As she glanced over at him, her breath felt trapped in her chest. He was a compelling personage—of that there was no doubt. She was surprised most of all by his outstanding looks, for his reputation had not even hinted at the striking nature of his appearance. His hair fell past his shoulders in a dark brown, mahogany-brushed curtain, trailing into loose curls at its tails.
His features were those of the soaring hawk, keen and observant, about to swoop on its prey. His darkly fringed and hooded eyes glowed emerald green in the flickering candlelight, his sharp eyebrows echoing the distinct line of his cheekbones.
The defined line of his jawbone was clean-shaven, his skin a tawny color, gently sun-kissed. Devastatingly attractive, he wore it with an unassuming air. Dressed in charcoal robes, he was discreet and set apart from them all in every way, and yet he had affected the very air she breathed, she was sure of it.
His posture was quietly self-assured and yet watchful as he engaged in a whispered conversation with Sibias. Elishiba watched the stranger, unable to take her gaze away from his flashing eyes and his chiseled mouth while he spoke. When he glanced her way, he fixed her with those eyes, and then inclined his head in acknowledgement, a slight smile hovering at the corners of his mouth.
She tried to look away, but could not.
He had a penetrating, unafraid stare. He was indeed a hunter. And she was captured in a glance, as if he had pinned her with one sharp talon. The look in his eyes both tormented and aroused her. Her heart beat erratically. She could not drag her gaze away.
In the background she was vaguely aware that Helena had begun another song, accompanying the delicate notes she spun by her slender fingers, with her beautiful voice. Thankfully, he looked away, breaking the tension. It was not until then that Elishiba she realized she had not responded to his acknowledgement. He had affected her so strangely. Her blood was racing. Her hairline felt damp, the palms of her hands too. She lifted her goblet and drank heavily from it.
He stood up and walked in her direction. She rearranged herself on the cushions in an effort to regain her composure. He was tall and elegant, leanly muscled, and he walked with the quality of a man who answered to no one. Bowing graciously before her, he caused most of the people in the room to turn and watch his actions.
"Empress Elishiba of Aleem, as your Father is with his guests, may I present myself? I am Amshazar."
He spoke quietly but distinctly, and the rich tone of his voice resonated through her body. Whilst his greeting was polite, he seemed to insinuate himself in some other way. She felt as if he had touched her, intimately. Her heart thudded in her chest. That the gods had given him their secret gifts, she did not doubt. He had a dark, brooding quality and an aura of knowing things beyond their immediate manfestations. She felt as if he could read her thoughts, for when he looked at her it was as if his very spirit climbed inside her mind and body.
"Welcome, to our home,” she said, with effort. It was difficult enough to welcome these strangers, without the overwhelming nature of this man's stare.
He smiled, as if amused by a private joke. “It is interesting ... to finally see its legendary charms for myself.” His eyes raked over her from head to toe as he spoke.
She could not tell if his appraisal was deprecating or complimentary, and her hackles automatically began to rise. She pursed her mouth but had no chance to reply, for he was approached on one side by her father, looking concerned, and Sibias, on the other, looking suspicious.
He did not need to look to sense them closing, that much was obvious. He stepped back, folding his arms, a slightly disdainful smile on his face. Everyone was watching, and Elishiba found that for some reason it took a great effort to remain calm and collected.
"We must present Elishiba's gifts,” Sibias said, forcing the attention away from whatever had been said. Amshazar had not taken his focus from Elishiba, but nodded and turned away. The two older men stood awkwardly for a moment, and then Ramsis also returned to his seat beside his daughter, while Sibias instructed his attendant.
"You look startled, my precious,” her father whispered, squeezing her hand with concern.
Elishiba assured him it was nothing to be concerned about, and then sat dazed and smarting, as a retinue of servants began to heap gifts upon the floor in front of her. There were exotic furs and carved boxes, a feathered headdress and matching jewelencrusted waist and armbands. It was most likely looted bounty, she assumed wryly, as she watched the stack of goods grow. There was a hand-painted silk robe of some beauty, which caught her eye, reluctantly, for she was determined to show little interest.
"These are gifts from Hanrah, selected by his own hand for his betrothed,” Sibias said. “Mehmet sends you a more practical gift.” There was a smug tone to his voice. “Slaves, chosen by Mehmet herself.” He smiled and there was a decidedly practiced air about his expression that rankled.
Perhaps everything about these two men would make her feel uneasy, she thought. They were here to destroy her world, after all.
Sibias clicked his fingers and three young men entered the banqueting hall. A hushed and expectant murmur ran around the assembled guests at the sight of the slaves. Slavery was not an accepted part of Aleem society, not had it been for many years, although it was widely practiced in the surrounding provinces. Their dynasty preferred to believe that people who came willingly gave more of themselves, and discouraged the practice.
The youths were slim and pale, just as Xerxes had said, and they were dressed identically in short, plain tunics, but differed from one another in their coloring. One had the fairest hair she had ever seen. Flaxen, it was cut short, but fell forwards over his eyes. It gave him a shy, self-aware look. When they stood beside Sibias, she noticed that each was different, yet of the same mold: lean and delicate in appearance, with strange gaunt features. One had darker hair than his companions, but none were dark as Aleemites.
Elishiba wondered about their histories. How long had they been slaves? How long since they had been taken from their homes and families in the north? She tried not to engage in looking at them and focused instead on Sibias, arching one eyebrow at him quizzically. He shifted awkwardly under her enquiring gaze.
"Four slaves, to use as you wish.” His hand waved in the direction of the young men.
She looked again. “Four? I see only three."
"Ah, yes,” Sibias frowned. “One, um ... was forced to remain in Karseedia. Mehmet did mean for you to have a set of four.” He cleared his throat abruptly.
Out of the corner of her eye Elishiba noticed that Amshazar stroked his chin whilst smiling to himself, as if privately amused at Sibias's error. It made her curious to hear the full story, but she shelved it for the moment.
She shrugged. “I have no need of Mehmet's slaves.” She was gratified to see that Sibias was immediately irritated by her reaction. Did they think her some swooning girl, a blushing novice who needed to be tutored in every way?
"Perhaps Elishiba will devote herself to her new husband, and does not require the service of any slaves to pleasure her in the Aleemite way.” It was Amshazar who had spoken.
Elishiba glared at him, for it seemed he was mocking them, as if he were intent on being provocative. First he defied convention and approached her without the presence of her father for introduction, and then he ridiculed their ways. Aleem was a decadent society; she knew that—one that held physical pleasure in the highest esteem, as a manifest twin to spirituality. He was obviously knowledgeable about their ways, but she would not allow him to mock, oh no.
"Perhaps I will do as I wish,” she retorted, quickly, unable to hold her tongue in check. She would keep one, merely to put Amshazar in his place. She could free the youth from his slavery if he wanted to leave. But she could not take them all, at least not publicly, for that would be too compliant with Mehmet's wishes, and she had to indicate her independence. She would find a way for them all to be freed of their captors, and that alone would be a triumph over Mehmet.
And a symbol of things to come?
The thought made her more determined.
"Tell me your names,” she requested, giving the three youths her attention. The one with the darker hair glanced at his companions. Since they were obviously rendered speechless by the directness of their new mistress, he spoke for them all, happily calling her attention to himself.
"I am Patrino.” His expression was decidedly lustful. He nodded to the others. “Anton and Kerr."
Elishiba's gaze drifted back to the fair-haired youth who had originally caught her attention, Kerr. As if bidden by her enquiring stare, his eyes rose to meet hers. They were palest blue, like a softened sky after a rainstorm in the emerging sunshine, almost opaque. He was already set apart from the others in her eyes. “Have you any special skills, Kerr?"
"They all have special skills,” Amshazar interjected, with a distinctly ironic tone and more than a hint of amusement. “They have each been trained to offer you something unique in terms of physical pleasure."
He seemed intent on breaking her concentration on the nubiles. “I wish to hear him speak, not you,” she said dismissively, sending a cool smile in his direction.
Amshazar lifted his brows, but seemed more amused than shocked by her remark.
The young man spread out his hands, palms upward. Keeping his eyes lowered, he answered. “To bring your body and spirit peace and pleasure, with my hands.” He spoke with such an unusual voice, subtle and pausing, as if with difficulty. He was not speaking in his own tongue, perhaps, Elishiba thought. In the ensuing silence, while Elishiba looked at his downcast blond lashes, his hands trembled slightly and he looked up at her again. The flop of blond hair teased down over one eye.
Elishiba nodded at him, smiling. “And other things, perhaps? Do you sculpt?"
He broke into a smile. She had been right in guessing he was an artisan. “I am a painter, your highness,” he answered, simply, nodding enthusiastically. There was a natural vitality about him she liked.
"I would like you to show me your skills soon, Kerr.” She gestured with her hand toward the court attendant who had led them in, indicating that her choice was complete. The young men were led away. Elishiba looked toward Amshazar, expectantly, but he uttered no caustic remark this time. His expression was as watchful as before, stalking her every reaction, but guarded. She could not, in truth, fathom him, and decided he was merely being careful not to expose his thoughts. It was ironic, for he seemed so able to read those of others.
When she retired to her chambers some time later, she found Elra and Amra sitting curled up on the bed, giggling and whispering together. Amra was combing out her sister's waist-length hair while they talked. Elishiba nodded at them in greeting and indicated they should carry on. She felt a little unnerved, for some reason. It had been a strange evening. Sibias had been pompous and overbearing. He had quickly bored them by talking about the extensive and secluded training of slaves in their province, a topic that repelled his audience. However, it was the meeting with Amshazar that had put her in this uneasy mood, his watchfulness and his comments, no doubt.
She sat in her dressing chair, thinking about Amshazar, wondering about him. The sisters watched her and quickly noticed her distracted state. When she stretched herself like a cat, and began to undo the coil of gems at her throat, they acted. Elra unfurled her limbs and crept to the edge of the huge bed on her hands and knees, before slipping off it and walking to Elishiba's side, to assist in her disrobing.
Elishiba merely murmured appropriately when Elra asked her about the evening.
"He is attractive, yes?” Amra asked, joining them. Her sister giggled and hushed her.
"I am sorry, Empress,” Elra explained, “but we saw him in the corridors, you see, and we could not help noticing."
More giggles.
Elishiba smiled, her eyes rolling. They were always like this when they saw a man they both liked, and he was attractive—there was no denying that.
"Attractive, yes ... but a dangerous man, too, I'll warrant."
"Dangerous?” Elra asked, eyes wide, her expression surprised. She looked quizzically at Amra over Elishiba's head. Amra shrugged in response.
Elishiba drifted with her thoughts and within moments found a picture of Amshazar reclining on her bed had manifested itself in her imagination. Quite impossible, of course. Pleasure slaves were one thing, to dally with an esteemed advisor to her enemy was quite another. The image refused to leave her mind, nonetheless.
After a few moments, while they stored away her gems and brushed out her hair, Elra broke the silence again, with another question. “When will you have him for your own?"
"What?” Elishiba stood up, causing chimes to echo through the room as her earrings scattered to the floor. She turned to look at the two girls. “Whatever do you mean?” She flushed, embarrassment swamping her, for they had guessed her thoughts.
The two women glanced at one another, and Elra answered. “He is yours to take, isn't he? The gift from the North?"
Elishiba sighed. They were talking about the nubile, Kerr. Why had she not realized? She sat down again and apologized. “I am so uneasy about this betrothal,” she explained. “So, you like the pale young man?"
The twins giggled in response.
Elishiba smiled. That was enough of an answer. She had chosen the right one. The sisters would welcome him in and perhaps find pleasure with him. They could do with a distraction during this time of tension. Besides which, she reflected, he might prove useful to them through his knowledge of the Karseedian court that had taken him and trained him as a slave.
"Is it true that he has never been taken in passion?” Elra whispered, close against Elishiba's ear, her arm linked around her mistress's shoulders.
"My, oh my. Palace gossip does spread quickly ... apparently it is so. He is gifted and pure."
Elra removed her waistband, setting it on a table at one side.
Elishiba could see the blatant interest in their eyes. “And you two would have him for yourselves, to remedy his virginal state?"
The sisters blushed but Elishiba chuckled, drawing them closer. “Truthfully, I selected him because I wish to give the young man his freedom, as I would them all. But I think if we treat Kerr well we might keep him with us for a while, to see what we might learn from him of his previous owners."
"You think we might be able to make him enjoy his days with us?” Amra murmured, sensing fun.
"Enjoy them ... and desire more, perhaps,” Elishiba replied. “I would rather he chose to stay with us. You know that. I feel sure you could entrance him. Can I entrust that duty to the pair of you?"
Elra's smile was wide and delighted, and Elishiba embraced her affectionately. She encouraged them, amused as the two sisters evolved a scheme to win the young man over. Amra pointed out that they must stimulate the desire for him to stay quite early on, so that he thought it was his own choice when the time came, and he would be more willing. Elishiba thought it quite resourceful.
Happily distracted, the three of them shared their ideas about the young innocent into the early hours, conspiratorially.
* * * *
The faint sound of the women's laughter escaped from the balconied windows into the silent hours. Their movements caused the candles to flicker, casting shadows around the room. In the gardens below, Amshazar listened, and watched the flickering light.
The moonlight was waning. Clouds had scudded across the night sky since earlier that evening. He observed the way the amber light spilled down from her balcony while he contemplated the situation. The unlikely coupling of the scamp, Hanrah, with the exquisite Elishiba had amused him, but only momentarily. She was truly exceptional. Her spirit had resonated through him as soon as he had set eyes on her. She had the gift, oh yes, just as the magi leaders had predicted when they had discussed what might be behind Sevita's peculiar interest in the Empress of Aleem.
Yes, he mused wryly. Had women been accepted as magi
novices—as Sevita wished—and Elishiba presented at the Magi school, she would have been accepted. Of that there was no doubt. Her soul was strong, her purpose true, and she had the gift. Her skills were slumbering, unused, as he had been told to expect. That was something he would help her with, something he would guide her to recognize and nurture. Was this what Sevita had hoped for? By perhaps proving her point through a woman such as Elishiba, she could sway the council on her other, more personal, cause?
Elishiba's talent and potential was something he had been prepared for, but her beauty and intelligence had more than surprised him, much more. He had not considered that Elishiba would stir anything in him other than a desire to guide her to her destiny. However, as soon as he saw her, he wanted her. When she set her steady gaze on him, her spirit and sensuality had rung a clarion cry through his very being.
"A real beauty, isn't she?"
Amshazar started, and looked at his lurking spirit guide with a frown. He was hovering in the bushes a mere arm's length away. “Santor, although I value your presence whenever you choose to present yourself, I have to ask—must you sneak up on me this way?"
Santor shrugged his bony shoulders. “Apologies, old friend.” He had only partially crossed over from the spirit world, and his image was faint. His tufted beard and hair were hardly distinct from his face, and his robes were barely there at all. However, his wily, amused expression was not lost on Amshazar.
He shook his head. “I warrant the magi leaders would not have given you this role had they realized what a danger you are."
Santor adopted a more serious expression. “I'm honored to be your spirit guide in this and all things,” he said, with an underlying mocking tone in his voice.
Amshazar returned to his observation of the balcony. A moment later he was jabbed in the ribs by a bony elbow.
"Admit it, though, you were surprised when you saw how truly enticing she is, the daughter of Ramsis, yes?"
Amshazar threw a warning glance at his guide, who had a tendency to overplay his mischievous streak at times—not an ideal tendency for a magus spirit guide, but one it appeared they were both stuck with. “The situation is complicated by the attraction, I cannot deny that."
Unveiling the Sorceress Page 5