A handsome man of about thirty-five years hunched over a wood table. He selected a bead from one of the many deep, straight grooves cut into the surface and held it up to his eyes. “Was any relative able to buy our neighbor’s freedom?” He lifted his head.
Duvsha’s father favored the short curled hair, trimmed beard, and plucked brows of the elite. He wore the style well and made it his own, his hair not too perfectly coiled, the brows not too thin.
“No.” Duvsha grunted. “The auction was another sham.”
“She’ll be okay,” said Duvsha’s father. “She is pretty and young.” His pleasant gaze went from the top of my head to my sandaled feet. “Good morning. Have you come to buy the best beads in all of Saba?”
I suddenly realized how I must look, dust covered and unkempt, hair sticking out of my braid.
“This is my new friend, Bilqīs,” said Duvsha before I had a chance to introduce myself. “She arrived this morning. We met at the slave auction.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Kepha.” Duvsha’s father stood and stretched, first twisting his neck, then rounding his muscled, broad shoulders.
Kepha had the same long nose as Duvsha but broader, and skewed to one side, as though it had not been straightened after a fight. All his features were big, from his ears to his nostrils, lips, and wide, square jaw. Together they gave him a rugged, dashing appearance.
“Thank you for having me in your home,” I said.
Kepha looked at me the way a man looks at a woman when he’s thinking of his cock.
I blushed. This was a man. I had only fucked young men—the son of a camel merchant, the young guardsman. Even Ekene, who initiated me into the joys of sex, was young, not more than twenty. What would it be like to feel a man’s skin, a man’s muscles, a man’s cock?
“Visiting family? A lover?” Kepha winked.
My smile slid from my face. “I have no relatives. No family. My mother was murdered several days ago. I think the king sent men to murder her. That’s why I’m here.”
Kepha’s grin drooped, his roving eyes suddenly soft with sympathy. “Who, dear girl, was your mother?”
“A once-queen in hiding. A person of no consequence and no threat to King Hasan.”
Kepha’s face creased with pity. “You came to confront the king?”
“Father, enough questions.” Duvsha beckoned me as she headed for the narrow doorway at the back of the room.
“I will see the king,” I said.
Kepha rubbed his chin. “You might need a bath first.”
“Maybe you’ll help me.” With the bath, I thought.
Kepha cleared his throat. “Yes, of course, I will help you find a way to get an audience with King Hasan.”
I dragged my finger across my lips. “Thank you.”
“Bilqīs!” called Duvsha.
I dipped under the low doorway, suddenly embarrassed by my shamelessness, but holy Almaqah, the man was so fuckable! And fucking—like the shamal, the hot, dusty summer wind—blew my troubles away. At least while it lasted.
The back room was very small but equally bright, with more mirrors capturing the sun’s rays. Duvsha sat in front of the table that dominated the room.
“I have to sort.” She gestured to the twelve divided sections crisscrossed with narrow strips of wood.
“Can I help?” I pulled up a stool and sat beside her.
“Only if you learn how.” Duvsha plunged her hand into a crate full of stones and pebbles. “There are ten bead shapes. This tiny pink stone will make a good tubular bead.” She put it in a square with similarly shaped rocks, then chose another. “This black stone is perfect for shaping into a bicone.” She put the stone in a different square, reached inside the crate again, and set a pinky-sized lavender-hued stone on my palm. “What shape will this be?”
“A long tube.”
“Nope.” Duvsha held it to her ear. “This one is crying to be a hexagonal tube.” She held it out. “Listen.”
I cupped my hand around my ear. “It’s begging to adorn the neck of a woman who will gladly overpay to wear one of your father’s necklaces.”
Duvsha laughed and pointed to the proper square. “You will make a wonderful stone sorter.” She rested her chin on her hand and stared at me, her brows knitted together. “Something about you—I don’t quite know what—makes me believe in you and your cause. I trust you, Bilqīs.”
I didn’t tell her about my Great Destiny. How could I? I didn’t know what it was myself. “I trust you too. Maybe we sense honesty in each other.”
“Or we’re both very gullible,” Duvsha said, and shrugged.
I plucked a stone from the crate, a brilliant orange-red carnelian banded with thin white lines and the palest green markings. I placed it with the other hexagonal stones. “Tell me everything you know about the king.”
CHAPTER 15
Duvsha spent the morning telling me all the gossip she had ever heard about King Hasan.
He believed he was a god incarnate. He disposed—Duvsha was not sure if this meant killing or sending away—of wives who did not become pregnant in a year. He had a voracious sexual appetite. (I could not fault him for this.) His advisors were so afraid of him they were little more than straw men, never questioning anything he said. His excessive taxes and tariffs caused merchant caravans to take other trade routes. He allowed the dam to fall into disrepair, putting at risk four thousand acres of crops that fed over three hundred thousand people. He feared assassination—what evil king did not?—to such an extent that one hundred soldiers guarded his palace. Soldiers, Duvsha claimed, whose loyalty Hasan bought with coin rather than respect.
This news disheartened me the most. Sneaking in was not possible.
Duvsha set a large lapis stone in her palm. “There is something else Hasan fears. Even more than assassins. Something all his guards cannot stop.”
“What’s that?”
“Jinn.”
My spine stiffened.
“Long ago, a woman—she works for the king now, I think they call her the Oracle—prophesized a jinni would be his undoing. That began his obsession with finding and killing every known or suspected jinni in the kingdom.”
Years ago, Momma had flown me to the ocean during a storm. She had wanted me to witness nature’s fury. We were there but a moment, but the impression it made on me never left. I felt that same sensation now. The relentless crashing surf, the howling, pummeling wind overcoming all my senses. All but one sense: instinct.
The truth burned like fire in my heart. King Hasan sent five murderers to kill Momma. Professional jinn killers. Any uncertainty I might have had was blown to bits with the gale of realization. I understood now why Momma showed me nature’s fury. It was not to frighten me, but to impress upon me the power within us all.
“Bilqīs . . . Bilqīs.” A small voice reached out into the storm in my mind.
I blinked. The wind subsided and the waves calmed.
“Are you okay?” Duvsha’s brows knotted in concern. “You look like you saw a jinni of your own.”
I rubbed my temples. “May I have some water?”
Duvsha took a pitcher from a recessed niche and poured water into a limestone cup. “I’ve upset you.”
I sipped, grateful for its cool sweetness—and Duvsha’s too—while questions swirled like an eddy in my mind.
What led King Hasan to suspect Momma of being a jinni? Who else besides me knew? My father, perhaps. Momma never mentioned aunts or uncles. Did I have them? Were they traitors? Momma flew faster than the wind, her travels far and wide. Surely, there was much she never told me. Places she went I never knew. People she knew and never told me about…
“You look far away again.” Duvsha broke into my mind’s maelstrom.
I tapped my head. “I’m thinking. One can never know too much about one’s enemy.”
Kepha stooped under the doorway. “Like it?” A lengthy strand of dark-pink gems draped over his hands. They glittered, each facet
ed bead as large as his thumbnail and glowing from within.
My breath caught in my throat. “They’re magnificent.”
“They’re rubies from a lush land far east of here.” He twirled the necklace, flaunting its shimmer. “The trade minister’s wife commissioned this piece.” He lifted the strand. “She’s about your height, Bilqīs. Let’s see how it looks.”
Duvsha clapped her hands with excitement when Kepha lifted the long necklace over my head. His fingers skimmed the back of my neck, and my skin tingled. The ruby strand hung well past my waist. Kepha looped it over a few more times, until the rubies rested in three-row splendor at the top of my cleavage.
“There are many ways to wear a long strand. Here’s one.” Kepha tugged on the longest loop, which caused the other to hug my neck, making a ruby collar. “Two.” He lifted the longer loop over my head so that two loops draped off my breasts like a ruby waterfall. “Three.” With a gentle touch that quickened my blood, he removed the strand and wrapped it around my waist.
Duvsha clapped her hands again. “A ruby belt. I love it.”
I didn’t know what I liked more, being draped in rubies or Kepha’s closeness.
Kepha grunted. “Such a shame this gorgeous piece will be worn by the minister’s wife, she’s such an ugly, greedy hag. There’s nothing worse than beautiful gems on an ugly-hearted woman. Both are made uglier by it. But you”—he stepped away—“are perfection.” His eyes raked my body, his chest expanding with desire.
“I’ve never seen anything more exquisite.” My fingers skimmed the beads. “The trade minister’s wife will love it.”
“Humor me, Bilqīs. Keep the necklace on for a bit. I want a good memory of it before that old camel-faced bitch slips it over her wrinkled neck.”
I draped the rubies over my neck twice and was positioning them over my bosom when I felt their true worth. The beads shone with an inner flame, a power that merged with my own half–smokeless fire birthright. The rubies sang to me, and flared bright, infusing me with a strange energy.
“Gorgeous,” said Kepha.
I tore my gaze from the rubies, though their influence was holding me captive.
Duvsha giggled. “Father, Bilqīs is too young for you.” She tossed me an exasperated look. “Flirt with someone your own age.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Kepha laughed and returned to the front room.
Duvsha rolled her eyes. “The trials of having a handsome father. All the women want him. And he never says no.”
“My mother was the same.” And so was I. Everything was clearer after sex. An orgasm, or two or three, energized my body, soul, and mind.
“I’m a virgin. Father says I must stay that way until he arranges a marriage. He better do it soon, it’s getting harder and harder to say no.” She giggled. “Help me with the midday meal.” She bounded up a narrow stone stairway tucked against the far wall.
The stairs emerged into a large room the length and width of the first floor. It was a warm, welcoming space decorated with an elegantly carved table, thick colorful rugs, several folding chairs, and four straight-backed seats with matching footstools. A large wood panel with inlaid stones depicted a man wearing a lion-skin cloak sitting atop a camel. A limestone relief on the opposite wall portrayed a bull’s head so lifelike I could almost feel the steam coming from its flaring nostrils. No one in my village had artwork. This was indeed a prosperous home.
“I’m making Father’s favorite, einkorn flatbread stuffed with cucumber and fenugreek.” Duvsha flattened the patties and laid them over the stone fire pit near the open door. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” She waved toward the art. “Those were my grandfather’s. Father says we might have to sell them if King Hasan levies any more taxes.” She pointed to a muskmelon in a wide plain basket. “There’s a knife in there.”
While I cut the muskmelon into thick wedges and Duvsha cooked the flatbread, she told me about the two boys that made keeping her virginity very difficult.
Duvsha removed the last flatbread from the fire and stacked it with the others. “Tell Father the meal is ready.” She began slicing the cucumber.
I treaded lightly down the steps and found Kepha rifling through the crate full of stones. “Time to eat.”
A grinning Kepha held up a large tubular stone the length of his hand. “Touch it.”
I reached out and drew my fingers across its reddish-orange length. “What is it?”
“Agate. A big chunk too. Did Duvsha tell you to listen to the stones?”
“Yes.”
From deep in his throat came a sound between a purr and growl. “What does this stone tell you?”
My lips twisted. “It doesn’t tell me anything. But it looks like a . . .” I dragged my teeth across my bottom lip.
“A phallus.” He pushed the stone into my hands. “I make more than beads. I make stone phalluses too.” He leaned close. “It’s been a real moneymaker. All the women want one. A few men too.”
I curled my fingers around it. If I had one of these, I could satisfy myself anytime I wanted! Heat moistened my delta. This stone cock would never go limp. I gazed at it, wondering what it would feel like inside me…
I looked up and found Kepha watching me like a hawk tracking its prey.
“Most girls would have dropped it by now,” Kepha said.
“I’m not most girls. In fact, I’m not a girl. I am a woman. In all ways.” I met his gaze.
That low rumbling emerged from his throat again. “Do you want to try it? Not that one, it’s not shaped. I have others. All sizes.” He pursed his lips, scratched his chin, and looked up at the ceiling in mock bewilderment. “The women always buy the biggest—one matron requested a camel-sized phallus.” He chuckled. “So, Bilqīs, do you want to try one out?”
“Only if you try it with me.”
Kepha sucked in his breath and his fingers closed around the cock-sized agate in my hand. “Tonight.” His cheek brushed mine as he bent down and whispered in my ear. “I will bring two rock-hard cocks.”
My mouth filled with the water of wanting. Kepha was a man. An experienced lover. Two cocks! The scent of my need drifted upward. Two cocks inside me. I reached for his cock under his kilt, already tented with his excitement.
“Tonight,” he said again as my fingers curled around his engorged length.
I removed my hand. “Tonight.” I licked my palm until it was wet, then wrapped it around his cock again. He moaned as my fist slid up and down.
Kepha enclosed my other hand, which was holding the stone phallus, and guided the rock into my mouth. I flicked my tongue across the agate while I stroked him. He moaned, his eyes fluttering, and pressed his hands into my shoulders. “Don’t stop.”
I pumped my hand faster. Licked the stone cock like it was real. Kepha shuddered, and his cum spurted into my hand. Exchanging the stone cock for my sticky hand, I licked off every drop of his cum. “Tonight.”
“Tonight.” With orgasm-glazed eyes, Kepha dipped his head.
I turned around and raced up the stairs.
“What took so long?” asked Duvsha, pouring wine into a cup. “Is Father boring you with one of his lectures about the mystical power of rocks?”
“How did you know?”
Kepha appeared. “I’m starving.” He sat at the table and scooped the cucumber mixture into the flatbread. His face betrayed nothing. “Tell me, Bilqīs, what did you learn from my little lecture,” he tossed a look at Duvsha, “about rocks.”
I realized he had been eavesdropping.
“Father,” scolded Duvsha. “You’re not her tutor.”
“That’s okay,” I folded the flatbread. “I’m used to tutors. Momma brought many to our home.”
Father and daughter both wore an identical astonished look.
“I know, it’s unusual, but Momma was an unusual woman.” I fixed my gaze on Kepha. “I enjoyed the brief lecture. I had no idea stones were so . . . specialized.”
“Oh, Father ca
n talk all day.” Duvsha refilled her father’s wine cup.
But Kepha only chatted for the duration of the midday meal.
He told us about the master builder who struggled to pay for his wife’s expensive jewelry addiction. Complained about the difficulty of procuring gems, like rubies, from foreign traders. Divulged the fact that the Magus, the king’s magician, received enchanted stones from distant lands in need of shaping. Explained which necklaces sold best.
“The biggest sellers are necklaces to ward away evil,” said Kepha.
“Almaqah is my protector,” I said.
“Do you want me to make you one with Good omen of Almaqah, Success and help of Bilqīs etched into it?
“In gold?” I asked, my lips curled into an impish grin.
Duvsha burst into laughter, snorting gleefully at my silly request.
Kepha turned to his daughter. “You didn’t tell me Bilqīs was wealthy. She must be hiding all her gold jewelry.” Kepha bit into a wedge of muskmelon. “You’ll have to go to the goldsmith for that, rich girl.”
I was glad I had hidden my gold bracelet. I was not rich. Far from it. But I saw now how different my life had been from others. Momma and I had lived modestly, and yet I’d worn the finest linen and wool, eaten fish from a sea few ever visited, and received an education befitting a future king.
“By the way, I heard the goldsmith found an apprentice.” Kepha nudged his daughter.
Duvsha’s eyes widened. “You want to wed me to him?”
“I can’t wed you to one of mine. I don’t have any.” Kepha returned his attention to me. “Many young men are leaving for towns with more opportunity. I could be rich, but the idiot king makes it difficult for craftsmen like me to increase our business outside these walls. He imposes too many tariffs, and bolts the gates shut at sunset. Ridiculous! Let the traders in, they’ve traveled too long a way to be barred entrance until morning. King Hasan strangles his own kingdom. Here we sit at the crossroads to the world, and he bars the path to wealth and trade.”
“Have you thought about moving to another town?”
Confessions of a Sheba Queen Page 7