Sandstorm (57 page)

"Good evening, my Lady," the priestess said. "You look as though you have managed to let go at least some of that which has weighed upon you."

Fahima nodded. "Yes, thank you."

"Do you care to join us for the star songs?" the priestess asked, holding out a hand to help Fahima rise. Around them the bells continued softly to chime, calling all in the temple to join in the singing if they desired.

Accepting the hand held out to her, Fahima stood and smoothed out her skirts, tucking a stray bit of hair back beneath the green and blue head covering she'd worn. The hand of the priestess was rough, but warm and sure as the priestess tugged her gently along before finally letting go.

"What is your name?" Fahima asked on impulse, then reprimanded herself. "By your leave, of course, and I apologize for my rudeness."

The priestess laughed and stopped to sweep a quick but graceful bow. "Sakina, my Lady, and I took no rudeness from the query. Are you a visitor to the shining heart of Tavamara?"

"Yes," Fahima. "I fear I will not be here much longer, and the thought saddens me. The city is beautiful." She could learn so much here, far more than she would upon taking up the robes of a priestess herself. Still, her father would never permit her to live alone unmarried -

especially not for the sole purpose of studying.

Sakina smiled. "It is a beautiful city; I hope my Lady gets to see as much of it as possible before she departs, unless her wish to stay is fulfilled."

"Thank you for the sentiment," Fahima said, and they fell silent as they entered the grand hall where hundreds had gathered to sing the open sky above. For the next hour they would sing the prayers and hymns that said farewell to the day and greeted the coming night.

What remained of her tension faded beneath the singing, soothing her as precious little else did - Gulvar's kisses, enjoying tea on the verandah on a quiet night. As it at last concluded, she thanks the Head Priestess, as well as Sakina, before pulling her head wrap tight and calling for her palanquin.

She would much prefer to ride her horse, but of course her father had forbidden that --

perhaps it was tolerable in their provincial home, but certainly it was too uncouth for the city.

A pity, the horse would get back to the palace much faster.

The ride was not as rough as it could be, for the royal carriers were careful, and she smiled faintly as she heard people call to them, the men reply as best they could. She was rapidly grasping the city dialect, which was rather more different than she had been expecting.

Though brought up strictly to speak proper Tavamaran, the lessons had not been able to teach her the finer nuances that came with living in the city.

A pity she would not have a chance to master it.

She stifled a sigh and dredged up a smile as they reached the palace, thanking the men and pressing coins upon them despite protests. Unwinding her head scar as she went, she returned slowly to the suite assigned her family.

Passing through the main living space, she continued down a small hallway to her own room

- but drew up short at the sound of Nawra snapping and fussing. Frowning, she pushed open the door to her sister's room and took in the situation.

"Nawra," she said at last, unable to take the way her sister was behaving and taking out her frustration on the poor little made who never should have been inflicted with her sister.

"Whatever is the matter?"

Throwing down a bright orange scarf, Nawra moved to a mirror and began to fuss with her already elegantly knotted hair. "His Highness has invited me to see his night-garden this evening, only I don't feel well and what I am supposed to say about flowers-" She tore off the amber jewels she'd been wearing and began to pick through her jewelry box.

Fahima kept her opinions to herself. "Nawra, you are not feeling well. You have been sick all day. I will tell his Highness you do not feel up to the gardens tonight. Understand?"

Nawra went still, head jerking up - then she swallowed and nodded. "Yes, Fahima."

"Good," Fahima said, and turned around to stride back the way she'd come, refusing to think too long upon what she was doing for fear of losing her nerve.

She had no idea what she would say, what she hoped to accomplish - she knew only here was a chance to say something to his Majesty. Quickly making her way through the halls, stopping only once to ask a guard the location of the King's Gardens, she had only a moment to think that perhaps she should have cleaned herself up before suddenly King Shahjahan was in front of her.

Her sister really was a great fool.

King Shahjahan was handsome - not too short, not too tall, eyes and hair dark, beard close-cropped, and he always seemed to be smiling or ready to summon a smile. The few times she had seen him from a distance, or at the far end of the table during the evening dinners, he had a deep and pleasant voice, conversed easily with everyone - and the two men of his harem obviously adored him.

She could not understand why her sister had not thought this man good enough, but had instead chosen another. What man could compare to the King of Tavamara, who was young but already so respected and adored.

Reaching him, hating the way the laughter he'd been sharing with his concubines faded beneath a puzzled frown, she knelt and folded over in a deep bow, cringing at the sight of the dust still clinging to her blue and green robes. Well, there was nothing for it. Best to move forward.

"Rise, please," Shahjahan said.

Standing, Fahima used the movement to discreetly twitch her skirts so they fell properly.

Normally she cared minimally for her appearance - only insofar as she must represent her family and station properly. Now, however, she wished she had something. A frivolous thought, and one that annoyed her. She dismissed it.

Keeping her head lowered, she spoke, "Your Majesty, I beg your forgiveness. My sister has not been feeling well, and would hate to humiliate herself and upset your beautiful gardens with her illness. By your leave, she begs that the viewing be postponed for a day or two. She deeply regrets not being immediately able to view the famous gardens about which we have heard so much." She looked up, meeting his eyes, willing him to somehow understand there was more to her words than it seemed.

His brow furrowed briefly, then cleared just as suddenly.

Fahima lowered her eyes again.

"You have been visiting our holy temple," Shahjahan said, breaking the silence.

"Yes, Majesty," Fahima replied. "It is quite beautiful, and so well cared for."

"My mother never held much interest in the temples, but my grandmother was a fervent patron. She used to wear the very robes you do now."

Fahima fought a flush, and wondered if that was an idle observation or a compliment. "I can only dream of contributing as did that late great Queen."

"She was remarkable," Shahjahan agreed. "The stories she told of my father made that quite clear." He laughed briefly, as did the beautiful, long-haired concubine beside him.

Curiosity brought her gaze up briefly before she regained control of herself, but it was hard.

As the sister of the King's potential bride, she was treated cordially and kindly, and ever drawn into conversation - but the focus of the meals was her sister, and to a lesser degree her parents. A younger sister whose aspiration to join a temple someday was known, was not of much interest.

So this was her first chance at seeing Shahjahan and his concubines so closely, and without a crowd of people - only guards.

"It is of course a pleasure to properly meet the sister of my potential bride to be," Shahjahan said. "You are enjoying your stay?"

"Yes, Majesty. Your palace is beautiful, and the public gardens a wonder. My own efforts at the temple back home pale by comparison, I'm afraid."

Shahjahan grinned, and Fahima could not help smiling back - it made him so much less a King, almost more a boy. "My mother was quite fond of the gardens. My father despaired that his son would take up such an interest, but take it up I did. They are my guilty indulgence, my gardens." He reached out briefly and touched the cheek of the long-haired man next to him, smiling at the second concubine standing nearby. He turned back to her, and smiled faintly when he caught her eye.

Fahima swore to herself for being caught staring - but who could not stare? King Shahjahan was worth many stares, and beside these handsome men he looked finer still.

"Let me introduce you properly," Shahjahan said. He touched the long-haired man on the shoulder. "This is Nandakumar. The other is Beynum. Nanda has noticed your favor the paler, bitter wines - his own favorite If you have not ever sampled Morning Tide, he recommends to you, my Lady."

"Oh," Fahima said, startled, glancing at Nandakumar, who merely bowed his head low.

"Thank you very much. I have not tried it; I will make a point to do so."

Shahjahan smiled and motioned to a guard. "I thank you, Lady Fahima, for bringing your sister's apology. Of course we will wait until she is well again. I hope she feels better by morning, and that you both have a pleasant evening. Please allow me to provide you with an escort. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Fahima murmured, and obediently let the guard escort her back to her room.

Never in her life had she felt true jealousy - frustration, perhaps, and bitterness. These were things that had eased over the years, as she slowly took more control of her own life and realized that what her sister had she did not really want.

She found she did not like the taste of jealousy at all. It sat heavy in her throat, cold and sour, and not even her usual tricks could dislodge it. Why, she thought uselessly, stupidly, could she not be the one invited to view the King's garden?

It was a question for which she did not feel like dredging up the answers. She was what she was, and what she was not was her sister - a fact for which she was nearly always grateful.

Sighing, she pulled her head scarf off completely once within the family suite, pulling out the pins to let her hair tumble free.

Gulzar would be setting out her evening garb, and dinner was not for two hours yet - there was time to rest, to distract herself from petty wishes and stupid questions. She hoped that look Shahjahan had given her meant he'd understood there was more she wanted to say.

When she would say it, as well as how - and even what - were questions that still remained unanswered. She'd done something, however, and that a good start.

Reaching her room, she gladly accepted the kiss of welcome Gulzar gave her, then rested her head on her maid's shoulder, breathing in the scent of flowers and soap which clung to her skin.

"You worry too much," Gulzar said gently. "I can see and feel that you are worrying yourself to death."

Fahima pulled away and began to strip, tossing her robes into the basket meant for dirty clothes and piling her hair loosely atop her head. Stepping into the deep cooper bath basin beside the fireplace, she sank into the hot water with a deep sigh. "If I do not worry myself to death, my family will definitely perish. If I continue to worry, perhaps some other solution can be found."

Gulzar tsked softly, but did not argue, merely set to helping her get ready for dinner.

If Nawra did everything as well as she faked sick, there would be no problems whatsoever.

Fahima resisted an urge to pitch something heavy at her head, though she could not resist thinking that perhaps a hard knock to the head would do her sister wonders.

Ah, well.

She followed quietly behind her parents, moving through the motions as they greeted the others at the royal table and settled into their seats. Around her the idle chatter flowed, but Fahima did not indulge in more than an occasional sentence here or there - the topics of the women did not appeal, and if she tried to enter into the discussions of the men, her father would see her severely disciplined upon returning to their suite.

The wine she drank as they worked through the first course suited her mood perfectly, and Fahima carefully did not stare too long at the King - or anyone else, really, beyond what was required to be polite.

"What do you think, Lady Fahima?"

She looked up, startled to hear her name - more startled still that it was the King who had spoken it. "Majesty?"

"We have been discussing an interesting puzzle," Shahjahan says. "The matter of a thief, to be specific. A citizen of Rittu was caught thieving from a Tavamaran ship." He shared a look of amusement with the Rittu ambassador, who merely rolled his eyes and sipped his wine.

"The debate currently is whether he should be handed over to Rittu or Tavamara for punishment."

Fahima set her wine dish down, and carefully did not glance at her parents, who would likely be giving her warning looks. The King himself had asked her thoughts, did that not mean she should give them? "Was it a privately owned or guild ship, Majesty?"

"Privately owned," Shahjahan replied.

"The goods purchased?"

"Rittu in origin," the ambassador replied.

Fahima frowned in thought. "Where was the ship when the thief was caught?"

Shahjahan smiled, and Fahima wondered what she had missed that around her the table suddenly buzzed with murmurs of conversation. Had she said something wrong? Well, it could not be unsaid. "The ship was at sea when the thief was caught. Apparently one of the passengers had been bribing a couple of the sailors and was discreetly carrying smaller goods back to his cabin, to later sell them here."

"Skipping the tariffs and taxes placed upon import goods," Fahima murmured thoughtfully.

"Where at sea, then, was the thief apprehended?"

This time Shahjahan laughed softly, and she thought it almost sounded pleased or approving. Nearby, the ambassador looked lightly amused.

"The Dark Sea," Shahjahan replied.

She frowned in thought, going over what had sprung immediately to mind to make certain she was overlooking nothing. "Then it seems to me he is subject to the laws of neither country, Majesty," she finally said. "The Dark Sea is international waters; no one country holds sway there, and the treaty of trade and travel says that in international waters ship law holds sway first and foremost, unless the vessel in question is martial or royal in nature. As it was a privately owned merchant vessel, the thief is subject to punishment at the discretion of the Captain." She bowed her head low. "Or so is my feeble opinion."