The Archer's Heart (12 page)

Tarek swallowed. His entire body had filled with warm content at Darvad’s touch. “I think you should stop thinking about it and go to bed.”

Darvad smiled slightly. “You’re right.”

“You are a man, Darvad, not a god. Pray for guidance, and then go to sleep. Wake up refreshed.”     

“I swear, Tarek, you are the only true friend I have. Of course, you have your own motives as well, don’t you?”

“Darvad, I don’t care about my own wealth or position. I swore an oath of friendship to you, and that is all that matters to me. Even if I never get a penny from you, or respect from your brethren, I will be your friend.”

Darvad leaned further into Tarek. “Then be a friend, and take my mind off all this bickering.”

Tarek froze in the hallway. His heart stopped momentarily. And then he realized, no, he had just misinterpreted Darvad’s wishes.

“I could tell you about the terrible scandal of the cow that ate the priest’s ruby back in my village,” Tarek offered.

Darvad looked up suddenly, an almost childish grin across his face. “Really? How does that story go?”

Tarek was a good storyteller. His village had been a hotbed of scandal— who was sleeping with who, who poisoned who’s husband, what happened to the missing cow. Tarek told the story like a mystery, withholding critical details and only letting clues in here and there to who had impregnated the Draya priest’s wife, and who had eventually vomited up the missing gem.

Darvad cried with laughter by the time they made it to his bedroom. Tarek wished they had farther to go together, so he could continue to make Darvad laugh. It was so good to see Darvad happy.

Darvad reached up and grabbed Tarek’s hand. “Stay the night.”

Wild panic and excitement rushed through Tarek once more. Darvad couldn’t mean what he thought he did. Could he?

“It’s too late to go home,” Darvad slurred. “The blue room is ready for you next door. Have breakfast with me in the morning, and tell me more stories.”

Tarek knew better than to feel crushed, but he couldn’t help it. A hungry ache of longing filled him, and the bitterness of knowing he would never get to have Darvad the way he wanted. Looking at him now, so strong and dark and beautiful by candlelight, crawling into his bed, spreading his legs as he claimed his space, Tarek felt paralyzed with desire.

He had to breathe deeply to clear his mind of the sudden onslaught of unwelcome erotic imagery. “I should return home. My father’s health is failing, and I need to make arrangements to bring him from Dragewan.”

“All that can be accomplished tomorrow,” Darvad said. He curled onto his side. His eyes closed. “I want to have breakfast with you tomorrow. And then maybe go hunting. Something away from all this infernal work, before you have to challenge Lord Kadal.”

Tarek stood and silently watched his friend fall asleep. Then, despite his desire to return home, to make arrangements to visit his father, to be a better person, he simply stumbled into the adjacent blue room and collapsed. He knew he would wake up in the morning and do whatever it was that Darvad wished. If he wanted to go hunting, and eat together, and if he wanted Tarek to challenge more lords, Tarek would do it. Anything for those brief moments alone together, moments when, for just a fraction of time, Tarek could almost believe Darvad loved him.

Chapter 11

In the days that followed Jandu’s triumph over the Yashva demon Yudar wouldn’t stop hugging him, the distance between them gone, his earlier annoyance forgotten as Yudar bragged about Jandu and Zandi to anyone who would listen. Baram, who loved cooking, made Jandu spicy pastries and followed him around all day trying to feed him more. Jandu accepted as many as he could eat, but after fifteen, he tried to refuse.

“How can you expect to win another battle against a Yashva when you’re so thin?” Baram cried, handing Jandu another plate of pastries. “Eat! They are made with my love!”

Shouting, Baram looked ferocious, like he could easily rip a tree from the earth. Jandu blanched and took the pastries. Nothing terrified Jandu more than having Baram screaming that he loved him.

Jandu occupied himself by helping Yudar arrange a celebration to honor their teacher, Mazar. The party was planned for the holy day of Asherwar. Of course, the celebration had political incentives as well, as it provided an opportunity for all of Yudar’s allies to gather and lavish attentions on Mazar, just before Mazar made his decision between Yudar and Darvad for the kingdom.

Yudar sent invitations all over the kingdom. Those lords who had returned to their home states from the capital were urged back, and those in Prasta were asked to spend the auspicious day in the palace’s grand banyan garden.

Jandu and Baram were sent to deliver personal invitations to those lords who remained in Prasta. Jandu knew it was busywork, better conducted by one of Yudar’s dozens of ministers, but he enjoyed Baram’s cheerful company, and it pleased him to be given something to take him away from the incessant politicking at the palace.

In the evenings, however, Jandu’s mind was free to wander. And it always wandered to Keshan. Keshan, his body, his hair, his voice. Despite Jandu’s ardent prayers to be rid of his passion for his cousin, he still awoke every morning with a burning need to touch Keshan again. He didn’t know how long he would survive with this longing.

A few days before the ceremony, Yudar asked Jandu to dine with him and Baram to discuss an urgent matter. Although they had numerous chefs on staff, Baram insisted on cooking dinner for his brothers and wife himself. That night, they ate in Baram’s private quarters. Baram glowed as his servants brought out the steaming plates of lemon rice, pheasant, and vegetables that he had so carefully prepared.

“You should see the kitchen designs I have planned once Yudar is king, Jandu!” Baram said. “I met with an engineer this morning. He can build small, enclosed containers for keeping vegetables and milk fresh, it has a pump inside for water… I’ve never seen anything like it. It will be the most impressive room in the palace.”

“Let’s hope the facilities improve your cooking,” Jandu commented.

Baram threw a bread roll at him. Jandu caught it deftly and dipped the bread into one of Baram’s delicious yogurt sauces.

Suraya looked radiant at the table. She wore a green zahari with silver beads. The gold of her earrings and nose ring gleamed in contrast to her dark mahogany hair. She smiled shyly at Jandu.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” she said coyly.

Jandu flushed. “I’ve been busy.”

“Hmm.” She smiled knowingly. Jandu blanched. What if she
knew
that half the time he wasn’t at dinner he was busy jerking off to the thought of Keshan? Maybe women had some magical powers of detection. Jandu made a mental note to ask someone about it. He had no idea who to ask, though.

“Jandu.” Yudar turned his dark eyes on him.

“Yes?” Jandu poured more yogurt sauce over his rice. He noticed Baram grin proudly.

“Iyestar and Keshan Adaru will be staying in the palace for the ceremony. I’ve asked Keshan to bless the event for us.”

Jandu froze, a handful of rice halfway between his plate and his mouth.

Yudar narrowed his eyes at him. “I don’t know what happened between you two when he was last here, but you must apologize to him.”

Jandu dropped his rice. “Apologize?” he sputtered. “You have no idea what he said to me!”

“It doesn’t matter!” Yudar snapped. “He is more than just our first cousin, and more than brother to the Lord of Tiwari. It is crucial that Mazar sees harmony between us and that I am capable of extending my hospitality to those of differing views, and I will not have it known there is any distance between us.”

“But!—”

“But nothing.” Yudar pointed at Jandu. “When Keshan arrives, you will apologize. That is final!”

Jandu chewed on several things to say before abandoning the whole effort and just sighing. “Whatever.”

Yudar glared at him. Jandu held out his hands.

“What? I will, I will!” Jandu cried.

Yudar smiled. “Thank you.”

“I don’t know what you two could possibly fight about,” Baram said, digging into his own meal with fervor. He spoke with his mouth open. “You two seemed really happy together.”

 “I don’t want to talk about Keshan,” Jandu said.

“Fine,” Baram said, shrugging.

“Fine,” Yudar said.

Suraya shook her head, and drank more wine.

◆◆◆

Guests for the ceremony arrived the following morning. Those who did not have townhouses in the capital took up the offer to stay in the palace, and even some of those who had homes of their own availed themselves of the opportunity to lodge in the locus of action. Every guest room was filled with visitors.

Jandu and his family first attended the royal temple. They knelt on the rugs alongside Darvad and other lords in the city as the priest incanted songs to bless Asherwar as a holy day. Jandu submitted his forehead for a required smear of purple dye.

The palace was filled with purple lanterns, and everyone, even servants, smeared black kohl under their eyes and purple dye into their hair to celebrate God’s gift of the world. Servants hung paper lanterns in each hallway of the palace to welcome God into every space. Small gold coins were scattered along the walkways to lead demons away from God and towards the ceremonial hell constructed in one of the smaller stone gardens.

The banyan garden received the greatest detail, where Mazar’s celebration would occur. Opulent purple-dyed carpets covered the cobblestones, and long teak tables stretched from one end to the next to accommodate the hundreds of invited guests. Bright purple and red silk banners drooped from the second level balconies, and, in the wind, they waved over the trees like elegant fingers, beckoning the sky closer.

Mazar himself drifted around the palace, sweet as sugar cane, clearly flattered by the celebration in his honor. Jandu caught the look of annoyance in Darvad’s eyes when their paths crossed. Darvad clearly disliked the fact that the dinner had not been his idea.

 In the banyan garden, Jandu was supposed to await the beginning of the ceremony on the raised teak dais with Mazar, Darvad, Yudar, and Baram, but after only fifteen minutes of his chair-rocking Yudar glared at him and Jandu decided to go stand by the entrance. Suraya handed out ceremonial garlands of lotus flowers as each guest entered the garden, and Jandu took it upon himself to bow and direct guests toward lavishly set tables.

Marhavad’s finest noblemen gathered on seats around tables laden with food. A soft spring breeze wafted above them, shaking the branches of the four banyan trees that circled the enclosure and rippling the silk banners.

Jandu leaned against the brick garden wall and fiddled with his silver diadem. He knew Keshan was coming. His stomach knotted every time he thought of it. Despite himself, he’d taken a long bath that afternoon and searched for his finest clothes. He wore newly made white silk trousers with a red and gold sash, and he wore a plain white shirt, which fit his chest tightly, showing off his chiseled arms. For the first time he wished for showier colors in his wardrobe. He had adorned himself with silver bangles along with his father’s silver necklace and matching loop earrings. He’d chosen his heaviest, most impressive diadem, but after wearing it for all of two hours, he had returned to his quarters and exchanged it for a smaller silver one. His hair spiked out from under it in a chaotic way, but at least it didn’t feel like a stack of gold bricks on top of his head.

He still looked good enough to catch glances, and that’s what mattered. As the lords and ministers and their wives poured into the garden, most looked at him, obviously fascinated by the contrast of his blue eyes and deeply tanned skin. Jandu smiled and bowed to all of the guests appropriately. Jandu had brought Zandi with him, and he left her clearly visible, leaning against the wall beside him like a trophy. The guests who knew about archery raised their eyebrows at the sight of the bow, and every time someone asked about it, Jandu unabashedly informed them that it was a Yashva protecting him in return for defeating another of her kind. Their looks of admiration somewhat ameliorated the tension of waiting for Keshan to arrive.

Jandu’s stomach dropped every time the herald’s horn trumpeted, announcing a new arrival. Any moment now, Keshan would walk in. Keshan would to walk in, and what would Jandu do?

He wanted to immediately pull Keshan into an alcove and beg him to kiss him again.

No. He wanted to hit him again to make sure the message was clear. And then apologize because his brother made him.

Or maybe just not look at him. Ever. That would probably be the best tactic.

And what if Keshan hated him now? What if he didn’t care if Jandu refused to look at him? After all, Jandu has slapped him the last time they’d been together. What if Keshan hadn’t even accepted Yudar’s invitation? What if he stayed in Tiwari and snubbed them all?

The thought made Jandu break out into a sweat. If Keshan didn’t come, then Yudar would never forgive him. And everything would be terrible, forever. Keshan had to come. He had to.

The announcer’s trumpet blared. “His excellence, Lord Indarel of Afadi!”

Jandu sagged against the wall. He bowed politely, and motioned with his hand to an empty seat to the right.

The voices in the garden grew so loud, he could barely hear his own thoughts, which turned out to be a relief.

The trumpeter blasted another note, and Jandu straightened.

“Lord Iyestar Adaru of Tiwari!”

As Keshan’s brother entered the reception hall without Keshan, Jandu fought tears. Keshan wasn’t going to come after all. Jandu had gotten his wish. He wouldn’t see Keshan again.

An overwhelming crushing sensation filled him. Jandu couldn’t remember ever feeling so heartbroken.

“The Honorable Keshan Adaru of Tiwari!”

Jandu jerked upright. He looked to the entrance and made eye contact with Keshan. He felt his face immediately flush red.

Keshan stared at him long and hard, as if trying to tell him something. But then more guests arrived, forcing Keshan forward and into the pressing crowd.

Jandu couldn’t abandon his post now without it looking suspicious, and so he stood against the wall until the last of the guests arrived. It disheartened him to finally spot Keshan under one of the banyan trees, chatting amiably with Darvad’s Suya, Tarek.

Jandu joined his family up on the dais. Keshan offered the blessings of Tiwari, Mazar’s birthplace, and Yudar gave a touching speech praising Mazar’s character and dedication to the kingdom. As he listened to Yudar’s words and gazed at Mazar, Jandu felt pride and love well up in his breast. He was embarrassed at feeling so sentimental, though he was obviously not alone. By the time the speech ended, Mazar wept openly and the guests jumped to their feet, clapping and cheering the Regent. It seemed natural that Jandu would follow his brothers in bending low to touch Mazar’s feet and ask for a blessing.

Mazar threw his arms around Jandu and held him tightly.

“Bless you, my favored son, bless you!” Mazar cried. He stroked Jandu’s face.

Darvad, not to be outdone, clapped for attention before the guests were allowed to eat and gave an impromptu speech honoring Mazar as well, although everyone could see it for what it was, a desperate attempt to save face. Then, with a final toast to Mazar, Yudar invited his guests to eat.

The dinner feast was extravagant. Baram had overseen the kitchen preparations. He had themed the dishes after the four seasons, celebrating the natural change of the year and also the enduring permanence of Prasta.

Yudar’s table of honor stood nearest the dais, and he sat with his brothers, wife, Suraya’s father and brother, Mazar, and select lords and their wives. Darvad did not take up the invitation to sit at the main table, preferring a place between Tarek and Druv.

Jandu felt terribly flustered when he discovered that Keshan and Iyestar had been invited to sit at the table of honor. As Keshan walked across the garden, Jandu felt his blood thicken and warm as if drugged. He had gotten Keshan so wrong in his mind. He was far more beautiful in person than in Jandu’s memory. Every step Keshan took, the small gestures of his hand, the way his voice lowered in pitch when he laughed, how he would absentmindedly fiddle with his waist sash when he listened to someone, how his eyes shined impossibly bright, the thickness of his hair, the pink hue of his lips. Jandu felt drunk with lust. He swallowed as Keshan approached their table. Jandu knew he had gone bright red again but that was the least of his problems. As long as he could control his voice. As long as he didn’t allow his family to suspect his carnal thoughts.

Keshan studied Jandu with concern. Was Keshan worried Jandu would strike him again?

“Please, sit here,” Yudar said, gesturing between himself and Baram. Keshan uttered a small prayer before engaging his meal.

“Keshan.” Suraya said with the familiarity of a sister.

Keshan smiled at her. “You look beautiful today, Suraya.”

“I hear your wife has come to Prasta with you,” Suraya asked. “How is Ajani?”

Jandu froze. Wife?

Keshan nodded. “She said she couldn’t wait to see you again, and would come whether I liked it or not.” Keshan sipped his wine. “You two were friends as children, right?”

Suraya nodded. “Ajani and I studied religious texts together with my father’s priest. I haven’t seen her in years! But where is she?”