Sandstorm (59 page)

Gulzar was giving her a worried like, and the unbroken silence between them expressed more than words could just how deep Gulzar's worry ran. Fahima squeezed her hand, kissed her cheek, and fetched the little packet that held the copper charm she'd bought - but more than that, she simply could not muster the energy or caring to let Gulzar know everything was fine.

Departing before her maid could speak, Fahima dredged up a smile and followed her family to the banquet hall. As they reached the King's table, everyone there greeted her - by name.

Fahima nearly stumbled to a halt from sheer surprise, even as training kicked in to reply to each greeting.

Only yesterday they had greeted her as part of the family - now by name?

She glanced at Shahjahan, who smiled warmly, or seemed to, but she had not forgotten that terrible coldness, the way he had so calmly agreed to exchange one sister for another.

Bowing her head, she murmured a warm greeting suitable for a woman secretly smitten with her sister's beau, and took her seat on a plush cushion of deep plum silk. Everyone settled in place, appetizers set out, the guests all began to reach for their wines of choice.

Fahima reached for a carafe of Sea Rose - then paused.

Each night her wine dishes were different; some made of china, others of translucent glass in a rainbow of colors...but none of them had been like these, and a discreet look about the table showed that no one else seemed to posses any like them.

Carefully she picked one up, admiring it. Clear glass, and captured within were pale pink flower petals. The other stacked dishes each held a different colored petal, and two even held entire flowers.

Pretty. She smiled briefly at them, and filled the pink-blossom dish with the Sea Rose wine.

Sipping at it, she conversed politely with the people on either side of her, others who joined in, until she realized at least half the table was conversing avidly with her.

It was unnerving - she'd never drawn so much attention at once.

Warm laughter captured her attention, and she turned to face Shahjahan, and the open friendliness in his face made her want to cry again - because he didn't mean it. That look should belong to her sister, even if the twit no longer had any right to it. "You are as clever as always, Lady Fahima. Perhaps I should find a place for you on my council. I think you would force them to work much harder." He winked, then turned briefly away to accept the wine Beynum held up for him.

Fahima forced herself to keep smiling, and poured more wine before resuming the argument on translations. Flirting. Shahjahan had been flirting with her. Right? Or had he just been making a teasing comment? Had it been anything?

What did it really matter? He didn't mean any of it.

Oh, she really was lost in self-pity now wasn't she?

Honestly, she told herself sternly as she poured more wine - dark Winter Night, suitable to bridge the pause between the first and second course - she was going to be Queen, what did she really have to complain about?

Right this very moment she could be locked up and awaiting execution, if not already dead.

Instead she was going to be Queen. Did she really have the right to mope and sulk and pout because the King did not actually care about her? So what, nobles did not marry for love or even affection.

Reprimand delivered, she turned stubbornly to her own task of ensuring that all thought she was rather too interested in the King meant for her sister - and Nawra, thankfully, was playing her own role of not caring one bit what her sister did.

Fahima wished miserably that she was not the only one in this farce acting honestly, because the hard truth was that she was enamored of her sister's King, though she could say when she had first felt so or even exactly why. Too many things came disconcertingly to mind, not least of all that he would go to these measures when executing them would have been more beneficial.

It didn't matter, she reminded herself. It was what it was, and could not be changed. What could not be changed must be endured. Her life would be a grand one, and she would after a fashion have Shahjahan.

The reassurances fell flat, and she poured more wine to chase one bitterness away with another.

When the dinner at last concluded, she could not bear the thought of going back to her rooms to wallow in self-pity. She was stronger than this, she would overcome it. Begging a need to clear her head after too much wine, she returned to her room only to fetch a wrap, then departed for the public gardens.

She wandered for a time admiring the flowers, which always looked so different in moonlight, envying a few blossoms she would not mind seeing in her own garden. Never to happen now...but she was going to be Queen, and the Queen had or could have private gardens. So, really, all these blooms would be hers if she so desired.

Abandoning the flowers, she moved to the center of the garden - a circle of soft grass, at the very center a fountain displaying children playing, their pails and baskets spilling water into the pool. All around it were curved stone benches. Sitting down on one, she pulled her wrap more tightly around her to ward off the chilly night air.

So focus only on the good. That was the smart and proper thing to do. At the end of the day, the reasons did not matter except insofar as the great problem of her sister being pregnant had been overcome. Though she had not intended to become Queen in her sister's place, it was certainly not a bad thing to be - and anything was better than execution.

When she actually thought about it, she was astonished her parents had not come up with the idea of making Fahima seduce the King in hopes he would choose her over Nawra.

Then again, perhaps they'd known how utterly stupid an idea that was -- Nawra was a beauty, and much more socially accomplished. She knew the proper topics, instead of speaking only of tariffs and translations, foreign cultures and dusty history.

Making a face at herself, Fahima tried to turn her thoughts away from self-pity. Honestly, it was not like her to sulk so.

The sound of feet on the grass drew her head up, and she stood up in fear before she realized who had joined her. "Lord Nandakumar." A guard stood nearby, just outside the circle of grass, but she only distantly noted him - guards followed the concubines everywhere, both protecting and watching.

"Lady Fahima," Nandakumar greeted. "My King bid me bring you a gift."

Fahima frowned. "A gift? That is..." Awfully and strangely bold. "...Generous of him."

Nandakumar smiled and sat down on the bench, too far away for them to touch, but close enough to easily talk. He held out a neatly folded bundle of silk - a head scarf, Fahima realized. She could not determine the colors in the moonlight, but could see it was a beautiful moon and star design.

There was also something within the folds.

"A gift for his intended bride?" she asked quietly.

"Of course," Nandakumar said.

Ah. Now she saw. Somehow, someway, all would know of this little meeting and rumors would fly the King was definitely courting the younger rather than the older sister. Neatly played.

She set the folded scarf down upon the bench, not bothering to unwrap it to see what was inside. "I could not in good conscious accept something that was no doubt intended for my sister." She pulled her wrap up, and stood. "Tell his Majesty that of course I am most humbled, but I could not accept such a gift. Good night, Lord Nandakumar."

"You are his intended bride," Nandakumar said quietly. "Therefore, the gift was bought for you and no other. Lady Nawra has nothing to do with this."

"Under the circumstances," Fahima said just as softly, but curtly. "I cannot see him giving a mere substitute anything. We play our parts in public, I will not endure this farce in private as well."

She walked briskly away, ignoring Nandakumar when she thought he called out, striding back into the palace and to her room.

Gulzar sat by the fire, quietly mending a shawl. She set it aside as Fahima sat down beside her.

"Am I a fool?" Fahima asked softly, resting her head on Gulzar's shoulder.

"I think there are many fools involved in this drama," Gulzar replied, stroking her hair gently, kissing her brow. "If you are one of them, it is only the best sort of fool - a fool in love."

Fahima sighed. "That seems the worst sort of fool to me."

Gulzar laughed softly. "I suppose it must, at that. Certainly, my lady, I was quite miserable when I mooned over you."

That drew a laugh, and Fahima sat up enough to give Gulzar a lingering kiss. "I seem to recall sneaking several longing glances of my own, pretty maid mine."

"Yet here we are," Gulzar said. "If you can entrance a cynical street rat, my Lady, I do not see how you could fail to enthrall a King."

Fahima shrugged. "I was forced upon him, Gulzar. What person likes to have a life forced upon them?"

Gulzar clucked and flicked her on the nose. "Now, my lady. Often that is the case, but often one must be knocked upside the head before one realizes what should have been obvious.

Your sister, for instance, would benefit from a sound beating. Perhaps things are not as dire as they seem, and certainly I think being Queen is better a life for you than a mere priestess.

Certainly you have always been the real ruler of your parents' home."

"That is different than being Queen," Fahima replied.

"Only a grander scale, my Lady." Gulzar smiled. "You will see, and if all else fails I will knock some sense into that King myself."

Fahima chuckled at the thought. "I believe you would, Gulzar." She tucked back a strand of hair, suddenly feeling a bit hesitant though she knew that was silly. "Does that mean you will stay with me?"

Gulzar grinned and flicked her upon the nose again. "As though you had to ask. Can you imagine the cooks face, when she learns I am to be concubine to the Queen of Tavamara?

She will spit flames for a year!"

"That would be a sight to see," Fahima said, smiling.

Tucking her mending away in a basket, Gulzar stood and pulled Fahima to her feet. "Come, my Lady. You need rest, and to be reminded that you are worth loving. I love you, and I'm certain the King will too. He is acclaimed a smart man, after all."

Fahima did not share Gulzar's confidence, but it was warming to know someone cared for her, and she went willingly to bed and allowed Gulzar to do whatever she pleased, content to be loved.

*~*~*

She stopped with her teacup halfway to her mouth when the knock at the door came, and set it back down when it opened to admit a royal guard. Her breakfast lost what little appeal it had as the guard intoned that the King would like to speak with the Lord and Lady.

Her parents shot her a suspicious look, for they'd been able to glean nothing from either of their daughters about the rumors of the past few days.

Fahima sat in a tense, miserable silence. This was it, very likely. The period of 'consideration'

was over; Shahjahan would say he preferred Fahima to Nawra. She wondered if her parents would be angry - but could not see why they would be. This would solve all their problems, and to best of their knowledge with neither her nor the King knowing the deception they had been attempting.

Picking up her teacup, she attempted a sip - but it tasted like ashes on her tongue, and she set the cup down again, folding her hands in her lap and worrying her lip. What would she do if her parents said no?

What would she do if they said yes? Could she be a Queen? She didn't have a choice, but it was an intimidating prospect no matter what Gulzar said. Being Queen was so far from being a priestess, especially when her husband did not even-She picked her tea up again and was surprised to find it cold. Had she been brooding for so long?

A knock at the door startled her, and she nearly dropped the cup. Setting it down, she allowed one of the maid's to open the door. The same guard as before stepped inside. "Lady Fahima, his Majesty would like to see you."

"Of course," Fahima said, hoping she did not sound as nervous as she felt. Smoothing her skirts as she stood, she tucked back a stray curl and stepped into her slippers. Nodding that she was ready, she followed the guard through the halls. It was early enough that few people were out, and those who were stared unabashedly until Fahima stared back, at which point they subsided into a guilty silence.

When at last they reached the small meeting room, Fahima was ready to turn and run. It was not an option, sadly, and so she nodded in thanks to the guard and stepped inside.

"Majesty."

She looked briefly at her parents, who had the familiar closed expressions that said they wanted to be angry but knew very well they could not. Likely she would catch some sort of grief later, anyway, for they did not know all she knew and had done - but she found she did not care.

All she cared about was the man sitting on the raised dais, face implacable as he regarded her. "Lady Fahima..." Shahjahan broke off, shaking his head. He looked around the room at the guards, her parents. "I would like to speak to the Lady alone." He gestured sharply when protests were immediately launched. "You are dismissed."

His tone brooked no argument, and in second the room was empty save the two of them.

Improper, for she did not yet wear a wedding ring - but he was marrying her, and he was King. That granted some leniency.

"My Lady..." Shah sighed softly and stood and descended the dais, extending his hand as he reached her.

Fahima frowned, but slowly placed her hand in his. It was warm, and rougher than she thought a King's hand would be.

"My Lady," Shah said again, "I am afraid you leave me rather at a loss. From the very first, I have managed this affair quite poorly. The manner in which we spoke to you that night was unfair, for though your family is guilty of much you are guilty of nothing. Certainly Nandakumar was in a similar situation - that you two have so much in common is startling."

He shook his head. "My point is that it was unfair to place the burden of reparation for those wrongs upon you." His grip on her hand tightened, and the startling focus of his eyes as he looked at her made it hard to breathe. "Though I have told your parents that I favor you far and above your sister, and would take you to wife - it is not right to force you into something you do not want. I know you wanted to become a priestess, and if that is your true aspiration I will see it becomes a reality."