Sandstorm (7 page)

"I didn't think I'd be stopping long enough to enjoy anything more than the food, beloved wife, else I would have bathed first."

Rafiqa sniffed and shoved him toward the bath, fingers combing through his thick hair for a moment once she was settled in. "You need a real wife," she said. "Not a farce."

"I am happiest on my own," Sahayl said, not bothering to open his eyes as he replied. He heard her sigh softly before she moved away and began to rifle through trunks of clothes, pulling out thing for him to wear and laying them out on his bed. "Truly. My only regret is that you must waste so much time with me when you should be with Wafai."

"My life is hardly one to regret, honored husband," Rafiqa said with dry amusement. "I think I shall endure being your Amira until I am free to marry the man of my heart. That you would permit such a thing is a great blessing."

Sahayl waved her words away. "Saa, I want everyone to be happy."

"What would make you happy, honored husband?" Rafiqa asked softly, coming back to the tub and once more stroking his hair, urging him to sit up that so she could scrub his shoulders and back, wash his hair with a soap that smelled faintly of cloves.

"Peace and quiet," Sahayl said. "Which just goes to show how much sand has gotten into my head, that I think such a thing is possible." With a sigh he climbed from the tub and shrugged into the loose robe she had laid out, belting it with a black and silver sash. Instead of his bed, he fell into a long seat, reclining against the curving back. "What news have you to tell me of the other camps?"

Rafiqa fetched a comb from a small chest and began the laborious task of unknotting his thick curls, ignoring his question in favor of humming a slow, soft tune. She pressed a finger to her lips when Wafai returned several minutes later, his own hair still damp from a bath, and motioned to Sahayl, who had fallen asleep. She motioned him to the table, where they quietly ate the sweets that had been brought for the Amir to enjoy after his bath, talking quietly and enjoying the little time they had together, all the while watching over their Sandstorm Amir.

Five

"Ah, Ikram. I hope you come with good news."

"Majesty," Ikram said dryly, "if my job included giving you good news, someone else might actually want it, which would allow me to retire."

The King chuckled. "We certainly cannot have that. I would be lost without you, Ikram." He flicked his fingers, dismissing the servants and guards in the room. In seconds, no one remained in the courtroom save Ikram, the King and a man sitting motionlessly on a pillow beside the throne. "Give me the bad news then."

Ikram sighed. "My reports are that things progress, but not quickly. Shihab," he could not help the way his voice tightened as he said the name. "Shihab works diligently. To date he remains free. A few more months, he says, and he will return highly successful. But, of course, the danger grows."

"Well that is not bad news, per se, though of course I wish Shihab was already home," the King said. His eyes were darker than was usual, and he reached out to sink one hand into the hair of the man beside him, as if seeking comfort. "I did not want to send him out there."

The man on the pillow gave a soft, indelicate snort.

Ikram could not help a chuckle. "You are right of course," he said to the man on the pillow.

"He would have gone anyway. The father leaves the desert and of course his son runs straight back to it…." He shook his head.

The King laughed. "Some days, Ikram, it is hard to tell you did not sire him. If I did not know better, it would be hard to tell - skin or no. Certainly he gets his stubbornness from you."

Ikram rolled his eyes. "Stubbornness is required when dealing with Kings who are fond of stirring up as much trouble as can be fit into a day. It is only natural he would acquire that trait. But if he got his stubbornness from me, Majesty, he got his penchant for mischief from trailing after a certain troublesome prince."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," the King said lazily. "All my time was spent studying."

"Yes," Ikram responded dryly, "but one wonders what you were studying."

The King threw his head back and laughed, and even the quiet man beside him could not resist chuckling. "All the right things, obviously."

"Indeed," Ikram said. He sobered suddenly. "I hope what has worked for you works for my son."

The King's face tightened. "I regard Shihab as dearly as my own children, Ikram. If there had been anyone else to send…"

"I know, Majesty," Ikram said quietly. "As previously stated, he would have gone anyway.

Shihab knows better than to die on me. I will have to trust that the Lady knows better than to let him die."

"Even I will not cross you, Ikram. I doubt your Lady will." The King motioned. "What else have you to tell me? Have we narrowed our enemy to one country? Gollen? Lavarre?" His voice hardened. "Hadge?"

Ikram frowned. "Hadge is definitely on the move. Their Ambassador…I would sooner trust a Scorpion." He did not need to explain that it was not the insect to which he referred. He waved impatiently in the air. "I would not discount Lavarre, but in my opinion Hadge is our primary threat. They have not liked us since you forced negotiations…and keeping one of their finest commanders did not help matters. It is simply that we lack proof." He eyed the King pensively. "Even your witch can discern nothing in their actions."

The King's mouth tightened. He stroked his close-cropped beard in thought, his other hand unconsciously tightening in the hair of the man sitting on the floor beside him. In response, the man gently tugged the hand from his hair and kissed the palm. "Majesty," he said softly,

"all will be well. You will make it so."

At his words, the lines of frustration on the King's face eased slightly. "I hope you are right,"

he said softly. Gently he cupped the man's chin, stroking the soft skin of his face, smiling faintly.

Ikram regarded them with fond amusement. "In regards to your plan to drive the traitors to sloppiness with anger…"

The King sighed and shook his head, faintly amused. "Do I even want to know what he did?"

"I'm sure I couldn't say, Majesty. What your men discuss amongst themselves is none of my business. But it is my humble opinion that your Majesty might want to curb the antics of certain members of your harem, and perhaps enjoy a quiet meal tonight so that certain members of the council will simmer down to plotting and not boil over to mindless slaughter."

Quirking a brow, the King cast a brief look at the man beside him. "Members? As in more than one? I distinctly remember telling only one of them to go about discreetly aggravating certain members of the council."

The man beside him rolled his eyes. "Yes, but recall who you set to curb his behavior."

"Ah," the King said, shaking his head ruefully. "Whatever was I thinking to put those two together? Why did you let me?"

Lips curved in a whisper soft smile. "I suppose we were distracted."

Ikram coughed to smother a laugh. "Majesty?"

The King laughed. "Yes, yes. I will keep them from doing further damage today. I still think it the best plan. Between you, I and those two, someone will get angry enough to make a mistake and then we will have our traitors. It is not a great plan…" he sighed, "but until we can come up with a better one, I see no other recourse."

"Unfortunately, I do not see one either," Ikram said, voice thick with frustration. "We can find nothing! No indication of anything save that at least one country in the west moves against the desert. " He rubbed his eyes and forehead tiredly. "I still cannot believe Ghost has ignored my every letter. I do not understand it!" His shoulders sagged, and suddenly Ikram looked every bit of his fifty-four years. "And the one man who can get some answers for us may die doing it, and that man is my son." He drew a ragged breath. "Lady will that all goes well. If your Majesty will pardon me, now that I've given my report there are other duties requiring my attention."

"Of course. Thank you, Ikram," the King said softly, waving the man out. When a Guard looked inside in question, he flicked his fingers briefly in negation. The door shut, leaving him alone with the man beside him. "There are days I feel like the worst sort of criminal," he said tiredly. "What sort of man tortures his closest friend by sending his son right into the middle of danger? If Shihab dies, grief will kill Ikram and his wife."

"No one else can do what Shihab can. He volunteered." The man stood slowly, his movements graceful, elegant. As he rose to his full height, his hair straightened out, the end of it stopping just short of the floor. It was bound intermittently with thick gold bands, keeping the mass of hair neatly in place. Unlike the King, who was dressed in simple but elegant robes, he wore nothing more than soft black pants overlaid with a floor-length black skirt slit up the sides. His chest was narrow but well-toned, and he wore no adornment but cuffs at wrist and throat to match the bands in his hair. With utter casualness he moved to sit in the King's lap, twining his arms around the King's neck. "Doubts ill suit you, Majesty."

The King smiled faintly. "We are alone, Nanda."

Nanda's mouth curved in a whisper-soft smile. "Doubt ill suits you, Shah." He kissed Shah softly. "If you want to be driven crazy, then summon those two idiots trying to bring the palace crashing down. They excel at mayhem; there is no need for you to drive yourself mad."

Laughing, shaking with the force of it, Shah tugged Nanda closer for a deeper kiss. "As always, my Nanda, you know precisely what to say." He gently traced the fine line of Nanda's cheekbone with the tips of his fingers. "You have been here all morning, my beauty. Find Bey and Aik, tell them to come and attend me for the rest of the day. That should keep them out of trouble for a bit. Go find food, then enjoy a nap for me."

"I do not enjoy them unless you are with me," Nanda replied, and with a last kiss slid from Shah's lap. "Perhaps I'll coerce Kiah into dozing with me." He smiled faintly. "And we'll tell you all about it later."

"That would make good hearing," Shah murmured. He motioned toward the door. "Go before I decide I have the time for a nap of my own. Pass word that I'll be dining in private tonight."

"Yes, Majesty." Nanda bowed gracefully. "I will also send in food for you, so you can relax a bit before resuming court."

"Thank you, Nanda."

With another faint smile, Nanda gave another bow and then left the courtroom, the door closing on his soft words as he spoke to the guards.

"Nanda says we are in trouble."

Shah looked up from a report he'd been skimming, smiling at the men approaching him. "You and Bey need to be locked in my quarters, my monk." He tilted his head back as the man swooped down to kiss him. "I told you to restrain him, Aik."

Aik rolled his eyes and sat down on a pillow to the left of Shah's chair. Like Nanda, he was bare-chested, dressed in the pants and skirt outfit that immediately marked the members of the King's harem. His hair, shoulder-length and ink dark, was bound neatly in a tail at the nape of his neck, and he wore thick, heavy bands of gold at his wrists and throat, bringing out the gold in his dusky skin. "I did restrain him, that's the frightening part."

"I was afraid of that," Shah murmured as he tugged the second man close, kissing him deeply. "Perhaps I should set you, my beautiful witch, to watch them both."

"Witcher? Make us behave?" Aik threw his head back and laughed. "I would like to see that happen."

"Be quiet, monk," Witched said, making a face. He hummed as Shah's hands stroked softly across his unusually pale skin, sky blue eyes bright with pleasure. His hair was bright blonde, just long enough for fingers to sink into, grab hold of. Gold hoops gleamed at his nipples, the only decoration he wore. "If my King orders me to make you behave, I will do so."

Aik's dark eyes flashed with challenge and desire. "Shah, tell him to make me behave."

Shah chuckled and released Witcher. "Perhaps tonight, as Ikram has instructed I dine with my harem in private lest the council descend upon us in murderous rage. What did you let Bey do, my monk? And where is my pirate? I remember saying he was to be here for the afternoon."

"Your Queen stole him for the afternoon. They were bringing word to you when Nanda found us, and we said we would relay the message. As to what Bey did," Aik shrugged, "his mere presence in the palace, and in your bed, is enough to ensure the council acts like men driven mad by too much sun."

Witcher rolled his eyes from where he sat at Shah's right. "Aik, you and Kiah are the only two of whom they approve."

"Yes, but at least you and Nanda behave. More or less. Bey goes out of his way to keep them in that frenzy." Aik shook his head, laughing softly. "It doesn't help that now he is doing it on his King's orders."

Shah sighed, but it was obvious he was fighting a smile. "Perhaps our private meal tonight will wear the lot of you out enough I do not get more reports concerning your behavior." He motioned to the door. "I suppose I have put off work long enough. Witcher, let them know court will resume?"

"Of course, Shah," Witcher murmured, and crossed to the door to speak with the guard outside, then immediately returned to his place at Shah's side. A minute later the doors opened wide and slowly the room began to fill with people, most ordered to allotted seats along either side of the room, others made to form a line before the throne. One by one the supplicants approached, presenting problems or propositions, presenting sons, daughters, seeking permission for visitors, dozens upon dozens of matters there were for Shah to decide upon. Most issues were left to his council, but there were still many that he must handle personally. Throughout it all Aik and Witcher never moved. They sat patiently, tirelessly, lending quiet support and subtle weight to the King's authority.

The afternoon passed with relative quiet, few of the problems brought to him complicated or troublesome, and only one man having to be dragged away by the guards.

Shah forced himself to relax, hating to look anything other than completely at ease when he was anywhere but his private chambers. Court was exhausting, however, and the small midday meal sent to him did not last long. He wanted only to be where he could truly relax, away from the stress and the ever-present threats of treachery and assassination.