Anahita was silent for a long moment. Finally, she said, "Why did you stay with him? I understand wanting to protect what was left of your people, but if you are all that is left…"
"Because we're slaves. Escaped slaves, now. Anyone may kill us on sight, or return us to his camp."
She wet her lips. "But…his last order was to guard me, was it not? Take me home to my father, and I will see to it that you are freed. Then you may serve whoever you please, for you will be free men again."
Haidar let out a hollow laugh. "We are no longer men, and we will never be free. My wife and unborn child will haunt me until the day I die."
Asad nudged him. "Anything is better than serving the man who killed them. Where does your father live?"
Anahita smiled faintly. "My father has a grand palace in the capital."
Asad swore, then apologised. "What manner of man sends his daughter to marry a dog like Fakhri?"
"My father has many daughters. I am…the least of them, for my mother was a concubine and not one of his wives. I think he hoped my marriage would bring peace to the desert, to further his trade interests. And perhaps I will, though not the way he thought." Anahita smiled more broadly at that. Playing at politics was the sort of thing Maram did, not a nobody like her.
Haidar fell to his knees on the sand and bowed until his forehead touched the ground. He gestured for Asad to do the same. "Then we will serve you, for we owe you a debt. We swore vengeance on Fakhri, both of us, yet it was you who exacted it. Free or enslaved, we serve you."
Anahita shook her head. "When we reach my father's palace, I will return to the harem, where no men are allowed to enter. You are fighters, warriors, protectors – enlist in my father's guards. He always needs more good men."
Haidar lifted his head. "We are no longer men. Fakhri took from us what you took from him."
It took Anahita a moment to understand what he meant, though he'd said the words before. "You mean he cut off your…?" She couldn't utter the words.
"He made eunuchs of us, yes," Asad supplied. "Guards of his harem. Guarding them against everything except that which would kill them – him."
Anahita didn't know what to say. What did you say to a man who'd had his manhood forcibly removed? Or lost everything he loved, and been forced to serve the man who'd destroyed it?
"Man or not, I vow on my wife's grave that no man will ever hurt you again while I live," Haidar said. He grinned. "My wife would have taken great pleasure in seeing what you did to his corpse."
"And I," Asad added.
"Now all we need to do is get home," Anahita said.
"We will get you there, or die trying," Haidar promised. "What is your name, lady?"
"Anahita," she said slowly, "But in the harem, I was just Ana." She stared down at the rough robes she'd donned to cover herself against the fierce desert sun. She might be a sultan's daughter, but now she was no different to these two men, all fugitives in the desert. "Just Ana," she repeated softly.
Eight
As Philemon returned to his apartments, he found his people staring at him. They'd all heard his argument with the enchantress, then.
"I will address the people of the city at sunset, in the great hall cavern," he said, repeating the words over and over as he ascended the tunnels to his own dwelling.
It wasn't until he reached the privacy of his own chambers that he allowed his stiffened shoulders to slump as despair overwhelmed him. What was he to do now?
Philemon heard the crash of the main gate slamming open. No one but the djinn door guardian should have been able to do that.
A lesser man would have sent a servant to investigate, but Philemon was the Prince of Tasnim, and he would confront this threat head on.
He rubbed the ring, summoning the djinn guardian. Just because he wasn't a coward, didn't mean he was stupid.
The entry hall was full of dust, turning the people running through it into ghosts and shadows. But ghosts and shadows bent under the weight of whatever it was they carried. Philemon's blood ran cold.
"They can't leave! Don't let them take my treasures!" he shouted.
"As you command, Master," the djinn said, bowing, before disappearing into the gloom.
"Wait. You have to close the door!" Philemon called, but the djinn evidently hadn't heard him, for he didn't return.
"I would only open it again. You can't keep these people here to die," a female voice said. The enchantress.
She strode out of the dust, haloed against the open doorway like some sort of avenging angel. Philemon shrank away from the fury written across her face.
"You don't deserve this city, or my help, or any magical assistance at all. You demanded my assistance, then lied to me, blaming the dried-up wells on everything but your own stupidity. The djinn of the lamp told me everything. You commanded the djinn of the lamp to destroy your own water supply, not some imaginary enemy. Even after I sent him back into exile, you dared to refuse payment for my services. To evict me from your city. It is your city no longer. Your people flee, for the source of its wealth – the water – is gone, and they cannot live here any more. You deserve this."
Philemon couldn't help himself. "The djinn tricked me! He didn't tell me making that oasis would drain the city wells dry. My princess will never marry me if I am the prince of a city of no people. Make him fix it. Or use your powers to fix it!"
Lady Zuleika shook her head. "I do not take orders from you, Prince of Tasnim. Or should that be prince of a dead, dry cave?"
"Fix it!" he shouted. "You said you would help me!"
"I did help you. And I will do you one further favour. The only way for you to understand what has happened to your city's water supply is to inspect it personally, and you shall!" Purple light erupted from her hands, knocking him back against the wall of the well. But the magic kept pushing at him, leaning him back, until…
Philemon screamed as he fell backward into the well, arms flailing for something to stop him from falling to his death, but the well somehow gaped impossibly wide, and he could not grasp anything.
The fall should have killed him, but it just knocked the wind out of him, so all he could do was lie there on his back in a shallow puddle, listening to the sounds of his people deserting him.
A head appeared above. Hers, of course. "Fix your own plumbing problem. But even then, no woman in her right mind will want a toad like you, prince or not. If you ever find some princess who will take pity on you, take you to her bed and willingly lie in your slimy arms until dawn, maybe I'll find it in my heart to make you human again. For her sake."
And then she was gone.
Philemon reached for his ring of office, to summon the door guardian to lift him out of the well. But his fingers were bare – the ring had somehow fallen off.
He screamed in frustration, a sound that should have echoed around the underground chamber, striking fear in every heart. But the only sound he heard was a forlorn croak.
Nine
Anahita was naked, covered in blood, and Fakhri came for her again, his body glowing red in the light, his jutting cock as long as he was tall. She screamed, and once she started, she couldn't seem to stop.
A hand came from nowhere, pressing down on her mouth so hard she swore there would be a fresh bruise to add to those Fakhri had already given her. She flailed about, trying to fight her way free.
"Hush, Lady Anahita, you are safe. We swore an oath, but we cannot keep it if you scream so loud everyone in the desert hears you."
She knew that voice. Anahita blinked her eyes open to make sure. Yes, it was Haidar. She blew out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. "Thank you," she said shakily. "I dreamed…"
Haidar cut her off. "As we all do." He grimaced. "There are some hours to go before nightfall, when we will travel under the cover of darkness again. Try to sleep, for you will need your strength."
She shook her head. "I cannot. Not after such a dream. If his men come after us…"
; "They will not. And even if they do, they will not get past Asad and I," Haidar said.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say that Haidar hadn't been able to protect his own wife, the woman he loved, when Fakhri's men had come for her, but she had no desire to remind the man of his loss. Instead, she said, "I got past you. To kill…to kill…" She couldn't even say the sheikh's name, though she had only to closer her eyes to see his evil grin, gleaming above that monstrous cock.
"You were not a threat," Haidar said.
She glared at him. "Enough of a threat to kill him."
"Because he did not see you as a threat, either," Haidar replied. "If you came at me with a knife, you would not kill me so easily." He gazed at her, as though sizing her up for something. "If you truly do not think you can sleep any more, perhaps you should try." He produced a knife from nowhere and offered it to her, hilt first.
Anahita took it. The blade was barely bigger than her eating knife – much smaller than the one she'd killed her husband with.
Haidar backed out of the tent and beckoned for her to join him. "There is more space for a blade dance out here."
It took Anahita longer to join him, between her broken arm and what she suspected were also broken ribs, but no matter how much she hurt, something within her would not let her back down from this fight. She refused to let any man dictate what she could or could not do, ever again.
She stood for a moment, taking in Haidar's relaxed stance as the afternoon sun set his face aglow. Then she rushed at him, raising the knife above her head.
His arm shot out and slammed against her wrist, sending the blade spinning across the sand.
Her wrist throbbed, already covered in dark bruises from Fakhri, and she cradled it to her chest, fighting back tears. She met Haidar's gaze squarely, refusing to bow her head.
He was the one to look away first, striding across the sand to retrieve his knife. Anahita expected him to tuck it back into its sheath, but he held it out to her instead. When she wrapped her fingers around the hilt, he shook his head. "No, you're holding it wrong. It's easy for someone to knock it out of your hand if you do it like that."
Haidar wrapped a warm hand around hers, showing her how it should be done.
"And don't hold the knife up high like you did just then. He'll see you coming, and have plenty of time to defend himself. Strike from below, like you did the first time. If he doesn't see it coming, he won't block, and your blade will have a better chance of finding its mark. A man rarely looks at what is under his nose, and if you extend the line of his nose down to the ground, you will see where he is blind." He drew a line down his nose and pointed at a spot on the ground. "That is where you lift your blade to do the most damage." He wrapped his hand around Anahita's and brought the blade up to his throat. "Or keep it low, to hit his heart, or his belly." He touched the blade tip to those places on his body, then released her. "Now try it again."
She did, and he corrected her, a sequence they repeated over and over until he was satisfied.
Anahita tried to hand his knife back, but Haidar refused to accept it. Instead, he produced the sheath, and insisted she wear it now she knew how to use it.
"Thank you," she said in wonderment.
"Are you finished with your foolishness now, so that we can be on our way?" Asad asked.
"Teaching her how better to defend herself is not foolishness," Haidar objected.
"She has a broken arm and plenty of other bruises from the bastard's blows. She wouldn't last five minutes in a proper fight." Asad pointed at the fire. "You'd be better off teaching her how to cook. Now that's a more womanly skill."
"She killed a man, with that broken arm, and the other injuries. You couldn't have done it," Haidar said.
Asad shrugged. "I don't have the advantage of being a tiny girl he's beaten into submission more nights than that bastard could count. She surprised him, that's all."
"And us," Haidar said. "You never saw it coming, either, or you wouldn't have let her take your blade. Next time, she may need more than the element of surprise. She's as much a warrior as any of our people were."
"She's not Nasrin," Asad said softly. "Your wife is dead, cousin. Nothing you do now can change that."
Haidar brought up his stubborn chin. "You think I don't know that? That tiny girl avenged Nasrin, and all our people. Her. Not you or me. And she did it after a beating, with a broken arm. That takes courage. You swore to protect her, just as I did. Giving her a blade and training her to use it is part of that oath."
"You're still a fool." Asad turned away to put some more kindling on the fire.
"I'd rather learn to fight than to cook," Anahita said. "I will sleep more soundly for it, even after I am home. Besides, it is Vega and I who do the hunting. It is only fitting that someone else cooks our catch."
Haidar burst out laughing. "The lady is right! A true huntress, and she has trained that bird well."
Anahita considered telling them that she hadn't trained Vega at all, but she wasn't sure how they would react to her ability to speak to animals. Best to keep that a secret a little longer.
"So, shall we practice some more while Asad makes our breakfast?" Anahita ventured with a hopeful smile.
"As my lady commands," Haidar said with a bow. Neither of them paid any attention to Asad's grumbled complaints as he threaded meat onto a knife to cook over the fire.
Ten
When Anahita lifted her gaze to survey the open city gates, she nearly wept for joy. Never had she seen anything so beautiful as that dusty portal. And yet…a princess did not weep before her people, so her tears died the dry death that befell all who did not know the ways of the desert.
"Stop," she commanded, and Asad and Haidar did. More than that, they stared at her in surprise. She summoned the same courage that had driven her to seize the knife that set her free, and said, "This is my father's city. The people must make way for his daughter. One of you must go before me, and the other behind, as befits a princess." She moistened her lips. "All the way to the Sultan's palace. My home."
Haidar coughed, but Asad laughed outright. "Do you truly expect us to believe that? The Sultan would not sacrifice his daughter to an animal like Sheikh Fakhri! Tell us the truth, now, Ana. Which house really belongs to your father?"
If they didn't believe her, who would? "My father is the Sultan, and you will address me as Your Highness Princess Anahita. At least until you are free, and our bargain is fulfilled."
Haidar wouldn't meet her eyes. "And if the guards do not let us into the palace?"
She had not come this far to be denied her home. "Then you will tell them to fetch Princess Maram. My sister will recognise me, and take me to my father."
Haidar grasped her arm. "What will you tell the Sultan?" Panic widened his eyes.
Anahita shook off his hand. "I will tell him the truth. That Sheikh Fakhri is dead at my hand. My father sent me to forge peace with the sheikh, and so I have. He will never attack our people again. Now, please pretend you are my official guards, and make the people make way for their princess."
Haidar grinned. "Never thought I'd get to meet the Sultan. Go on, Asad. You heard the princess. You lead the way, shouting orders to her people. I'll keep watch from the back."
"And if the Sultan has us killed?" Asad hissed, not convinced.
Haidar's grin never wavered. "It is a better death than what we faced in the desert. We should have died with our people. The only reason we're alive now is because Ana stole your knife. She's not afraid of the Sultan. How are you going to live out the rest of your life, knowing you have less courage than that girl?"
Asad glared at his cousin. "If this is a ploy so that you can see Nasrin sooner, I will torment you in the afterlife. I swear it. You will never know a moment's peace." Then he took his place before Anahita and drew in a deep breath. "Make way for the princess!" he bellowed. "Make way for Her Highness Princess Anahita!"
Anahita straightened her shoulders, wishing she w
as taller and more impressive, and followed Asad into the city.
The palace gates presented no problem, and they walked straight in. It wasn't until Anahita reached the audience chamber that she realised today must be a public audience day, for the hall was packed.
"Now what?" Asad whispered.
Anahita unfasted the straps that held Vega to her. "Fly home, and see that the falconer gives you a good dinner," she said, lifting her arm high so that the bird might fly. Vega did not hesitate, soaring over the palace to where her meal awaited. If everything went well, Anahita would hunt with her again on the morrow. If not…
"We seek an audience with my father. Make the crowd part," she said, praying they would. The rest of the city had responded as though she was Maram, and not some forgotten concubine's daughter.
A path opened, and Anahita plunged ahead, her men trailing behind her. When she reached the foot of her father's dais, she threw herself down on the floor, blessing the cool marble beneath her forehead. She raised her voice, "Father, I bring news. Sheikh Fakhri is dead."
Silence fell over the hall, stretching for an eternity. Anahita didn't dare look up.
Then she heard the rustle of her father's robes. "Today's audience is at an end. Return tomorrow."
The sounds of a herd of grumbling, shuffling people echoed off the arched ceilings, so only Anahita and those closest to the Sultan heard his words: "Have refreshments bought to my private chambers. I will speak to her there."
Servants helped Anahita to bathe and dress in finer clothes than she'd ever worn before. Long silken sleeves hid her bandaged arm, now wrapped in fresh linen, as gentle hands combed and oiled her hair. It was like being a bride all over again, but there was no fear in her belly this time. Only determination.
Kiss- Frog Prince Retold Page 3