by Derr, Megan
Until he heard the woman cry out in pain, obviously terrified.
"Thief!"
Dropping the soap he'd been sniffing, Ikram whirled around just in time to catch the woman thrown in his direction. He caught her, and even as he glared at the man who'd assaulted her, he could feel how small she was. Slender, bony and delicate, like a bird. "Is that any way to treat a lady, good sir?"
"Tramp and thief!" The merchant, fat and red-faced, glaring mutinously at the woman trying hard not to shake in Ikram's arms.
"I didn't," she whispered, turning to look up at Ikram. "I dropped it, and bent to pick it up. He says I took it, but I didn't, I swear."
Ikram tried hard not to stare at the face looking up at him from the folds of an old, well-worn headcover. The cloth was pale green, bringing out the stunning green of her eyes. Her skin was pale, nearly white, and what he could see of her hair was a deep red, as rich as rubies. Finally tearing his eyes away, he looked again at the merchant. "The woman says she is no thief. What proof do you have that says otherwise?"
"She is always stopping by my stall," the man said contemptuously, motioning to the jeweled hairpins and other ornaments carefully spread out on velvet. "Never does she buy. Of course she is too poor, and heathen, so naturally she finally decided to steal."
"I didn't," the woman said, twitching, fighting to remain calm. "Someone bumped into me and I dropped it. It's right here! Please!"
Ikram gently took it from her fingers, the object being a silver hairpin decorated with a flower made from opals with peridot for leaves. Reluctantly letting go of the small woman, half-afraid she would slip away, he held it out to the merchant.
The merchants eyes went wide upon seeing the heavy gold signet on Ikram's right hand. "My lord. Thank you for interfering."
"Apologize to the lady," Ikram said, staring him in the eyes until the merchant dropped his gaze. "You have no proof she stole anything, and until you have such proof she does not deserve the way you've treated her."
"I owe her nothing," the merchant replied curtly. "If she cannot buy, she should not touch." He turned away to beckon forward a waiting customer.
Ikram rolled his eyes, making sure the man saw him, and turned back to the woman. "I apologize on his behalf."
The woman shook her head. "He's always that way. Thank you, my lord, for your help. I am sorry to have caused such a stir." Her eyes flicked briefly back to the stall, a brief moment of longing passing over her face, but it was gone in the next moment."
"Might I beg the honor of your name, my lady?"
"I am hardly deserving of 'my lady,' my lord, but I thank you. My name is Valerie."
Ikram nodded. "I am Ikram—" he cut himself off before he could go further. Even after living for nearly a decade in Tavamara, he still tried to use the desert form of address, giving his father, tribe, and the Lady along with his given name. "A servant in the royal palace," he finished awkwardly.
"Again, I thank you," Valerie said, smiling, the expression making her even more beautiful.
He hesitated, too long out of such games to be certain he should be trying to get back into them. "Are you busy, my lady? Would you have time for a cup of tea? A bit of wine?"
"Oh …" Valerie blinked at him, clearly surprised, then stumbled forward as she was jostled, the milling crowd caring not a bit for either of them now that the spectacle was over. She stopped just short of crashing into Ikram. "I … that would be nice … I can't stay long …"
"Nor I," Ikram said with a smile. Offering his arm, he made certain her fine-boned, so fragile-seeming hand was securely tucked into the crook of his arm and then began to fight his way through the crowds, releasing an aggravated sigh as he finally reached his favorite teashop. "What is your pleasure, my lady?"
"I—tea is fine." Obviously nervous, Valerie slowly began to unwind the scarf around her head, setting it neatly around her shoulders.
Ikram tried not to stare.
Her hair really was the color of dark rubies, straight and long. Never, even in all his years in Tavamara, had he seen hair like that. Beautiful, especially set against that pale skin and combined with the green eyes. He finally regained his senses when the waiter appeared, and frowned as he considered. "Have you preference in wine, my lady?" Only then did he recall she'd said tea. Or had she?
Ikram fought a sigh and wondered where his wits had gone.
No doubt lying somewhere on the ground being trampled to death by the citizens of Tavamara, or perhaps in the fine hands of the woman seated across from him. If she'd stolen anything today, it was his sense. Thirty-one years old and he was acting like he was eighteen again.
Valerie laughed lightly. "I fear, my lord, that I will never master the Tavamaran art of wine. I will take whatever you recommend."
"As you wish," Ikram said, returning the lovely smile. He turned to the waiter. "A half-carafe of Summer Roses, a tray of sweets to match."
The waiter bowed and vanished.
"Do you live in the city?" Ikram asked.
"Yes," Valerie replied, smiling. "Well away from the marketplace."
Ikram laughed softly. "It is rare to see one such as you in the marketplace alone."
It was Valerie's turn to laugh. "A foreign woman alone? Yes, quite. I have lived here for a year and a half now, and knew the language from my studies as a girl."
"You like Tavamara?"
Valerie nodded. "I do. It is quite different from Lavarre, but it is those differences I enjoy." She smiled again as the waiter reappeared with the wine. "Though, as I said, I cannot master the art of wine."
"Mastering wine takes being as obsessed with it as any proper Tavamaran," Ikram said, winking. "Summer Rose you cannot go wrong with; it's fruity and only slightly sweet. If ever in doubt, go with that."
"There is one I like to buy from time to time. Summer Breeze, I think is its name. I'm afraid where I come from, wines do not have such names or colors. I always feel slightly silly."
Ikram laughed as he poured the wine. "I thought much the same when I first came to Tavamara. Though I'm used to strong wine, it was strange to see so many, such colors, and to hear the strange names they are given. It took getting used to."
"You're not Tavamaran?"
"More like a cousin of Tavamara." Ikram sat back. "The one from the side of the family no one likes to discuss."
Valerie tilted her head, obviously confused, but did not press it. "Yet you've made your home here now?"
"Yes. I … never felt entirely at peace in my homeland. My family and I are much happier with me in Tavamara." He assumed his family was happy. Certainly they'd been quick enough to kick him out of Cobra. He could almost feel his tattoo burn against his skin, forever marking the Sands he'd come from, the savagery that had raised him before he traveled to far gentler Tavamara.
Shaking off his thoughts, Ikram gently shoved the tray of sweets toward Valerie. "Have you had any of these before?"
"No, I don't think so," Valerie murmured, reaching out to delicately snag a pastry covered in dark chocolate. "I do not often purchase sweets."
Most sweets were expensive, and while her clothing was good and well-cared for, it was all threadbare. Ikram wanted to buy her sweets, and far more besides.
It was rather frightening. He hoped he wasn't staring like some star-struck boy, but the way she slowly nibbled at the treat was torture. Give him Scorpions any day. He took a sip of wine and looked out over the café to give himself a chance to recover whatever sense he might have left.
"You said you worked in the palace?" Valerie asked, breaking into his thoughts.
Ikram forced his mind to work, or at least to act like it was working. Those green eyes were going to be the death of him. "Yes. I studied there when I first came to Tavamara, and after concluding my studies decided to stay. My family was not happy, of course." They had disowned him, banished him from the tribe and told him not to even think of ever coming back. If he wanted to betray his tribe and the Lady, then he could do
so. Most days it didn't affect him. On those days it did, he either buried himself in his work or drowned himself in wine. "I currently assist in the royal offices." He was apprenticed to the king's Advisor, but it amounted to the same thing.
"That sounds interesting," Valerie replied, and Ikram realized she meant it. "My … I used to know some politicians, and they only ever groused about their work, but I always thought it must be fascinating to know all the inner workings of a government. That probably sounds naïve," she ducked her head, fingers nervously tracing the rim of her wine dish, "for I realize it's not always a pleasant thing, the running of a country, but I thought it must be fascinating all the same."
"It is," Ikram said, barely catching himself before he reached out to take her hands in his own, offer comfort, assure her she wasn't as idiotic as she clearly thought herself. "All the details that go into it, to see how much must be done, how it is done … I like it a great deal. I would never have stayed in the palace if I did not."
Valerie looked up and smiled at him, and this one was the prettiest, sweetest smile he'd ever seen. Was he staring again? Ikram shook himself and smiled back. "So you live here all alone?"
The smile vanished. "I—yes."
Ikram dropped that line of questioning. "So what do you do when not being harassed in the market?"
"I mostly stay close to home," Valerie said, relaxing visibly—though sadly the smile did not return. "It seems the chores are never done." A weak smile.
"Yes, it does rather seem like the more work you do, the more there is to be done." Ikram laughed briefly. "No doubt in my absence, my paperwork continues to multiply. I rather fear what I will find waiting for me upon my return."
Valerie laughed. "Yes, I can only imagine what chores will be waiting for me despite the fact that I took care of them all before going to market. I—" whatever she was going to say, Ikram never knew, as the bells outside chimed the fourth hour and Valerie's eyes widened in panic. "Oh! I must go." She dropped the sweet she'd shyly reached out to take and stood, wrap going up to cover her beautiful hair. "I'm so sorry—I—" She looked at him, obviously distraught, then with another whispered apology turned and fled.
Ikram started to call out, then sat back with a sigh.
This was one of those times he truly missed the desert. Were he there, he could simply scoop her up and ride back to camp and take her to his tent. His sword and markings would have handled any protests.
Here, he had to be civilized and let the jewel get away.
Tavamara, as much as he loved it, had a lot of nerve calling the children of the Sand the wild savages. At least savages knew when to keep something and did not hesitate to do so.
He ignored the pain that said they knew when to toss out useless things as well.
Would he ever see Valerie again? Doubtful. Whatever had her fleeing was obviously the focal point of her life. It made him jealous, which was ridiculous. Shaking his head at himself, Ikram finished his wine and stood up, tossing a few coins on the table before striding back out into the crowded city.
*~*~*
Ikram tried to be in a foul mood about having to attend the market again, for he detested having to go more often than strictly necessary—usually only once every month or two—but when he remembered the reason he was back only a few days later, he could only sigh.
In exasperation, because even as he searched for the stall he wanted he was looking in vain for dark-ruby hair and brilliant green eyes. There was little chance he'd see her again, and after letting her so easily get away he wasn't certain he deserved to see her again.
A man could hope, however. Lady grant him the gift of seeing her just one more time, he would not be stupid enough to let her get away again.
Rolling his eyes, wondering for the millionth time what was so wrong with him, Ikram at last alighted on the stall he wanted and began to slowly make his way toward it. The trick was to look at everything else first, feign disinterest, act as though he came upon it simply by chance.
At last he reached the stall he wanted and began to pick through what was available. There were several stalls in the market that sold spices, but after quietly asking around he had learned this one had the best quality and selection.
One of the things he missed, even after seven years, was the smell of the desert. There was an edge to it that tame Tavamara would never have.
The closest he could get to what he wanted was the incense his tribe had used for ceremonies and celebrations—no doubt including when they'd stricken his name from the tribe.
However, even in this market it was hard to find, and the few places he had found it, the incense was of poor quality. This stall was only his latest effort, but the merchant had a good reputation.
Ikram frowned over the table, ignoring the way the merchant began to loom over him—they always knew when money was looking, no matter how innocuously he dressed. After several minutes, he motioned the man forward and pointed to several selections, hiding the fact that he only wanted the most expensive one on the table. Buying several would gain him a bargain, and those he didn't actually want would amuse the prince.
Several minutes later, Ikram smiled and bowed his head politely to the merchant who looked less than pleased with how the bargaining had gone. Tucking his purchases carefully inside his robes, he turned away and began to make his way through the crowds and back to the palace.
Halfway through, he got fed up with the crowds and ducked out of it and into the back alleys of the city. It was early evening, the heat beginning to give way to cool, and whereas the market was still quite crowded, here the streets were deserted, people preferring to stay inside.
A scream of fear and outrage shattered the quiet, and Ikram felt a cold chill as he realized the voice was familiar. Surely not? He didn't waste time thinking about it however, but ran toward the source, finding it in the corner of a small alleyway—no doubt a shortcut between streets.
Three men were harassing a woman with familiar dark, ruby hair.
Ikram barely remembered moving. Nothing was terribly clear to him until two men were unconscious and the ringleader was pinned to a wall. "There are a great many painful things I could do to you, soft little city boy. Tell me why I shouldn't do them."
The man snarled insults, but was careful not to do more than that, wary of the blade pressed to his throat.
"I knew how to kill men by the time I was fifteen," Ikram said contemptuously. "By seventeen I had killed them." He let the man go. "Make certain I do not see your face again, soft city boy."
The man sneered as he stood up, gingerly touching his throat. "You look fancier than me, palace boy. All talk, I think." He lunged, steel glinting.
Ikram laughed and caught him by the wrist, snapping it neatly before throwing the man to the ground. "Get out of here before I break the other."
"Bastard!"
Laughing again, Ikram knelt and hauled the man up, ignoring his screams of pain. "I'm no bastard—but I am rather savage, if you're smart enough to catch my meaning." He could see by the way the man's eyes widened that he did. "Go."
This time the man went, his unconscious companions seemingly forgotten.
Ikram turned to Valerie, who was still huddled in the corner. "Are you all right?" he asked, drawing close—anger rekindling as he saw the state of her robes, torn and completely ruined. "Did they hurt you?"
"No," Valerie said, hand trembling slightly as she lifted it to smooth back her hair. She looked at him, then dropped her eyes. "Thank you." Slowly she knelt to retrieve a basket and the scattered items that had tumbled from it—bread, cheese, several bundles that were no doubt meat, spices, other basic foodstuffs.
Ikram frowned. "Are you certain?" Perhaps he was the one who was now upsetting her. It wouldn't be the first time someone had been upset by his 'savage' ways.
"Quite certain," Valerie said at last, those green, green eyes finally lifting to his. She smiled faintly, and Ikram noticed for the first time that her face was
flushed. "Simply rather embarrassed that twice now you've had to rescue me. I dislike appearing weak, especially in front of someone with as much strength as you."
"Lady," Ikram said, "I know men back home who would cower in the marketplace, and no woman is weak for being unable to best three men twice her size." He smiled. "Though I admit I had hoped that should I encounter you again, it would be under happier circumstances."
Valerie smiled, the last of the anxiety in her eyes fading. "I apologize, my lord, for running as I did before. I fear my panic got the better of me."
"You said from the start you could not stay long; I got what I deserve for trying to keep you overlong." Ikram shrugged out of his robe and offered it to her. "Until you get home, my lady."
Clearly she was about to refuse the gesture. Ikram shoved it into her hands before she could, and at last she nodded, pulling the over-large robe on and giving a shy but grateful smile. "Thank you, my lord." Her eyes widened. "Oh, my," she breathed.