On Fire’s Wings

by Christie Golden

  She trembled as she greeted the Elements, and once she nearly stumbled as the fire seemed to burn more brightly at her approach. Jashemi had to grip the arms of his chair to keep from going to her assistance. Finally, she made it and fell to a huddled heap at his feet. It was more difficult even than he had imagined to keep his face impassive as he leaned forward to take Kevla’s outstretched hands.

  “I honor my gracious young lord,” she said, “who deigns to acknowledge the Bai-sha girl.”

  She said more, but he didn’t hear it. His eyes were glued to her face, waiting for the signal.

  Slowly, continuing to speak meaningless, proper-sounding words, Kevla blinked her eyes twice. He swallowed hard and felt sweat break out all over his body.

  She had seen Yeshi’s lover.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kevla waited until the waning moon had made most of her path across the sky before leaving her small room. Barefoot, she padded down the cool stone steps, pausing now and then and straining to listen. Nothing. While the feasting and revelry had lasted long into the night, even the heartiest carousers had surrendered to too much drink and food by now.

  The House was oddly silent. Kevla knew she had little time. Within an hour, the first servants would awaken and begin preparing the day’s meals.

  Like a small, secret animal, she scampered through the house, pausing in the shadows to make certain she was alone before darting into the open. She was panting by the time she reached the door to the caverns and had to stifle her urge to hurry.

  Slowly, she opened the door, so it would not give her away with a telltale sound, and made her silent way down the stairs. She did not take a lantern, but trailed her fingers lightly along the stone walls for guidance in the absolute darkness.

  Gradually, she became aware of light at the bottom of the steps. Even now, she did not run; she could not be certain it was safe. She flattened her back against the cool stone and peeked around a curve in the stairway.

  He was there, pacing like a caged simmar. She exhaled the breath she had been holding, and raced down the last few steps.

  “You saw him?” Jashemi asked, his voice low and urgent. She nodded. As if steadying himself against the onslaught of a desert storm, Jashemi asked quietly, “Who is it?”

  Oh, she did not want to tell him. Better it was some stranger, someone he did not know….

  “Halid.”

  He stared, his mouth open, not wanting to believe her. “No, you must be mistaken, Kevla. Halid is devoted to my father. I see it every time—”

  There was no time to indulge his doubt. “Jashemi, I am so sorry, I wish it were not so, but it is. He stared full into the fire and spoke clearly. I didn’t want to believe it either, so I waited, and I watched…but his voice and features were the only ones that even came close to those of the man I saw with Yeshi. It is Halid. It can be none other.”

  Jashemi shut his eyes and breathed deeply through his nostrils. Kevla wanted to comfort him, as she had done in this same place so long ago, but a deeper instinct told her to step back. Jashemi needed to come to a point of acceptance on his own.

  He sat at the pool’s edge, gently kicking the water as he stared into its depths. Quietly, Kevla sat beside him.

  At last, Jashemi spoke in a ragged voice. “It makes sense. You told me that my…that Yeshi said something like time was running out. That they had to—had to kill Tahmu soon.”

  “Yes,” Kevla whispered.

  “Halid is Tahmu’s Second. He will become khashim if anything happens to Tahmu before I have reached Acknowledgment. That gives them only six months from today. No wonder Yeshi was so upset that I wanted to push the ceremony up.”

  He shook his bare head in sorrow and disbelief. “My mother has betrayed my father with the one man he truly trusts, and the two of them are planning murder. This sounds like a fireside tale, not my life.”

  Kevla watched as the pain gave way to anger. It was subtle; his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed, but she knew every expression that flitted across his face.

  “They will not succeed,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “How do we stop them? Are you going to tell your father?”

  Jashemi shook his head. “No. How would I explain knowing this? I cannot mention your…abilities. I have to have my own proof. I must somehow catch her with him.” A blistering oath escaped his lips and he pounded the stone floor with a fist. “Halid! How could they do this?”

  Gently guiding his thoughts back to action rather than anger, Kevla asked, “How do you plan to accomplish this? You cannot lurk at Yeshi’s door every night.”

  He turned to her, and Kevla shrank from the coldness of his smile.

  “No,” he said, “but you can.”

  “Yes,” she said thoughtfully, “I can.”

  For the next several nights, Kevla got very little sleep. Every night, she would light a fire in her room, gaze into the flames, and say quietly, “Show me Yeshi.”

  If Yeshi was near a fire, be it in her bedroom or elsewhere in the House, Kevla would see her. Sometimes she was too far away, other times her face was as clear to Kevla as if the woman were standing right in front of her. She found that the more she practiced, the clearer even the vague impressions became.

  She was not overly concerned on nights when Tahmu was in the House. Not even Yeshi would dare invite a lover in when her husband might enter at any moment. Those nights, Kevla slept gratefully, her dreams troubled only by the appearance of the Great Dragon and his unceasing question.

  Inevitably, Tahmu would have to leave. He did so a few weeks after Jashemi’s birthday celebration, and Kevla knew that Yeshi would not let the bed grow cold.

  It took several hours after nightfall, and Kevla was beginning to nod off when a voice came from the fire.

  “I thought you would never come,” breathed Yeshi. Kevla snapped awake and stared into the fire. Sure enough, there was Halid, crushing Yeshi to him in a tight embrace.

  Kevla swallowed hard, hoping the plan would work. She closed her eyes, calmed her racing thoughts, and said softly, “Show me Jashemi.”

  The flames shimmered and crackled. The forms of Yeshi and Halid gave way to the image of a bed with only one occupant. Jashemi’s face was turned away from the fire that had burned in his room every night since they had learned that Halid was the man they sought.

  “Jashemi,” whispered Kevla. There was no response. He was deeply asleep. Kevla didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to speak so loudly that she might be overheard, but saw no other course.

  “Jashemi!” she said, more loudly. “Wake up!”

  He started, and looked around. His eyes widened when they looked at the fire.

  “Kevla! I can see you!”

  That was alarming. Up until this point, Kevla had not realized that she could be seen by those she watched. She had been very lucky to escape detection until now.

  “He’s with her,” she said.

  Jashemi nodded and rose from the bed. Kevla looked away, her cheeks burning. She had not realized Jashemi slept unclothed. She did not extinguish the fire, however, and after a moment, asked of it, “Show me Yeshi.”

  Jashemi threw on a rhia and went silently through the House to his parents’ sleeping chamber. As he stood outside, he wondered what would be the best course of action. To knock and feign surprise at seeing Halid there? No, that might give Yeshi a chance to hide him, or he might climb out through the window.

  As he hesitated, he heard voices. Soft, lustful murmurings. Laughter.

  A red haze fell down over his vision. He heard blood thundering in his ears, and before he realized what he had done he had placed his shoulder to the door and broken it open.

  They rushed to pull the sheets up, to cover themselves. Furious, Jashemi grabbed the sheets and yanked them back. He stared, anger mixing with contempt, as hands went to cover groins and breasts.

  He reached for Halid, seizing the bigger man’s wrists. Halid’s knee slammed
into Jashemi’s stomach, knocking the breath out of him. Jashemi’s hands opened and he staggered back. Halid came after him. He clutched a wicked-looking dagger. It glinted in the firelight. Of course. Halid would not be so foolish as to sleep with his master’s wife without a weapon immediately to hand.

  The blade arced down. Gasping, Jashemi darted to the side and felt the breeze as Halid struck only air. He whirled and angled his body, ramming Halid with his shoulder with all his strength. Halid’s bare feet slipped on one of the rugs and he went down, still gripping the knife. He managed to roll over before Jashemi bore down on him, and Jashemi felt the tip of the blade slice through his rhia and graze his ribs. He slammed his elbow into Halid’s throat, then gripped the hand that held the knife. He squeezed and Halid’s hands opened. Jashemi seized the knife. Halid grabbed his arm, but Jashemi easily twisted out of it. In a smooth motion, the blade was at Halid’s throat.

  For a long moment, they lay there, Jashemi atop Halid, gasping for breath. Jashemi stared into the eyes of his father’s most trusted friend, and saw there none of the affectionate warmth he had seen for the last twenty years. He saw only hatred and treachery.

  He pressed down with the dagger. A thin trickle of red seeped out from beneath the bright blade. Halid had committed treason against his khashim. The punishment was death.

  Halid’s eyes grew wider as the pressure on his throat increased, but uttered no word. With a low oath, Jashemi leaped to his feet. He still held the dagger.

  He could not do it. He could not murder in cold blood, not even when it was deserved. The crime was committed against Tahmu, and Tahmu must be the one to order punishment. Jashemi would abide by the laws of his people, despite the rage that surged along his veins.

  Halid’s hand went to his throat and found it whole. Slowly, he grinned.

  “I knew you wouldn’t have the stomach for it,” he said.

  Jashemi felt his face flush but ignored the taunt. “I will send a falcon to my father describing in detail what I saw here tonight. Your lives will be in his hands, not mine. May the Dragon have mercy on you, for you’ll get none from Tahmu or me.”

  He turned and was about to make good his threat when Yeshi’s voice stopped him cold.

  “What notice will Tahmu take of lies told by a son who is possessed by demons?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Halid grinned, his teeth white in the firelight. “A few years ago, it seems you were having some very bad dreams. Dreams of people with yellow hair and pale skin, of blue simmars with stripes. Dreams that your father knew were sent by kulis.”

  Hotly, Jashemi retorted, “My father will believe me, no matter what dreams I—” The words died in his throat as the true import of Yeshi’s and Halid’s words registered.

  They knew Tahmu would believe him. That was not the issue. Their words were a threat that they would reveal to others what Jashemi had confided to his father when he thought they were alone. If word got out about Jashemi’s strange dreams, the best he could hope for from his father was disinheritance. At worst, he would be executed.

  “My bright boy,” purred Yeshi. “One breath of scandal, and you are immediately disowned, like that little slut you keep company with.” Her eyes narrowed. “Go to Tahmu with tales, sweet son of mine, and they will be the last words you speak as a member of the Clan of Four Waters—perhaps the last words you speak as a living man!”

  Jashemi made his decision. Kevla had lived as a Bai-sha. So could he, if it meant his father’s life would be saved.

  “For my father’s safety, I will risk it!” he cried.

  “Ah, but what about the safety of your little friend? Accidents happen in the kitchen, Jashemi. Burns. Cuts. It would be a shame if Kevla hurt herself—or worse.”

  Jashemi felt as if he had been struck in the stomach. He trembled, but not from fear. Outrage at the wild miscarriage of justice made him shake.

  “Believe this, Mother, if you believe nothing else. If Kevla comes to any harm, I will kill you myself.”

  “You’ll have to get past Halid first, and Kevla will still be dead,” Yeshi said, shrugging.

  The two lovers looked at one another and grinned in satisfaction as Jashemi struggled to make sense of it all. If he told his father, Halid and Yeshi would make public Jashemi’s dreams. Tahmu’s hands would be tied. Jashemi would be either disowned or executed. Tahmu could not even act on the news his son had given him, or else the stigma of kuli-cursed would be attached to him as well. And then, one day, when Tahmu’s guard was down, they would kill him. With he, Jashemi, so conveniently out of the way, it would be easy for Halid to become khashim and wed the widowed khashima.

  And Kevla…He could not permit anything to happen to her. As he stared at Yeshi’s face, gloating, twisted in a smirk, he realized Yeshi would have no qualms about murdering Kevla.

  A low growl escaped him. He rushed the bed on his mother’s side, hands raised to strike her, and had the brief satisfaction of watching her quail. Then, he clenched his fist and brought it to his side with an effort.

  He turned and marched out of the room, the scornful laughter of the lovers and would-be murderers following him.

  The next few days that followed were the most anguished of Jashemi’s young life. He could not tell his own father that his life was in danger. He could not see Kevla, or even try to contact her through the fire, to confide in her and seek comfort; to do so would put her at risk. Worst of all, he saw his powerlessness reflected in Yeshi’s dark, knowing eyes every time he saw her. He lay awake at night, trying desperately to think of a way out.

  It was at the evening meal when she made the announcement that would change his life forever.

  They were halfway through a simple meal, just the khashim and his family, Halid and Asha, when Yeshi set down her goblet and straightened. She seemed calmer and happier than Jashemi had seen her in years.

  “A few days ago, my little boy became a man,” she said. Her voice was warm and affectionate, but Jashemi knew how false such sentiments were. He was on the alert at once.

  “And a man needs a wife,” Yeshi continued, addressing Tahmu and ignoring Jashemi. “I have found an excellent candidate, my husband. For too long we have been the enemies of the Sa’abah Clan, when we should have been their friends. Sa’abahs mean wealth, and the Clan of Four Waters deserves as much wealth as it can obtain. It is my understanding that the clan leader has a daughter who is of age. I have sent falcons to her mother, and she has agreed to the match.”

  Sickly, Jashemi realized he ought to have expected this. Now that Yeshi knew Jashemi knew about her and Halid, she would want him out as quickly as possible. Out, and as far away as she could contrive to send him. As khashima, she had the sole and undisputed right to arrange marriages for every male in the household. Tahmu had the same rights with regard to the women. Her choice could not be debated; it was absolute. And when the heir was wed, custom demanded that he live for one year with his wife’s clan. He felt sweat start under his arms, felt it gathering at his hairline and on his shaved upper lip.

  “This is sudden, wife,” Tahmu said uncertainly, looking from Yeshi to Jashemi.

  “Not at all,” Yeshi replied, reaching for a date and taking a small, dainty bite. “Jashemi has come of age, he is able to take a wife.”

  “But he is still Waiting. He has not had the Acknowledgment ceremony yet, nor spent sufficient time in battle to—”

  Yeshi paused, the date halfway to her mouth. Her dark eyes flashed. “You gainsay my decision, husband?”

  “I have no right to. But I would ask you to reconsider.”

  “I have spent a great deal of time thinking on this, believe me,” she said, her gaze flickering to Jashemi. He met her stare for stare. He had no doubt that she spoke the truth. “Jashemi will leave in two days’ time. His bride is eager for him.” Yeshi smiled. “She will no doubt count herself among the most fortunate of women.”

  Jashemi had known that one day this moment would come.
He would have no say in who his bride would be, any more than Tahmu had had a say in his own marriage. He knew that it was unlikely he would even have had a chance to meet the woman in question before the wedding. He knew this, and had accepted it.

  But to be sent away so that his mother could more conveniently murder his father—to be sent away from Kevla—this could not be. She watched him with her clever eyes, searching for any hint that he would explode in anger and bring his own doom upon himself. Doubtless, she considered marrying the daughter of the Sa’abah Clan khashim too easy a fate for him.

  He would not give her the satisfaction. He rose and bowed. “Excuse me, Father, Mother. I think my meat was spoiled.”

  In the privacy of his room, he forced his anger into a corner of his soul, and began to think furiously about what, if any, alternative there might be.

  Yeshi watched him go, then said calmly to Sahlik who waited on them, “My son’s food was spoiled. Beat the one who prepared it.”

  Kevla ached.

  Not from the beating that Sahlik had been forced to give her, for the old woman had gone gently on her back so that it barely stung. No, she ached from something else Sahlik had given her—news that Jashemi was to be married and live far from the House of Four Waters for a full year.

  Far from Kevla Bai-Sha.

  Sahlik had whispered the awful words in her ear before she began the beating, so that Kevla’s sobs and wails would be heartfelt and convincing. Kevla was strangely grateful for the opportunity to grieve aloud. She did not know if she could have feigned indifference in front of others.

  She screamed and wept and sobbed, feeling her heart break in her chest. All these years, she had denied her feelings for the young lord, and her emotions would be silent no longer. Jashemi! Jashemi! She wanted to cry his name over and over, as if uttering it might make it possible for him to stay, but instead bit her lip till it bled to hold back the telltale word.