Kismet's Kiss: A Fantasy Romance (Alaia Chronicles) (18 page)

“I suppose not,” Varene said with mock seriousness. “You can have any kind you like.” She smiled at Sulya, but the sultana’s pinched gaze clung to her son.

Varene looked down at him. “What kind of dreams would you prefer?”

Tahir’s eyes rolled skyward in thought. “Fighting dreams.”

She pursed her lips and nodded. “With armies, and such.”

“Yes. I’ll ride a stallion across the plains, leading the warriors of Kad into battle…” He looked up at her as if seeking approval.

Battle.
Someday, this son of Kuramos might even lead his warriors against her own Teganne.

But that was for the future and for Mother Fate to decide. “Then fighting dreams are what you shall have. If this would please your mother, as well.”

Sulya’s gaze flicked to meet hers, almost devoid of expression. Beneath it, Varene read layers of agonized control. “Yes,” Sulya said. “That would please me. Fight well, my leopard.”

Tahir grasped the bowl in two weak, small hands and drained the rest. Then he lay back against his pillows as if resolute to stride into combat.

Varene eased the extra pillows out from under him so that he lay flat once more. “What color will your fydd be?”

“Golden, like the sun. Like Naaz.”

A noise at the doorway made Varene swivel.

Tahir’s father stood at the threshold. He gazed down upon his youngest with his noble heart and all his love in his eyes. “I will buy that stallion for you, little lion. I will find the fastest stallion in all the lands for you, and you will ride him under Naaz’s glory.”

A smile grew on the boy’s tiny mouth. “Then I’m ready, Father.” He closed his eyes.

When Varene saw the look of hope and fear Kuramos shared with his wife, she felt like an intruder in their intimacy. A stab of astonishing jealousy shook her.

As the sultan strode to the foot of the bed, Varene bit her lip and forced herself to focus. This would be no ordinary sleep she’d create for Tahir, but a trance infused with the power of her calling and the strength of her kyrra. His life depended on it—and clearly, so did the lives of his parents.

She touched the boy’s temples. “Think about that stallion of yours, Prince Tahir. What he feels like as you ride him across Kad, thundering faster and faster…”

She called to the power within her and encircled Tahir’s consciousness, walling it off from the outside world, cushioning it with clouds of sleep and rest. Into that cushion she sent her healing, all her wishes for the boy’s recovery, all the dreams of a long, full life ahead of him, one of discoveries, and joys, and sweet, true love. Part of her mind remained present to the rhythm of his lungs and his heart, and another soared around him, wrapping him close with her kyrra.

When his breath finally slowed into slumber, Varene released the sigh coiled deep in her gut. She opened her eyes and they lit upon Kuramos, who was looking back at her.

“Thank you.” His pensive gaze renewed the hum deep in her soul.

Behind her, Sulya pushed herself off the wall. The bells at her ankles jangled a warning.

Varene turned away and picked up the empty bowl from the nightstand. “You’re welcome. He should sleep through the night, perhaps until midday or so tomorrow. I must go to the other patients now.” She motioned for Sohad and Priya to follow her out the open door.

Behind her, Sulya’s cacophony of bells sped toward Varene. The Healer spun around, preparing for fight or flight—but when she raised her wrist in uncertain defense, Sulya only slid a hand around it and gave it a gentle squeeze. No words left the mother’s mouth, but gratitude—and worry—suffused her exquisite face.

S
oon Varene had spooned the decoction into each waiting mouth. In total, sixteen Kaddites had contracted the illness; ten remained, all of them depending on her skills.

Varene would be sorely pressed if many more fell ill, since there wasn’t much of the herbal treatment left. She and Sohad chilled the rest for storage, but the power of the simmered sugarwort would fade. Even so, she doubted others would sicken. No one else had fallen ill since she’d arrived, and she felt more certain that the illness, though perilous, did not spread from person to person. She still needed to discover how it did spread, but her patients would be the best resource for those answers, and they were all now deep in their healing trances.

She walked toward her quarters alone.

Had it really been just half a day since she’d arrived? Ludicrous. She’d experienced the crazy rise and fall of so many emotions—indignation and anger, empathy and grief, terror and hope—and beneath it all, a searing lust for a man six times off-limits. No—seven. She touched the scuffed ring on her littlest finger.

Priya had volunteered to keep watch over the patients through the night, promising to wake Varene with any news. Given the day they’d all had, the handmaiden had already outdone herself. On Varene’s elegant bureau lay an ebony-handled hairbrush, the extra gown and shift Varene had brought in her travel sack, a tooth stick, a cleansing cloth and luxurious towel, and a bar of soap that scented the air with jasmine. The heavenly aroma reminded her of the patio off her quarters, so she pattered there.

A delicious quiet filled the courtyard. She imagined the birds tucked in their nests, geckoes clinging silently to branches. All that remained was the song of a few crickets, up much later than their brethren. A crescent moon rode the night high above, escorted by a league of stars.

She wondered what the night would bring; whether life or death awaited the ailing, and what changes she might have wrought in their fates with her herbs and her magic.

“Psst. Healer,” came a whisper.

“Gunjan?” she responded doubtfully, and looked up at the roof. It didn’t sound like the bird.

Someone to the whisperer’s right gave an exasperated sigh. “Didn’t I tell you to stay quiet?” She recognized that papery voice as Gunjan’s.

“Oh, shut up. I have to get in somehow.” A male shadow dropped from the roof to the ground, then stood tall, backlit by the moon.

“Who are you?” Varene asked, narrowing her eyes and mentally measuring the distance to the door of her quarters.

The figure moved two steps closer and the starlight illuminated a wide grin, but not much else. “Prince Burhan of Kad at your service, Royal Healer.”

“Oh!” She gave a surprised curtsey, still trying to catch a better glimpse of him. “Then you’re Sultan Kuramos’s son?”

“By his Fifth Wife, the sultana Taleen.”

“I see. Well, no, I don’t, actually. It’s a little dark out here. Would you mind coming inside to the torchlight?”

“I’d hoped you’d ask.”

“Well, fine,” called the jencel from his perch on the roof. “Just abandon your friends to their loneliness…”

She shot his silhouette a droll look. “Would you like to come in, too?”

“Why yes, I would. Thanks.” He winged in and landed neatly on the back of the divan.

Varene stepped into the room and took a good look at Burhan. Lankier than he’d first appeared in the dark, he seemed younger, too—Varene guessed he was only fourteen or fifteen, though his tall body seemed to have won a growth spurt. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood with aplomb, shoulders squared. He’d be handsome when he grew up, with dark hair and intriguing copper eyes, much like his ailing mother. “May I ask, Your Highness, what you were doing on the roof outside my quarters?”

“Hiding.” His grin re-emerged.

“From…?”

“The Great Sultan of Kad, True Descendent of Naaz, Idu, and Kismet, Heir to the Sacred Dagger of Ayaaz and wielder of the Royal Scimitar.”

“From your father, eh?”
I’ve been doing that, myself.
“Why?”

“I’m not supposed to be in the palace. But I had to come to you.”

She raised a brow.

“My mother.” His eyes revealed his worry. “How is she?”

“Sleeping.” She no longer felt safe mentioning her magic to those who didn’t already know. “I’ve given her a remedy that may help, but we’ll know more tomorrow when she wakes.”

“So there is some hope for her?”

“I believe so.”

“And the other sultanas, as well?”

“The same.”

His gaze dropped to the rug and a deep sigh poured from him. “I couldn’t stand not knowing. The messengers said nothing had changed, but…”

“Messengers? Where were you?”

“One of our townhouses in the city. I was to stay there until everyone was well again.”

“But you couldn’t wait?”

He shrugged. “Would you, if your mother were ill?”

She smiled at him. “I suppose not. You’re a good son, then—if perhaps an impetuous one.”

“Yes, Father will kill me when he finds out,” Burhan said cheerfully.

Gunjan harrumphed. “I was trying to teach His Highness how to hide. The finer points still need a bit of work.”

She swiveled to the jencel. “And why were
you
out there? Last we spoke, you were off to Teganne.”

“The sultan needed my help with your rescue.” He puffed out his chest. “I led him right to you,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper.

“Ah. Well, thank you, then. I doubt I’d still be alive if the sultan hadn’t arrived when he did.”

“You’re quite welcome. I’m happy to be of service,” he added loftily. “Anyway, I saw that you got that sugarwort you wanted.”

“I did. So why didn’t you join us after the rescue?”

“Perhaps you failed to notice that
flaming arrow
someone shot into your robe? I prefer my wings uncrisped. Since I couldn’t be sure other idiots weren’t going to follow his example, I flew as high as I could until you returned to the palace. At which point I spotted the prince going where he was not supposed to go.” He sniffed.

Varene eyed Burhan. “You snuck into the palace without anyone noticing?” She frowned and shuddered. “Doesn’t sound like this place is all that secure.”

“Oh, it is. The guards know me well, of course, and let me in. I didn’t start sneaking until I was inside. Didn’t want my father spotting me until I knew how my mother was.” He grinned again. “But I always miss the exciting things. I heard the mob and tried to see what was going on, but once the guards left the palace, I decided I’d better make myself scarce.”

“The riot wasn’t a great deal of fun, Your Highness.”

“I suppose not, from the looks of your gown.”

Varene glanced down at the soot and dust hemming her dress. “
Definitely
not. Thank Fate your father came to our rescue.”

“He’s amazing, isn’t he?” Pride reverberated in Burhan’s voice. “Gunjan told me what happened. It must have been quite a sight, him speeding through the market toward you, scimitar blazing in the sun, rioters scattering before his wrath…”

“It was, indeed.” His words recalled the intensity of the sultan’s green eyes, desperate and mesmerizing, as he raced down the aisle towards her. She cleared her throat. “So you’re in the palace now. What are your plans?”

“To sleep in my own bed and pretend I was always supposed to be here.”

“And when your father sees you tomorrow?”

“I was hoping that with all the commotion he might, er, forget he’d told me to stay away.”

“He doesn’t seem that type to me.”

“True,” Gunjan interjected. “But perhaps he’ll forgive?” he added with a wistful air.

Varene’s mouth twitched. “I doubt that’s his strong suit, either.”

“I should go, my lady.” Burhan tilted his head. “I thank you for the hope that my mother may recover.”

“I can’t promise it…but I wish it, too. When she wakes, I’ll send word.”

“My thanks, Royal Healer.” He turned toward the door to the hallway.

She laughed. “What, you’re not going to climb over the roof to your quarters?”

He flashed her a cheeky grin and sauntered out.

Varene stared after him. “That boy must be quite a handful.”

“Do you really think the sultan is unlikely to forgive me?” Gunjan asked in a fretful voice.

“You?” She pivoted toward the jencel. “We were talking about him forgiving the prince.”

He lifted a bronze talon and scratched vigorously behind his ear. “Well, since I still haven’t returned to my Cage…”