One Wish Away: Djinn Empire Complete Series

by Ingrid Seymour

  “I do not consider it so.”

  Father turned the cup over the board. The dice crashed down onto the pieces, knocking them out of their proper places. He pulled his hands to his lap and splayed his fingers over his thighs as if he were fighting not to curl them inwardly.

  “Your recalcitrance is tiresome. You will meet the girl, and then we will talk again.”

  “But—”

  “Enough, Faris. Leave! I have more important things to do than argue with you.”

  I stood there for a moment, chest pumping with fury. He was trying to drag this situation out until refusing became impossible. If I met the general’s daughter, and she was encouraged by the acquaintance, turning the offer down, at that point, would be out of the question—unless I wanted to meet my end at General Mendes’s sword. It was a trap.

  “Father,” I inclined my head and took a step back toward the door, pondering what to say next.

  He waved his hand dismissively, his attention on his strategy game. He thought he was done with me which allowed me to see how little he knew me.

  “I will meet her, if that is your wish,” I said. “But, be assured, I will not marry her, no matter the consequences.”

  With that, I turned on my heel and took my leave.

  4

  I parried my opponent’s blow, and, with a quick jerk of my sword, disarmed him. He shook his hand to chase away the pain from my violent thrust.

  “Go easy, Faris,” Kir said.

  I inclined my head in apology and turned toward the washing fountain. Pushing my sword into my young attendant’s hands, I scooped water into my hands and splashed it on my face. The feeling was unlike any other, a reward to all my hard work.

  Kir joined me and refreshed himself in a similar fashion. “What demon has gotten into you lately?” he asked, after shaking himself like a wet dog.

  The last few days, I had spent every waking moment in the arena, fiercely trying to keep the new traitorous thoughts out of my mind. They insinuated themselves again, like a stubborn malady that brooked no remedy.

  Maybe I’m being unreasonable.

  Maybe I should heed Father’s wishes.

  I shook my head and took my sword from the boy. His shoulders slumped, but I ignored his disgruntled attitude. Maybe his silent complaint was legitimate. I had abused of services, making him stand under the unrelenting sun for hours, but I had no care for that at the moment.

  “Again,” I said.

  Despondently, Kir threw his head back, face gleaming with sweat. “I have had enough for one day. Besides, I need to clean up for the mid-summer feast. You should do the same.”

  The mid-summer feast. Just the thought made my stomach tumble with disgust and impotence.

  Hiding my inner turmoil, I gave Kir a dismissive shake of my head and turned to the center of arena.

  “Bah, you are obsessed,” Kir said, taking his leave through a side door.

  I raised my sword. The sun shone on the blade, casting glimmering spots in different directions. An imaginary enemy appeared before me. It had Father’s face.

  I feigned a blow to the right, then whirled in the opposite direction, slashing the sword above shoulder level, a beheading blow. In my mind’s eye, blood splattered onto the sand, soaking it crimson red. A head rolled, then came to stop, its black eyes open and accusingly turned in my direction.

  Overridden with guilt, I fell to one knee, stabbed my sword deep in the sand, and rested my head on the pommel.

  I stared down the sharp edge of my blade, contemplating the same thoughts that had plagued my mind since Father informed me of his plans. I had not talked to him since that day, though not for lack of trying. I’d sought him out several times to present my arguments once more, but he refused to see me.

  His only attention to me had been to send a message through one of his servants, ordering me to attend General Medes’s mid-summer feast celebration today.

  Such celebrations were taking place all over Persepoli. There was only one reason to require my presence at the General’s home, though Father had not bothered to make the purpose part of his message. My attendance and obedience were implicit, even if it meant the demise of my dreams. It was as if I deserved no respect. To him, I was nothing more than another possession to be used to his advantage.

  Fury swelled in my chest, as was most common these days. I clenched my teeth and indulged my cowardly desires.

  I could leave, make my own way, separate from the Empire. I could fight as my own man, earning thus my own fortune, if only I were braver. But—when I contemplated the reality of this prospect, the hardships of such a life, the fact that, without the benefit of my current position, it would mean starting from nothing—I loathed this option. Attaining my dreams in this manner would be a much harder way than simply marrying the general’s daughter.

  I cursed.

  Giving up my birth-given advantage should not have been a source of fear. Only a weak-hearted man could feel that way. I hated myself for it. I hated the foolish hope that Father would see reason. In my mind, I knew there was no chance of that. But my heart expected more of him.

  My true, hidden hope, however, lay in the possibility that the general’s daughter would find me unworthy and would reject me.

  Dishonorably, I would endeavor to make it so. I saw no other way.

  5

  “Zet! Why are you here?” I asked. “Father did not mention you would come.” My brother was standing by himself in one corner of the ample inner courtyard of General Medes home. He wore his best clothes, including a turban with a large sapphire attached to the front. It was a present from Mother, one he had not particularly favored at the time.

  “The girl I told you about, she is here,” he responded, his eyes darting around the courtyard, looking for her. He wrung his hands together, more nervous than I had ever seen him in my life.

  I shared his agitation, though, ironically, for the opposite reason.

  Why had Father chosen me? Why not Zet? He was the romantic one, not me. My brother thought that being the eldest was a blessing, when, in reality, it was a curse. I would have traded places with him that very moment.

  The sound of music, harps and flutes, floated through the air. A group of women danced in the middle of the courtyard, their hips keeping rhythm. Their hands fluttered above their heads like anxious birds. Anklets chimed as their bare feet moved over the smooth stone floor.

  Zet and I watched them, the enjoyment we would have shared mere days ago nowhere in evidence.

  “I am desperately in love, Faris,” my brother said all of a sudden, his voice anguished, his eyes pleading.

  I opened my mouth, bewildered by his outburst, the words of surprise I would have uttered stuck in my throat.

  “What do I do, big brother?” he asked.

  I shook my head, still speechless. The thoughts whirling inside my mind were of refusal, not of acceptance. I had no advice for him.

  “I’m afraid her father will deny me, and I—”

  “Faris! There you are!” Father took my elbow without another word and dragged me along with him.

  My gaze remained locked on Zet’s as if, in that moment, he could save me somehow. He frowned at the pleading expression I gave him, offering little more than a sympathetic half wave of his hand.

  “Let’s not keep General Medes and his daughter waiting.” Father ushered me into a large room off the end of the courtyard.

  A considerable number of people occupied the space inside, most of them sitting on top of the many-layered rugs, enjoying the food that lay before them. The smell of roasted lamb clogged the air, making my stomach turn. Another group of musicians sat in a corner, playing another dancing tune. Three women danced in unison, their tresses swinging from side to side with their hips, the light dresses flowing in the air.

  Father pushed me in front of General Medes. He was a broad man with a thick neck over his thick shoulders. I was used to seeing him in the arena, drilling his men und
er the merciless sun. It took me a moment to digest his currently pristine image.

  “General Medes,” I inclined my head, “may Ahura prolong your life and that of your family.”

  He wore a perfectly white turban with a colorful feather adorning the top. His gray-spotted beard was perfectly trimmed and shining with aromatic oils.

  He nodded and offered me a quick smile. I had never seen the man’s teeth. They were yellowed and wide like a horse’s.

  “Let me present to you my eldest daughter.” He turned and pulled forward the tallest girl from a group of four. “This is Cala.”

  The girl lowered her head, never meeting my gaze. She wore a veil that hid half her face, a custom some well-to-do women had acquired from our Assyrian neighbors. Her dress was of a bright turquoise, a vibrant color not commonly seen.

  “You should talk,” General Medes said and pulled my father away without ceremony.

  Heat rose up my neck. I had never been shy with women, but this situation was unbearable. The thought of being rude, of discouraging her from seeing me as anything but a brusque, unworthy man, filled me with shame and disgust for my situation.

  She looked up at me, surreptitiously, her big brown eyes darting across my face, then falling to the floor again.

  “They dance beautifully,” she said, referring to the women whose bodies swayed with the sensuous melody from the flutes.

  I care little for such frivolities.

  I formed the thought and imagined uttering the words with cold indifference, but I was unable. The best I could do was remain silent, acting as if her words were of no consequence.

  Back stiff, I stood by her side, trying to ignore the way she was looking at me. She had abandoned her shyness and had replaced it with unabashed curiosity. She looked in General Medes’s direction, then back.

  Father was frowning at me, displeasure written all over his face. I clenched my fists and looked toward the door that lead to the courtyard. I was tempted to storm out and—

  “You are an accomplished warrior, Father mentioned.” Cala’s voice was gentle as she said this, pulling me back to the moment. In spite of her quiet tone, she seemed to choke on the words. Her eyes met her father’s, then fell again. There was something in the slight tightening of her eyebrows that gave me the impression she was unhappy.

  It had not occurred to me that she might share my feelings in this situation, but her crestfallen attitude made me wonder and gave me hope.

  Father threw a pointed glance my way and jerked his head toward Cala. I turned my back on him and stood in front of the girl, hiding both our faces from our fathers’ prying eyes.

  Her eyes opened wide in surprise. She took a small step back, looking afraid.

  I could conceive only one way out of this: I had to be honest.

  “Please forgive what I am about to say. It is nothing against you, but you should know that I do not want to marry. It is my father’s wish, not mine.” I said it all in one breath, afraid I would not be able to finish. I had a duty to my father, to my family, and this outward repudiation of Father’s wishes was as dishonorable as my original intention to be rude. Yet, it couldn’t be helped.

  I watched Cala’s wide eyes closely. The rest of her face was hidden, so it was difficult to discern her reaction. Her gaze denounced the astonishment my admission had caused her. She could not possibly want a man who could not uphold his father’s honor and would so unceremoniously profess his disregard for his wishes. It was an embarrassment, but, at least, I had managed to deliver my message without resorting to lies.

  “You . . . you do not wish to marry me?” The question was a strange combination of relief and puzzlement. The emphasis in the last word was not lost on me. She had taken offense.

  “I do not wish to marry,” I clarified. “I have . . . other plans.”

  She looked at me curiously, her eyes searching my face. As we stood there among all the oblivious guests, I felt assessed like a strange creature beyond this girl’s comprehension.

  Slowly, she moved a hand to one side and lowered the veil, revealing her face. I blinked, surprised by her great beauty. Her skin was smooth as silk, without a blemish on it. Her lips were full and moist, insinuating a smile that promised to be radiant. Her big, brown eyes complemented her every feature and looked bigger than I had previously thought, now that her dainty nose was revealed.

  “And what other plans are these?” she asked in a tone that felt like a challenge, as if she imagined all of my plans should dissolve at the sight of her face.

  I examined her expression carefully, wondering if I was imagining her conceited attitude. Did she think herself so beautiful that men should abandon their every desire at the mere sight of her features?

  She was indeed beautiful, like an expensive sculpture ready for those willing to gawk. She was well groomed and kept, bathed in goat’s milk and scented with fine oils, no doubt. But was there more to her than that? Her suddenly coquettish expression made me think otherwise, especially after her initial apprehension.

  I cleared my throat and answered her question. “I wish to join the army in Babylon and fight for our King and Empire.”

  She let out a small laugh, then pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to disguise it. “One more man can hardly make a difference.”

  “I must disagree with your assertion,” I said, casting a quick glance in General Medes direction. “I’m sure your father would disagree as well.”

  She played with one of her many bracelets. “Father is a general. That is the one man who can make a difference, I must admit. The rest . . .” She shrugged one shoulder.

  Was she always this opinionated? It was a trait I could appreciate. I had never liked meek women, but her condescension and apparent disregard for others was a whole other matter.

  Anger twisted in my chest. “With all due respect, your father and King Cyrus would be nothing without the rest, as you refer to our loyal, fighting men.”

  “Oh, Faris,” she giggled behind her hand again, “you mustn’t take me seriously. I just think it would be such a waste if you were to go. There’s so much more an intelligent man can do for the Empire, don’t you think?”

  “Perhaps.” I clenched my teeth, holding my tongue back. Her idle talk could not be taken seriously, so there was no point in arguing. In fact, there was no point in talking at all.

  “You are . . . different than I imagined,” she said after a moment.

  What could I say that would not sound rude? She was also different than I had imagined, and not in a good way. I settled for a non-committal sound in the back of my throat.

  Undeterred by my silence, she added, “You are very attractive.”

  I coughed to disguise my surprise.

  “I have met some of Father’s men, and they are all so uncouth. They are gruff and hairy and thick as barrels.” She wrinkled her nose. “I thought Father had lost his mind, but . . .” she trailed off, her eyes darting to mine for an instant, then falling down to her bracelet with a flutter of eyelashes.

  Wise Lord, she likes me!

  I looked around the room like a caged animal. This was not good. I had been nothing but discourteous and contrary.

  “Our fathers, I believe, are no matchmakers,” I said. “It seems a soldier such as myself would be ill-suited for a woman like you.”

  “Don’t you think I should be the judge of that?” She ran the back of her hand down the side of her silken face in a very suggestive, very feminine way.

  My mouth went dry at the gesture, some animalistic instinct rising within me. She was a seductress. Probably used to getting what she wanted based on her beauty alone.

  I clenched my fists, digging stiff fingernails into my sweaty palms. I would not be distracted by her guiles. I certainly was not one of her father’s typical soldiers whom she would be able to manipulate with a flutter of her heavy lashes alone.

  I would not compromise my principles for such banal pursuits. She really had no idea how dif
ferent I was from what she had imagined. I was not shallow, and, to me, her beauty was nothing but the surface of a depthless puddle.

  Whatever thoughts were brewing in her insipid mind, she would soon find out that they were useless now that I understood her nature.

  6

  When one of Cala’s younger sisters shyly approached us, I used it as an opportunity to make a bow and excused myself from the room. I hurried out, looking over my shoulder at Cala’s displeased expression.

  By all means, I should have felt like a coward, escaping from a young, slight girl. But I didn’t. I was simply tired of her company, a presence more abrasive than any I had ever encountered.

  “Faris! Wait!” I was almost out of the inner courtyard when Zet called my name. “Leaving already?”

  “Yes,” I said courtly.

  “You must have seen her,” he said. “She is in there.” He pointed toward the door I had just exited from.

  “I saw her, all right!” I exclaimed.

  Zet looked hopeful and puzzled at my comment.

  That’s when, for the first time, something alarming occurred to me. What if Zet’s girl was Cala?

  Oh, Wise Lord!

  I froze, my gut flipping onto itself, making me violently ill. I pressed a hand to my middle.

  “Zet . . .” I said cautiously.

  My brother looked at me with a frown, then over his shoulder toward that viper room—I could not think of any other name for it. He had sensed something in my voice, but his attention was too divided to fully grasp my trepidation.

  “Zet,” I repeat, “what is her name?”

  “Oh, here she comes!” Zet exclaimed, his face lighting up as if he had turned toward the sun.

  A girl dressed in a yellow and red dress walked through the wide door and out onto the courtyard. Her face was covered with a veil, but I knew she was not Cala since her dress had been turquoise. I let out a heavy breath of relief.