Sandstorm (35 page)

Jabbar threw his head back and laughed. "Yes, nephew."

Sahayl chuckled. "Saa, desert rose. You are surrounded by people who seem to enjoy tormenting you."

"I noticed," Isra said, grumbling into his wine before once more holding the dish up for Sahayl to drink.

Cordelia laughed, the sound bright and cheerful, not the grating, high-pitched sounds Isra remembered from his brief time of study in heathen lands. "You remind me of a member of King Shahjahan’s harem, Lord Isra."

"Beynum," Shihab said, laughing in delight, oblivious to the looks Isra shot him.

"Yes," Cordelia replied, laughing again. "The one they call the King’s Pirate."

Bahadur laughed. "Yes, there is a resemblance in the way they are ever causing trouble."

"You want trouble?" Isra challenged. "Just wait until later and I will show you trouble."

The table erupted in laughter, the normally taciturn Sheiks erupting into taunts and suggestive comments, jeering and teasing each other.

Isra almost stared, as it truly struck him what he was seeing.

Six Sheiks of the Desert acting as though they were friends.

When had the Sands last seen such a thing?

Isra shook his head as he poured more wine, and leaned in close as held the dish up to Sahayl’s lips.

"You’re taking the marriage awfully calmly," Shihab said, moving forward a green tile painted with dark clouds.

Isra slapped down an orange tile painted with red flames. "Shut up."

Shihab calmly laid down a blue tile painted with snowflakes.

Scowling, Isra considered his playing pieces, then moved a plain black tile and another orange with red flames.

"You’re hopeless at this," Shihab said with a tolerant sigh, moving three tiles and laying down a fourth, then picking up both of Isra’s orange tiles.

Isra gave him a nasty look and sat back, crossing his arms across his chest. "You cheat.

Why should I be upset about the marriage?"

"Not jealous?" Shihab said.

"By the Lady!" Isra said, dropping his arms to brace them on the table, leaning forward to loom over Shihab. "What do you really want to know? Of course I’m not jealous – any ridiculous notions I might have had about such things you took care of quite neatly, didn’t you, Shihab? Or did you drink enough wine that night you don’t recall it?"

Shihab licked his lips. "I recall it. We should try that with our fine companions."

"If Sahayl is ever set free," Isra groused, slumping back, leaning on the table with his chin propped in one hand, the other toying restlessly with a white tile he’d managed to take from Shihab early in the game. "Do you think the marriage will actually take place?"

"Hard to say," Shihab said thoughtfully. "It is hard to keep up with the political happenings and all when one is shadowing about the Desert…it could go either way." He gathered up the dozens of tiles stretched out across the taaki board and began to set them back up in the starting positions for a two person game, but paused briefly. "Are you certain you do not want to play, warhorse?"

Bahadur did not bother to stir from where he was stretched out on his back on the floor, looking for all the world as though he could not possibly be any more relaxed. Deceptive, because Isra knew the warhorse was still aggravated Sahayl had insisted he leave along with Isra and Shihab. "No, shadowfire. Thank you."

Shihab nodded and resumed resetting the pieces. "I hope all goes well, but Gollen has always been severe about such things. Princess Cordelia should already be married off; at her age she is considered nigh on unmarriageable. That she isn’t…" Shihab grinned.

"Obviously our Sandstorm attracts troublemakers."

"Wherever would you get that idea?" Bahadur asked, cracking one eye open to look at Shihab in amusement.

"A guess," Shihab said lightly, then grinned. He set the last few pieces in place. "Would you like to go first?"

Isra rolled his eyes and grumbled about cheaters, but moved forward a white tile painted with a bright yellow sun.

Snickering, Shihab made his own move.

"So what happens in Gollen refuses the marriage?" Isra asked.

"That is up to Sahayl, and of course Cordelia." Shihab frowned as Isra took one of his pieces, quickly moving two of his own. "Let us just hope all goes accordingly. Calculating the various paths of failure makes my head hurt."

Isra smirked. "It also keeps you from cheating at taaki." He claimed another of Shihab’s pieces.

Shihab rolled his eyes, then moved a plain blue tile forward, capturing three of Isra’s pieces.

"Cheater!" Isra howled, dropping the brown tile he’d been holding in disgust. "Why do I play this game with you?"

"That is a mystery only the Lady could ever answer," Shihab replied, snickering, rolling out of the way as Isra made a lunge for him.

Snarling, Isra picked himself up and again went after Shihab, this time catching him about the waist, twisting until he successfully had his friend pinned.

Only to be abruptly hauled back, letting out a startled yelp, blinking as he landed on what he realized a moment later was Bahadur – more precisely, Bahadur’s lap. "Desert rose,"

Bahadur said calmly. "Did you really need to step on me to get to the little shadowfire?"

"Step on you?" Isra asked, frowning, wincing as he realized that he had, in fact, stepped on Bahadur. He’d thought the ground felt strange… "I was on a mission, warhorse. ‘Kill the red-haired nonheathen’."

Bahadur gave an inelegant snort. "Yes, I’ve seen how well you ‘kill’ him, desert rose."

Isra struggled to think when he had started allowing three men to call him by such an absurd name. But fighting with Shihab always stirred him, and after a night of worrying over Sahayl, all of that built up on the problems surrounding Wasp…the looming marriage…letting himself get distracted by his current position was not hard to do. Bahadur was warm, arms a strong and solid weight around him, and he’d long been curious about the Jackal Shihab had brought with him from the far reaches of the Sands.

Twisting sharply, he wrapped his arms around Bahadur’s neck and drew the man close, kissing him hard, in no mood for slow and patient – humming in pleasure when after a moment of frozen shock Bahadur matched it full measure, those strong hands settling him so that Isra straddled Bahadur properly.

"So that’s how I keep Isra from killing me," Shihab said with a snicker.

Isra broke the kiss to glare briefly at Shihab. "I’ll kill you in a moment." He turned away while Shihab laughed to take a second taste of Bahadur, whose flavor was rough and spicy, but whose lips and touch were as gentle as they were fierce. A warhorse indeed, able to control the fire that made him so strong.

The sound of the door opening, followed by a cheerful greeting from Shihab, drove him to break the second kiss. He stood up as Sahayl drew close to them, moving immediately to kiss him, laughing softly into Sahayl’s mouth as the Prince froze in surprise. So very alike, these pure sons of the Lady.

He broke away from the kiss slowly, nipping gently at Sahayl’s bottom lip as he finally pulled away. "You were finally permitted to seek your bed?" he asked. He frowned as he noticed just how tired Sahayl actually was, face tight with strain, exhaustion.

"I think they finally ran out of things to say," Sahayl said with a tired smile. "That or they caught me nodding off, perhaps. I hope it was not that, but who knows?"

Isra rolled his eyes. "I hope they go home to nattering wives, the lot of them. You should get a bath, I’ll have one drawn." He ignored Sahayl’s protest, and nodded when Shihab motioned that he would take care of the matter.

Soon, a proper bath for their prince would be ready. They’d not told Sahayl of it, as he would protest such an extravagance – just as he had the efforts which had been made to properly appoint his private chambers.

Blacks, browns, deep oranges and touches of dark gold, the room was reminiscent of a sunset. It suited the Sandstorm Prince, who never failed to smile now whenever he saw it.

Every day brought new changes and improvements to the long-neglected Broken Palace, and that alone was enough make Sahayl smile.

Shihab joined them, stealing a kiss of his own. "So what did everyone finally decide?" Sahayl had ordered them to leave an hour or so after the dinner had ended, knowing it would drag on for ages and not wanting them to be as bored. Unable to disobey in front of the Sheiks, they had reluctantly left him to it.

"We have sent missives to the relevant persons," Sahayl replied. "An answer came from…my brother…" He shook his head, and Isra knew he still found it odd to think of the King of Tavamara as his brother. "He approves of the strategy." His mouth quirked and he reached out to trail his fingers lightly through Shihab’s hair. "He says the fact that his Advisor squawked about it tells him it’s a good idea."

"What are my father’s misgivings?"

"That we are being tricked, or will be betrayed."

Shihab nodded. "Definite possibilities, but I do not sense duplicity from the Princess. Her cousin is harder to read…but I would be on guard for betrayal from Gollen."

"Of course, shadowfire."

Bahadur joined them, frowning at Sahayl. "So in how much danger have you put yourself, my Prince?"

Sahayl shook his head, laughing softly. "No more than usual, my warhorse. Assuming Gollen replies positively, we are to meet them at the edge of the Desert in seven days time. If not…I suppose we will devise another strategy."

A soft knock came at the door, and Isra reluctantly disentangled himself to supervise the preparing of Sahayl’s bath, frowning in thought, glowering at the very real possibility that the heathens could betray them.

His fingers went to his scar, a memory of another attempt at peace that had gone astray.

That meeting had not concerned the fate of several countries, and if it went awry no one would get out with merely a scar.

If the heathens were smart, they would take the peace Sahayl was offering, but if there was one thing he knew about heathens – nearly every last one of them was the epitome of stupid.

Twenty Six

Bloodmoon stamped restlessly in the sand, and further troubled Sahayl by ignoring his silent command to hold still by giving one last hard, defiant stamp before finally settling.

His horse had been trained to perfection. Bloodmoon did not move restlessly when stillness was required, nor did he ever defy - without cause. If his horse was sufficiently troubled by something in the air, then there was most definitely a betrayal looming. Sahayl looked askance at Wafai, who nodded almost imperceptibly before motioning briefly, efficiently, to Noor and Kahlil. Ghosts needed no words to communicate. He felt the change in mood, energy, as words of caution were spread through the lines.

In the end, he had decided to take twelve Sheiks and their best men, about fifty to every Sheik, with him to the border of the Desert.

Gollen had sent a relatively positive reply - not outright agreement, but a willingness to more properly discuss matters. They also wanted to ascertain Princess Cordelia and Prince Rook were truly all right. More than fair.

Several yards away, just beyond the border of the Great Desert, a force to match his own waited calmly. Slightly in front of the gathered heathens was a man who, even at a distance, bore a strong resemblance to Princess Cordelia. The same gold hair, the same slightly crooked nose…and the set of his shoulders hinted at the same forthrightness Cordelia had already exhibited.

He looked to the princess, who sat calmly astride a desert mare, staring pensively at her brethren across the field. "Thoughts, my Princess?" Sahayl asked quietly. He looked to her left. "Prince Rook?"

Rook snorted. "I did not expect them to send Merrick."

"That is the one who resembles you?" Sahayl asked.

"Yes," Cordelia said. "The second of my three brothers." She frowned. "Though he is an excellent General, my father seldom risks him."

Bahadur grunted from Sahayl's right. "Then it strikes me as promising that he is here."

"I wonder what Shihab would say," Sahayl murmured, and wished his shadowfire was here -

but he had chosen to hold Shihab and Isra back, on the chance that something went wrong.

They he could trust implicitly to see to matters.

The day was a clear one, and Sahayl hoped that meant the Lady was showing her favor. It could mean other things, but he preferred not to dwell upon those possibilities though they lurked at the back of his mind.

Across the field, Prince Merrick and the men with him moved slowly forward. Sahayl motioned briefly to his men, then moved forward with Bahadur, Wafai, Cordelia and Rook.

Beneath him, Bloodmoon was still restless and impatient. Sahayl wished badly to touch his sword in comfort, but such a gesture would not lend itself well to his professions of peace.

"Merrick," Cordelia greeted as they drew close, and started to perform introductions when her brother cut her off with a sharp motion.

Prince Merrick regarded them coolly. "Cordelia. Father expects you to cease this foolishness at once." He turned to regard Sahayl. "You are the Sandstorm about whom we've lately been hearing so much?"

Sahayl started to speak, but on either side of him Wafai and Cordelia launched into angry protestations, voices drowned out only by Rook bellowing for silence.

"Merrick, what are you talking about?" Rook demanded. "Why is his Majesty bidding her return? This arrangement is perfect for Gollen."

"You should perhaps have stayed in your seas," Merrick said coldly. "His Majesty has turned down the idea of marrying his daughter to an uncouth, untrustworthy savage."

"Then why attend this meeting at all?" Sahayl asked, meeting the cold heathen's eyes easily.

Dark green eyes, nothing half so beautiful as Shihab's.

"We are retrieving her Highness, of course. She is elsewhere betrothed and her future husband is not pleased by her recent behavior."

Sahayl very nearly jumped as Cordelia seemed to all but explode beside him. "What!" She howled, shaking with rage. "I refused that bastard Jason and I will have nothing to do with it. I would sooner slit my own wrists than be shunted off to that wasteland."