When she reached her father's chamber, Anahita prostrated herself again.
"When I announced I was sending one of my daughters to Fakhri to be his bride, I was advised that I was sending the girl to her death. I was begged to reconsider, for the only language the Sheikh understood was violence. But I kept my word, and you were sent. Now, you return, bringing word of the Sheikh's death. Such a thing is impossible. Therefore, I ask you to explain how it is possible."
"A miracle," Anahita said weakly.
The Sultan sighed. "Get up, girl. I can't hear you when you talk to my rug. Now, tell me everything. Did you marry the man?"
Anahita rose and met her father's eyes. The eyes of the man who had sent her to be beaten to death by Fakhri.
Haidar was right – she'd faced death in Fakhri's eyes, and she had no fear left for her father, the man who'd sentenced her to that fate.
She settled herself on a cushion and poured herself a cup of whatever her father was drinking. She drank half of it down, barely tasting the cold juice, for there was not enough sweetness in the world to dull the bitterness on her tongue.
Anahita took a deep breath, and told her tale.
She left nothing out. Not one blow, or the trials she and her men had endured in the desert. Until, finally, she was done.
Her father opened his mouth to respond.
Perhaps she was not done, after all.
"Sheikh Fakhri deserved his fate, and if you marry me to a pig like that again, I swear I will gut him like the animal he is, too," she said fiercely, then added, almost as an afterthought, "Father."
"Ana!" a female voice shrieked, and a flash of silk and gold flew across the room to embrace Anahita. "You're alive!"
Anahita wanted to warn her sister about her broken arm, but despite Maram's apparent excitement, she had taken great care not to touch Anahita's right arm. Realisation dawned – Maram knew all that had been said and done since Anahita entered the palace, and she'd chosen her time of arrival perfectly.
Maram's tone was one of girlish delight. "Father, you must give her the apartment beside mine. The harem is for virtuous wives, not the likes of us. What reward did you offer the two heroes who carried her home to us?"
If Anahita had not known before, now she was certain Maram's spies had told her everything. For she had not seen Haidar or Asad since the throne room.
She opened her mouth to ask, but both her father and Maram seemed to have forgotten her. No, not Maram, who broke from her chatter to say, "Oh, you must be exhausted! Go and rest – the chambers beside mine, mind, not in the harem. I must discuss my new jewels with Father, but when we are done, I will come to you directly."
Dismissed – by her own sister! – Anahita was too tired to protest. She followed a servant to her new chamber, only to find it larger than the one she and Maram had shared in the harem. But the size didn't matter – all she cared about was the bed, that heavenly soft surface that embraced her as it promised rest.
It seemed but a moment since she'd closed her eyes, but the stiffness of Anahita's limbs told a different story. It was Maram's voice that had woken her – her sister sounding annoyed, which didn't happen often.
"Don't be ridiculous. She is my sister. You wouldn't deny me the chance to be reunited with my dearest sister, who I thought I would never see again?" Maram wheedled.
Haidar sounded chagrined. "No, mistress, I mean, Highness, but our job is to protect Princess Anahita, and unless she says she wants to see you…" A long pause, and Anahita imagined he shrugged. "My deepest apologies."
Anahita staggered to her feet. "Let her in," she said hoarsely, then swallowed and repeated the words.
Haidar stuck his head through the doorway. "Are you sure? I think she's trying to cast some sort of spell. She's bitten her lip bloody. I wouldn't want you to come to harm. First day officially on the job and all, but I'm not that stupid."
Spells. Maram. Seduction spells, surely. Would they work on a eunuch? Anahita was one of the few who knew of Maram's magical talents, for she'd seen her use them often enough.
"Maram, stop. Boys, please let her in. She's telling the truth. Maram means me no harm," she said.
All three of them entered the room, to Maram's obvious annoyance.
"I will not tolerate the presence of that man's sworn men," Maram said loftily, dismissing them with a wave of her hand. "Begone."
"We are sworn to the Sultan now, more than ever before. The only oath I swore to that whoreson was that he'd die screaming, drowning in his own blood. So when Princess Anahita here delivered the blow that fulfilled my oath, we became her men. Until death." Haidar bowed in Anahita's direction, and Asad did the same.
Only then did Anahita realise they wore guard uniforms, instead of the clothes they'd arrived in. "But you're free…aren't you?" she asked.
Asad laughed. "Free as we ever were. But oaths are tricky things, best not broken. Our village is gone, and we have nowhere else to go. Palace guard seemed like a good idea. Especially if we're to protect the princess outside the harem."
Maram gasped. "They're common desert herders? And your lovers? Are they any good?" Her gazed raked over Asad, then Haidar.
It was Anahita's turn to gasp. "Surely you haven't taken a lover. Not after your mother…"
Maram smiled. "Ah, you haven't heard. Of course I have. While you were off adventuring in the desert, I have been training to become a courtesan. The best the world has ever known. For it will soon be my turn to travel, as Father's ambassador to far-off lands. I would have gone sooner, but Father hesitated, doubting my advice. Now you have returned, he will not doubt me again. I told him Fakhri could only be stopped with weapons. He should have believed me. Sent an army instead of you…" Her hands fluttered in genuine distress. "Is it true that he broke your arm? Where else are you hurt?"
Anahita waved her away. "I'm healing fine. Besides, you don't want to hear about my blisters from walking across the desert. Instead, tell me about your travels. Will you go north to where ice falls from the sky?"
"I hope so." Maram's eyes lit up. "Oh, you would not believe half the things Mistress Kun has taught me. A thousand ways to seduce a man, and a thousand more to enslave him without his knowledge."
Asad hurried out of the room, followed by Haidar.
Maram smothered a laugh. "There. It is good to have you home, Ana. I thought I'd lost you forever. Now will you tell me about your lovers?"
Anahita shook her head. "Asad and Haidar aren't my lovers. They're eunuchs, men Fakhri enslaved from the camps he slaughtered. I've told my tale to Father, and I'm sure you heard all I have to tell. But you have done so much since I left. What of your lovers?"
Maram blushed. "Well…"
Anahita listened, entranced, as Maram spun a tale that seemed like an airy fantasy, of men who could make her body sing, as she learned the arts to bring a man pleasure in equal measure. Yet even as Maram spoke, Anahita fervently wished that such men did exist. Somewhere.
Eleven
Philemon feverishly searched every inch of the cavern twice over, and still he did not find the ring. He shouted until he was hoarse, but only ominous silence greeted him from above. He feared the city was empty but for him. And the water beneath it was draining away. Even now, the pool that had broken his fall had dried to a couple of shallow puddles.
No matter how high he leaped, he could not catch the lip of any of the wells, which taunted him from above.
But he would not die down here. He was a prince, by all that was holy.
If he could not return to the city, then he would find another way. The water here had travelled some sort of path between the city and the oasis, and where water went, so could he.
He'd follow the water to the oasis and make his way back to the city across the desert.
He set off along the tunnels, following the sound of flowing water in the darkness. If he faltered, he only had to remind himself that he was not destined for an ignominious end, all alone in the tunnels beneath
his city. As long as he lived, so did Tasnim. Step after tentative step, he would reach the oasis.
Hours passed, or perhaps it was days. The darkness was as timeless as the desert above, but it would not defeat him.
When he finally did stop, it was because water barred his way. Not the puddles and shallow stream he'd splashed through, but a pool so deep he could not see the bottom. Yet the water glowed as if lit by some magical underground sun.
No, not an underground one, he realised. One that burned down from the sky above. He'd found the oasis, but he would have to swim to reach it.
So be it.
The water was cool against his skin, a sweet caress urging him on. He swam for longer than he expected, but not so long that he felt the burn in his lungs from holding his breath too long. When he surfaced into brilliant sunlight, he let out a shout of triumph. No witch would be the end of him!
Was it his imagination, or did the oasis appear bigger than before? Philemon wasn't sure, but the swim seemed to take as long as his walk through the tunnels. But determination drove him, now more than ever before, and he reached the shore.
Desert sand compressed underfoot, gritty and crumbling between his toes. Huh. He must have lost his shoes somewhere in the dark and not noticed until now. Philemon glanced down, but he couldn't see his toes through the dislodged dust swirling through the water. He stepped out.
Pain burned the soles of his feet, like the fires of hell itself. He bit back a scream and hurled himself back into the water. Slowly, the fire in his feet extinguished in the lapping waters of the oasis.
He would bind his feet with scraps of cloth torn from his robes, the way beggars did, Philemon told himself. Beggars in other cities, for there were none in Tasnim.
He reached for the hem of his robe, but he clutched only air. Now he looked down again, really looked, and this time he couldn't tear his eyes away. No amount of water could hide the green tint to his skin, or the peculiar shape of his feet.
Philemon held his hands up to his face, praying that they would be normal, but his prayers were not answered. His green hands had only four fingers each.
A toad, the witch had called him, not a prince.
She'd turned him into one.
He let out a scream of fury, but all that came out was a croak.
Swearing he'd hunt down the witch and force her to fix the mess she'd made, he sank beneath the surface. Watching. Waiting. For frogs could not survive in the desert alone – he would need to find a travelling party to join to take him back to Tasnim. Or, better yet, to where he could find the witch.
A caravan would come, he told himself with confidence. And when it did, he would be ready.
Twelve
"I have not left the palace for weeks, and now Vega's found herself a mate, she's not leaving the nest any time soon. I want to go hunting, and to hunt I need a new bird. A hawk this time, smaller than Vega, and not so heavy." Anahita looked from Haidar to Asad. "I saw a new caravan come into the city last night. A new caravan means new birds, or at least I hope so, and who knows what else. Who's coming?"
Asad and Haidar exchanged a glance. "As long as we don't end up spending hours at the goldsmith again," Asad began.
"We weren't there for hours. And it would have been a much shorter visit if you hadn't been fondling that new blade of yours and scaring the man," Anahita said.
"I was testing the edge!" Haidar protested.
"Mm. Testing the edge while wagering how many blows it would take to cut a man's hands off." Anahita set her hands on her hips. "I still don't believe you could do that in one stroke. All that bone…it would take at least two."
"It only took one to deal with that thief who tried to take your purse last time," Asad said.
Anahita waved his words away. "That was you, with your sword. Not Haidar with a knife. And you took off half his arm, not just his hand. Please don't do that again."
Asad looked aghast. "You'd prefer to let thieves steal from you? Your father would assign you a squad of guards, convinced we are not capable of protecting you."
"I'd prefer not to have a screaming man lying at my feet, bleeding all over the place, while the marketplace erupts into chaos and closes before I have finished my shopping," Anahita said drily.
"You shall have it. Now no one dares get close enough to us to risk losing their arm, too," Asad said.
Anahita nodded. She had to admit, he had a point. Better that they had a reputation for being fearsome than having to deal with a squad of her father's guards, like Maram did, or being forced to defend herself. If a princess hacked off someone's hand in the marketplace, Father would never marry another daughter off again. Though that might not be a bad thing…
Anahita mentally shook herself. Just because she only knew the undesirable kind of husbands, did not mean her sisters could not be happily married to good men. Fakhri had been the worst, but her other three husbands had not been much of an improvement. Well, unless you counted the fact that all three had not had the opportunity to enjoy married life for very long, and she'd been widowed without any broken bones or significant bruises. True to his word, Haidar had taught her well. So well that she was never without a blade or three within reach.
"Have you changed your mind?" Haidar asked.
He read her expression well. As he should, after so many years together.
"No. Just…a widow's memories are not always pleasant," she said.
Asad laughed. Inside her palace apartments, he knew better than to speak freely, for every wall had ears. He would have to wait until they went hunting to say what was on his mind. And he would, she was certain. For though they kept up the façade of mistress and her sworn men, they were her friends more than anything. The only two truly good men she'd ever met, eunuchs or not.
Maram laughed at her cynicism, as well she might, for Maram charmed men as easily as breathing. But Maram was off travelling again, on some diplomatic mission for her father. Furthering trade somewhere in the far north, where ice lay on the ground for half the year. Anahita shivered at the very thought of it. She was a desert princess, only comfortable when the heat rising up from the sands was warmer than her blood. And boats? Ugh. Give her a camel any day, a creature she could communicate with that would do whatever she said.
But today was for birds, not camels.
"So, are you coming?" she asked.
Despite their initial grumbling, once they were in the bazaar, both men spent more time looking at the wares for sale than she did. Strange foreign blades, cloth so heavy it was a wonder anyone could walk while wearing it…these must have come by ship from the northern lands.
She prayed they'd brought some new creatures. If not a bird, then perhaps something else. One of the wives in the harem had a particularly fat cat that slept on her bed at night, for she abhorred mice and would go nowhere without the beast. Anahita had often wondered whether her father tolerated the animal on the nights he favoured that wife, but she'd never been brave enough to ask.
Maram would know. She knew every secret in the harem. Perhaps the ships had brought her home, too…
But there was no word of Maram's return in the marketplace, as there certainly would be, for she was well known. Instead, the people talked of a sheikh raiding their borders, enslaving those he did not kill. His men had run afoul of a party of crusaders, but the northerners were weak from hunger and war, and the sheikh's men had taken everything from them before leaving them in the desert to die. No one liked the crusaders much, but it was the height of dishonour to let them die in the desert instead of killing them outright. And the stories about this new sheikh made him sound like a second Fakhri.
An affronted shriek drew Anahita's attention from the marketplace gossip. An avian shriek, she was certain, though it didn't sound like a bird she knew. Anahita quickened her pace.
She reached the menagerie, only to discover she'd somehow left Asad and Haidar behind. She debated whether to retrace her steps or simply wait for them to appear
.
"What are you looking for today, mistress?" the stall owner asked, offering her a deep bow.
Veiled and shrouded in widow's garb, Anahita didn't bother to correct him. "A hunting bird," she said.
The man's eyes widened. "A song bird might amuse you more, mistress. I have here a bird from the far north with a song so sweet, it will bring tears to your eyes."
"Her Highness has shed too many tears of grief. She delights in hunting, and wishes for your best hawk," Haidar said, appearing at Anahita's elbow.
The man threw himself down on the ground, wailing his apologies and other boring things. Anahita's attention was caught by a prickly ball that suddenly moved. It unrolled, revealing a downy belly and pointed face.
"What is that?" she asked, pointing.
The man clambered to his feet and puffed out his chest. "It is a most rare creature, found only in – "
"It's a desert hedgehog," Asad said flatly. "You'll find a dozen of them at any oasis. I'll catch you one next time you go hunting, Your Highness."
The man deflated. "I assure you – "
He was drowned out by a shriek just like the one that had drawn Anahita's attention in the first place.
This time, she could see the source. And what a source.
The hawk was small, her chest patterned in an intricate mosaic of brown, gold and white. She opened her silvery beak to shriek again, flicking her talon at something pink on the floor of her cage. A baby mouse or rat, Anahita decided.
"Are dead mice not good enough for you, beautiful?" she asked the bird.
"He has given me nothing suitable to eat for many days. I am hungry and this is not food!" the little falcon said. "I must be free to fly and hunt!"
"That is a crusader falcon, from the north," the salesman said smoothly.
Asad shrugged. "I've never seen a bird like it. Have you?"
Haidar shook his head.
"She belonged to a foreign king, who gave the bird as a gift to his mistress, who could not bear to look upon the creature after he died valiantly in battle," the salesman continued. "She was taken prisoner by a vicious sheikh, the same man who killed her paramour, and the bird is pining for his mistress. He needs a new mistress, as royal as the first…"
Kiss- Frog Prince Retold Page 4