No, no, no! This is not right. It can’t be.
There’s more. I think they’re bringing the Zaradine out. The leader, Arafanz, obviously wants to humiliate Lazar as much as possible. He might kill him while she watches or slay her before him. But he is suspicious of Fayid. He may just want to kill the lad in front of all of them. He’s certainly ruthless enough; he killed my father in front of me.
Ana’s going out there?
I’m guessing; I don’t know for certain.
Hold this link. I can’t risk that we are heard.
She frowned. By whom?
I’ll explain all soon. For now, keep me safe. I have to speak with Ana.
How?
In the same way, through you. Ana! he called. Ana, it’s Iridor.
Iridor! Her voice suddenly called into both of their minds. Where are you?
There’s no time. Ana, listen, you’re being taken outside, am I right?
Yes, I’m just being led out of the doorway.
Don’t recognize Boaz, whatever you do.
Boaz! The Zar is here? She sounded terrified.
He is posing as an aspiring soldier. A servant to Lazar. Whatever you do, don’t bow to him, don’t give him eye contact, don’t recognize him as your husband. If you do that, he is as good as dead. His name is Fayid. Can you remember that?
Yes, but I’m confused.
Remain that way. It will protect you.
What about Laz— And then her words stopped dead.
She’s seen him, Ganya said, across the link. Go watch. Be our eyes.
Iridor hopped away and launched himself quietly, flying effortlessly and silently behind the cover of the fortress to reach the rooftop again.
The wind was gaining strength around them. The eddies of sand had turned into much larger swirling cones. They could hear the sands shifting and blowing in the distance, though it was still rocky enough to feel protected.
“Do you know what this is, Spur?” Arafanz asked.
“I can guess.”
“It is early. It should not be here yet.”
Lazar decided if the man was so motivated by his faith, then it wouldn’t go astray to try to unnerve him by seeking out his spiritual weakness. “I’m told the Samazen answers to Lyana.”
“What would you know about Lyana, Lazar?”
“More than you, obviously—the great desert wind is her weapon. Does it not occur to you that you have angered your Goddess for the Samazen to be blowing so early?” Again Arafanz stared at Lazar hard, unblinking, weighing him up. Lazar refused to cower beneath the penetrating gaze. “Perhaps you should be thinking about how you’ve offended her. The wind sounds very angry indeed and this has only happened during the short while since our arrival. In fact, in just the time we’ve stood here discussing it, it’s gotten worse.”
Arafanz turned away. “Here comes Ana,” he said coldly. He had to raise his normally quiet voice to be heard above the wind’s noise, which had elevated itself from a wheeze to a constant groan.
If Lazar had hit upon Arafanz’s weakness, the rebel had hit upon Lazar’s. At the mention of Ana everything went out of his mind—even the death that seemed so close became meaningless. His attention snapped away from his captor to the woman who had just appeared from a doorway, flanked by several dark-robed adversaries. She was huge with child; her normally svelte frame was bloated and round; her normally graceful movement had assumed a slightly rolling gait. Her hands moved to her belly in support, and even those hands looked swollen. But her face—her beautiful, achingly sweet face—had not changed. It was slightly plumper perhaps but somehow it suited her, and despite her incarceration these last eight moons, her complexion reflected a healthy glow from the torch flames and her golden hair glinted softly in the dewy early light.
Lazar’s heart felt as though it lurched in his chest, as though straining to meet her. He would give anything—anything!—to hold her; to hell with the consequences. But this situation was so fraught with danger, to move would be risking her life as much as Boaz’s. He remained as still as a statue, simply drinking in her beauty as he thanked Lyana privately that his Ana was still alive, still safe.
“Not quite how you remember her, Lazar, eh?”
“I suppose I should be grateful to you for keeping her well. She certainly looks hale.”
“I did more than that. I kept her safe, which is more than any of you could do,” Arafanz replied.
It was as he listened to the rebel’s caustic response that Lazar noticed how the sand swirled up and around but never touched Ana. The cones and eddies of sand raced over the boots of her guards and sometimes blew high enough to make the men blink, but Ana walked untouched through the tiny maelstrom. And now, as he watched this strange phenomenon, he realized the sand was stirring more angrily around them all. He could feel his face beginning to sting, his fingers being whipped by the grains as they whisked by. Even his normally loose trousers were beginning to flatten against his legs as the wind picked up its tempo.
“She looks every bit the Zaradine,” was all Lazar could say as Ana finally drew close enough for him to see the soft green of her eyes. They were filled with tears but she blinked them away, hurriedly.
“Ana, I’m sure these people need no introductions,” Arafanz said.
“Hello, Lazar,” she said, her gaze riveted upon him, her voice trembling slightly. “I knew you would come.”
He bowed formally. “Zaradine Ana, it is very good to see you safe.”
She put both hands on either side of her belly. “We are both well.” A smile ghosted across her lovely face. “I’m sorry that you are here. It does not bode well for you.”
“That is as it may be, Zaradine. But this is my duty.”
“How touching,” Arafanz interrupted, sneering at their forced politeness. “Why don’t you tell her how you truly feel Lazar—this may be your last chance,” he goaded.
Lazar refused to be drawn in, kept a grim silence, his gaze unwavering on Ana and the belly that held the new Prince of Percheron. He prayed the baby would stay cocooned in her womb for now. With the arrival of the Samazen, he had no idea how he would protect the three of them—four, including Boaz. Guilt stabbed in his chest that he hadn’t included Ganya in his plan. She deserved more.
“Ana, I have someone else I want you to meet.” Arafanz called across to his men, “Bring the young one,” before he returned his attention to her. “I’d like you to tell me who this is.”
She looked at him dubiously, then back to Lazar.
“Say nothing, Lazar, or I will kill the youngster right before you.”
Lazar’s lips pursed. He was trapped. All he could do was stare at Ana and hope her normal perceptiveness picked up the peril they faced. He felt sickened when Arafanz put an arm about her and tenderly kissed the top of her head. “Who is this that you see coming out from behind the camels? Don’t be scared, just tell me the truth.”
“Is this one of your trick questions?” she asked hesitantly. “You’re not going to ask him to prove his loyalty or—”
“Nothing like that, but this is important. Ah, here he is. Do you know this person?”
Boaz was brought close and Lazar looked down, his insides twisting with fear and helplessness, his wrists tightly bound. Lazar decided he could kick, perhaps bring down one or two men before he was felled, but that would not save Zar Boaz the evil blade of Arafanz. To his surprise and small relief, the young ruler knelt before Ana. No one could ever accuse Boaz of too much pride, nor could they say that if he perished here, it was because of his own stupidity or pride. Boaz had done everything he could to maintain the ruse.
“Zaradine Ana,” he said, bowing his head.
“Say no more, boy,” Arafanz warned. He looked back at Ana. “Tell me, my dear, who is this?”
Lazar held his breath. She couldn’t be blamed.
“Why, this is Fayid, if I’m not mistaken. He is a servant of Spur Lazar’s, training to be a soldier in the Protectora
te. I’m right, aren’t I? You are Fayid?” She gently leaned down toward Boaz.
Lazar couldn’t believe it. His head snapped up and he had to temper the delight that he was sure was flashing across his face. How could she have known? Unless Iridor—yes, that was it. Iridor had told her. He’d risked using magic. Was that because Maliz was gone. That whole notion of the seemingly indestructible demon being dead still didn’t sit right with him but there was no time to dwell on it. Deliberately controlling his features, he stared steadily at the rebel, who was also eyeing him but talking to Ana.
“And how is it that a woman of the harem—now a lofty Zaradine—would know such a lowly person as Fayid?” he asked.
“Fayid was kind to me. Before I was Zaradine, I tried to escape the palace. He was one of the guards who marched me back to the palace gate,” Ana lied. “We are of an age, I suspect, and no doubt he felt sorry for me. He told me his name. He was the only one of the guard who spoke to me. His gentleness is not something I choose to forget from a time when everyone treated me with disdain…everyone, that is, except Spur Lazar, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” Arafanz echoed, irony heavy in his response.
“Arafanz, I feel quite weak if you don’t mind.”
“Tsk tsk, Ana. Desert women can ride a camel all day, deliver through the night, and be back on their camels the next, suckling their babes.” He smiled gently at her.
“She is not a desert woman!” Lazar growled. “This woman is royal. Have some respect.”
“Don’t talk to me about respect, Lazar, not when you have lain down with this same woman. She was a Zaradine then, too, but that didn’t seem to stop you. I don’t recall your worrying too much about respect or being overly intimate with a royal when she was dangling on the end of your—”
“Enough!” Lazar roared above Arafanz’s words and the increasing noise of the wind, not daring to look at Boaz, who to his surprise had not lurched to his feet or leaped for his or Ana’s throat. “You have no proof!”
“Don’t I?” Arafanz asked, his hand gesturing toward Ana’s belly.
Lazar looked uncomprehendingly at the rebel. He knew his mouth was open and he wanted to say something but nothing was coming. His mind had gone blank with the shock of Arafanz’s claim. All he could hear was the sound of the sands. He raised his eyes to Ana, who refused to look at him, which in itself was unnerving—looked like an admission. He looked around him at the men, glancing Boaz’s way but not lingering. Boaz looked surprised but there was no rage gathering in his eyes, but then again, Boaz would be working very hard to conceal himself. He wished he could explain to his Zar but the situation was hopeless. All he could do was continue to protect the royal’s identity.
He finally found his voice. “It is easy to cast aspersions, but no one here is impressed with your lies and half-truths, your innuendo and your base claims. The child is the heir of the Zar. If the Grand Vizier were alive, he would tell you about the wedding and the bedding ceremony.”
“Is that so? You think I lie? Let me paint a clearer picture for you, then, Lazar, and let me prove how much I do know. Razeen.”
“Master?” said one of the black-robed men, stepping forward.
“Show yourself.”
Lazar watched with shock and increasing despair as the man he had known as Salazin but more recently as Razeen, Iridor’s spy in the Mute Guard, unraveled the linens from his face.
“You were his man all along?” Lazar croaked.
Razeen nodded somberly. “I saw her steal out and away from the camp. I followed the Zaradine, although no one knew. I saw you both together. Naked.” He looked down, suitably ashamed.
“I’m sure you don’t wish Razeen to paint the picture any more clearly, do you, Lazar?”
Lazar’s throat was so dry he wasn’t sure he could speak. Razeen! “But you fought alongside me. I watched you die!”
“You thought you saw him die, Spur. It was a ruse and his only way to return to the fortress.”
Lazar ignored Arafanz. “How could you do this to us? We trusted you.”
Razeen stared back silently as Arafanz continued to speak. “You were trusting the wrong person. Razeen is my son. We have been planning for this for a long time. I had to give him up to the Widows’ Enclave for much of his life. He has had to pretend to be deaf and dumb for all that time. This is loyalty. This is sacrifice for a cause.”
“For what, Arafanz? No one knows what you want.”
“I will share it with you before you die, that I promise you, Lazar. But we were talking about the Zaradine’s infidelity. And I notice you do not deny it.”
Lazar grasped at the last straw he had. “Zaradine Ana was pregnant before her trip into the desert. I refuse to accept your lies. And I don’t even know why we are having this conversation—whose benefit is it for, anyway?”
Arafanz laughed, actually threw back his head and showed his even white teeth. “For the Zar, of course,” he said, finally turning to the kneeling Boaz. “Rise, Mightiest of Mighties—there is no need for you to keep up your pretense any longer, although I congratulate you. In fact, I congratulate all three of you for a marvelous display of loyalty and faith in each other.”
Ana looked as distraught as Lazar felt and he watched her crumple, reflecting his pain and his despair. Arafanz had been toying with them all along. Falling to her knees, she reached for Boaz. “Forgive me. We never meant to hurt you.”
“So it’s true?” Boaz said, not moving, eyeing her directly. “Even though we discussed it before you left. Even though I gave you a promise and you swore an oath. Even though I warned you what would occur if you or he laid a finger on each other?”
Lazar saw Arafanz give an order with his eyes. Not a word needed to be spoken but two men moved closer to the Zar.
To Ana’s credit she raised her chin, her voice defiant. “It is true, Your Majesty. I lay down with Lazar in the desert once. I will not deny it. I have loved him since the day he purchased me for your harem. I will love him until my last breath. And I shall die for that love, I’m sure, and not regret it.”
“And me?”
“You’ve always known. Please let us not lie to each other as death beckons to us both. I tried to be faithful but failed. You should know that Lazar was more faithful than I. He argued, tried to send me away. I went to him. I seduced him. I demanded that he lie down with me.”
“I see that he didn’t restrain himself too hard, though, Ana, for you are now pregnant. They do say it takes two hands to clap.”
“Boaz,” Lazar interrupted. “Ana was pregnant before we—”
The Zar turned to the Spur and Lazar felt as though, despite the heat of summer blazing around him, only winter existed between himself and Boaz. “That is strange indeed, Spur, for Ana was sent into the desert with you a virgin,” Boaz answered coldly, his gaze not leaving Ana’s. “We made a pact. She was not ready to become my wife fully. And I did not force her because she was young and much had happened that day of our wedding. How curious that it was arguably the happiest day of my life—because her life had been spared, because the woman I loved had become my wife—but I now realize it was the saddest of hers…because she has always loved you.”
“But…” Lazar couldn’t finish whatever he was going to say, his eyes turning to Ana. “You were sickening. The Valide, even the Grand Vizier, believed you to be pregnant.”
A small vial landed in the sand at Lazar’s feet. “Razeen brought this back. Do you recognize it?” Arafanz asked.
Lazar shook his head.
“Either you’re lying, Spur, or you, too, have been part of an elaborate ruse that is none of your own doing. This is called Perelin. It comes from a rare plant found only in the desert. Its petals are curiously opaque, very bitter to the tongue. I tasted it once out of curiosity. Can you imagine what it prompted?”
Lazar shook his head miserably.
“I was sick for many days afterward. I lost my appetite and what I could eat I couldn
’t keep down, vomiting it up soon after. It was easier not to eat until the poison worked itself out of my body. Does this remind you of anyone you know?”
Lazar looked at Ana, aghast. Ana stared back at him, the face of the glowing mother who had come out of the fortress just minutes earlier now an ashen mask. Her head was moving from side to side in denial.
“Your dwarf friend was poisoning the Zaradine. You may recall he was allowed to wait on her when she was eating. But what the crafty dwarf was actually doing was deliberately ensuring that she appeared pregnant to everyone in the company. And it worked. My son knew the truth—he was an artful spy and had watched the dwarf in his poisonous deeds. Ah, poor Lazar, I think I can see from your expression that you knew none of this…although you did, of course, know that Pez was not mad, but simply feigning his insanity. I thought my son was clever but Pez is a master at guile. I’m right that no one in the palace save the three of you probably knew. How sad for you, Lazar. Such treachery all about you.”
“The baby,” Lazar stammered, finally piecing together his shattered thoughts.
“Is yours!” Arafanz exclaimed. “We are about to have a Galinsean prince on the Percherese throne.” And the wind began to howl around them as if echoing the rebel’s glee. He looked at Ana. “That is the one lie I uttered between us, Ana. I care not that the blood is not of the Zar’s line. I care only that the child follows Lyana.”
Ana groaned and looked down. They all followed her gaze and saw that her waters had broken, running in a torrent down her legs, puddling in the sand momentarily before being sucked down by the parched earth. “My baby,” she murmured. “He comes.”
“Take them to the cells,” Arafanz ordered, “and await my instructions. Come, Ana,” he urged. She all but collapsed into his arms as he picked her up. He turned back to Lazar, who stared at the dissipating pool of life-giving liquid that had kept his son safe thus far. “If it’s any consolation, Lazar, blame the dwarf. He has worked against you and your precious Zar and even Ana all along.”
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