Therefore, she must help Prince Tahir become invisible. Even if that meant touching him.
In that heartbeat, she knew what she had to do. “Please tell him I can help.” She dreaded it. She delighted in it. Holding out her hand, she said, “If Prince Tahir would be so kind as to give me the amphora…”
The small drops of ointment in her hands looked just like olive oil. She set the amphora in the sand and rubbed her hands together, prolonging the moment until she had to touch him. Until she was permitted to touch him. Until she touched him to save her land.
Tentatively, she permitted her fingertips to skim his flesh. The heat of his skin surprised her so that she nearly lost her nerve, but then she realized the heat came from her hands, born of her desire. She flattened her palm over his broad back.
Relaxing to her task, she felt his muscles dance beneath her touch. Her hands slid over the planes of his back, and the scent delighted her nose. If she caressed him a moment longer than strictly necessary, not even he would know it. She hoped.
He certainly didn’t have to know how the heat of his muscled back made liquid silk flow between her thighs.
“You’re completely invisible now,” she said. With a momentary regret, she stepped away from him. Glancing down, she saw the saliva had rendered her palms invisible, and she wiped them on the sand.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice sounding huskier than she remembered.
“You’re welcome.”
The magician’s cape began to fold itself around the other items—Prince Tahir’s breeches and white linen shirt, his boots and belt—and then they floated in the air. Only then did she realize that Prince Tahir must be retrieving his clothing and carrying them.
“Prince Tahir,” she said. If he lived, her father would behead her and she’d deserve it. “What do you plan to do with your items? Surely you cannot carry them…”
“I’ll hide them near the gate,” he said.
“You might give them to me. You’ll want your clothing and weapons sooner or later.”
“Ah, I cannot have you risk yourself for my mere clothing.”
“I’ll take them to the fountain and leave them there. No one will find them.”
His clothes and sword floated over to her then, and she took them, savoring their warmth, savoring the sandalwood scent of his skin even as gardenia swirled through the night. “But I won’t leave your side.”
Alarm raced through her. Even invisible, the guards and soldiers would be sure to detect him. His scent. An accidental noise. “My father wouldn’t harm me,” she reassured him. “He loves me. The magician sent that note somehow.”
“Perhaps you’re correct, but maybe he truly was warning you away.”
“He couldn’t have been.” But maybe Prince Tahir was right. Somehow she had the feeling her father was in trouble. “Please don’t risk yourself—your land and family—on my behalf. I will be safe.”
“No matter. Together we’ll find the magician and instill in him a need to lift your curse and restore my sister.”
“My father might not want to—”
But bright torches from atop the gate suddenly burned brighter. “Who approaches?” a deep voice called, one of her father’s soldiers, and each was handpicked for his ability to wield a sword and bow with equal proficiency.
Relief rushed through her. Whatever the turban meant, at least her palace seemed to be safe, still guarded by soldiers.
“It is I,” she called in her most imperious voice, before she could see their faces—before she could be said to be speaking with men. “It is I, Princess Shahrazad. I must meet with my father, the Sultan, and I must do so now.” Would they behead her here on the spot? Would they tell her he was dead?
“That is impossible,” the deep voice called, and she heard boots stomping down the stairwell. “Princess Shahrazad turned into a pegaz and flew away, before my own sight, leaving her bridegroom standing alone, deserted under his wedding canopy.”
She knew in that moment they believed her. She knew they had no immediate order to behead her. Otherwise why would they be talking to her at all?
6
At the point of their spears, two soldiers marched Shahrazad to her father’s study. They shoved her through the door into the sprawling room, and the Sultan’s dark eyes lit with happiness.
Relief surged through her veins, negating the pain from the sharp ends of the weapons digging into her shoulder blades, negating the pain of the note in his supposed turban. She’d been so afraid he’d been killed by shitani—or that he’d kill her on sight.
And his white turban of leadership sat on his head, exactly where it belonged. Perhaps she could convince him to lead, to help thwart the shitani in this land and in that of Prince Tahir.
“Daughter,” he said, standing from his blue velvet pillow and placing warm kisses on both her cheeks. He did it again, and again, until she wept with joy. The rich smell of his tobacco surrounded her as his huqqa bubbled next to his cushion. Never had his spare face seemed more dear to her than in this moment.
“I have returned, father, ever your humble servant.”
“May God hold you in his eyes, you live!”
And you’re not a horse. He didn’t say the words, but she heard them nonetheless—and they tightened her resolve to find Badr, make him lift this curse.
“I live, father,” she said, “and never has a daughter been happier to see her father.”
“Praise God and his eyes that you live!” the Sultan said. “The Raj will be most relieved—nearly as relieved as I!”
“That is my most fervent hope.”
But when she thought of the Raj ir Adham, it was his passionless eyes that came to her mind. Of course, that assessment wasn’t precise. He had passion—passion to defeat the shitani, passion to form an alliance with her father. His eyes held abundant passion—just not for her. Unlike Prince Tahir.
“And what of your night alone?” he said, emphasizing the last word.
Again, she heard the words he didn’t say: Can this marriage still take place? And so many pitfalls riddled this question, an adequate answer escaped her.
She flicked a quick glance at the soldiers, who stood in the doorway. She doubted their stoic expressions reflected their actual state. The words they overheard would be traded for tobacco and heit to the gossipmongers by night’s end.
“Begone,” the Sultan ordered them, following her gaze. They left, closing the door behind them.
“Thank you, father.”
“Daughter,” the Sultan said, holding her shoulders as he kissed her cheeks once again. “The Raj is eager for this alliance. When you were stolen—when you flew away—he informed me that if you’ve remained untouched and if the wedding ceremony can proceed uninterrupted as ruled by the klerin, he’ll go through with the marriage, despite the…disruption.”
Shahrazad thought of the magician’s touch slithering over the small of her back during the first day of her wedding ceremony. She thought of his masculine voice. Clearly, a man had touched her, but that wasn’t what concerned her father.
“I spent the night in an oasis, untouched by any man.”
“And what of that magician’s assistant? Where is he? I’ll send my soldiers after him so his head can join the others on the Pike Wall.”
“He thought to save me from Badr,” Shahrazad said, suddenly smelling gardenias. She knew then that Prince Tahir was here in this room, perhaps thinking to protect her against her father or his enemies. “And I believe he actually did save me—and I am restored to you.”
“That man touched a princess.”
“In horse form,” she said, stifling her impatience. The shitani lived and threatened everything humans held dear—and her father worried about purity. “The magician’s assistant saved that princess. He sought to save me from the magician, and he did save me from the shitani.” Of course, she’d killed as many of the demons as he had—more, but she saw no reason to bring that point into discussi
on.
“I’ve missed your mother since the day she died,” he said, apparently changing the subject. “But never have I missed her more than this moment. Women know how to speak to each other. But for a father to talk about these matters with a daughter…” He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “God’s eyes.”
Shahrazad took his fine fingers in her hand and brought them to her cheek. “I am ever your humble servant in all that I do, and I obey all of your wishes, even those that have not yet occurred to you.”
“But?” he asked, knowing her well. “What do you request of me?”
“Perhaps beheading the magician’s assistant wouldn’t best express our gratitude. He saved me from the magician.”
“And perhaps destroyed your reputation.”
“If you behead him, everyone will believe me ruined—and he did not ruin me.” When she oiled his back though, she might have ruined herself.
The Sultan looked at her a moment, his eyes boring into her. Shahrazad worried for a heartbeat that she’d defended Prince Tahir too vigorously, that her father himself doubted her purity. She knew then that to ask her father’s help in extracting Queen Kalila from the magician’s grasp was too much, at least for now.
“Do you love this boy?” he asked finally.
“How could I?” she asked, exhaling to get the scent of gardenias from her nose. “I barely know him. But I am grateful for my life.”
“Did he touch you?” Not: Did you touch him.
“Not while I was in human form.”
“Did he speak with you?”
“He spoke to the trees in the oasis. He spoke to the sand in the desert. He spoke to himself. And those words, I overheard.” She straightened the purple riding outfit bestowed upon her by the magician. “I too spoke to the sand and rock.”
The Sultan said nothing for a moment, then he sighed. “Let us not discuss this way of not-speaking with the klerin—or the Raj. While it doesn’t directly violate their rules…”
They wouldn’t like it. More unsaid words. “Yes, father.”
“Do you know his name? His family? Where is he now?”
“The boy is apparently well born of a powerful House in the Land of the Sun,” she said. If not now, then at some time in the near future, she needed to broach the topic of the shitani. But Shahrazad decided to sidestep that issue with the most startling of her news. “We have a larger problem brewing on the horizon, I believe.”
He looked at her with raised eyebrows, like he couldn’t imagine a bigger issue than that facing them now. Like she was a foolish girl to even dream things could get worse. “And what is it, my daughter, that troubles you so?”
“I live safe and unsullied,” she said, eyes downcast. “But when the sun rises in the dawn sky, I will once again transform into a pegaz.”
“What?” he demanded. “But how can this be?”
“Badr the Bad laid this curse upon me—upon us.”
“My most beloved of daughters. Is this news true?” His color had turned an ashen gray.
“It is.”
“Then what of the wedding? If the Raj is to wed you, the Flower Taking should happen tonight—shortly. Now.” He ran his hand over his face, knocking his white turban askew. Its huge red ruby glittered in the firelight, and Shahrazad knew the turban dropped by the shitani was fake, completely fake. What was the magician trying to do to her? “The wedding must take place,” he said.
“The Flower Taking should take place tonight,” she agreed. She’d lived her life impeccably, seeking to avoid trouble with every decision in her life. And now this. Shahrazad hated this new weakness, this need to accommodate the unasked-for changes in her life.
The Sultan cleared his throat, almost nervously. “Well,” he said, “we must get Badr to lift this curse, of course. I hold him in my prison, surrounded by many guards.”
Just as Tahir had said. “I’m glad to hear that he is alive,” she said. “I believe he’s the only one who can lift the curse.” And perhaps she could persuade him to release Prince Tahir’s sister as well, even if she didn’t dare ask her father for help.
“And if he’s reluctant to aid you with this pegaz issue,” the Sultan said, “I have soldiers who will help convince him.” His words held strength, but his tone suggested fear.
“Now, father?” she asked. “Can we see him now? I don’t want to be a pegaz, and I doubt the Raj wants to marry one.”
His gaze shifted sideways, away from her, making her nervous. Her father was holding something back. “Perhaps we should first inform the Raj that you’ve been recovered from the desert,” he said, “tell him you’re willing to meet the Flower Taker and go through with the marriage.”
Shahrazad suspected she knew what her father wasn’t saying. Unwilling to ruin the meter of the wedding ceremony, he wanted her to visit the Flower Taker now, and then worry about the curse.
“When will we meet with Badr?” she asked.
“After the Flower Taker, you have my word.” He paused for a moment and drew a long breath from the huqqa. He blew out his breath and said, “This wedding must stay on schedule!”
Startled by his vehemence, Shahrazad looked at her father. “Has something…changed?”
“Yes, but it is not suited for the ears of a princess.”
“This humble servant of yours would like to bring something to your attention.”
“And what is that?”
“I ceased being a simple princess when I was enchanted and kidnapped. I think I deserve to hear the information that you’re not sharing.” Especially since you made me ride that pegaz.
“Daughter,” he began. But the Sultan held up a finger, its fat ruby winking in the candlelight of the room, as he drew in another breath from the huqqa. Again he exhaled and examined her. “Perhaps, since it involves you, I should tell you.” He scanned her face, maybe seeking proof of her strength. Then he sighed. “We think the shitani have entered the palace.”
“Shitani in the palace!” She couldn’t keep the horror from her voice. When she’d seen everyone unruffled by demons here, she’d thought they were unscathed, that the demons were still only in the wilderness.
“Yes.” He set the huqqa to the side and added, “One of my top soldiers disappeared from his post inside the palace walls.”
“Perhaps he deserted?”
“That would be most out of his character. And we found shredded clothing where he’d last been seen. According to ancient texts, shitani shred clothing before they make a person into one of their slaves.”
But they hadn’t been going for her clothing; they’d gone for her face. They’d licked her just before she shifted into pegaz form. “Has the missing soldier become the shitani’s creature?” she asked. “Isn’t that what the texts say?”
“Perhaps. The Raj ir Adham believes it—and he also believes he knows how to combat them.” But her father looked neither happy nor relieved at this news.
“He’ll only aid us with a formal alliance?” she said. “Is that why you’re worried?”
“According to him, his augury implored him to accept nothing less.”
The auguries were motivating all the major houses, Shahrazad realized. Her own Duha had read a dire warning. Prince Tahir’s augury foretold doom regarding the shitani, and now this—Raj ir Adham’s augury read something similar.
“I feel it also,” the Sultan said, looking directly into her eyes, “that thing that makes you shiver.”
“What do you mean, father?” she asked, careful to keep her gaze on her feet.
“That the world is on the brink of some important change and that it could go either way: the world could fall to the demon shitani or the world could go to us.”
Badra had meditated until prana oozed from her hands. In the early days, when she’d reached this stage of control, every demon obeyed her merest suggestion.
Those days were gone.
Cupping the energy, the prana, in her numb hands, she reached for the shitani. My prett
ies? she asked. Did you find the princess?
She tried not to sound anxious, but she was. If her once abundant energy still brought the demons to heel, she’d simply vanish from this cell and go home. But now, she couldn’t afford to gamble. Going home took prana, and she didn’t want to use hers until she knew that the princess awaited her there. My pretties, she called into the silence. Where are you?
Once she had the princess ensconced in her cave, she’d ask the girl if she’d like to try her hand at prolonged mortality. If the girl agreed, she could leave this hardened Sultan to his life. And if he changed his mind? So much the easier.
My pretties, she called again.
Instead of demon voice, she heard the distinctive fall of footsteps on the flagstone hall. The Sultan. Again.
“Badr,” the Sultan shouted. His voice echoed off the prison brickwork. “Badr.”
They killed us, our queen! she heard her pets cry. Finally.
What do you mean they killed you? Her shitani had teeth and claws. They could mesmerize and make themselves invisible. How did a pampered princess who’s never been out of her father’s sight kill you?
She used hooves and teeth and feet. The man with the pointy sword killed us, too. He jabbed us and we bled. We want—
Did you give her the turban? she asked. Did the princess take the turban?
Yes! The man with the sword took it. We did everything you asked, but she killed us.
I’m sorry, my pretties. But if you gave her the turban, all is well. She’ll be heading to my cave now, frightened and alone. We can show her how much we love her.
She’ll make a good replacement for you, the shitani told her. And Prince Tahir, he would be good, too. But don’t forget the Sult—
The Sultan approached. “I wanted to thank you,” the Sultan said. “You returned my daughter.”
What?
She allowed one of Badr’s black eyebrows to rise. “Does that mean you’ll behead me now rather than later?” Her words were cool, but her mind was racing. Shahrazad had returned here? This wasn’t as planned. Not at all. Was it a trick?
“I won’t kill you,” the Sultan said. “But if you don’t lift the curse from her, I’ll most certainly torture you.”
Running Wild Page 8
