“She’s incredible,” Lazar murmured.
“She is asking for your sword,” Salim whispered.
“Why?” He couldn’t tear his gaze from her.
“Oblige and she will show you.”
Lazar stood, drew the sword.
“You must give it to her,” Salim urged as the desert folk began to whistle and clap loudly.
Lazar stepped into the ring and held out his sword with both hands. Ganya’s eyes glistened with mischief, but she didn’t break a step as she pointed to the hip that was still moving at fascinating speed.
“Place it on her!” Salim called with delight.
It would surely fall off, Lazar thought, but he was intrigued. He stepped closer and balanced the sword, and to his disbelief Ganya didn’t slow down as he’d anticipated. If anything, her dance increased in speed and complexity as she moved off around the circle, still leaning precariously backward to balance the sword perfectly. The sinuous undulation of her hips remained unbroken, her left foot still anchoring her even though it guided her now around the fire, whilst her right foot continued to do the trickier work. Lazar watched in amazement. His sword didn’t even look like it was going to fall off her hip bone as she made her way around the fire, never once betraying the frantic rhythm that the musicians commanded.
The women began to add their voices to the fray and what was initially a low sound escalated into a cacophony, just short of a scream. Ganya fell to her knees, the blade never losing its balance. And as the voices rose, the volume increased as the musicians used stunning dexterity to coax the most complex and rapid tunes on their instruments. And Ganya began to move her shoulders backward, shivering in tandem with her hips, and all the while the sword remained horizontal, secure. Back she went, farther and farther, the music and voices a frenzy of excitement until Lazar was sure she would have to stop, but still lower she pushed, and as her shoulder tips finally touched the sand behind her and brought her dance to a theatrical close, so, too, did the music and voices stop dead. Though it had appeared magnificently effortless, Lazar could see her sucking in deep breaths of air to slow her pulse.
Everyone clapped and cheered, including Lazar. He noticed even the Grand Vizier had a fresh new gleam in his eye. Who could resist such a raw sexual display? But the dance went beyond that, Lazar was sure. This dance was telling the men that it was a woman who was in control, a woman who actually controlled the sword, a woman who was ever balanced, always strong, and yet would submit–but only when she chose.
It was both subtle and magnificent. He wasn’t aware that he was licking his lips nervously when Ganya finally stood up, still breathing hard. No woman had drawn such a purely lustful reaction from him since the day an experienced, very expensive, and extremely pretty prostitute called Vadia in Romea had introduced him to the pleasures of the flesh. Vadia had enjoyed him and his innocence so much she’d urged him to share the night and the next at no further charge. The Prince had spent several evenings, in fact, tumbling around her chamber and marveling at this exciting new pastime in his life. He had convinced himself that nothing in the world could match the pleasure offered in Vadia’s bed. And her early death at the hands of a drunken, vicious lord had sent the young Lucien into a mood so dark, so dangerous, that even his seemingly uncaring parents noticed. His mother doubled the guard around him but that precaution didn’t stop the Prince slipping his minders after careful planning and endless patience–nearly a year–to steal into the lord’s love nest, where he kept a mistress, and slashing his blade across the man’s throat.
The guards suspected it was the work of Lucien but kept faith with him and said nothing; in fact, they’d sworn to a man that the Prince had never left their sight that night. The lord in question had been heartily disliked by most in the palace and particularly by the soldiers for his memorable behavior at the infamous battle of Black Rock, where too many fine young Galinseans had died after this same lord broke ranks. And so the soldiers had closed their own ranks around the Prince, who vowed privately never again to take a man’s life in such a cowardly fashion.
Since Vadia, there had been plenty of women in his life and two who truly touched his heart. Only one of these could he now honestly say he loved with his very soul, would gladly give that soul for. And that was Ana. But even after all these years, Lazar maintained privately that only Vadia had ever made him feel as though he were invincible. The very sight of her sweet body and full breasts could make his throat go dry. Ganya, for whatever reason, was having the same effect on him now…and it amazed him.
He watched the rise and fall of her belly; she was still breathing deeply from her exertion and the cheering and whistling was finally dying down. Lazar wasn’t sure what drove him to do it, but he stepped closer and held out his hand. Ganya’s slim brown arm snaked up from the sand and clasped it. He pulled her gently to her feet as he took his sword from her hip.
In the language of the Khalid he murmured for her hearing alone, “I could believe my weapon is magically stuck to that marvelous pelvis of yours.”
Ganya reached for the fabric covering her face and unveiled herself. The audience fell quiet. Lazar was unsure of himself; he was not used to any woman unveiling herself in public, but Salim grinned broadly and he was reassured.
“Perhaps there is somewhere else upon my body you would like to put your weapon?” she asked, eyebrow arching with her innuendo.
Lazar’s throat felt suddenly gritty, as though he were unable to speak. He swallowed but still no pithy response came. He could tell she was around Herezah’s age, probably moving into her fourth decade of summers. Not only did Ganya have a superb body but she possessed dark, exotic looks. Her large black eyes had a query in them, awaiting his answer, whilst her full lips pouted slighty, bemused that he was so hesitant.
“I’m not sure I understand,” he finally stammered, annoyed with himself for sounding so hesitant.
“I have no husband. I invite you to lie with me,” she answered, her expression now bold, her tone spiced with sensuality.
Lazar felt himself blush in the firelight. Not since Vadia had any woman been quite so unabashed with him. Even Herezah, so obvious in her desires, was made to look coy beside Ganya’s candor.
Music struck up around them as people began to sing and dance. Lazar and Ganya had not been forgotten but they were no longer the center of attention, although Lazar was aware of the demon’s cold stare boring into his back. And it was at this notion that the idea fell into place.
“Are you permitted?”
She laughed. “Permitted? The Khalid women make these decisions on their own, Spur Lazar. And I am a free woman. Since my husband died, I can take whomever I choose.”
He gave a grimace. “Sounds like there have been many.”
“There have been none,” she assured in her smoky voice. “I am simply telling you that I can lie with whomever I choose. You are not married?”
He felt a presence at his side and glanced around to see Salim and the Vizier approaching.
Salim answered his daughter. “His heart hurts for someone, Ganya, but the Spur is unmarried, to my knowledge.”
“Ah,” she said, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “I can ease that pain.” She and Salim both laughed softly.
Lazar had not ever before been propositioned in quite so direct or confident a manner. He was excited and yet slightly unnerved by Ganya.
“What are you talking about, Lazar?” Maliz asked, irritation at not being able to understand in his voice.
Lazar turned and regarded the impostor. Ganya was his chance! She provided the opportunity to get to Iridor. He allowed the hint of a lascivious grin to crease his face. “Seems as though I’m the lucky one, Grand Vizier,” he answered. “I’ve been offered a proposal I’m not sure I can turn down.”
It obviously didn’t take much for Maliz to read the body language and appreciate the sensuous atmosphere that hovered around the dancer or understand the Spur’s innuendo. “They’re
offering her to you?” There was a note of envy in the Grand Vizier’s voice.
Lazar shrugged now. “She alone makes the offer, Tariq. Salim here tells me it would be impolite to refuse.”
“All part of the desert hospitality, I suppose?” Maliz finished archly.
“I suppose. I for one will not turn her down. Would you?” He grinned again, fiercely this time, then lifted his eyebrows in query.
“No, Spur. I certainly wouldn’t. Enjoy.” The Grand Vizier moved away.
Lazar, his heart hammering, quickly returned his attention to the Khalid pair beside him.
“Well, Spur?” Ganya said, her voice husky.
“How can I refuse such delectable Khalid hospitality?” he asked, palms wide in resignation.
Ganya gave a knowing smile. “Follow me,” was all she said.
Salim clapped his hands and laughed. “I should tell you, Lazar, that Ganya is our tribe’s lajka.”
Lazar frowned, watching the woman move away toward the dunes. “Lajka?”
“Our dreamer,” the man qualified. “She sees things. She is very special. You should be honored that she has chosen you.”
“Indeed. Salim, I want you to make sure that we are left alone.”
The man nodded, his expression saying that Lazar was stating the obvious.
“No, really, I need to be left entirely alone with Ganya. Do not let the Grand Vizier follow me under any circumstances, no matter how much he protests.” Now Salim was frowning. “He will try, my friend. Tell him Ganya will bring bad luck down upon him, threaten him. Restrain him if you must.”
Salim nodded again, looking slightly bewildered.
Lazar moved quickly toward Boaz. “Fayiz, I am going with this woman. Look after Jumo.”
“What?”
“Make no fuss, my Zar,” Lazar whispered, “It is important.”
“Lazar! Is this dangerous?”
“No! But keep Tariq occupied as best you can. I don’t want him following me.”
Boaz nodded, confusion creasing his brow. “I trust you.”
Lazar inclined his head with thanks and strode to catch up with Ganya. The Khalid folk began to clap and whistle as the pair left the light of the fire.
I hope you’re paying attention, Iridor, Lazar thought, because this is our only chance.
Iridor watched keenly as his friend spoke to the person he had to presume was Boaz, who, except for his tall and slight build, looked almost unrecognizable in desert garb. He could see that Lazar was breaking from the main pack, following the magnificent dancer into the darkness. That must be the sign, he realized. This would be their chance.
He took off from the vantage of the dune and flew a long way around toward the direction in which Lazar headed, careful that he didn’t risk exposing himself.
17
Arafanz was sitting by her side. “Should I fetch someone? The old man who took care of your bathing has delivered babies in his time.”
She recalled old Soraz with a soft smile as she took Arafanz’s hand. “Don’t look so worried. Lyana will take care of me. It is too early. These are warning pains, that’s all–at least I think they are. And if the baby comes early, he will come with or without anyone’s permission. Let us face that when it happens. He knows what to do and my body will guide me.” He bowed his head and Ana felt her heart go out to him. When he was like this–so tender, so caring–he was irresistible. “It is kind of you to bring me to your room.”
“I want to be able to watch you. You scared me today.”
“Are you sure you want to give up your bed? I could easily–”
He lifted his gaze to hers. “Ana, I could sleep on the hard ground for all the difference it would make to me! I am mindful, however, that you should be in a real bed, not this desert pallet.”
“Perhaps you forget that I, too, am of the desert, Arafanz. I spent the first thirteen summers of my life sleeping on the ground.”
“We are more suited than we give each other credit for, then,” he replied in an attempt to lighten the leaden atmosphere.
Neither of them smiled.
“Do you regret your part in this?” she asked gently.
He shook his head miserably. “No,” he answered with vehemence. “But I regret yours.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wish you weren’t involved. Why couldn’t you be like the Valide, for instance? Then it would be easy to carry out my task and to feel nothing for you.”
“How do you feel?” The question tumbled from her mouth before she could censure herself. She regretted her rashness immediately; she was opening up a pathway to him that should remain closed.
His gaze fell again and he looked to Ana like a wounded animal awaiting the fall of an ax. “I feel despair.”
Ana knew what he meant but tried to backtrack, twist his meaning. “You’re frightened of what’s ahead.”
“No,” he said again, “that’s not it. I am not frightened of what’s ahead, other than losing you.”
“Arafanz, there is no–”
“I know, don’t say it. You’ve undone me enough. These past few months have allowed me to glimpse how life might have been.”
Ana smiled in spite of herself. “Do you truly believe anyone lives like this out in the desert?” she asked, gesturing about the dimly lit but nonetheless attractive chamber.
His mouth twitched in an attempt at a grin. “It is unusual here, I admit, but I sense you have enjoyed your time nonetheless.”
“I would be lying to you if I said anything other than I have never felt more at peace with myself.” She looked away, hoping the conversation might end.
But Arafanz persisted. “Happy?”
His gaze was fierce; his eyes had a burning intensity that seemed to make the brighter flecks in his irises glow as if they were illuminated. They demanded that she answer truthfully. “Yes, I’m happy but–”
Arafanz leaned forward and coverered her mouth with his own. She was so shocked by his sudden movement, and then absorbed by all the sensations his lips exploring hers provoked, that she could not pull away. As Arafanz deepened his kiss, Ana’s addled thoughts swirled guiltily toward Lazar. She realized she could never confuse the two men. With Lazar there was such hunger, such longing in their intimacy. With Arafanz she felt only tenderness…and a surge of sorrow. This needed to stop–now!
One of the candles that Arafanz had lit around the room suddenly guttered. Ana broke apart from him and immediately both of them looked at the smoking wick, an ominous sign.
“We mustn’t, please, Arafanz,” Ana said, feeling instantly fearful.
“Do you subscribe to such childish superstitions? That was only a draft.” He smiled.
She ignored his question. “This is not right,” she replied instead, embarrassed by his amusement as much as relieved that the spell had been broken. And gone with it was the dangerous moment of abandon and enjoyment.
“Apologies, Ana. I hate myself for being so weak.”
She shook her head sadly. “It is not weakness. It is life, Arafanz. It is normal to have feelings for another–you cannot expect yourself, or your men, to be celibate, especially cast together like this and in a battle we neither understand nor choose. But you and I are not normal, are we? We are pawns. We are being moved around and used. Our lives matter not in the great scheme of this battle. We do her bidding for the greater good and then we die.” She grimaced again as a fresh contraction, soft but urgent, rippled through her body. It was uncomfortable, but now was not her birthing time, she was certain of it.
Arafanz wore a wounded expression. “It doesn’t have to be like that, Ana. Perhaps–”
“What? You take my son from me, you deliver him to Percheron, and you ride back to the desert for me…is that what you think? We can just pretend none of this happened? What of your struggle? Your men? Boaz? Did you think the Zar will accept his wife and Absolute Favorite living in the desert with a rebel who declares war on the Percherese people
?”
Once again he held her gaze with an unflinching stare, all injury gone from his face now. His voice was brittle when it came. “But this is not about Percheron, or the Zar, duty or the battle for Lyana’s supremacy, is it, Ana? Your reluctance is not even about your son, or the desert, or your conscience. This is about Spur Lazar, isn’t it?”
She had nothing to gain from lying to him. “I love him, Arafanz. I have since the day I met him–the first moment I spied him from the window of our hut in the foothills, standing so proud, so deeply unhappy. I don’t understand what has happened between you and me. But it cannot flourish. I would be insincere to you if I allowed this to continue.”
“I should have killed him when I had my chance,” he said sourly.
“You don’t mean that. You let him live for good reason. As you said, you both fight for the same cause, even though Lazar does so unwittingly.”
“Be very sure, Ana. If Lazar tries to stop me in my mission, I will kill him.”
“I know you will try.”
He nodded. “Then please forgive my indiscretion.”
Ana reached for his arm. “Arafanz, wait. Please.” He looked back at her and she could see pain in his eyes that he was trying to hide. “My heart is not hardened toward you. I need you to know that. In a different life, a different situation, I would live in the desert with you and I would not regret a day of it. We were meant to meet. But we were never meant to be lovers.”
“Are you referring again to the omen of the candle…the hidden message; perhaps Lyana speaking to us?”
His sarcasm bit but she ignored it. “I do not refer to the candle, but Lyana has spoken to me.”
“The pillars?”
She shook her head. “No. Have you heard of the Raven? The bird of omens?”
He frowned, shrugged. “It means nothing to me. What is it?”
“It is a he. This time he was Kett, a slave at the palace, and now I realize poor Kett was destined to join the harem.”
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