Sandstorm (36 page)

Merrick let out a sharp, barking laugh. "Yet you want us to let you wander off to play in these abominable sands?"

Looking at the man, listening to him, Sahayl was all too reminded why the Sands despised heathens. "You are here solely to take back the Princess?"

"I'm not going," Cordelia said fervently.

"Then you are to be disowned," Merrick said, expression hard. "Cordelia, we are working too hard to let your damned impetuous ways ruin everything. Come home at once, or come home never again. Your cousin will do as well as you, in the matter of marriage, though of course we would prefer to have you."

Sahayl hissed at the cold words, fury growing at the ashen look that had taken over Cordelia's face.

Rook's voice whipped out, containing an icy fury he'd never heard from the strange heathen.

"Merrick - what are you about? Lavarre and Hadge are not reliable. They will stab us in the back the first chance we get."

"Not if we stab them first," Merrick replied. "All we need from them is the favor Hadge has gained from Havarin."

Rook threw his head back and laughed, long and loud - but it wasn't a pleasant sound.

Sahayl wondered what was truly going on, that they were both still speaking the language of the Sands when this was clearly something he should not be hearing.

Unless…hearing it was meant to dissuade him from his course.

Sahayl barely kept from showing his contempt at that notion - were this exclusively a Desert matter, Merrick's head would already be rolling in the sand. Lady spare him from dealing with heathens ever again after this.

"Havarin?" Rook said contemptuously. "Is that his Majesty's grand plan? To slip into Havarin's favor by way of Hadge? Havarin is the only country in the world stronger than Tavamara, and we have been failing to conquer Tavamara for longer than anyone can remember. Do you honestly think Havarin will ever deign to notice us when she never has before, nevermind assist in the conquering of Tavamara. Your father is not thinking!"

Merrick said nothing, merely continued to regard him coldly. Somehow, Sahayl thought, the traits that made the Princess beautiful and Rook intriguing…did nothing for Merrick.

"Saa," Sahayl said softly, "I had high hopes for this day. All for nothing, it would seem. Is there no chance of persuading you toward peace? The Sands seek to end the bloodshed which has reigned for countless years. We come in earnest to offer peace, and are more than willing to be generous in the negotiations." Not that generous, but so long as the heathens stayed out of the Desert and away from Tavamara when this was over, he could afford to be lenient in other matters, or so Shah had informed him in their last correspondence.

This being a Prince was difficult, and Sahayl felt woefully inadequate, especially up against a man who clearly held no such qualms - but he was the Sandstorm Prince of the Great Desert of Tavamara. He would accomplish what he'd come here to do.

One way or the other.

Merrick gave him an apologetic look that Sahayl would believe right after he believed Isra could go a day without losing his temper. "We are deeply honored by the Great Desert's offer of peace. Alas, we are not yet inclined to trust the words of blood-soaked savages. Cordelia, come at once. Rook."

"No," Rook said softly, looking miserable but determined. "I will not follow a man as foolish as your father is proving to be. I have done so long enough. I will no longer."

"Fine," Merrick said. "You are hereby tripped of all titles, your citizenship, and declared an enemy of Gollen. Cordelia - now. I will not tell you again."

Cordelia matched his ice with fire. "I hope that arrogance chokes you one day, Merrick. What is this really about? I cannot believe - would you please see reason? Are you getting a throne of your own out of this, is that what this is really about?"

In a burst of movement, Merrick lunged forward and backhanded her hard. Sahayl rippled with shock - then acted out of rage as he saw the lurid mark on Cordelia's cheek, the blood on her lips. He reached out and snatched the fabric of Merrick's odd robe, hauling the man off his horse, then dismounting neatly. He drew his sword and knelt to hold it to Merrick's throat.

"Your sister said you were a fine General," Sahayl said calmly. "You seem a fool to me. Also a coward, to strike a woman so. The Sands and Tavamara attempted to make peace with you, and in return you toss sand in our faces. So be it."

Sahayl called out to Wafai, never looking away from the man he had pinned to the sand. All around him he heard the gasps as Merrick's men took in the sudden change in their situation.

He did not have to look up to know that Ghost and all those who had joined them had surrounded Merrick's men, seeming to have come from nowhere - as though they were phantoms in the Desert.

"I offer you one last chance, heathen," Sahayl said. "Take the peace we offer, or make of the Desert a true enemy."

"Savage," Merrick said coldly.

"So be it," Sahayl said softly, then reached down and grabbed hold of Merrick, hauling him up then shoving him back into the arms of the soldiers who'd come to his defense. "You may try to fight us here, but you would lose. We are, as you say, savages. You have declared yourself our enemy. More importantly, you have angered me." He mounted his horse again, letting Bahadur draw protectively close. On his hand, the ring bestowed upon him by Shahjahan flashed in the sun. "By angering me, you have angered my brother, his Majesty King Shahjahan of Tavamara and the Great Desert. Go now before we show you what we do to enemies."

He hefted his sword again as Merrick made to speak to Cordelia. "She is no longer your concern," Sahayl said, staring into Merrick's eyes as he spoke. "It is obvious to me heathens do not know how to treat their sacred daughters. You have rejected all claim to her, and as she is my future wife I forbid you speak to her, except by my princess's leave."

"You can't just-"

"Yes, I can," Sahayl said. "I am a savage. What we want - we take. Wafai."

Wafai immediately complied, moving quickly, barking out orders to the soldiers surrounding the heathens, moving into command as Sahayl let the other lead him away.

He stood tersely in front of his assembled soldiers, hand tight on the hilt of his sword, as slowly but surely the heathens withdrew. Sahayl did not move until they were well out of sight.

Slowly he released a pent up breath.

"Sahayl…"

He looked up sharply at the soft, hesitant voice. "Yes, my princess?"

Cordelia looked near to tears, but did not shed them. Beside her, Rook held fast to her hand.

"There is no reason to marry me when all that made me useful has disowned me."

"The sands are ever shifting," Sahayl replied calmly. "That aside, Princess…I meant what I said. If the heathens are too stupid to keep you, then the Sands will take you and gladly. If you are still amenable."

"Yes," Cordelia replied softly, smiling, and not even the bruise on her cheek could mar it.

"Sandstorm Prince," Jabbar said, coming toward him with Zulfiqar. "What went wrong?"

Sahayl's shook his head. "Heathens are heathens, and refuse to listen to reason."

Rook sighed. "Sadly, I cannot argue."

"Come," Sahayl said. "We must-"

His words were cut off by a shout from his men and he turned his horse to stare in fascination at the figure galloping toward them.

"What is it with heathen women?" Bahadur asked nearby.

Before Sahayl could make a reply to that - before he could figure out what his reply should be - Cordelia bolted toward the figure with a startled, unmistakably happy cry. He motioned to Wafai for the men to stand down, and chased after his bride, Bahadur close.

The woman was the oddest he'd ever seen - her skin was so dark a brown it seemed nearly ebony. The skirt she wore was split up either side and fell to her ankles, beneath it was a skirt of a lighter color. She also wore a strange sleeveless tunic the same vibrant red of the split skirt. Her hair was as dark as her skin, done in what seemed like hundreds of tiny braids, the end of each sporting a vibrant red bead.

Cordelia embraced the woman tightly, and their words carried over the desert, a strange rapid tongue Sahayl did not recognize.

"A barbarian," Rook explained. "She comes from one of the colonies belonging to Havarin.

There, women are expected to fight like men - she has taught the Princess much of those barbaric ways."

Sahayl's brows went up at that. Women who fought like men? "Heathens grow stranger the more I know about them."

Rook laughed. "It might surprise you to know that on this continent at least, the wild savages of the desert are the most whispered about. You confuse everyone."

"That works in our favor," Sahayl said. He started to say more, but stopped as Cordelia and the strange woman drew close.

"My Sandstorm Prince, this is my bodyguard and closest friend, Fumnanya. She has been with me since we were children."

Sahayl bowed. "Talasa, companion of my princess. I wish you were welcomed to the Sands under better circumstances."

Fumnanya abruptly dropped to one knee in the sand. "Salata, Sandstorm Prince of the Great Desert of Tavamara." She looked up, eyes as dark as her skin and hair. "You are to be husband to my princess?"

"Yes," Sahayl said.

"You will take care of her."

Sahayl nodded, pleased to see that this was a true protector indeed. "Upon my life."

"I will take it should you fail to do so."

Again Sahayl nodded, but this time said nothing.

Fumnanya stood. "If I am to stay close to my princess, and if she is to be your princess, then I am to be a concubine, yes?"

"Yes," Sahayl said, smiling at the way his future wife flushed.

"Very well then, you may consider me her concubine."

Bahadur chuckled from behind him. "I sense she and Shihab will get along."

"Only if I am foolish enough to let them meet," Sahayl replied. He moved back to Blood Moon and mounted. "We go." He motioned to Wafai and two other sheiks, who would see that there way was protected, ensure that no one would find them in the Desert.

They rode hard, barely stopping long enough to join up with the camp where Isra and Shihab had waited to hear news. He updated them on their brief pauses to rest, for otherwise they traveled too hard to speak.

Several days hard travel saw them back at the palace, with no sign of the enemy on their trail.

"See my future wife is tended," Sahayl told the first man he saw. He handed his horse off to a Spider who stepped forward, and strode into the palace, his people around him.

Several hours later all matters had been tended to, and Sahayl finally allowed himself to feel tired. He smiled at Isra, who had remained with him throughout. "Saa, desert rose. Do you think they would let me sleep for a month straight?"

"You are our Sandstorm Prince," Isra replied. "If you want to sleep that long, by all means."

Sahayl laughed, and reached out to run his fingers through Isra's night-dark hair. "I do not think I could, though it sounds nice. I would get bored."

Isra smirked and closed the space between them. "You could simply stay in bed. I am sure your harem would keep you from boredom."

He could help but shiver, feeling his cheeks heat. "Tempting, my desert rose. You have always been that."

Isra kissed him, all but climbing into his lap, and Sahayl could not believe that he would be so brazen in a place where anyone might chance upon them - but from the first, Isra had affected him like no other.

"Come rest, Sahayl," Isra said when the kiss finally ended. "Bahadur and Shihab went ahead to prepare things for you. Dinner, wine…" Another slow, hot kiss. It made him ache more than ever. "Time to relax. I am certain tomorrow you will be harassed to death again."

Sahayl laughed and slowly nudged him away so they could stand, and Isra was all but dragging him along, scowling at anyone who tried to stop them.

He still was not used to the lavishness of his room. That he had so much space to himself, including a bath that would shortly be ready for filling. Such wicked luxury in the middle of the Desert - but his protests had been summarily ignored and overridden.

The sight before him caught his breath, and not for the first time Sahayl wondered when he would finally wake from this dream in which he'd found himself.

Food and wine covered the low table in the living space of his room. On two sides sat Bahadur and Shihab - dressed traditionally, though their pants and wrap were a deep brown rather than the black worn only by the harems of the King and Queen.

Behind him he heard the rustling of fabric, and turned to see Isra quickly donning the pants and wrap. He was almost afraid to reach out and touch when Isra approached him again, dusky skin almost glowing in the candlelight. "Desert rose…is this truly the life you want?"

He turned to the other two. "All of you?"

"Stop asking stupid questions," Isra said, and reached up to kiss him hard.

Barely had that kiss ended when Sahayl found himself being kissed again - this time by Bahadur, and he was still gasping for breath from that kiss when Shihab took one of his own.

"Come and eat before it gets cold," Shihab said, and led the way back to the table.

Sahayl followed, Isra still at his side, the taste of his lovers lingering on his lips. He licked them slowly, and it made him ache all the more. It could not be real, all that had happened.

Free of his father, Tribes were no longer fighting…he was a royal prince, a thought to which he would never grow accustomed.

He stole a kiss from Isra as they finally sat, needing the very real sensation of lips moving against his, hands smoothing over his body, hot even through the fabric of his clothes, the feel of warm skin beneath his own fingers. "Desert rose."

Isra smirked. "You are looking rather dazed, my Sandstorm Prince. Perhaps we should not give you any wine."

Sahayl laughed, sipping the wine that Isra held up anyway. "I feel rather more swept up in a sandstorm myself." He looked at the men around him, the room in which they sat, pondering all those simple things meant. "Saa, it is not so bad a thing to be."