodded. Jandu went through the basic scale with his student, noting that he seemed thrilled every time he succeeded at something, and became closed and withdrawn when he failed.
Although their initial lesson was only an hour long, Jandu felt completely exhausted by the end of it. He never realized how mentally straining teaching someone could be. It didn’t help that Abiyar seemed disturbed by the whole lesson. Half of the time, Abiyar paid close attention to Jandu, listening to his notes, trying to mimic the sounds, memorizing the positions of the fingers. The other half of the time he stared at the guard by the door, watching him for a reaction, as if expecting the guard to drop his spear and start pointing and laughing at him.
When Jandu finally returned to his room, he was startled to see his roommate there. They had done a good job of avoiding each other for the last two days, but now Jandu realized that he would have to learn to live with her there.
“Hello,” he said, smiling shyly and slipping past her to grab a towel from his traveling chest.
Rani was barely eighteen, and rather ugly. She had pretty black eyes but her skin was pocked and rough, and her hair was dry and a dull black in color. She smiled when Jandu walked in.
“Janali! How was your meeting with the lord? Will you be staying?”
Jandu nodded. “I think so. I gave Abiyar his first flute lesson today.”
“Wonderful!” Rani nodded to Jandu’s towel. “Are you going to wash up? Have you been to the bathhouse yet? It’s beautiful. Come, I’ll show you where it is!”
Jandu smiled politely. He wanted to be alone, have five minutes of not pretending. But Rani hooked her arm in his and led him down the hallway to the bathhouse.
As they walked, arm in arm, it suddenly hit Jandu that Rani was a Suya servant. Jandu was about to bathe in the same water as a lower caste servant girl. He tried to muster some sense of indignity, but he realized there was no point. He didn’t feel it, not after his two years on the mountain.
Jandu learned that Lady Shali had an obsession with hygiene, and this was apparent in the design of the women’s bathhouse. In her love of ornament, she spared no expense in granting her female servants the same luxury as she herself had, providing a roomy stone bathroom complete with constantly hot water, pumped in from a hot spring.
Jandu had heard of hot springs before but had never seen one in his life. The bathhouse enclosed the spring’s waters with floors of tile and marble counters. A large, slatted dome let sunlight drift down into the room in striped patterns across the floor.
Rani raved about the bath house, how it was the finest in Marhavad, how lucky they were to have it, who frequented it, when it was busiest, when not to go, which soap to use, on and on she talked, she barely came up for air. But Jandu only half-listened. He was too distracted by the sudden, amazing sight of a room full of naked women.
He could feel himself blushing from his toes to the roots of his hair, but there was nothing to be done about it. In front of him were half a dozen women, chatting amiably with one another in varying states of undress. They washed their hair, dried, and changed clothes, the chatter constant and upbeat, whispers echoing through the stone chamber loud enough for everyone to hear.
Jandu had seen very few naked women in his life. Now he was stunned by the variety of women’s bodies, the different shades and shapes. Men’s bodies were beautiful to him, but women seemed strange and alien, the darkness of their nipples, the weird dimples and marks on their skin. He hastily looked away, following Rani’s lead as she put her towel down on one of the marble benches and started to undress.
He took off his clothes quickly, nervous about showing off his own body. He practically ran for the bath water. Once submerged, he relaxed somewhat, leaning against the white marble and casually watching Rani beside him as she went about her daily ablutions, her mouth never shutting for longer than a few seconds at a time.
Five minutes in the bath, and Jandu was a convert. Hot springs were the best thing on earth. The fact that he was sharing bath water with the lower caste entered his mind and left with no sense of outrage, only a mild curiosity. If the Shentari faith had gotten the distinctions of caste so wrong, how else had the religion been misinforming him? His skin would not peel off in rejection of Rani’s presence. The only thing that seemed in danger was his hearing, as Rani listed the grooms in order of handsomeness, as she warned which guards were mean and which were kind, and described in detail the latest scandal between a kitchen maid and one of the gardeners.
“So tell me about the lord’s son,” Jandu asked casually, picking up on the fact that Rani loved to gossip about everyone around her, especially her masters.
“Which one?” Rani asked. She took a deep breath and dunked her head under water, washing the soap from her hair. Jandu lathered his head and did the same.
“The young one. Abiyar,” Jandu said.
Two of the women in the bath with them turned and joined Jandu’s conversation uninvited.
“Well, he isn’t much use, is he?” one of them said.
The other woman nodded. “I’ve heard that Lord Indarel is thinking of sending him to Chandamar as an ambassador. But it’s mostly because he figures Abiyar can’t do anything else.”
The women laughed, and Rani scooted closer to Jandu. The heat in the air and the water soothed Jandu to the bones. He sunk lower, letting the soft, meaningless conversation wash over him like a balm.
“The lord loves his sons,” Rani said, nodding to herself. “But he definitely has preferences. Everyone loves Ramad, the eldest son. You should see him, Janali! He is beautiful. And Parik, Indarel’s second son, will be one of the most respected astrologers in Marhavad. All of the lord’s advisors say Parik has a gift. He can read the stars better than the Draya.”
Jandu closed his eyes and nodded. “And Abiyar?”
“Well…” Rani splashed water on her face. “No one really says much about him. He’s quiet, and bad with weapons, I hear. He isn’t very smart.”
“Oh.” Jandu understood a little better why Abiyar was so nervous about appearing to enjoy flute lessons in front of the palace guard.
“But he’s nice,” Rani added. “Unlike Ramad. He’s a stuck up snob and he torments his younger brother.”
Jandu smiled to himself. Being the youngest of three royal sons, Jandu had a pretty fair idea of what it meant to be third in line for the seat of power, and the most exposed to the taunts and torments of older brothers. But Yudar and Baram, relentless as their insults might be, loved Jandu fiercely, and he knew it. Their comments were always in jest, and never meant to really harm him. Perhaps Rani simply misunderstoo
d the nature of brothers chiding each other.
Or, judging by the insecure way Abiyar held himself, maybe he really was insulted. It wouldn’t be the first time that brothers were honestly mean to each other.
By the time Jandu and Rani emerged from the water, their flesh was pruned and bright red from the heat. Stepping from the steamy bathhouse into the cooling evening air was one of the most energizing feelings Jandu had ever experienced, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to feel content with his situation. He was a woman, true, and in hiding, yes, but at least he now lived in a beautiful place, with what seemed to be nice people. Rani chatted loudly with him all the way back to their room, and then she did her hair quickly and left for the night, working as one of Shali’s evening attendants.
That night, Jandu was startled from sleep when the door of his chamber opened. He saw the shadow of the person entering the room, and realized immediately that this person was far too big to be Rani. Jandu shot out of bed, and grabbed Zandi. Then he realized that, even if he did change her back into a bow, he had no, arrows. He clenched his fists, hoping the few muscles he had been left with could fend off an intruder.
Baram shut the door behind him. He looked down at Jandu and smiled sheepishly.
“Did I wake you?”
Jandu scowled at him. “What are you doing here?”
Baram smirked. “I’ve snuck past the guards into the single women’s quarters, what do you think I’m doing?”
He laughed as Jandu sneered at him. Jandu crawled back into bed.
“How are you doing?” Baram lowered his voice. He grabbed the two green pillows from the floor and made himself comfortable on the floor.
“All right.” Jandu turned on his side so he could see his brother.
“Have you been in the women’s bathhouse? I hear it’s beautiful.”
“You’d love it,” Jandu said. “At any given time, there are about ten naked women in it.”
“God.” Baram sighed contentedly.
“Sometimes they wash each other.”
“God!” Baram stretched. “You lucky, lucky bastard.”
“Good thing I don’t have anything to get up anymore,” Jandu said, yawning. “The charade would be over in no time.”
“How come you get to spend your days surrounded by naked, soapy women?” Baram whispered angrily. “I have to cook with this nasty old man from some western fishing village. He thinks the only way to prepare anything is by boiling it in water and then throwing handfuls of curry powder on it.”
“You could improve upon that technique,” Jandu said, and he meant it. The food he had eaten in Afadi had been bland and unsatisfying. “I tried to find you this afternoon, but you must have been out.”
“Really?” Baram smiled. “I would have liked to see you. I miss you guys.”
“Me too.” It was the most heart felt conversation Jandu could ever remember having with his brother, and it made him instantly suspicious his mind was turning into a woman’s as well. He immediately switched topics. “So when will you improve the menu?”
“I would if I could get the old bastard to trust me. He doesn’t like the looks of me,” Baram said. “He says I’m too strong to be a cook. He says I’m going to kill him in his sleep.”
“It’s a fair fear,” Jandu said. He closed his eyes. “You’re big, mean, and ugly. I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.”
“You can’t throw a jug of water any more,” Baram said.
Jandu sighed.
“At least Yudar seems to be having a good time,” Baram added.
“You’ve seen him?” Jandu asked. Suraya had informed him that Yudar was often by the lord’s side, the two of them playing dice until late in the evening, but Jandu still hadn’t seen a glimpse of his brother.
Baram nodded. “He looked very content. It’s unfair. While I’m busting my ass, he sits in palatial suites and plays dice all day. And you get to sit around with naked chicks.”
“I have also apparently become babysitter to the palace loser,” Jandu said. “Its not all leisure for me.”
“How’s Suraya?” Baram asked.
Jandu shrugged. “All right. I think she’s happy to be in a palace again, although she works very hard. Shali is a bossy bitch. She has Suraya running all over the place, gathering her clothes, bringing her refreshments, fetching one of the dozens of other servants in the household.”
Baram said nothing, and so Jandu cracked open an eye to look at him. Baram looked furious.
“Baram?” Jandu whispered.
Baram shook his head. “She should never have to be a servant. She is a queen.” He punched the pillow. “I hate this.”
Jandu sat up. “Do you think I like it?” He pointed to his chest. “Look, you fucker! I’ve got fucking tits!”
“I’m trying not to look,” Baram said. “It’s been over a year since I’ve screwed anyone, you know. I’ll be traumatized if I have even a fleeting erection inspired by my baby brother.”
They both started laughing.
Jandu laid back in the bed, and Baram stretched out on the floor, yawning.
“I think Suraya is better though,” Jandu added at last. He wasn’t sure how to talk about what had happened to her in the forest. But he thought Baram should know, and they had spent so little time alone together since their desperate escape. “But if you see her, I mean—you really should talk to her. I know she misses you.”
“Why me?” Baram spat. “I’m not her husband anymore.”
“Because she loves you more than Yudar or me,” Jandu said plainly.
Baram sat up. “Jandu…”
“…Look.” Jandu sighed. “I don’t want to get into a long discussion on this, but I just want you to know the truth.” He looked at his brother. “She’s yours. She wants you. She loves you. I’m not going to get in the way of that. ”
Baram had tears in his eyes. He stared up at the wooden ceiling, his mouth working wordlessly, as if he were forming and rejecting sentences.
Jandu closed his eyes again. “So are you going to spend the night here and ruin my reputation, labeling me an incestuous slut, or are you going to find some other young maiden to sleep with tonight?”
Baram laughed weakly. Jandu hear him sniffling in the darkness.
“Although if you stay, I still get the bed,” Jandu said softly. “I’m a girl now. I’ve got tender skin.”
Baram snorted. Jandu heard him wipe his nose, heard him pull himself back together.
“Okay,” Baram said at last. “I’ll leave you and your reputation alone. I’ll go sleep in the kitchen, where I’m supposed to.”
Chapter 31
THE FULL NOTE OF TAREK’S CONCH SHELL BLEW OVER THE CITY of Jezza.
Outside the brown brick walls of the city, Tarek’s army waited for the Jezzan lord to show himself. The Jezzan army remained out of sight, tucked inside the city’s fortifications. Tarek surveyed the walls and saw they had been designed for defense but not offense. There were no raised platforms from which archers could mount an attack.
Tarek stood in his chariot, just outside the city gate. Behind him, fanned out, were his commanders. Beside him, in his own chariot, was Regent Mazar.
Mazar had joined Tarek only the evening prior, bringing along a contingent of Prasta soldiers. Tarek was surprised that the grizzly old warrior would journey so far from the palace after all these years of peace, but Mazar explained that he felt it his duty. He, too, had taken a vow to serve the king of Marhavad.
Tarek had only known Mazar as Regent, had only seen him in silk robes. Now, donned from head to toe in ancient-looking armor, the old man appeared fierce. His silver breastplate and helmet glinted in the unforgiving sunlight.
“If King Darvad cannot be with you,” Mazar had told him, “then I consider it an honor to fight in his stead.”
Tarek bowed. “Your skills and experience will be a great asset, and the honor is mine.”
Now eight units of foot soldiers a
nd archers stood behind Mazar, Tarek, and Darvad’s general. Tarek was proud of the order of his men, the clean lines of their ranks, the fierceness of their appearance. The colored banners held beside the unit commanders flapped furiously in the hot, dry wind of the plain. Over two thousand men stood ready to follow Tarek into these walls.
Tarek looked back at the barred gate.
“I challenge Lord Sahdin to bring forth the traitor, Lord Kadal, and to surrender!” Tarek bellowed, hoping his voice carried deep into the city. “Tell your lord to show himself!”
Tarek’s heart beat wildly. He prayed Sahdin would be brave enough to face Tarek alone. It would save lives. But as the silence stretched into minutes, he realized that there was little chance that the lord would willingly give up Kadal, or the safety of his palace.
One arrow, ignited, flew over the city wall, falling short of Tarek. Its message was clear. If Tarek wanted Kadal, he would have to take him.
Tarek signaled to his commanders and then Tarek sounded his conch shell one more time.
Mazar and the other Triya in chariots blew their horns as well, and the sound of the notes rising brought the hairs on Tarek’s arms up on end and sent a thrill of expectation through his veins. Adrenalin flooded his system.
“I can break the wall,” Mazar shouted at Tarek.
“Then do it,” Tarek said.
He watched as Mazar pulled an arrow from his quiver, notched it, and then aimed at the wall. Mazar closed his eyes and whispered a sharta over the weapon, the words strange and dangerous, beyond Tarek’s comprehension.
Mazar loosed his string and the arrow whistled as it flew.
The arrow hit the wall. Stones exploded in a shower of dirt and flame. Dust burst upon the army and the echo of the detonation pealed over Tarek in a roar. Jezzan soldiers screamed as shrapnel bombarded them. The force of the impact carved a basin in the dry soil.
Before the Jezzan troops inside could react, Tarek charged into the gap. A roar went up from his troops as chariots filed in behind him, with his foot soldiers following suit.
