“And time grows short.”
“I’m doing all I can.” Azad motioned to the boiling liquid. “My voles are already responding well.”
Ihsan laughed as he tossed the branch back onto the pile and picked up a dried adichara bloom from a similar pile beyond it. “We are hardly voles, my good King.”
“Laugh if you wish, but the ones I feed it to live twice as long as those I don’t. And the ones I cut heal twice as fast.”
“Well, well,” Ihsan said, “progress indeed. But I will consider it nothing more than an incremental step until you tell me you’re ready to test it on man.”
Azad paused. With his hands gripping the edge of the table, he scanned its length, as if by doing so he might solve the problems that had plagued him for months. Then he seemed to deflate. From a nearby pitcher he poured a healthy amount of white wine into a glass still wet with the last pouring. After taking one long swallow, he turned to face Ihsan. “I need more time.”
“Time . . .” Ihsan would have laughed, but Azad looked so very serious. “As well ask for my head on a platter. You may have all the adichara you could wish for. Any ingredient you like, no matter the cost. You may have all the voles in the desert, or for that matter, all the men and women. Our dungeons are brimming with any number you might wish to call upon. What I cannot give you is more time.”
“And yet that’s what I need. Delay our plans if you must.”
“Wheels have been set in motion and, just like time, they cannot be turned back.”
After emptying his glass of its wine and pouring another tall measure, Azad stared into Ihsan’s eyes with a mixture of anger and worry, the two combining like alchemical components in one of his flasks. How like the old King this Azad looked. Külaşan and Sukru had done an impeccable job in the transformation. No one would notice the imperfections. But in the set of Azad’s fiery eyes Ihsan could see not the old but the new. In his voice as well. The deception was nearly perfect, especially after the long months of coaching Ihsan himself had delivered to the actor who had learned, bit by bit, to wear the guise of Azad like a veil. Even so, certain words were shades different from those of the King who’d died twelve years ago. They might be dangerous—clues to those who had known the old Azad well—but Ihsan treasured them. They were subtle nods, the wink of an eye from the imposter who stood before him.
Ihsan reached out and took the glass from Azad’s cupped hands. Surprisingly, Azad allowed it. And then Azad’s look softened. “I will do all I can,” he said evenly, “and if the gods permit it, I will find the key to the elixir we all so desperately want, but I cannot go faster than I already am.”
“What if you had help from the collegia?”
“The scholars?” Azad’s brow knitted. “You said the risk was too great to involve them.”
“If they were allowed to remain in the collegia, yes. But a certain event approaches, one in which some might reasonably have been thought to have vanished.”
“Vanished . . .”
“Just so, my good King,” Ihsan said.
“How?”
“There’s little need for you to worry about the details. Just tell me if it would help.”
“These scholars. What would happen to them when their usefulness ended?”
“Now why would you ask such a question when you have no desire to know the answer?”
“Don’t presume to tell me my mind. I do wish to know.”
“No, you don’t. Not truly. You wish to rule. To guide Sharakhai to a greater place. Isn’t that what we’ve always planned?”
“It is—”
“Of course it is. Let me worry about what happens to the scholars.” Ihsan waved to the wealth of apparatuses around them. “You worry about the elixir.”
Azad looked ready to speak, but just then his gaze swung toward the entrance. Hearing footsteps, Ihsan turned as well, and Tolovan, Ihsan’s towering vizir, stepped into the room.
“My Lord Kings,” Tolovan said, bowing deeply, “the Matron Zaïde has arrived. Shall I tell her you’ll meet with her in your study?”
“No,” Ihsan said, “send her here.”
“Very good.” Tolovan bowed his head, but paused, glancing at Azad and then back to Ihsan. “There is more, my Lord King.”
“Then out with it.”
“You said to bring you this news whenever it came to me.” He was now pointedly not looking at Azad, a choice that made his intent perfectly clear: that he wasn’t sure whether he should speak in front of Azad or not.
There may come a day when I need to conceal more from Azad, but for the time being we are in this together, for better or worse. “Speak,” Ihsan said.
“Word has come that the ship that smuggles the ingredients from Kundhun was attacked.”
Ihsan was taken aback. “Attacked?”
“The captain was taken from behind. He was unable to identify his attacker definitively, but suspects it was a woman.”
“A Maiden?”
“He couldn’t say, my Lord.”
“And what was taken?”
“As far as the captain is aware, only a leatherbound journal that contained the captain’s personal thoughts on his travels.”
“Nothing more? Nothing that might give some clue as to what we were smuggling?”
“The captain believes not.”
The captain, a stubborn but loyal Kundhuni, would probably have told the truth, not only for the money Ihsan was paying him, but because honesty was in his blood. “Very well,” Ihsan said.
And with that Tolovan bowed and left.
“Could you not meet Zaïde elsewhere?” Azad asked, clearly annoyed. “I have enough to do without constant interruptions.”
Ihsan flourished to the now-empty doorway. “One of the aforementioned wheels set into motion.”
Azad snorted. He returned to mixing the elixir, then crouched and blew out the burning lamp set beneath it.
“Besides which,” Ihsan went on, “you should hear this. I’d like your counsel.”
In little time the matron, Zaïde, entered the room in her white robes. Her cowl lay about her shoulders like a mantle, revealing gray hair and a regal, sun-wrinkled face with tattoos along her forehead and cheeks and chin. “My Lord Kings,” Zaïde said with a low bow.
When she rose, Ihsan motioned to Azad. “I received your note,” Ihsan told her. “You mentioned the disturbing events of young Yndris’s vigil. Please, tell us both what happened.”
“As you say, My Lord Kings, I joined Sümeya’s hand to attend Yndris’s vigil. Things were quiet until we reached the killing fields. I could tell well before we arrived the asirim were agitated. Several were nearby when we began the ritual, but one was nearly mad, straining at the chains upon him as we were whispering our devotions. In fact, the very moment Çedamihn was giving hers, the asir broke free.”
“This is nothing new,” Azad said. “We’ve seen this sort of behavior before.”
Zaïde nodded. “True, what made me pause was that it was linked to the anger within Çeda. I could feel her feeding it to the asir, and the asir in turn feeding its anger back to her. For a time, the two of them were as one. I’ve never seen the like, in an aspirant or a Maiden. Last night, she stole into my room and confessed she’d felt the asir’s thoughts. She claimed she saw Beht Ihman through its own eyes.”
Well, well, thought Ihsan. When he’d agreed to allow Çeda to live and arranged for her entry into the Maidens, he’d hoped there might be a bond forged between her and the asirim, one that might allow her to break the bonds that had been slowly weakening over the generations since Beht Ihman, but it was still a pleasant surprise to discover he’d been right.
“The asir?” Ihsan asked.
“Beheaded by Yndris when she realized it had targeted her. Çeda fought her afterward, incensed, claiming that it was be
cause of Yndris’s disregard for the life wasted.”
“There’s little surprise in that,” Azad said. “Çeda was avenging one of her own.”
Ihsan nodded. “Still, I’m surprised she’d be so bold.”
Zaïde frowned, her brow knitting. “It wasn’t boldness, Your Grace. She was swept up by emotion. She had almost no choice, I suspect. She would have killed Yndris had we not stopped her.”
“What else did she say?” Ihsan asked.
“She demanded that I train her that we might free the asirim sooner.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“That I would think on it, at which point she threatened to leave the Maidens if I thought on it overly long.”
“She threatened you?” Azad asked, bristling.
Zaïde nodded. “A threat I believe she’ll uphold. She’d been so affected by the asir. She was haunted by the notion of them lying beneath the blooming fields, suffering, and the more they reach out to her, the worse it will become.”
Ihsan mulled this for a moment, weighing it against the news Tolovan had brought a short while ago. “May I ask where Çeda was four nights ago?”
“Gone,” Zaïde replied. “Sent on a mission by Yusam.”
“Do you know where?”
“I wasn’t told, my Lord King.”
No doubt to the desert. No doubt to a Kundhuni ship that had smuggled in the ingredients for Azad’s draughts. “So, the blade we put to the fire has survived.” He turned to Azad. “She’s been tempered, but we always knew she would one day need sharpening. The question is, has that day arrived?”
Azad may not be a true King, but he was shrewd, and would have as much sway in Ihsan’s plans for Sharakhai as anyone. Ihsan needed not only Azad’s involvement, but his true belief that this would all go as planned. Too much was at stake to do otherwise.
Azad considered, his eyes moving to a green-tinted splash of sunlight. “I don’t like it. To threaten a Matron . . . Let her leave.”
“We’ve put much effort and risk into her.”
“She can still prove a valuable tool from within the Al’afwa Khadar,” Azad replied.
Ihsan made a face. “I’m not so convinced as you that she’ll throw her lot in with the Host.”
“And I’m not so convinced your interpretations of Yusam’s visions are accurate, at least where it comes to her.” Azad shrugged. “Besides, where else would she go but the Host? Her Emre is there.”
Ihsan turned to Zaïde. “And you?”
“I’ve been thinking on it since she left my chamber. I think if we allow her to go now, we’ll lose her forever. Let me train her. She’s ready for it. We can always make other . . . arrangements should my assessment prove faulty.”
Ihsan took this in and nodded. “With apologies to Azad, I too believe she is ready. Let’s see what you can make of the White Wolf, shall we?”
“I’ll begin at once.” Zaïde bowed and left.
When her footsteps had receded, Azad returned to the flask he’d been tending earlier. “I’ll work on the elixir as quickly as I’m able.”
“Don’t be angry with me.”
Azad nodded. “Arrange for the scholars to be brought to me. I’ll speak with them.”
Ihsan took a step closer. “We can use her.”
“As you say.”
Ihsan ran his hands down along Azad’s dark brown hair, until he shrugged Ihsan’s attentions away. When Ihsan trailed his fingers down to his neck, however, Azad made no move to stop him. “Come, share your thoughts.”
Azad turned, looking up to Ihsan, his eyes unreadable. “I tire of wearing this skin. It drives me mad. I want to walk in the light of day with you, hand in hand.”
“You always knew this would take time,” Ihsan said. “We need only a little more. And despite your fears, Çeda will be a part of this. We know as much from Yusam’s visions.”
“We don’t need her.”
“Need is the wrong word. She is a tool, one of many, and I will use all that are available to me until we have what we want.” He took Azad’s hand, stroked the skin along the backs of his fingers. “I have lived for over four hundred years. I have seen what comes of bold action and what comes of waiting. I like to think I know the benefits and detriments of both. Believe me when I say Sharakhai is ready for this. It is a fruit that has reached perfect ripeness. If we wait, it will surely begin to rot. Better to pluck it from the tree and eat of it now, don’t you think?”
Instead of answering, Azad lifted Ihsan’s hands to the carnelian necklace around his neck, which was an answer in and of itself. Despite himself, Ihsan found his heart beating faster. With care, and after stealing a glance toward the doorway where Zaïde had exited, he pulled the necklace over Azad’s head. Azad blinked, his breath coming faster, just like Ihsan’s. His nostrils flared as Ihsan stepped in and kissed him.
Ihsan liked feeling the change. He liked holding Azad when it happened. He felt himself stiffening as the two of them embraced, as their hands roamed. He felt Azad’s hips widen, felt his waist narrow. He reached up and cupped one breast as it formed. It swelled as their passion bloomed, and soon the two of them were pulling off clothes, standing before one another as man and woman.
When Ihsan pulled away and stared into those eyes, eyes with such fire in them, he found not the visage of a King who’d died a dozen years ago at the hands of an assassin, but Nayyan, Azad’s daughter, the Blade Maiden who’d taken his place. Nayyan stared back, but only for a moment. Soon she had pulled him close and kissed him once more, pulling him down toward the floor.
For a time the two of them were little more than two lovers, lying amongst their discarded raiment, free of the fears and responsibilities of Kings. Their mouths met, then traveled along one another’s frames, pleasuring the other with kisses, with licks of the tongue, with teasing between the lips. He ran the tips of his fingers over the places where the colored lights shone down on her. Emerald along one shoulder. Ruby down her long, rounded stomach. Amethyst over her supple thighs. He stopped at a long scar there, one of the many wounds she’d taken in killing the ehrekh in her youth. “What a day that must have been.”
“A day long past,” she said huskily. She’d never told him about what had happened, how she’d killed the creature. But when she took his wrist and led his hand up until his fingers were rubbing between her legs, he decided he didn’t much care. She took the middle finger of one hand in her mouth and sucked on it as he slipped its counterpart deep inside her. He placed kisses along her lips, spreading them with his tongue, sucking them in, tugging playfully. He flicked his tongue slowly upward, then traced the tip of his tongue around her silken pearl, enjoying the hitch in her breath as he timed those movements with the gentle presses of that place inside her she liked so much.
He kissed his way up her body, taking one breast into his mouth as she reached down and stroked his shaft. He felt the swell of her, soft like sand dunes. He moved to her other breast, then her neck, and then, as she guided him inside her, she kissed him, clutching his hair and drawing him close as if in that moment she couldn’t get enough of him. Her breath came sharply as she used her legs to draw him rhythmically inside her. Then she arched back and released a cry, writhing to the throes of pleasure like a leaf being tossed on a strong summer wind. Ihsan followed soon after, clutching her hair in return, biting the skin along her neck, thrusting as she bucked beneath him.
Slowly, they fell from the heights of their love, and Ihsan lay by her side, his head cradled on one arm. Nayyan stared at the arched roof, idly raking her fingers along his scalp, her cheeks flushed. Ihsan simply studied her, taking her in before she donned King Azad’s skin once more.
It had not been easy, choosing someone to take Azad’s place and hiding it from those outside the House of Kings, but it had been necessary. And it had been as easy as convincing Kiral, the Ki
ng of Kings, that to show weakness was to reveal a chink in the vaunted armor of Tauriyat. Once Kiral had agreed, the rest had followed. They had only to choose someone to play the part and for Külaşan and Sukru to work their magic.
They might have taken anyone, but Ihsan had put Nayyan forth. Despite all his rules about mixing love with war, she was a woman he’d come to believe in. She could help him in his quest, he knew. He’d arranged for her to visit him that very night. Her build was right, and she was Azad’s daughter, which would give those who might complain about her legitimacy little reason to gripe should her identity eventually be revealed.
“Nayyan,” he said wistfully while running the tips of his fingers across her belly.
She stared deeply into his eyes. “Why do you speak it so?”
“Because I relish fine food. Because I savor the perfect glass of wine. Because I love few things more than contemplating a masterful work of art when I find myself standing before one. You’re a work of art, Nayyan, a wine I would drink of forever.”
“I am none of those things.”
“No? Then, pray tell, what are you?”
“I am a mask, Ihsan. Another of your tools.”
“But the winds shift, my love.” Ihsan stood and pulled the carnelian necklace from underneath Nayyan’s outstretched arm. “A great storm builds in the distance. Soon it will fall upon our shores. A tool you may be now, but I promise you, when the winds die down, when the sand no longer bites, it will be you and I who stand alone on Tauriyat.” He swung the necklace back and forth, admiring it for a moment, then handed it out for Nayyan to take.
Nayyan stood, naked, and eyed Ihsan with a hesitance that spoke both of suspicion and hope. She held her lofty position at the mercy of the Kings, who all knew her nature, but Ihsan had fought the hardest to place her there, so he could understand her continued hesitance.
He shook the necklace, the blood-red gem swinging like a pendulum against the backdrop of her smooth belly and curved hips. “I will never betray you.”
Still she watched him, her jaw jutting for a moment, but then she snatched the necklace away and pulled it over her head.
With Blood Upon the Sand Page 11
