“I didn’t know that.”
“When I fostered there, I didn’t see him too often. Didn’t really get to know him. Rides well. Hunts. Women fall for him.” He slanted a grin at her.
She raised her chin, but didn’t grace his unspoken challenge with a reply.
“He’s even scholarly. Not into poetry though.”
Daria wrinkled her nose at her brother. Joshel fancied himself a poet, and every time he fell in love, wrote pages of poems, mostly drivel, but here and there a few good ones.
He jerked his head toward the others on the king’s deck. “Come, join us.”
“I will in a few minutes.”
Joshel brushed a finger over the back of her hand and up her wrist, a gesture he’d started when she was tiny when he wanted to express understanding. Then he turned and walked back to the king’s deck.
Daria leaned over the railing, stacking her fists on the polished ironwood and resting her chin atop them. Gazing over the water and inhaling the briny scent of the air, she allowed her vision to blur, hoping the new information about Thaddis made a difference. But her othersense recoiled. No change.
We shouldn’t be traveling to Ocean’s Glory.
CHAPTER TWO
EARTH, MIDDLE EAST,
PRESENT DAY
“You must be careful, my son. Khan’s death must look like an accident.”
Khan Laenser overheard the words of Kadija, his father’s first wife, and halted behind the half-open door of her sitting room. He froze, not daring to breathe, listening to the hushed voices of Kadija and his half-brother, Amir. His heart thudded like the hoofbeats of a bolting stallion. He covered his chest with one hand, while the other clutched at the folds of his robe.
“I’ve sabotaged the brakes on his car,” Amir said in a gleeful voice. “Tomorrow, by the time he reaches the cliff road on the way to Ahatna, the brakes will have given out, and over he’ll go.”
Khan heard the slap of a fist smacking into a palm.
“The car will be so mangled, no one will know. That’ll be the last of my dear little brother.”
“With Khan out of the way, your grandfather will designate you as the next sultan.”
“I will have the power.” Amir’s tone oiled with greed.
“And Khan’s inheritance?”
“As soon as I have my hands on his money, I’ll pay off Martine. Then he’ll rein in his thugs, and I can go back to the casino.”
“Amir!” Kadija almost wailed his name. “No more gambling.”
“I just had a run of bad luck. With Khan dead, my luck will change.”
The malevolence in Amir’s voice shook Khan. Growing up, Amir had never lost an opportunity to taunt and abuse Khan, but that he hated him enough to kill him….
“Others will surely question his death. Omar—”
“Omar is a servant. An old man, easily disposed of.”
Khan retreated down the hallway, every muscle tense with the effort to move silently, and slid through the outside door. With quick, quiet steps, he headed away from the house, squinting in the desert sunlight radiating off the sand-colored bricks paving the yard.
He glanced behind him at the tan-brick palace, making sure no one had followed him out the arched doorways. All clear. He rounded the corner of the garage, heading toward the refuge of the stables at the very edge of the walled compound.
Once inside, Khan stopped at the nearest stall, grabbing the wooden frame with both hands. His breath rasped, deep and ragged, as if he’d sprinted a mile. He leaned his forehead against the wood, tightening his fingers into the post and forcing his breathing to slow. The familiar odor of horse and hay steadied his heartbeat, calming his anger and fear.
A nicker and puff of air next to his head brought a faint smile. Nika, a twenty-fourth birthday gift from his father, nuzzled Khan’s neck. Only a foal the day he’d arrived, Nika had already showed the promise of his bloodlines—beautiful, strong, and fast as the wind. The tapered nose butted his arm, looking for a carrot. Easing his grip from the post, Khan reached over and stroked the sleek sable head, trying to come to terms with what he’d heard.
I must go.
Amir’s vicious streak ran deep, and now that he’d fixated on Khan’s death, his brother wouldn’t give up. And the ruthless gambling thugs he hung around with tended to spray their target with a rain of bullets, often killing innocent bystanders. Khan’s presence put his people in jeopardy.
Better he leave now, grab what he could carry, and build a new life. America perhaps. But to abandon his land….
Anger burned within him, but he pushed the feeling aside. He must concentrate on survival. He had until tomorrow before his “accident” would take place. His mind whirled with possibilities. Like connecting pieces of a puzzle, he assembled his ideas into a plan. He must play the role of unsuspecting victim and give the best acting performance of his life.
He returned to the palace, stopping at the sitting room that contained a mixture of Western and Eastern antiques spiced with modern pieces. Kadija reclined on a scarlet silk divan, the brightness a perfect foil for her aging beauty. A rose-patterned tea service gleamed on a carved table in front of her. The scent of Earl Grey and lemon, combined with Kadija’s musky perfume, evoked unpleasant memories.
Amir, clad in slacks and shirt, sprawled on a toffee-colored leather sofa. He smiled smugly at Khan. His half-brother had a stockier body, but his features echoed Khan’s—high cheekbones and an aquiline nose. Lately, Amir’s waistline had thickened and puffy circles emerged around his eyes.
Kadija raised a graceful arm to wave him into the room, her heavy gold bracelets clinking. “Join us, Khan.”
“No, thank you. I just came in to say good evening. I need to pack for my trip.”
“What time will you be leaving?” The stiffness of her normally languid body betrayed her interest in his answer.
“In the afternoon. I want to take Nika for an early morning ride before I leave.”
Amir shifted in his seat, smoothing a wrinkle from his navy pants. “You’ll only be gone for a few weeks.”
“I need to be back within a month to oversee the planting of the new maize.”
“My brother, the farmer.” The words matched the sneer, crossing Amir’s face.
“My brother, the dilettante.” Khan echoed the tone, although not the sneer. “A third of our income derives from the farms.” He nodded at the new Rolex on Amir’s wrist. “Without it, you might have to cut back on your indulgences.”
“Now, my sons. Don’t quarrel on Khan’s last day.”
Khan almost gagged in an effort to hold down sudden nausea. My sons. Those words alone would’ve alerted him of impeding danger.
Hiding his revulsion, he nodded goodbye, left the room, and strode outside to the one place he could call his alone. He’d designed a special greenhouse and there had spent his days developing a hybrid strain of maize that would grow in arid land. He also grew other grains, fruit, vegetables, and, in memory of his mother, flowers.
He entered his sanctuary, inhaled a deep breath of loamy air, and hastened to the seed room that housed his creations, tucked in neatly labeled drawers and bins. He located the maize and scooped every kernel into a bag. Amir wouldn’t get his hands on a single grain. Then he took samples from each drawer, depositing them into small paper packets.
My real legacy. Not the half of his father’s fortune that his brother lusted after.
Frustration bit. Unless Amir hired a competent overseer, in a few years the farms would wither to dust, and so would much of the income.
The door creaked open. Khan whirled, his hand clutching the hilt of his dagger, shoved in his pocket.
His foreman, Omar Karzai, stepped though, carrying a clay pot nestling a seedling. He halted as if running into an invisible wall. “What is wrong?”
Khan relaxed, sliding his hand out of his pocket. Omar had worked on the farms since before Khan’s birth. Tall, with a small stoop, Omar’s thin bod
y belied his wiry strength. His prominent nose jutted above a white beard, growing to his chest. Khan trusted the older man with his life. “I overheard Amir planning to kill me.” And you.
The wrinkled skin on Omar’s face sagged. “I have heard gossip about Amir’s doings. I didn’t want to believe such ill of your father’s eldest son, but I know what he is capable of. That’s one of the reasons I’m sending Jasmine to that nursing school in England. It’s only a matter of time before she catches your brother’s eye.”
Anger knifed through him. The annoying girl, who’d often tagged at his heels, had matured into a beautiful woman—as dear to him as a sister. The thought of Amir turning his evil attentions toward her made Khan clench his fists.
Khan attempted a smile, trying to lighten Omar’s distress. “And here I thought I’d persuaded you of the value of higher education for women.”
“Persuaded me by offering to pay for the university, yes. But Amir’s persuasion was stronger.”
“He will be furious I’ve escaped. You must pretend we haven’t spoken. Otherwise, you’ll be in danger too.”
Omar half-smiled. “I will be as puzzled as he.”
“Just be convincing. And if he kills me… You must do nothing. Or else you and your family will also die.”
The old man’s expression turned to stone. “Where will you go?”
“I’ll escape through the desert. It’s best you know no more than that.”
Omar paused, tugging on his beard. “I have an idea. Stop by my home when you are done here. I have something for you. An ancient map that will help you … find your way.”
“I will.”
His forehead still furrowed in thought, Omar nodded, then hastened away.
With a stab of regret, Khan watched his friend leave. Then he shook his head, dismissing his feelings.
Khan stuffed the seed packets into several larger bags and hefted each to judge its weight. He couldn’t overload Nika. He still had to pack his gear, supplies, and water for himself and the horse. He’d better take one of the mares to carry most of the supplies. But first, he assembled a small parcel of the herbs he’d dried for teas and medicinal purposes, stuffing them into paper packets.
Pink buds tipped with red bloomed in large tubs by the door. His mother’s roses. She’d planted more in the yard, but after her death, Kadija had ordered the gardener to uproot them. Only these survived. Khan pulled his curved dagger from a deep pocket, slicing several cuttings and wrapping a damp rag around them. Perhaps if he kept them moist….
Near the door, he hesitated before turning out the lights, loath to leave. His spirit was rooted deep in this land. He’d never been happy anywhere else. Was it worth hacking away part of his soul for his physical body to survive? The thought sliced like a blade though his heart.
He grabbed the two bags and snapped off the lights. As he headed to the stables, he didn’t look back.
Once inside the stables, he dropped his burden over the door of Nika’s stall. Quickly, he selected provisions for the horses—oats, mixed grains sweetened with sorghum, salt. His biggest worry was water. He had to pack enough for himself and the horses for several days.
Gathering the seeds and the supplies for the horses proved simple compared to sorting through his personal belongings. In his suite of rooms, Khan pulled the camping gear used for his desert forays from inside a carved wooden chest and tossed the kit upon the foot of his bed.
He moved to the dresser and lifted out his mother’s magenta and navy-blue silk scarf, spreading it over his bed. The faint memory of her perfume lingered. A sentimental keepsake.
He turned to open a small safe his father had installed after his mother died. Kadija coveted his mother’s jewelry, both the pieces from her dowry and those his father had given her. But his father had decreed they belonged to Khan.
Reaching inside, he took out box after box, dumping the precious contents into a glittering pile. Pulling the corners of the scarf together, he tied them into a secure knot and shoved the brightly colored parcel into his backpack.
He slipped his passport, identification papers, credit cards, and money into a traveler’s belt around his waist. He stuffed clothes into the backpack, along with a compass, knives, matches, a flashlight, a first aid kit, extra batteries, and his journal. From under his bed, he slid out a custom-made archery set and tossed it on the bed.
As hour grew late, the house quieted.
Khan stepped from his room and listened to the night sounds. As far as he could tell, no one stirred. Gliding silently, he moved down the hallway to the kitchen and raided the pantry. With his backpack on and arms full, Khan eased out the back door. A plump moon painted the familiar landscape in stark shades of gray and black. The chilly air washed over him. He breathed a prayer of thanks to Allah for the light of the moon and took quiet steps to the stables.
Inside the stable, Nika nickered a greeting.
“Soon, my dark one,” Khan murmured, dropping everything on the wooden floor. He hurried to the end stall. All the mares were in foal, not a good time to take any of them into the desert. But gentle Daisy was only a few months along. If she rested each night, she would do well. Her speed and stamina made her the best choice for this journey.
He took his time loading up, careful to balance each bundle so nothing would rub the horses’ hides. Nika snorted and stomped, seeming eager to get on with his master’s late-night expedition.
Khan led both horses outside, keeping to the shadows. He walked them to the small house near the gate and looped Nika’s reins and Daisy’s lead around a post. He knocked softly on the wooden door.
Omar cracked open the door. Seeing Khan, he flung it wide, motioning him inside.
No lights were on; only the flame of a single candle illuminated the main room. The smell of cooked rice-and-lamb still lingered near the kitchen. Jasmine sat alone on the leather couch in one corner of the room. The rest of the family must have retired for the night.
Khan studied her familiar face, aware he might never see her again. She’d plaited her hip-length hair into a tail, and fidgeted with the end of the braid—a sure sign of her apprehension. Her brilliant blue eyes were surrounded by thick, sooty lashes and held a look of sorrow. A long, narrow nose, and an expressive mouth too wide for her thin face, gave her an unusual kind of beauty.
He greeted her, trying to keep his sense of loss from showing in his voice.
Jasmine stirred from the couch, and, with a graceful sway, walked toward them. “Grandfather told me about Amir.” Fear showed in her eyes.
“You’ll be safe at school, Jazy.”
She lowered her gaze, fiddling with the end of her braid. “But you…”
“We’ll both be starting new lives. Soon, you’ll be busy with your studies and breaking the hearts of all the Englishmen.”
Omar held out a rolled parchment. “There’s no time for talk.” He waved the cylinder under Khan’s nose. “This has been in our family long before the time of my grandfather’s grandfather. We have a family tale….”
Khan took the parchment from him and spread it out on the table. The flame flickered, but cast enough light to see the ancient diagram. He recognized the nearest oases, but there was a distant one marked that he’d never heard of. He looked up at Omar in inquiry.
“A hidden city. Mostly in ruins. There’s water and safety there. Amir’s men will expect you to flee as quickly as possible through the desert. If you wait several weeks, then leave, they’ll be searching elsewhere.”
Khan rolled up the map and stuck it inside his shirt for safekeeping. “Thank you, my friend.”
“There’s more—a story.” Again Omar paused. “The tale tells of our ancestors arriving from a distant land.”
“A distant world,” Jasmine interjected, when it seemed her Grandfather wouldn’t continue. “Like a science fiction distant world. The ancient city was their arrival point.”
Khan swallowed his skepticism. “An interesting legend. Did
they come in spaceships?”
“No, a kind of portal.”
“Perhaps I’ll have a chance to explore.” He leaned forward and hugged Omar, then smiled goodbye to Jasmine
Tears glistened in her eyes. She reached out as if to touch him, then pulled away.
With a heavy heart, Khan strode to the door. Hesitating, he turned. “You’ll keep the farms going?”
The old man pressed his hand to his heart. “I’ll continue the work of your father and yourself. Allah keep you, Khan.”
Sadness squeezed Khan’s chest. He choked out words of farewell before easing open the door and stepping outside.
Khan untied the reins and led the horses to the gate in the compound. Unlocking the intricate iron doors, he pushed them open.
He paused, taking a last look back at the moon-drenched palace, his greenhouse, and then outside to his dark, distant fields. Will I ever see my home again? Grief rose in his throat, bitter as bile. He led the horses through, locking the gate behind him.
“Good-bye,” he whispered. Then he mounted up and headed into the desert.
CHAPTER THREE
Dream threads wrapped around Daria, tugging her away from Seagem to an unfamiliar place.
She stood on a hilly desert, gritty beige sand under her bare feet. Overhead, a yellow sun blazed in an arching azure sky. The starkness of the color dried the air from her lungs, making her lightheaded.
Daria fought the dizziness. Where is this place? What am I doing here?
She’d curbed herself of dream walking without the presence of Yadarius, ever since Indaran’s death. Somehow, her blocks must have slipped.
Trepidation, like cold fingers, clutched her stomach, chilling her in spite of the blistering heat.
She shaded her eyes with one hand, staring at the vast blueness. She wasn’t in Seagem anymore; she doubted a sky of such a hue existed anywhere on her world. Was this Yadarius’s doing? Had He sent her somewhere? For what purpose?
Turning in a small circle, she scanned her surroundings, searching for signs of the SeaGod’s presence.
Sower of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy) Page 2
