Sandstorm (24 page)

"Why should I be planning to do anything?" Isra asked irritably.

"Obviously you've given your support to Sahayl. Will Falcon do the same?"

"That is up to my honored uncle." Isra glared. "That is not all you want to ask, is it?"

"I am rather curious as to whether or not you'll continue to share Sahayls' bed." Shihab smirked.

Isra reached out to cuff him upside the head, grimacing when Shihab dodged away. "It little matters while the fighting continues," he said. "Stop asking stupid questions."

Shihab laughed softly but wisely did not press. Silence fell between them as they walked, and they were nearly to Sahayl's rooms before Shihab spoke again. "So are you going to give me the details? No fair holding everything back. He's usually so quiet, I bet-hey!" Shihab rubbed the back of his head. "That was uncalled for."

"Stop acting so crass. I'm not telling you anything." Isra made a face. "Honestly. Your Tavamaran roots are showing."

"I see," Shihab said with a smirk. He chuckled softly. "Maybe I'll just find out for myself sometime."

Isra rolled his eyes and said nothing, pointedly ignoring Shihab's continuing laughter as they entered Sahayl's rooms and spotted Sahayl and Bahadur speaking quietly at the table near the bed.

"You caught him," Bahadur said, a statement rather than a question.

"He's locked up," Isra replied, dropping down to sit next to Sahayl, barely catching himself from leaning up to steal a kiss.

Sahayl frowned. "Your arm needs attending, desert rose." He reached out to touch Isra's bloody cheek. "What happened here?"

Isra blinked at him, then reached up to touch his own cheek. "Nothing. It's the assassin's blood. My arm wound is minimal. I'd forgotten all about it."

"Too busy thinking of other things, desert rose?" Shihab asked smugly, but even as he spoke he was moving to fetch supplies, grabbing the pitcher of water and a washing bowl from near the bed before sitting down, dragging Isra close and tugging off his robe, setting to work on his arm. "What did you do, try to hit every thorn in the garden?" He tsked softly as he wiped Isra down with a clean cloth, cleaning up the small marks left by some of the larger thorns, then cleaned his cheek before finally turning to the arrow wound.

"Shut up," Isra replied, face turning stony as Shihab set about cleaning and binding his wound.

Shihab stuck his tongue out. "We're lucky it wasn't poison-tipped. If they're resorting to this, we'll have to be especially careful. I wonder if we'll encounter anymore once we reach the Desert."

"Lady spare us that," Bahadur said. Then he smirked. "Or perhaps I should say the Lady spare the assassins that. They would not want to attack us in our own territory."

Isra shared the smirk. "Yes. They whine now about how savage we can be. Wait until we no longer have Tavamaran law to hold us back."

"Thank you," Sahayl said quietly. "All of you. I am hardly worthy of all that you've done for me, these past days." He looked at Isra, their eyes locking, and Isra barely noticed when Shihab and Bahadur quietly left. "You took an arrow for me. If you'd moved differently…"

Isra waved the words away, finally dropping his eyes, unable to bear the weight of those dark gold eyes. "Life in the Desert is far more dangerous than one arrow shot by a man who barely knew what he was doing."

"Saa, desert rose, but in that Desert you would have been the one launching the arrow at me."

"Saa," Isra mimicked, "I think not. I do not waste time with arrows. I prefer to take care of things personally. Closely. Arrows are for men who have not the stomach to do the job themselves."

Sahayl flashed a grin, something that still looked strange to Isra. It wasn't taunting, or forced, but a genuine, almost boyish, grin. "Spoken like a true son." His levity faded. "But still, Isra, not so very long ago you would have killed me."

"The sands are ever shifting," Isra replied, shrugging, looking at the table, his bandaged arm.

"Saa, that is very true." Sahayl's fingers brushed his cheek, warm and calloused, and Isra realized suddenly that he was cold. "It is rare they shift favorably for me, or so I occasionally, selfishly think. Even now, it seems, they are shifting against me."

Isra opened his eyes, only then realizing they'd closed. "You mean because you're a Prince now."

"That is why you were so reserved this morning."

"Yes," Isra said quietly. "But such things need not be settled until the fighting ceases. No one will press the matter until then." Lady spare him, no one was going to leave him alone about the matter. Was it really that important? People needed to mind their own business. Though, he rather supposed this was Sahayl's business. Still. What was the rush? One night in the man's bed and now everyone wanted him to make a life-altering decision.

Sahayl smiled sadly. "When does the fighting ever cease in the Desert?"

Isra watched him in silence a moment, considering his answer. Normally Sahayl's words would have been his own. How many times had he told his honored uncle the same exact thing? More times than he could remember. Yet now he wanted to say the exact opposite.

Clearly he had a lot worse than sand lodged in his head. He just wished he knew what it was, so he could dislodge it and go back to a life that made sense. "Perhaps when a Prince brings it to an end," he finally said, giving up, and closed the space between them, gasping at the taste of Sahayl, warm and spicy, faintly sweet, gentle where Isra would expect a man of his authority to be firm if not completely rough. He went up on his knees and wrapped his arms around Sahayl's neck, bringing their bodies together, moaning at the heat that seemed to pour off Sahayl. Fingers traced his side, flexed on his hips, then arms wrapped around his waist as Sahayl held him tight. The gentle kiss took on a hungry edge and Isra smiled, laughing softly when the kiss finally ended. "You learn quickly."

"I would not be long for the Desert if I did not, desert rose," Sahayl said.

Isra laughed and pulled away far enough to push Sahayl over, then straddled his hips, shoving aside Sahayl's robes, baring a toned chest and stomach, muscles that bunched and moved beneath his fingers. "One of these days I will get you to stop calling me by that absurd name."

"Here I thought you were starting to like it."

"Never," Isra said, stubbornly frowning. He leaned down to give Sahayl another kiss, ending the conversation.

"Am I going to have to let you go one day?" Sahayl asked softly when the kiss ended.

Isra stilled, staring into the gold eyes that were far too close, able to smell the wine that lingered on Sahayl's breath. His heart, already beating rapidly, sped up to the point he thought it would beat out of his chest. "What?"

"I think I'd rather give you up now than get used to your presence only to lose you."

"You're asking me to decide now," Isra said. By the Lady! He slid his hands from Sahayl's chest, burying them in the silk on either side of them, fingers tight, digging in. He wished his heart would slow down.

Part of him wanted to protest, shout that the soft demand - and Sahayl had not even really demanded, merely quietly stated his own feelings on the matter - wasn't fair. He hadn't thought to make this decision for months, even years. He must be more tired than he thought if he could take this quietly, not scream and shout as he wanted.

The question was a fair one, as much as he hated to admit it. He still wasn't entirely convinced that making Sahayl a Prince would solve all the Desert's problems, but if it did work everything would change. Plenty of what Sahayl had endured, would endure, wasn't fair. He could see in those dark eyes that Sahayl hated what he was asking, what he was forcing upon Isra.

Was it a life he could live? When he was used to going where he wanted? Carrying a sword?

He was a warrior, a fighter, not a man to always be kept inside…albeit as what probably amounted to one of the most powerful positions in the palace. But that meant he'd always be under watch when he wandered around on his own. He'd never be able to travel, unless it was with Sahayl or under Sahayl's orders. No one else would ever touch him. There would always be people who would look down on him, especially given his mother. Not that he cared what others thought, but even his honored uncle would look askance at this. So many things in his life would change forever. He'd never be entirely free again. Still… Isra stared at Sahayl, at the ever so calm expression on his face, completely at odds with the obvious tension in his body.

Sighing softly, Isra reached out and stroked the scar that he'd put on Sahayl's cheek what seemed a lifetime ago. "Do you do this to everyone you meet, Sandstorm Prince?"

Sahayl's brow furrowed. "Do what?"

Isra shook his head and sighed in defeat. He sank a hand into that thick, wonderfully soft hair and leaned down to give Sahayl a long, slow kiss. "I'm not going anywhere…but don't expect me to behave."

"Never that," Sahayl said with a smile that stole Isra's breath.

He leaned down for another kiss, fingers tight in Sahayl's hair, his free hand beginning to explore once more. "And I'm not walking around bare-chested."

Hands landed on his hips, circling around to span his back, trace the line of his spine, and Sahayl laughed into their kiss. "Yes, Isra."

Eighteen

"I cannot believe Ghost has claimed the Broken Palace this entire time," Shihab said, tugging down his mouth cover as they dismounted to rest, setting up a temporary camp to find shelter from the sun. He downed a swallow of water and passed his skin to Isra, who collapsed next to him. "How did you find it, Sahayl?"

Sahayl grinned as he passed his own skin to Bahadur. "Ghost records say we've held it since it fell - that we were the only ones who remembered the location after everyone abandoned it." He shook his head, chuckling softly. "There are always those in camp who like to say we're descended from the royal family, but my grandmother did a great deal of research once she became too old and frail to travel the Sands. She says it's more likely Ghost was once merely the palace guard, other such posts. No different than anyone else."

"The royal family was slaughtered, right? When the people broke apart, formed the Tribes."

Isra took another swallow of water.

"Yes," Sahayl said. "The ensuing war destroyed much of the palace." He looked briefly wistful. "Perhaps someday, now, we can begin to repair it. Though I fear to do that we will have to further destroy it first…"

Shihab grinned. "That just means we can make it better." He winked. "Even build a pretty little cage for Isra."

Isra gave him a withering look but did not otherwise respond.

"I would prefer you stay alive for a bit longer, shadowfire," Sahayl said with a chuckle. "So stop trying to get Isra to strangle you."

"Strangle?" Isra snorted. "He's not going to be that lucky. How much longer is our journey?"

Sahayl looked out across the Desert as he thought. "Not more than six days. We should be seeing patrols soon." He frowned thoughtfully. "I wonder how much chaos we'll be walking into. It is probably too much to hope that some sort of peace has been established."

"No sense in worrying about it yet," Bahadur said calmly. "There is nothing we can do until we're there."

"Is the warhorse supposed to be the smart one?" Isra asked.

Shihab snickered at the look on Bahadur's face - as if he couldn't decide quite what his reaction should be. "Warhorse?" he finally asked.

"Warhorse," Isra said. "I'm sure Shihab would have some comment to make about riding if I let him." He drove an elbow into Shihab's stomach when his friend started to speak.

Bahadur rolled his eyes, but Sahayl didn't miss the slight flush to his cheeks. He looked hastily away, and glanced reprovingly at the other two. "I cannot think who would allow two such natural troublemakers to meet."

"Isra was wasting good wine," Shihab answered. "I couldn't allow that to continue. Later that night we wound up introducing a particular annoyance to the river."

Sahayl lifted one brow.

"He fell in," Isra said blandly. "Honestly, I don't know why he howled so much. Where he came from they learn to swim before they walk." He pointed to Shihab. "It was his idea. I was too drunk to say no."

Shihab flashed a grin. "He wasn't that drunk. We've been friends ever since."

"I see," Sahayl said. "Will I have to set guards to keep an eye on you?"

"No," Shihab said. "It wouldn't do any good anyway - I'm too good at sneaking away."

"Shadowfire," Sahayl replied, "I think perhaps you might stand out."

"Not all covered up," Shihab said, tugging up his mouth cover and pulling down the thin veil for his eyes. Face coverings in place, dressed in the unremarkable clothes he'd always worn as the 'shadow,' he very well could have been anyone.

Sahayl shook his head. "I will set Ghost on you. We are not so easily tricked."

"I think that was a challenge, Highness."

"I will never get used to hearing that," Sahayl said. He wouldn't. Sheik was something he'd been preparing for all his life. Prince, however…thinking of all he would have to do…the next six days were going to be the closest he would come to relaxing for a very long time.

He was startled from his thoughts by the press of warm lips to his own. "Desert rose…" His.

Isra was his. Sahayl still found the thought dizzying. Not real. When would he wake up? It wouldn't last, he knew it wouldn't. Even if Isra had said he'd be in Sahayl's harem…

"You worry too much. Come on, the horses are rested." Isra stood up and held out a hand to Sahayl, helping him stand before water skins were tucked away and the four men mounted their horses. "Like the warhorse said, there is no sense in worrying until we are there." Isra moved his horse close to Sahayl's, and leaned over to give him another kiss. He pulled away as Shihab laughed, and turned his head to glare at his friend. "Be quiet, little shadowfire."

Sahayl listened distantly to their bickering, most of his mind completely by the kisses so casually given. He could not believe that Isra was his. He doubted he'd ever completely believe it. That Isra had not only seemed to stop hating him, but had also agreed to join his harem.