by Derr, Megan
A small voice broke the silence with a jubilant cry. "Mama!"
Valerie dropped to her knees as a flurry of tiny arms and legs and a cloud of red hair came running, tumbling towards her. She embraced the little boy with a choked sob, holding him close even when he began to squirm and protest the tight hug.
Ikram realized his mouth was still hanging open. A child.
Valerie had a child. The little boy looked just like her. Ikram bet his eyes were just as green, or would be as he got older. Valerie was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, but that perfect, miniature imitation of her was a very close second. All Ikram could think, watching mother and son beneath the orange-gold light of the setting sun, was that he should be out there with them, not hiding in the shadows.
What was the boy's name? How old was he? Surely not more than two, which meant he had been a mere babe when she'd come to Tavamara. Ikram boggled at the idea of a woman traveling with a baby across an entire ocean, with no one to protect them, no one waiting when they landed.
That was it. Valerie and her son were coming home with him. By the Lady, they were his and he would make her see that!
He waited impatiently for it to grow dark, to give the child time to sleep. He had no doubt there would be arguing, and he wasn't going to do that in front of the boy.
At least some of the mystery was cleared up. In Lavarre, precious few would be willing to marry a woman who already had a child. It wasn't much different in Tavamara. No man wanted to raise the proof that his wife had slept with another man. That she might have slept with another woman? Not so much of an issue. In Tavamara that sort of thing was common.
So Valerie must think he would not want her because she already had a child.
Which made him wonder as to the other pieces. Had she fled a lover? A husband? Something inclined him toward the latter, though he couldn't say why.
Well, if the bastard ever came along, Ikram would deal with the problem in desert fashion. Swiftly and decisively. Valerie and her son were his now.
How else was the boy like her? Did he have her smile? Would he grow up to be as strong? As clever? Would he be quiet and sweet or perhaps inherit some sort of temper from his sire? Ikram burned to know. It depressed him that Valerie had felt the need to keep what must be the center of her life from him.
Deeply depressed him. What had he done that made her think he wouldn't immediately accept her child? Who could even think of scorning such a precious piece of her?
He couldn't take it anymore. Hopefully the boy was asleep; if not, Ikram would find a way to wait until he was, but he couldn't stand here in the dark anymore.
Crossing the street, he ducked into the courtyard and knocked on the door into which she'd vanished, standing so she couldn't see him from the small window next to it.
A couple of minutes later the door opened, and Valerie's pale skin went white as she saw him standing there. "Ikram …"
"My jewel," Ikram said, proud that he was keeping his voice level. "Is your son asleep? I would hate to upset him when I start shaking some sense into you."
Valerie looked like she was going to be ill, but nodded and stepped aside to let him inside. "Why couldn't you just let me go?" she asked quietly as he passed by her.
Ikram stopped and turned to face her, swooping down to kiss her firmly, briefly, furious that he was doing it with so much unhappiness in the air but loving how soft her lips were, the lingering taste of sweet and spicy wine, a hint of her lilac perfume surrounding them. "I love you," he said quietly, "and I'm not letting you go. I thought you felt the same."
"You don't understand …" Valerie said softly, but Ikram was gratified by the way she let him hold her.
"Did you run because you have a son? Surely you don't think so little of me that I would reject you for that? Tell me you think better of me than that, Valerie."
Valerie slowly pulled away, not looking at him. "I'm not stupid, you know. I go to the market nearly every day, running errands for people to buy the things I need. All it takes is listening at the right stalls, chatting with the right merchants to hear the rumors from the palace, that a savage with odd markings is next in line to be the king's Advisor."
Ikram winced. "I wasn't trying to hide that, exactly … more I'm still sort of … lost about it myself. I ran away from the desert. I never thought to find myself in a position of authority."
"Authority," Valerie said, shaking her head and laughing softly. "Oh, Ikram, only you would put it so mildly. After the king, you'll be one of the most powerful men in the palace. Even the council will not be as close to the king as you. That he trusts a savage in that role …" She sighed and closed her eyes, and Ikram reached out to brush away the few tears that ran down her cheeks.
She jerked away, eyes opening briefly before she shut them again. "You'll be expected to have a noble wife, chi—chil—" she never finished the word, but instead dissolved into tears.
Ikram grabbed her and pulled her close, holding her tight, not letting go until she quit struggling and finally relaxed against him, wishing he could do something to stop her tears. "Jewel … what is so wrong? Do I look unhappy with you?"
"Y-you don't understand," Valerie said to his chest.
Gently Ikram grasped her head and tilted it up, wiping tears away with his thumbs. "I won't understand until you tell me, jewel. I'm a snake, not a mind-reader."
The weak jest earned him a wobbly smile, but all too soon it collapsed back into misery. Valerie closed her eyes, voice faint as she finally spoke. "Having Simon almost killed me. The doctors said I'll never have another child." She finally opened her eyes. "You should have a real wife, a real family."
Ikram was utterly sick of those words. He leaned down and kissed her again, tasting salt along with the wine, the underlying sweet that could only be Valerie herself. "From where I stand, jewel, I already have a real wife, a real family—if only the idiotic woman in the room would say yes instead of no."
"But—but—"
Movement from the corner of the room caught Ikram's eye, and he left Valerie sputtering to look at the boy he was so curious about. She'd said 'Simon' earlier. Kneeling by the small straw bed on the floor, Ikram took a long look at the small boy.
He was every inch his mother, right down to the slender build and the brilliant hair. He had no doubt the eyes were just as green, and there would be a smile to match. What sort of man would even think to say no to this? He looked up as Valerie's shadow fell across them. "He's beautiful, my jewel. What man wouldn't be proud to call the two of you his family? Do you really think so little of me?"
Valerie blinked back tears. "No, never. I wanted to be able to give you a son or daughter of your own though. You should have your own family, Ikram."
Ikram sighed and stood. "You are giving me a family of my own, jewel." He wiped more tears from her cheeks. "Why can I not make you realize this?"
"You … you really don't mind Simon? That I can't have another?"
"All I need is right here … if you would just agree to marry me." He looked back toward the sleeping Simon. "I would even adopt him, if you'd let me." He grinned suddenly. "Perhaps we should give him a Tavamaran name, hmm? Would that convince you I would like to have him for my son?"
Valerie moved into his arms, embracing him tightly. "That actually sounds nice. I'd like to raise him Tavamaran, not the way I was raised. I want to leave that life behind. I fled here because after my husband died—and it was only a marriage of money—his family tried to take my son away from me. I don't want my son to know anything about that life. I like it here." She looked up at him and smiled, the happiness starting to come back into her eyes. "Especially now. I … if you really don't mind, and are still offering …"
Ikram laughed softly. "Beloved, I've been trying to do nothing but offer all night. Perhaps my father was right after all, when he said women complicate everything. Ow!" He mocked glared, rubbing the spot where she'd pinched him before tugging the ring from his sash. "I
had this all planned you know. Still, I will settle for a simple yes by this point. Valerie, will you marry me?"
"Yes, Ikram, I will."
The Jewel of Tavamara
"You're a fool," Fahima whispered, wishing suddenly she'd skipped dinner as she'd wanted and not given in to her mother's heckling. "Oh, Nawra … how could you? Do you know what this could mean?"
Nawra sobbed into her hands, shaking hard.
Fahima struggled not to slap her. "Stupid little fool," she said, but not wholly unkindly. It was hard to be angry with someone who was already so wretched and miserable. "Why?" she asked.
"Stupid," Nawra said. "I never should have—" She looked up, pale yellow eyes bleary and puffed, red from tears and rubbing. "Oh, Fahima, what am I going to do?"
"I don't know," Fahima said quietly, biting her lip. "It is up to Mother and Father."
Nawra laughed, the sound bitter and a trifle hysterical. "Oh, Fahi, you know what they will do."
"Yes," Fahima agreed quietly.
They would lie. Never mind that, should the deception ever be discovered, they would all face execution—what of the humiliation and shame to the royal throne! The line unbroken since Tavamara had come into being …
Threatened now because her sister was a gullible fool and her parents greedy, deceitful liars.
Oh, she was so tired of it all she could cry, except her sister was crying enough for twenty women—and it would accomplish nothing anyway.
No, the only thing which might solve this dilemma was the truth.
Clever of her parents to keep the truth from her. Stupid of them to think her big sister would keep her mouth shut indefinitely. Oh, no. Nawra kept her mouth shut about as well as she apparently kept her legs shut.
"I don't know what to do, Fahi,'" Nawra whispered.
Fahima was tired. So tired. She had not felt well since they had left home, when no one had seemed quite as jubilant as they should—now that she knew why, she felt only more nauseous than ever.
If she thought it would do anything, she would wring all their necks tonight. Stupidity!
Rubbing her head, wishing she had some tea to help soothe away the growing ache, Fahima finally moved to comfort her sister. "Come, Nawra, if you want to help fix this problem then the first thing you will do is stop crying! I cannot think while you are wailing that way. You made a mistake, now live with it."
Nawra looked at her, brief anger flickering in her eyes over the sharp tone—but then she calmed, and nodded. "Yes, Fahi."
Really, who was the older of them? Fahi wondered sometimes if the gods had mixed up which one of them was meant to be born first. Perhaps questioning the gods was what always got her in these dratted fixes.
Honestly, if it was not for the fact that from several candidates her sister had been the one chosen to wed the king—she would cheerfully go along with the execution they all deserved for this near-deception.
But her sister had been chosen to wed the king, and she would not allow her family to shame and humiliate the throne and Tavamara. No.
"Go to your room," she said, a tad more sharply than perhaps she should, but too bad. Nawra would owe her a very long time for this, if Fahima managed to solve the mess. "I must think. Go to sleep, and from here on you will do exactly what I say without question, understand? If I am going to fix this mess you've created, I will require your obedience."
Nawra nodded meekly, and if she was upset to be spoken to in such a manner by her sister three years younger, she gave no indication. "Yes, Fahima. I am sor—"
"No, you're not, or you would not have done it in the first place," Fahima said coolly, tamping down on her guilt at the stricken look on her sister's face. In this, she would not be kind. Too much was at stake.
She sat in silence as her sister departed, sighing softly once she was alone.
The rustle of fabric stirred her from her thoughts, and she saw that she was not nearly so alone as she had thought. "I thought you asleep, Gulzar."
Gulzar yawned and finished pulling on a thin shirt. Fahima stifled a sigh and tried not to think of how much better it would be to go back to bed and let Gulzar distract her from her worries. Too much to do, and no one else to do it.
Still, she did not resist when Gulzar embraced her, warm and soft, lips pliant against her own. Oh, she did love her lady's maid who was so much more.
"Your sister is nothing but trouble," Gulzar said when the kiss finally ended. She pulled away, leaving Fahima feeling chilled, but only a moment later the beginnings of a fire lit in the fireplace and she could smell the packet of tea as Gulzar opened it. "What are you going to do?"
Fahima worried her bottom lip. "I do not know, beyond attempting to speak to His Majesty."
"Tricky," Gulzar said, seemingly relaxed but Fahima knew she was far from it. "He is never alone, I think. Always the guards, at the very least one or both of his concubines."
"The concubines do not worry me," Fahima replied. Indeed they did not. The law stated no person could be made to join a harem—they must be asked, and had the right to refuse. If a man of obviously high noble breeding and a man rumored to have been a pirate consented to belong to the king, then they were the least of her concerns right now. She had no doubt they would keep their mouths shut, if she spoke of this matter in front of them.
Or perhaps she was not willing to admit she had very little choice but to trust they would keep their mouths shut.
Well, dwelling on it did no good. Best to move on.
She continued to worry her bottom lip as she thought, sifting through what she knew of the king and how his day went—precious little. The only times she had so far seen him in their three days here had been at dinner and occasionally from afar as she wandered through the castle.
Honestly, her sister was the epitome of stupid! She had not bothered to ask Nawra for with whom she had fallen so foolishly and stupidly in love, but she had her guesses. If the man did not marry her, then Fahima would teach him all new levels of pain.
She could not comprehend it—here Nawra had been the best candidate for queen, the matter nearly settled and they were in the royal palace at the expense of the crown. Nawra could have been queen, the wife of King Shahjahan and the only woman who would ever be so close to him.
Gone now, to marry a man who had been too cowardly to ask permission to court her properly.
Fahima frowned, giving serious consideration to finding her sister and slapping the fool silly. Why had she thrown away so wonderful a chance?
She was stirred from her thoughts as a soft blanket was settled over her shoulders, and she smiled faintly as Gulzar then brought her a cup of tea. She kissed her maid softly, then sipped at the tea. Dark and sweet, a blend of cured leaf with bits of fruit and pungent spice. "Thank you, Gulzar. You are always sweet to me."
Gulzar's mouth quirked in a smile that was a combination of amusement, annoyance, and fondness. "I try to make up for the difficulties of your family, my lady. You do not have enough people who want to see you happy."
Fahima took another sip of her tea. "You make me happy, that is enough. My family … I think I would be bored, if I was not constantly tending their problems. Anyway, after this mess is sorted out, if the gods permit us to survive it, I will return home and hide away in the temple for a time. That will give me peace and quiet, hmm? You and I, we will burn incense and weed the temple garden, and altogether be very base and peasant like."
That drew a chuckle from Gulzar and another kiss, and Fahima felt a bit more at ease as she took another sip of tea.
"Let me ask around," Gulzar said. "Discreetly of course. We will discover the best way to speak with him as quickly as possible."
Fahima nodded, sighing softly as Gulzar cuddled up next to her.
"Do you know what you will say?" Gulzar asked.
"Not really," Fahima replied. "What does one say in a situation like this? 'I am sorry, Majesty, but my parents and sister are attempting to deceive you.' Oh, Gulzar, I fear th
is tale will have no happy end. I do what I must, but it is not what anyone wants."
She thought longingly of the temple back home, and the promise from her parents that once her sister was safely wed she could go off to be a studious spinster if she must. It would have stung, once, to be so carelessly dismissed, but she had long ago worked past that.
"Well, there is nothing you can do tonight, my lady," Gulzar said. Taking away her empty teacup and setting it aside, she tugged Fahima to her feet. "Come, to bed with you, and the morning will be soon enough to begin fixing things."
Fahima let herself be led back to bed, slipping fingers beneath Gulzar's shirt and caressing soft skin, the curve of her breast.