Sandstorm (19 page)

They both appear to have the same source. I initially sent Shihab into the Desert to map it, so that if moving my troops into it became necessary, I would not waste time on a futile effort.

I wanted to find the Tribes and offer them assistance, protection. My problems with the western nations are unending." He fell silent a moment, fingers drumming on the table as he thought. "I would like our countries to cooperate, and ideally to reunite, but I do not wish to behave as the west does."

Sahayl frowned. "Reunite? As they were before? Shihab was telling me about it this morning…"

"Precisely," Shah said and handed over a scroll that had been lying in front of him on the table. "This is an ancient charter from before the War that drove the Tribes into hiding from one another. Our countries are, in fact, still technically one. It is only that after the War, order there and communications between Tavamara and the 'Great' Desert fell apart. Over the years, the unity faded. There was no leader there to hold everyone together. I would like to reinstate the unity between our countries but doing so would require a royal presence in the Desert. Someone I could trust, and who would work with me while ruling the Desert."

"There is no such figure in the Desert," Sahayl said. "The highest level of authority is Sheik, and there is one per Tribe. I do not think you will ever get the Sheiks to decide who among them is most fit to lead all the Tribes." He shook his head slowly back and forth, thick curls brushing across his cheeks. "If you hoped I could offer suggestions, I am sorry."

Shah chuckled. "As I said, I would need a royal presence. Someone related to me. As technically our countries are in fact still one, someone of royal blood could by all rights reclaim authority over the Desert."

"But…" Sahayl frowned. "I fear I am missing something here."

"I am being obtuse, forgive me." Shah spread his hands wide. "My plan is to adopt you into my family - as my brother. I would have said son, but we are not even a decade apart in age." Shah smiled. "That would make you a Prince, and more than fit to be my voice in the Desert. What say you?"

Sahayl barely kept his jaw from dropping. "Are you mad?" he said when he was able to speak. "I am not fit for such a thing." Sudden grief washed over him, so sharp and hard he found it hard to breathe for a moment "The title of Amir was very nearly taken from me."

"By your father?"

"Yes," Sahayl said.

Shah tilted his head thoughtfully. "I did not know him and so I cannot say, nor will I insult the dead, but I feel perhaps he was mistaken in believing you inadequate. I do not think you appreciate just how powerful a leader you are."

"I was formally declared the Amir at fifteen," Sahayl said quietly. He'd assumed many responsibilities that day, and the beatings had started four years previous. "I am now nearly twice that." He shook his head. "That hardly makes me fit to be a Prince. Commanding a Tribe is quite different from ruling a nation." Quite different. Nor would it work. The Tribes would never come together under one leader. Every last Sheik would protest, and fight to be that one, and war would simply escalate out of control. It would take one man being backed by a majority of the Tribes - and those Tribes capable of putting down rebels. He had the backing of Ghost, and possibly - hopefully - Cobra. Falcon? Most likely not. "It would be a difficult task for an experienced man, never mind one who has been Sheik for only a matter of days - and one who is breaking every rule of the Desert by coming here."

"As I have stated," Shah said implacably, "you underestimate yourself. A man who is capable of winning the blind devotion of two men who, by those rules you speak of, should be enemies…and I have heard many things of you from Shihab and Ikram. I feel you can do this." Shah shrugged. "Beyond that, if you need more reasons, there is no one else to assume the role. We have not time to pick through all the Sheiks of the Desert to find which one might be best suited, and that's assuming we could find them all first. Isra and Bahadur are good men, but they are not leaders. You are here, you are up to the task. It is, however, your decision, Sahayl. I take no real pleasure in being King, I will not force that life upon anyone."

Sahayl looked out the window, dark gold eyes distant. "He said I was too soft. Were he alive now…" Sahayl struggled to repress a shudder of fear and remembered pain. Had he attempted this while his father lived, he would have found himself beaten to death.

"Your father…they called him the Crusher, yes?" Shas asked.

"Yes," Sahayl replied. "As immovable as rock, and able to crush all those who threatened him as easily as rock breaks bone."

Shah nodded. "If he was a rock, then I would say you are much like sand, hmm? That is to say, neither hard nor soft, strong because you shift."

"Sand?" Sahayl repeated, breath catching in his throat. He smiled ever so faintly. "My people have always called me Sandstorm, for reasons both flattering and not."

"Then I would say that settles the matter, no? A Sandstorm is precisely what the Desert needs."

Slowly Sahayl nodded. "I am not so certain of that, but for the Desert and the Lady I shall try."

"Excellent," Shah said. He grinned, suddenly very boyish and every bit as mischievous as Shihab tended to be. "Now we must go inform the council."

Fourteen

"I do not trust that smile, little shadowfire."

Shihab's grin widened. "Now why would you say that? And I'm not little."

Bahadur grasped his chin and gently tugged him closer, kissing him briefly, nipping at Shihab's bottom lip. "What are you plotting, little shadowfire?"

"I'm going to go break the news of what Shah's doing to Isra. He's not going to like it…at first.

I'll talk or beat sense into him." He licked Bahadur's lips before sitting back and picking up his tea. His expression turned thoughtful as he sipped it, fingers going automatically to the plate of food, selecting a pastry dusted with finely ground sugar.

"What is his Majesty planning? How do you know? Eavesdropping on your father's conversations?"

Shihab snorted. "Don't be insulting, Bahadur." He winked. "I have ways of making you suffer."

Bahadur smirked. "That goes both ways, little shadowfire."

"I'm not little," Shihab muttered, licking sugar from his fingers. "Nor do I eavesdrop. I figured it out on my own. Winning any game means understanding the rules and the playing pieces. In this case, the game is save Tavamara and the Desert. Cooperating is a good strategy…"

Shihab smirked, "but uniting the two is a better strategy. Naturally the best way to do that would be to marry the Ghost Sheik off to Shah's daughter - but she's only a babe. The other option is something that's only been done twice before in the history of Shah's family -

adoption."

"Adoption," Bahadur repeated. "His Majesty is going to adopt the Ghost Sheik?"

"That would be my guess. Probably as a brother? It would certainly explain why my father has been looking as though he would like nothing more than to resume his savage ways and deal with the counsel accordingly. They probably are taking it with even less grace than they did the men Shah chose for his harem."

Bahadur laughed. "I see. The Ghost Sheik will not like that."

Shihab laughed. "Isra will like it even less," he finished his tea and stood up, "which is why I'm going to go persuade him to be reasonable. Want to come watch the show?"

"It is my impression that that the Falcon and reason are not bedmates."

"Isra and reason tend to play rough, that's for certain. Eventually they cuddle up together, though." Shihab laughed and held out a hand. "Coming?"

Bahadur shook his head. "I do not think my presence will help anything. I'm almost as much an enemy as the Ghost Sheik. Do not aggravate him too much, little shadowfire."

"The only way to get Isra to see reason is to aggravate him beyond all reason. I'm not quite certain why that works, or how, but it does." Shihab shook his head, red hair spilling over his shoulders. He winked. "I'll be back later, probably with a few new bruises."

Chuckling, Bahadur reached out to wrap one large arm around Shihab's slender waist, pulling him closer, tilting his head up to meet Shihab's kiss, not breaking it until they were both breathless.

Shihab laughed as he pulled away. "Are you going to the training yards? I'll come and show you my battle scars later."

"Yes. I fear this soft palace life will take away my edge."

"I'll keep you sharp." Stealing a last kiss, Shihab slipped away, humming softly. He murmured polite greetings to the few people he passed in the hallway, nodding to several of the guards, and at last reached the room that had been given to Isra - rooms that connected to Sahayl's by way of the bathing chamber. Bahadur's were nearby. He didn't bother to knock, merely pushed the door open and strolled into the large chamber.

Unlike western-style rooms, which had always been aggravating to him - and Isra - most chambers in Tavamara were like this. It was one large open room, generally with either large windows or open doorways leading to a garden or courtyard - or, in this case, a balcony. Part of the room was given over to a set of tables - one for eating, one for working, along with mats and pillows, smaller tables to accommodate wine and food trays when one wanted to recline rather than sit at the tables. Blankets were folded neatly and tucked away, and all of it was spread out on large, colorful, rugs that had taken years to make.

On the other end of the room was a set of chests and cabinets meant for clothes and other such things, as well as another low table, currently set with a breakfast that had yet to be touched. Colorful pillows surrounded it, scattered across a rug as elaborate as the others.

The bed was set back from the rest, low and boasting its own share of pillows and blankets heavy enough to keep out the chill that fell at night but not so heavy they made the bed sweltering otherwise. This room was done in shades of brown and deep gold, interspersed with splashes of deep wine red and dark blue.

Movement stirred some of the pillows. Shihab shook his head. "Are you still asleep?"

"Why should I move?" Isra asked, turning and shifting, settling back into the bed. "I have nowhere to be. Soon we'll be going back to the Desert. Until then, I fully intend to enjoy every last luxury available to me - including sleeping all morning."

Shihab chuckled and moved closer, pulling aside the sheer curtains that surrounded the bed, lending a degree of privacy and keeping out any insects. He slid into the bed and tossed aside pillows until he found Isra. "Lazy, lazy."

"Go away," Isra snapped, tugging a blanket up over his head.

Shihab yanked the blanket away with a laugh. "I would have thought you'd find something more fun to do than sleep, given your proximity to a certain Sheik."

Isra glared. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do," Shihab said, reaching out and pinching him, catching the hand that came flying toward his head, dragging his nails across Isra's flat stomach before his own wrist was captured by Isra's free hand. He snickered and relaxed his grip, pulling away as Isra snarled and sat up. "Honestly, Isra, you're not usually one to deny what you want."

"Why are you here?" Isra snapped, turning away to lean out of bed and pick his pants up from where he'd left they lying on the floor. Shihab snickered softly and reached out to pinch Isra's ass, then turned and threw himself from the bed as Isra roared in outrage and lunged for him. They tangled in the curtain, nearly pulling it down before they managed to tumble free, and Shihab struggled to breath around his laughter. "Good morning, Isra."

Isra smacked Shihab's stomach hard with the flat of his hand before rolling away and going to retrieve his pants. "You're in a good mood this morning. I guess Bahadur is taking care of you."

Shihab grinned but said nothing.

"What do you want?" Isra asked, sitting down and beginning to pick at the breakfast that had been set out for him, sipping at the cool juice.

"I came to speak with you about Sahayl."

Isra lifted a brow. "What about him?"

Shihab sat down across from him, snagging a piece of fruit, green eyes dark as he thought.

"Do you know what Shah is planning to do?"

"Of course I don't. Obviously you do." Isra set his glass down. "I suspect you think I won't like it. Shall I save us the trouble of a long, drawn out argument and tell you to get out now?"

"He's going to adopt him."

Isra stared. "…What?"

"He's going to make the Ghost Sheik his brother." Slowly Shihab set about explaining all that he had gleaned - on his own, despite what anyone said. He was Ikram's son in every way that mattered, had worked hard all his life to be as clever and smart and competent as the man who had been advisor to the late King and Shah.

Isra, true to form, did not look pleased as Shihab finished. "A Prince," he said flatly, carefully shoving his breakfast away. "The Ghost Sheik is going to become a Prince. Of the Desert.

Stupidity." He slammed a fist down on the table, jarring the dishes. "Arrogance! What makes anyone think a Ghost is fit for something that hasn't been done for longer than anyone can remember? The son of the Crusher? The Sandstorm. A Prince. We came here for help, not to hand over the authority to control all the Tribes to a Ghost!" Snarling in rage, Isra snatched up his empty glass and hurled it against a wall.

"You're taking this well," Shihab said calmly.

"Shut up. If I'd known he was going to do something so-so-"

"Sensible?"

"Traitorous," Isra snarled, jerking to his feet, glaring at the man across from him. "A temporary alliance is one thing - but this is worse. The Desert belongs to no one."

Shihab shrugged. "Technically it belongs to Tavamara."

Isra glared, hands clenched into fists at his side. "And now, according to what you say, it's going to belong to a greedy Ghost!"

"You're being ridiculous," Shihab said, slowly standing up and moving to stand in front of Isra. "When has Sahayl ever struck you as greedy?"

"Obviously he's more adept a liar than even I could imagine," Isra said. "No one will let him have the Desert. It doesn't belong to him."